Language in the Blood

  ***

  I had become very aware of my good looks and how they got me things. When I’d arrived in Paris I had lived like a down and out until Hélène had taken me under her wing. She had dressed me and styled me as she did herself, as an impoverished artist, and it had worked as we made our way into the art collectors’ world.

  Then Charley had taken me under his wing and I had grown to admire and resent him in equal measure. I wanted to be him. He’d taught me everything there was to know about fashion and how to be the well-dressed man about town, but I wasn’t Charley and couldn’t afford his tailor. I knew what to look out for though and if I spotted a snazzy suit in my size, I would follow it home and it would disappear into my closet the next night. I told Charley that I now worked as a metro driver. He had no clue about how much money metro drivers made and he didn’t question the growing wardrobe or the fact that I suddenly seemed to have a lot more cash.

  Older women, in particular, responded to the well-dressed, handsome young man I’d become. Through Charley’s continued presence on the party circuit, I encountered many wealthy, older women who were pleasantly surprised at my new look. They occasionally asked me if I would accompany them to a party or an exhibition and I’d shamelessly admit to having nothing to wear. Then something would just turn up in a nice, expensive box. I didn’t mind older women; they had experience and I liked that. I had something to sell and they didn’t mind paying for it. Charley didn’t like it at all.

  ‘First Ivana and now Mrs Taylor and Mrs Warner. You’re turning into a right hussy!’

  ‘They’re nice women and they buy me stuff, look Mrs Warner bought me these cufflinks,’ I said showing off my latest gift.

  ‘I could give you money if you’re that hard up,’ snapped Charley

  ‘Now where would be the challenge in that?’ I asked calmly. I liked beautiful things and I didn’t care how I acquired them.

  ‘I don’t like what you are becoming. You’re cold and calculating,’ he told me with a disapproving look.

  ‘Nonsense. Everyone’s happy with the arrangement. Women use their looks to their advantage all the time. Why can’t I?’

  Charley leaned back, smoking, and gave me a long hard stare. ‘You know your problem Cameron? You’re just too handsome for your own darn good.’

  I didn’t care that he thought that was a bad thing. In my mind, you couldn’t possibly be too rich or too handsome and I had no intention of letting anything get in the way of my gathering treasure or feeding.