Belle - Lesley Pearse [158]
Belle said she would love to go, but she didn’t think she had an appropriate dress to wear. ‘I’ve got a couple of plain day dresses, and there’s the blue dress I wore over Christmas, but the only other one is red satin. I think that might tell people what I am.’
Madame Albertine laughed merrily. ‘Ma chérie, this is France, we do not judge here, but maybe I have something more suitable tucked away. I was as slender as you once and I have never sold or given away any of my lovely gowns.’
She found Belle a black lace gown which fitted like a glove. It was a classic figure-hugging, long-sleeved style which flared out from just above the knee into a cascade of ruffles to the floor. The lining of the dress was a camisole style, so Belle’s shoulders, arms and the swell of her breasts could be glimpsed through the lace.
‘I have had some wonderful times wearing this dress,’ Madame chuckled. ‘Men always said it was alluring, I think they found the glimpse of flesh provocative.’
The dinner was in the restaurant of a very grand hotel in the centre of Marseille. Clovis said Belle looked beautiful when he came to collect her in a fiacre, and he seemed so genuinely excited to be with her that Belle didn’t feel nervous at all when he swept her into the hotel on his arm to meet his friends.
They were twelve in number. The other five women were all attractive, beautifully dressed and dripping in jewellery, but somewhat older than Belle. They were charming, however, and appeared to believe the story Madame Albertine had suggested to Belle, that she had been sent to her aunt in New Orleans when her mother died. Belle added that her aunt had a milliner’s shop where she worked making and selling hats. She found the story tripped off her tongue easily – after all, there were elements of truth in it – and she even made everyone laugh by describing some of the oddest customers who had come into the hat shop.
Strangely, no one asked why she got a ship bound for Marseille, but most of the company knew the Germaines, so the story of her taking care of Avril when she was seasick had preceded her. Belle felt good to be looked upon as a spirited and kind-hearted girl, and to bask in Clovis’s admiration.
Had Belle been invited to a dinner party like this one in London, her accent would have betrayed that she was from the lower classes. But fortunately being away in America for so long had probably partially masked that, and of course being French, their ears weren’t tuned into the finer points of English accents. Martha had always complimented Belle on her good manners – that she had to thank Mog for – but when she first saw the array of cutlery and different glasses on the table, she did have a moment of fear.
She picked up whatever everyone else did, however, and found she was able to really enjoy being in a swanky hotel, with a handsome and attentive partner, drinking champagne and eating wonderful food, and being something of the centre of attention. She knew she looked sensational in the lace evening gown; she might not have diamonds around her neck like the other women, only some red glass beads, but she was young and beautiful and the world was at her feet.
Belle realized she’d drunk too much when she got up from the table after dessert. She found it hard to walk in a straight line, and people’s faces looked a little blurred. A small voice at the back of her head told her that being drunk with people she hardly knew was dangerous, but she wasn’t prepared to listen to that voice, she was having too much fun.
When Belle got back from the powder room she was offered a liqueur. It tasted of coffee and she drank it down in one.
‘Are you all right, Belle?’ Clovis asked.
She turned to him, put her hand on his cheek and looked into his dark, hooded eyes. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, though it seemed hard to get the words out. ‘I’d be even better with a kiss.’
‘You shall have one later,’ he said,