Belle - Lesley Pearse [130]
On his first visit after she moved in, he arrived with a box from a fancy lingerie shop. He’d bought her a beautiful red silk chemise with a matching wrap, plus some elegant red leather slippers trimmed with black swansdown. He was so lovely that night, really affectionate, complimenting her on how nice the house looked and concerned about her being lonely.
She thought then that was how it was always going to be. She planned on making him special meals, arranging the table with flowers and candles, and that sometimes they’d go out to a restaurant or a theatre. She even imagined that perhaps one day he’d suggest taking her away for a holiday.
But the next time he came he seemed cold and distant and she couldn’t make out why. It wasn’t as if she looked a mess; every evening she washed, did her hair and put on her new lingerie, just in case he turned up. As she was doing all she could to please him, it was very hurtful that he didn’t respond with any affection. But that night she forgave him because she thought he must have had an awful day.
Yet that was how it had been ever since. She was never able to relax entirely in the evenings because he could walk in at any moment. If he wasn’t there by ten she knew he wasn’t coming, so she’d take off the pretty lingerie, put on her nightdress and go to bed. And on the evenings he did come round, he didn’t want to chat, ask how her day had been or tell her about his. He just took her to bed and did what he wanted to do, then fell asleep.
By day she could convince herself that even if Faldo wasn’t being loving, she was still in a far better situation than she had been at Martha’s. She was a mistress, not a whore; she had a comfortable home too, for she’d gone to Alderson’s store and picked out bits of furniture, rugs, pictures and ornaments and charged them to Faldo’s account. She had plenty to eat and she could please herself what she did all day. But on the nights when he was with her, she would lie awake long after he’d gone to sleep, remembering that he’d said even less to her than he did the very first time he was with her at Martha’s, and she felt terribly used and hurt.
She found herself thinking of Mog, her mother and Jimmy, and that was like sliding down into a dark tunnel which she knew led to nothing but despair. Again and again she thought of writing to them and asking for help to get home, but she couldn’t bear to tell them what had happened to her.
One afternoon four weeks after she moved into North Carrollton Avenue, a small hat shop a couple of blocks away caught her eye. She went out walking every day, taking a different route each time in order to learn more about the city and its different neighbourhoods. But for some reason she hadn’t come this way before, even though it wasn’t far from where she lived.
Belle waited for a heavily laden brewer’s cart to go by, then crossed over to the hat shop. The window display was lovely, and she stood looking at it for some time. It had an autumnal theme with a branch of a tree, and gold, russet and red paper leaves lying beneath it. Several hats were perched on the tree: a jaunty red one trimmed with long golden and brown feathers, a moss-green one with a wide brim and a veil, a brown velvet bonnet and a beautiful tawny gold cloche-style one decorated with amber beads.
Since she left England she hadn’t once picked up a pencil to draw hats the way she used to back home. In fact, apart from telling Etienne it had always been her dream to have a hat shop, she hadn’t even thought about it once.
But now, as she peered into the shop through the display, it all came back to her. At the back of the shop was a bench, and a very small woman with white hair was standing at it working on a black hat on a stand. She seemed to be fixing a veil to it.
There were dozens of hats displayed all around the small shop, and Belle