They had never had a Christmas tree at home. Annie sneered at them, and in fact she didn’t seem to like any of the traditions of Christmas. At the age of seven Belle had been very disappointed to be told that the red woolly stocking Mog always got her to hang up by the stove for Santa Claus to fill with sweets, nuts and small toys, was in fact filled by Mog too. But even if Annie didn’t embrace Christmas, she did enjoy the feasting element of it. As the house was closed, those of the girls who hadn’t got family near enough to go home to came down to the kitchen, and Belle always remembered it being a very jolly day, with both Mog and her mother getting a bit drunk. Sometimes they had goose, sometimes a big chicken, but there were sausages too, wonderful stuffing and what Mog called her Special Christmas Roast Potatoes. Belle knew Mog would love this French market, for all around her were women who looked very like her, filling up their shopping baskets with special treats for their families.
On one stall a man was roasting a pig on a spit, and Madame Albertine bought two bread rolls stuffed with the roast pork for them to eat as they walked about.
‘This is heavenly!’ Belle exclaimed, rolling her eyes in ecstasy, for she hadn’t tasted anything so good for a very long time. ‘I’m not going to want to leave Marseille at this rate.’
Madame Albertine picked out a Christmas tree along with all the other goods she’d bought, and a young boy promised to bring it to the house later. Madame explained that she had a big box of decorations for it, and Belle could help her with it when they got home.
Belle finally went to bed at midnight, hardly able to believe what a wonderful day she’d had. After the long, lonely time since leaving Martha’s, it was lovely to have female company, and to help with the shopping and cooking and decorating the Christmas tree. Madame Albertine was so easy to talk to that Belle ended up confiding in her about her time in New Orleans, Faldo’s death and how disappointed she’d been that Miss Frank had been so nasty to her. Part of the reason she told her this was because she was fairly certain Arnaud would tell her Belle had worked in a sporting house, if he hadn’t done so already, and she wanted to tell the story her own way, not let him put his slant on it.
When Belle asked her nervously whether she was horrified, Madame Albertine gave one of her expressive Gallic shrugs. ‘Why should I be? I think you are to be admired for your courage and fortitude.’
Belle glowed and felt a great deal better about herself.
*
Christmas Day was just as lovely. First Belle went to church with Madame Albertine and even though the service was all in Latin, and the hymns in French, she loved the smell of the incense, the way everyone was dressed in their best clothes, and the old church was very beautiful.
Belle had put on her best dress, a pale blue crêpe which fitted like a glove down to her hips. It had a ruffle round the neck and another one around the hem which swept up at the back to her waist, creating a kind of bustle effect. She had bought it in New Orleans while she was still at Martha’s, but she never wore it there as the girls said it made her look like a schoolmistress. Belle knew that wasn’t the image it created at all; it was just that all the girls at Martha’s were expected to wear low necklines.
Madame Albertine admired it and said it was the perfect dress for Christmas Day. She gave Belle a blue velvet flower to pin in her hair, which matched the dress perfectly.
After church a few friends came back to the house for a drink. It was the only time during the day that Belle felt a little uneasy and on show, for none of these people could speak English, and they all kept looking at her.
Madame Albertine’s maid was preparing the roast goose while she was entertaining, but once the company had gone home, Belle went into the kitchen with Madame to help out.
The Christmas lunch was to be eaten at three, and there were just three guests, all gentlemen. Madame Albertine had explained before they arrived that they were all businessmen who were unable to get home to their families for Christmas, and that she had quite a reputation for taking in strays at this time of year.
Fortunately all three men spoke quite good English, and though they kept lapsing back into French, they spoke to Belle often enough for her to not feel left out. With champagne before lunch, and then wine, Belle couldn’t retain the men’s full names or what their business was, but it was enough that she could use their Christian names – Pierre, Clovis and Julien.
They all flirted with her and paid her extravagant compliments, and Madame Albertine seemed pleased that everyone was getting on well. Later they played cards, and Belle learned some games she’d never played before. The gentlemen left around eight in the evening, and when a couple of neighbours called in to see Madame, Belle went up to her room, where she fell sound asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
On Boxing Day Arnaud and Avril sent their carriage over to collect Belle and take her to their house for lunch.
They had a small but delightful home high on a hill on the outskirts of the city with an incredible view of both the sea and Marseille. There were several other guests, most of whom spoke good English, but Belle didn’t feel very comfortable for she had a feeling Arnaud and Avril might have told the other guests about her. Nothing was said, they were all pleasant enough, but she felt she was being studied closely, and the men were a little too familiar, so she was quite relieved when it was time to go back to Madame Albertine.
The following morning Madame asked Belle if she would like to go to a dinner party that evening with Clovis, one of the gentlemen who had come to lunch on Christmas Day. ‘He is expected to bring a partner with him, and as he enjoyed your company and thinks you are the prettiest girl in town, he hoped you liked him enough to agree to accompany him.’
Belle was flattered to be asked. Clovis was a man of sophisticated tastes, who had spoken about loving opera and the ballet, and though he was only about thirty she wouldn’t have expected him to want the company of someone as young and gauche as she was. He was handsome too, in a kind of bony, brooding way with high cheekbones, very dark, hooded eyes and an aquiline nose.
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 t
he 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, and squeezed her hand.
In the room adjoining the dining room a band was playing, and hearing a waltz, Belle jumped to her feet and caught hold of Clovis’s hands, urging him to come and dance. She thought she heard some of the others at the table say they would join them, but she didn’t notice whether or not they came on to the dance floor later.
What she did remember was feeling very sleepy and clinging to Clovis. She heard him say something about taking her up to his room, and the next thing she knew, he had his arm around her and was helping her up a huge staircase with a thick, patterned red carpet.
‘You have a room here?’ she asked, trying very hard not to slur her words.
‘Yes, this is where I always stay when I am in Marseille.’
‘But what will they think of me going to your room?’ she asked.
‘Hotels as good as this one don’t have an opinion about their guests’ behaviour,’ he said.
Belle remembered going up the stairs, but it seemed to take for ever to get to the room. Then, contrarywise, it seemed only a second or two before she was entirely naked. She had a vague memory of Clovis standing her before a huge mirror and touching her intimately in a way which was pleasurable but didn’t seem quite right, not for a man who was just supposed to be taking her out to dinner.
Then she remembered him suddenly being naked too, and it was something of a shock to see that his chest and back were covered in thick black hair. At that point she tried to say that this was a mistake and she should go home, but he didn’t listen, just swept her on to the big bed.
Everything was hazy after that. She heard him saying things in French which she suspected were rude, she knew too that he was penetrating her, and even in her drunkenness she felt a sense of shame that she’d let herself down by drinking so much and allowing Clovis to believe this was what she wanted.
She woke later with a raging thirst, and didn’t know where she was at first for the room was so dark. But as she groped out to her side and her hand came into contact with a hairy back, it all came back to her.
She felt sick at letting herself down by getting drunk. What was Madame Albertine going to think of her now? Her head was pounding, she could smell herself, and she needed a drink of water badly. She vaguely remembered that she’d used an adjoining bathroom to this room, so she slid out of the bed and groped her way along the wall. She came to a door, but as she opened it, light flooded in from the corridor. Before she closed it, though, she was able to see there was a second door in the room.
Of all the things Belle valued most in life, a bathroom with a tub with hot and cold water, and a flushing lavatory, was top of her list. Even though there had been one at Martha’s, with so many girls wanting to get in there, and the boiler to heat the water only lit at certain times, her turn for a bath didn’t come as often as she’d like. Madame Albertine’s was nice, she’d even had a thing she called a bidet for washing her bottom. But this hotel bathroom was the best Belle had ever seen, with a washbasin set in a marble stand, a huge bath, and a lavatory and a bidet too, with a black and white tiled floor that shone as though it was wet.
But although Belle took in this luxury, she had barely shut the door behind her before the contents of her stomach rose up, and she only just reached the lavatory in time.
It seemed as though she was retching for hours. One minute she was so cold she had to wrap herself in a bath towel, then she became hot and felt she might pass out from the heat. Finally, when there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, she dragged herself off the floor and looked at herself in the big mirror behind the bath.
Her hair, which she’d spent an hour arranging the night before, securing curls with combs and pins up on the top of her head, was now like tangled brambles, her face was chalk-white and her lips looked swollen and bruised. She was sore below too, and she knew Clovis must have treated her roughly.
When Madame Albertine had first explained the purpose of a bidet, Belle hadn’t really seen the point of it, but as she sat on this one, and the warm water soothed her lower parts, she suddenly understood. Unfortunately, along with enlightenment about bidets, came the sinking feeling she had been set up. She didn’t think a cultured and intelligent man like Clovis would take advantage of a woman who’d had too much to drink, not unless he knew she wasn’t in a position to make a complaint against him.
That meant Madame Albertine must have told him what she was, and that made Belle cry, for she’d liked Albertine, really liked her, and she’d thought her secrets safe with her.
Belle stayed in the bathroom for what seemed like hours. She washed herself all over, combed her hair, and drank copious amounts of water until she felt completely sober again. Then she crept back into the dark bedroom and groped around on the floor until she found all her clothes.
A peep through the curtains revealed that it was still night, with not even a hint of dawn approaching, and along with not knowing how to get back to Madame Albertine’s, she wasn’t anxious to be seen leaving by a night porter. So, once dressed, she took an eiderdown which had fallen from the bed, and sat down on the chaise longue by the window and covered herself up to keep warm, while she thought about how she was going to deal with her predicament.
Clovis was snoring softly, a rather endearing sound in many ways, and Belle wished she could believe that he’d only brought her up here intending to let her sleep off the drink, but then lust got the better of him. Sadly, however, she knew men too well to believe that. Ironically, she might have willingly gone to bed with him at a later date, for she had really liked him.
But thinking back to how they met at the Christmas lunch, it came to her like a lightning bolt that Madame Albertine might in fact have been displaying her, both then and earlier in the day, to her other friends, preparing to offer her to the highest bidder. Belle was horrified, for it was surely the worst kind of betrayal of all. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt she was right, and what was more, Madame Albertine wouldn’t have been in this venture alone: her most obvious partner in crime was Arnaud.
Belle could see the whole picture now. Arnaud offered to g
et a cab and take her to a place he knew, because he’d planned ahead. It was possible Madame Albertine already ran a brothel, and she was delighted Arnaud had brought her a new recruit. Belle understood now why she felt uncomfortable at Arnaud’s house; his friends had known what she was and might even have been making him offers for her.
Tonight’s dinner party had been the bait to hook Belle.
And she’d swallowed it hook, line and sinker. All it took for her was a handsome, attentive escort, a stunning dress and too much to drink. By going willingly to Clovis’s room she couldn’t complain about whatever he did to her.
But of course Madame Albertine wasn’t expecting her to complain. She would undoubtedly commiserate with Belle when she got home later this morning, but then gently suggest she might as well do it for money in future; after all, it would be the quickest way to earn enough for the train ticket home to England.
Whether it was Madame Albertine or Arnaud who found the customers, there was no doubt they’d be sharing the money she made. Belle would be back in exactly the same position she’d been in with Martha.
She knew that all ports had whorehouses, and although there were no other girls at Madame Albertine’s, and the house didn’t look anything like a brothel, it was more than possible that the two of them planned to put her in one nearby. She supposed that it wasn’t really logical to be angry as she’d been intending to work as a whore anyway. But it was the deception that stung. Madame Albertine had paraded her around as if she just wanted Belle to have a nice time, but all the time she was seeing her simply as a piece of merchandise to be sold off to the highest bidder.
Belle sat there thinking for a moment or two, then got up and went over to Clovis’s jacket which he’d tossed on the floor. She found his wallet and withdrew five twenty-franc notes. She reckoned that was worth about twenty dollars, a fair enough price for a night with a top-end whore.