Belle - Lesley Pearse [171]
If Gabrielle Herrison had worked out for herself what her English guest did for a living, it didn’t seem to trouble her. If she was up when Belle returned in the early morning, she always got her some coffee and a couple of croissants, even if it was too early for breakfast. She offered to wash her clothes too, and Belle in turn bought Gabrielle flowers each week as a token of her appreciation. Gabrielle wasn’t one for conversation, just a smile and a few words now and then, but in those few words Belle sensed the woman liked her and cared about her.
Belle was very curious about her landlady. She felt there was a good story there, as Gabrielle had told her the pictures in the hall had been painted by a man friend who had died. Belle felt certain he had been Gabrielle’s lover, for her eyes grew misty when she looked at the pictures. She hoped one day Gabrielle would tell her about him.
Belle went out with gentlemen three or four nights a week. It was rarely with someone staying at the Ritz; Pascal had connections in many different areas. But whether the arrangement was to meet up in another hotel, a restaurant or even the gentleman’s own home, they were always very rich and possibly influential men.
Belle had assumed that Bernard, her first client, was an oddity, but in fact most of the men she met through Pascal had some kind of quirk, and they were often much stranger than Bernard. She had one who asked her to walk around naked in the moonlight while he masturbated, and another who wanted to be spanked with a slipper. She’d had a couple of men who had wanted to play rough with her too, but fortunately she’d been able to extricate herself quickly before any real harm was done. One man wanted her to order him around and liked her to swear at him if he disobeyed her. There had even been one man who liked to play horses. He crawled on his hands and knees and she had to ride naked on his back. At least half of her gentlemen didn’t seem to be able to manage penetrative sex.
She remembered how Etienne had told her she should try to love her clients. That was a tall order, but she did genuinely find plenty to like about most of them, for so far they had all been intelligent and usually interesting. She never failed to act as if each of them was very special to her. And she knew she was successful at this as many of her gentlemen had asked to see her again and made further arrangements with Pascal.
Almost daily she counted up the money she’d made. Although she had enough to get home now, she felt she must earn more so that she could return in triumph, a proud survivor with a nest egg to start her hat shop. She didn’t want to be dependent on her mother and Mog.
She daydreamed constantly of walking into the kitchen back home and surprising Mog. She could almost hear her shrieks of delight and imagine being enfolded in her arms. It was harder to imagine her mother’s reaction: she would of course be thrilled to have her daughter home, but Annie had never been one for showing her feelings or demonstrating affection.
Then there was Jimmy. He might be married now of course, or at least have a young lady, but Belle was sure he would want to see her, if only for old times’ sake, and she so looked forward to seeing him again.
Yet much as she dreamed of home, and longed to be there, she also knew she would never be able to enjoy the freedom there that she had here in Paris. She sometimes chatted to English people she met in the cafés of Montmartre and St-Germain and they all said that what they loved most about Paris was its lack of prudishness, its gaiety and sense of fun. She had noticed herself that Parisians didn’t seem to care much about class; they embraced artists, poets, writers and musicians as being just as vital as doctors, lawyers or any other professionals. She had never once been asked how she made a living,