Belle - Lesley Pearse [166]
In the end she asked a doorman about hotels, pretending that she was looking for a place for her aunt and mother to stay. He gave her a list of four hotels, then added the Hôtel Ritz in Place Vendôme. He smirked as he did so. ‘Vous devez être très riche pour y rester,’ he said.
She was fairly certain he’d said you had to be very rich to stay there, so she immediately felt that had to be the right place for her.
Place Vendôme was a large square, which looked almost circular as the buildings were bevelled at the corners with just two entrances to the square, one on each side. Belle knew right away that it was a very special place as the beautiful symmetrical buildings were possibly two centuries older than the ones on the wide boulevards she’d seen while she was walking about, and only four storeys high rather than the six that appeared to be the norm in the city. In the centre of the paved square was a huge bronze pillar, and as she stood there looking up at it, wondering if it was Napoleon on the top, she overheard an English gentleman in a frock coat and top hat explaining to his wife that it had been made out of hundreds of cannons that Napoleon had captured in his battles. As she watched, the couple went into one of the many jewellers around the square. Anyone could see just by looking at the displays in the windows of these shops that they were not for ordinary people: sparkling diamond necklaces, rings with huge sapphires, emeralds and rubies so magnificent they almost took her breath away.
The Ritz did not shout its presence in the square, in fact she had to look quite hard to see the discreet gold signs above the doors. She remembered Mog telling her that the very best hotels in London were the ones that had quiet dignity. The Ritz certainly had that, and she hoped that because it was so grand and expensive few other girls would have the nerve to try their hand there. Whether this was a wise plan she didn’t know, but Martha had always said her girls should aim high.
By the time Belle got back to the Mirabeau to change she was tired as she’d walked miles following her map. She knew that soon she must learn to use the Métropolitain train – after all, people in London used the underground all the time and the one here couldn’t be that different. But she had only been on the underground once with her mother, and she’d found it very confusing.
Yet walking had been good as she’d seen the Arc du Triomphe and caught sight of the amazing Eiffel Tower, which she remembered being told at school was the tallest building in the world. She’d also wandered into places that were every bit as squalid and frightening as their counterparts in London. She told herself she would explore the whole city bit by bit and learn to love it. She would go into milliners’ shops and look at their hats to get ideas, and indeed study all aspects of French fashion. But before all that, she had to take the plunge and go back to the Ritz tonight.
Belle’s nerve almost left her when she got back to Place Vendôme at seven-thirty. She knew she looked good in her red costume with her hair pinned up, but the enormity of what she intended to do, and the possibility she might be forcibly thrown out of the Ritz, made her knees knock together.
She had thought the Place Vendôme intimidating enough by day, but seen by gaslight, with dozens of private carriages waiting, some of which even had coats of arms on the doors, and a sprinkling of gleaming motor cars, she felt out of her depth. Just the way the light from the twinkling crystal chandelier in the entrance hall of the hotel shone out through the glass on the shiny wood doors, or the huge flower arrangement she caught a glimpse of as she walked by, spoke of famous guests, possibly even royalty.
Belle took a deep breath, put her head up and walked purposefully towards the door. She was terrified, but she wasn’t going to back away now. Rich men always wanted women. She could do this.
‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle,’ the liveried doorman said with a smile as he opened the