Belle - Lesley Pearse [140]
As the weather turned cooler in October Belle could have been really happy but for anxiety about her relationship with Faldo. She loved working with Miss Frank, and she felt proud of herself for mastering the art of millinery, and that she appeared to be developing a real talent for designing hats. It was also good to be able to tuck away her earnings knowing that each dollar she got meant she was a little nearer to being able to leave New Orleans.
But however hard she tried to please Faldo, it wasn’t making him any nicer to her. She was the perfect mistress; she flattered him, asked him about his work, tried to make him relax and made sure she was always looking her best in the evenings in case he turned up. But he still wouldn’t tell her when he was coming next, and now he was coming so late that he didn’t even bother with a few moments of chit-chat, just wanted to go straight to bed.
He’d usually been drinking too, and if that meant he couldn’t get hard, he blamed her. Time and again she’d had to bite her tongue for fear of telling him just what she thought of him. In the morning he rarely stayed long enough for even a cup of coffee.
One night she had tried to talk to him about why he was so different to her now.
‘You used to be so pleased to see me, you were kind and loving,’ she said, beginning to cry. ‘Don’t you remember what it was like those two nights you stayed all night? If you don’t feel like that any more then maybe I should leave this house and try and find some work to keep myself.’
‘The only place you could find work is in one of the cribs down in Robertson Street,’ he said with a sneer.
‘How can you say something so insulting to me?’ she sobbed. ‘I came here because I thought you cared about me. What have I done that is so bad you’d liken me to one of those disease-ridden hags?’
She thought he was going to strike her, for he took a couple of menacing steps towards her. But he stopped himself just in time and turned away. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said. ‘I’m tired, and just remember that if it wasn’t for me you’d be servicing at least ten men a night.’
He left the next morning at dawn – she woke and saw him creeping out of the room, his boots in his hands. She thought he was ashamed of himself and so she pretended she was still asleep.
She fully expected that once he’d thought over what she’d said he would revert back to the way he’d been at Martha’s. But it wasn’t to be. Instead of improving, he’d grown steadily worse, becoming more taciturn and sharp each time he called. Belle thought he must be feeling guilty that he was committing adultery, that he wanted to end it, but didn’t know how to.
She wished she had enough money just to go, and be done with it.
One Wednesday night in early November, Belle was startled to hear Faldo opening the front door with his key. She was sitting at the kitchen table sketching a hat, still in the plain navy blue dress she wore daily to the hat shop. The dishes from her supper were unwashed in the sink, and there was washing drying in front of the stove. She hadn’t bothered to tidy herself or the house as he had been with her on Monday and she hadn’t expected him to return again that week.
‘Faldo!’ she exclaimed in surprise as he strode through the living-room and bedroom into the kitchen. ‘I wasn’t expecting another visit this week! But how nice!’
He stood in the doorway, looking around the kitchen with a contemptuous expression. ‘So this is how you carry on when I’m not here,’ he said.
Belle hastily shut her sketching pad and got up from the table to go and hug him. ‘I’d have cleared up and dressed in something less drab if I’d known you were coming.’
‘I can’t bear slovenliness,’ he said sharply, pushing her away from him.
‘Everywhere else but the kitchen is clean and tidy,’ she said defensively. ‘But what’s it to you anyway whether