The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte

by Lesley Truffle

  Two days later, Roger Dasher was less than thrilled to have a personal thank you visit from Mrs Floros, in her position as chairwoman for the Abandoned Wives Charity Organisation. To his absolute horror he discovered he was now considered a generous philanthropist.

  During afternoon tea in the patisserie, Mrs Floros crammed the second half of an éclair into her mouth and stated thickly, ‘Oh this is heaven. Another éclair please, Sasha. One of the long dark ones. Yes, that big one will do nicely.’

  I placed a phallic-shaped chocolate éclair on her plate. ‘I’m so glad you like them. Did you know that éclair, in French, literally means lightning bolt?’

  She sank most of the éclair in one mighty bite. Dolores widened her eyes at me and smiled knowingly.

  Mrs Floros spoke with her mouth full. ‘Umphh . . . I’ve died and gone to heaven. Your éclairs will be the death of me. You know, no one in the Abandoned Wives Charity Organisation can believe such generosity from Mr Roger Dasher.’

  ‘Really?’

  She slowly licked her fingers one by one and her eyes glazed over. ‘I suppose it’s hereditary, Clare Dasher has always been so very kind to those less fortunate than herself. We’ve all been wrong about Mr Dasher, beneath that arrogant exterior he’s just shy, unsure of himself. Such a fine, strapping young man. So clever, tall and oh so handsome. Don’t you agree, Dolores?’

  Dolores gave me a sly wink. ‘Mr Dasher cuts a fine figure indeed, Madam.’

  Mrs Floros crammed the last half of the éclair into her gob and burped. ‘I feel so guilty at having tried to keep my girls away from him. Eva reckons, “He looks just like the Archangel Gabriel, with that heavenly blond hair of his.” Ones shudders to think that a few weeks ago I called him to his face: a base womaniser, an irresponsible gambler and a conceited bounder. I’m so very ashamed of myself.’

  I remained expressionless even though the devil was beckoning me and Dolores was slyly digging me in the ribs. ‘But Mrs Floros, you’re forgetting that Roger has earnt his bad reputation. What about that innocent young girl he reputedly seduced and deflowered?’

  ‘Oh her! It’s only idle gossip, my dear. Personally I don’t think Mr Dasher would be capable of such base behaviour. You know, I’m thinking I should invite him to one of my At Homes. And try to entice the dear boy out of his shell.’

  Lucifer whispered in my ear again and I couldn’t resist. ‘An excellent idea Mrs Floros. Perhaps you could also favour Roger with a visit from your two lovely daughters? With both his brothers away at sea, Roger’s probably pining for some lively young company. One hates to think of him all alone on that huge estate.’

  Dolores snorted but Mrs Floros was so busy perusing the cakes on display that she didn’t hear her.

  Mrs Floros murmured, ‘Yes, you’re absolutely right, Miss Torte. How kind and thoughtful you are, my dear.’

  Oh my goodness. It seemed that Grandpa had been correct. Nothing is more forgiving than money applied with dexterity and charm.

  On the eve of the Dasher Winter Ball I was working late at my shop. Dolores and Maggie were so plum tuckered out they’d gone to bed. Snuff had also turned in as he had to rise before four am, to stoke the wood-fired ovens and bake the day’s supply of bread. Lined up neatly in rows, the breads were slowly rising in their calico-lined baskets. I appreciatively sniffed the comforting aroma of warm dough. In the half-light the loaves gave the appearance of plump babies tucked up for the night and when I lightly prodded one it felt strangely alive.

  I poured myself a wee nightcap of cooking brandy and relaxed in front of the kitchen fire. I’ve always enjoyed my own company, especially when I’m worn out from socialising with my fellow human beings. At times like that I think the best company is that of a loyal mongrel. Or a very silent, extremely handsome, virile man.

  After a while all chatter from the staff quarters upstairs ceased and I was alone in the quiet of the kitchen. The fire had died down and the glowing embers left me feeling somewhat chilled as I was only wearing my kitchen garb of a thin blue linen gown, cotton petticoats and bloomers, and a kitchen apron. I was too exhausted to even think about going upstairs to fetch a shawl. I never worry about fashion when I’m working, I just keep it simple and functional. I’d learnt from Lily that stays and restrictive undergarments contribute nothing to a woman’s comfort when she is slaving away over a hot stove or flexing her biceps as she kneads bread dough.

  The only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock and a few stray drunks struggling up the street, their hobnailed boots clattering over the cobblestones. Down on the docks a chippy screamed at the top of her lungs, ‘Go on then, you big, daft bastard. But don’t you come creeping back to my bed, once you’ve had your paws all over that slut. She ain’t nothing but a mangy piece of mutton tarted up as lamb.’

  Ah yes. The cosmopolitan delights of living in close proximity to a working port.

  The town hall clock struck one hour after midnight as I proudly surveyed my handiwork. My champagne supper would surpass all those that had gone before it. We’d devised a large selection of exquisite dishes. Snuff and Charlie were in charge of the savoury fare, while I’d directed all my efforts to spun sugar sculptures, chocolates, pastries and gateaux. Several dishes would be finished off on the actual day but we’d already created most of the culinary delights. These would be washed down on the night with premium French champagne.

  I’d also baked several dozen choux profiteroles for the exceedingly large croquembouche. The profiteroles would be lanced with a delicate brandy-cream, piled high, bonded with golden toffee and decorated with hothouse roses. Croquembouche are wide at the base, then taper to a peaked top, so I’d commissioned cone-shaped scaffolding on which to shape the profiteroles. I envisioned the croquembouche embellished with red rose petals. It would be carried to the dining hall on a gold platter, borne aloft by six handsome young men. They’d be burnished all over with gold paint and wearing nothing but red satin loincloths. By anybody’s reckoning this would seem recklessly extravagant but I was determined to make the occasion a raging success.

  From Lily I’d learnt the importance of carefully documenting all tasks and accordingly the last task for the night was to check my lists were in order. I felt great satisfaction ticking off completed items but my heart was heavy. I missed those sleepless nights when Lily and I would stoke up the kitchen fire, make hot cocoa and read ghost stories out loud. We’d also laughed like banshees as we plotted our next move into polite society. If one is a rabid insomniac it’s advisable to acquire a fellow insomniac to help kill the midnight hours. It can be very lonely when everyone else is snoring in their warm beds.

  I paused when I heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. A carriage door slammed, then I heard heavy footsteps followed by loud knocking. I was happy in my own world and just wanted to retire to the comfort of my own bed. Who could be calling so late? I waited, hardly daring to breathe as I silently willed them to go away. No such luck.

  ‘Miss Torte. It is I – Roger Dasher. I really must speak with you.’

  I remained mute, hoping he would bugger off.

  He laughed. ‘Look, I know you’re in there. Your lamp is on and I can see your alluring silhouette shadowed against the window.’

  Damnit. He’d caught me out so I answered in polite but distant tones, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Dasher, but I’m about to retire. It’s very late for a social call.’

  ‘Fret not. You won’t be compromised as nobody is around and my loyal manservant is with me. Don’t stand on ceremony, I only want five minutes of your time. I left Strahan early just on the off chance of catching you. Come on, I’ve spent hours on the road with potholes all the way. Have a heart, it’s freezing out here.’

  Against my better judgment, I undid all five locks and pulled back the heavy door. ‘All right, Roger, but you’ve only got five minutes. No longer.’

  ‘Sasha, you have my word. I swear on my heart that I will not outstay your reluctant welcome.’

  R
oger entered with a sly smile. He was followed by Basil bearing a strange oblong object shrouded in green velvet and another square item wrapped in burlap. Basil carefully deposited both items on the marble pastry slab. Roger was in evening dress: a tailored evening jacket, silk opera hat and a superb crimson-lined black velvet cloak. His blond hair was slicked back and his tanned cheekbones were sharply defined by the starched white collar of his evening shirt. Privately I had to acknowledge that he was physically well favoured. On his lapel he sported a jaunty white rosebud, incongruously out of season.

  He tore off his cloak, white gloves and top hat and negligently dropped them onto the floury pastry bench. Basil watched from the doorway, silent as a tomb as usual. When Roger clicked his fingers Basil handed him the square object wrapped in burlap.

  Roger whipped away the burlap and placed an exquisite lacquered box in front of me. The top of the box was inlaid with precious stones and mother-of-pearl. ‘Still working at this hour, my sweet?’

  I ignored the lovely box and pretended to be busy putting away the carving knives. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘You should be entertaining a lover instead of slaving over a hot oven. How strange you are, choosing to spend the evening covered in flour when you could have been enjoying a delectable dinner with me. I couldn’t believe it when you declined Wilberforce Frederick’s invitation. We were so sure you wouldn’t be able to resist.’

  ‘Roger, the idea of dining with you and your slippery cohorts holds no appeal.’

  ‘That hurt, my sweet. Mind you, most blokes wouldn’t fancy you in that hideous outfit. It’s hardly the stuff of erotic dreams but strangely enough I adore you even when you look like this. But what on earth have you got on your feet?’

  ‘Don’t be snide, Roger. You know damned well that my staff and I wear clogs in the kitchen. They protect our toes from accidents with heavy cookware and sharp knives. It’s something Charlie taught me and fashion doesn’t come into it. Furthermore, may I remind you that I’ve been knocking myself out organising a wonderful champagne supper for your mother’s ball.’

  Roger shrugged and grinned. ‘It must be hard work titillating all those jaded appetites. Come here, Sasha.’

  He reached across the table and tried to brush away the flour on my cheek. I leapt backwards as though stung and snapped, ‘Don’t touch me!’

  Roger turned to his manservant. ‘Ah yes. You can always pick the virgins, Basil. They’re the ones shrieking at the mere thought of being caressed by a real man. Sending their prayers to the heavens, Oh Lord, what should I do if this handsome bastard has the temerity to touch me? Sexual pleasuring is all they think about. Small wonder our local virgins are in hot pursuit of Mr Tremont Pearson. His chilly remoteness provides them with the most agreeable fantasies.’

  ‘If you’ve come to insult me or denigrate family friends, you can bloody well shove off now. Mr Pearson is a genuinely charming gentleman. Unlike you.’

  ‘Sasha, Sasha, I’m sorry. It was without doubt a poorly made jest, crude to the point of insult. I meant no harm and am quite fond of our talented Mr Pearson. I especially admire his maintenance of good humour while being constantly hunted down by famished females. Come, please open the box. I had it crafted in Strahan by a skilled Polish artisan. Just for you.’

  ‘Your five minutes is up and I’d like you to leave, Roger.’

  ‘Here, I’ll wind it up for you. Basil, put the other over there away from the fire. Just take a quick look, my sweet.’

  Curiosity killed the cat. I couldn’t resist and when I lifted the lid a little porcelain Sasha Torte figurine popped up. With large breasts, small waist, green glass eyes, smooth porcelain skin and hinged limbs. She even had my black beauty spot on her left cheek and was dressed in a tiny starched apron, simple blue dress and minute wooden kitchen clogs. Her partner was a handsome wolf and his eyes glittered with comic evil intent. They danced languidly to a Strauss waltz. Her long hair whisked in red waves around them and I had to laugh. The artisan had really done a beautiful job of it, it was the most splendid music box I’d ever seen. And here’s where I made my first mistake – I dropped my guard just for a few seconds.

  Roger pulled me towards him and kissed me. I pushed him away and retreated behind the table. Childishly I rubbed my defiled cheek with a wet dishcloth. Roger smirked and seemed well pleased with himself. I felt ridiculous and knew damned well that he was aware of it. He laconically raised an eyebrow as he offered me his monogrammed cigarillo case. I ignored him.

  He sat down on the kitchen table, lit up and flicked ash all over my freshly mopped floor. Roger didn’t take his eyes off me for an instant. Basil slouched against the sink, picking his teeth. It looked like they were settling in for the night. I thought of waking up Snuff and getting him to eject them but then Roger would conclude that I feared him. And he’d be right.

  Roger rewound the music box. ‘Ah, Basil, it appears I’ve finally succeeded. Every woman has her price. It’s simply a case of tapping the desire, after which it’s just buy and sell. Miss Torte is a little more resistive that the rest, her intelligence gets in the way of her desires. Most unusual for the fairer sex, I must say.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  Basil snickered. Roger shrugged. ‘I must say, my sweet, it’s a rare female who has no appreciation of diamonds. Incidentally, that bracelet you so generously donated on my behalf? It cost enough to fund an entire Indian colony for a fucking decade. You’ve no idea the trouble you have caused. Now that I’m publicly known as the Patron Saint of Abandoned Women, my reputation as a hellraiser is in ruins. Ruins.’

  ‘I doubt that, Roger. I’ve had it on good authority that you’re still hard at work seducing Wolfftown’s latest crop of ripening virgins and carving a path of destruction through the disenchanted wives of the region.’

  ‘You’re so unkind, Sasha. One can only assume that the ghastly Mrs Adair has been spreading her poison yet again. One day I shall set my hunting dogs upon her. Ah . . . but now I remember, at some bloke’s funeral you chomped into her like a rabid mongrel. Good work. Tell me, I’ve always been curious, what does human flesh taste like? An avalanche survivor I met in the Himalayas reckoned it’s a cross between chicken and pork. He ate both his wife and their loyal Sherpa.’

  Basil snickered again.

  ‘I was a child at the time, Roger. It was my father’s funeral and I’d been left without any parents. Why are you deliberately trying to humiliate me?’

  ‘Why not? You started this game, Sasha. And thanks to your latest move proud mothers are flinging their daughters at me. Eva Floros almost had me in a headlock yesterday afternoon during her mother’s tennis social; it was all about cucumber sandwiches, warm gin and tedious play. Eva got half-cut on gin, trapped me behind the Aspidistras and begged me to ravish her. I had difficulty shaking her off.’

  ‘Balderdash!’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth, Miss Floros is voracious. She told me I look like the Archangel Gabriel for fuck’s sake. Apparently she can’t sleep at night because she yearns to be smothered in my feathered wings.’

  I snorted but I knew he was telling the truth, because Mrs Floros had mentioned Eva’s infatuation with Roger.

  He tried to caress my hand. ‘Truly the sport of stealing maidenheads has lost its allure. There’s no joy in being the only fox in the hen house, when all the chickens are willingly offering themselves up without a fight. It used to be an invigorating blood sport and I excelled at it.’

  I backed right away from him. ‘You’re shameless, Roger. I know what you do to those hapless girls you take out on your sailboat. You’re nothing more than a ruthless, conceited pantsman.’

  Roger yawned and cracked his knuckles. ‘Come now, you’re slipping, my sweet. You’ve omitted to mention: insatiable, irreverent, base, immoral, dishonourable, debauched and manipulative. Yes, we could bicker all night, but let’s not dwell on the past. I’m a reformed man and live only for your happiness.’

  ‘Liar.�
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  ‘You’re breaking my heart. I adore you Sasha, and my dream of winning you over and receiving your tender kisses is the only thing keeping me alive. For fuck’s sake, either marry me or shoot me and put me out of my misery.’

  ‘You must think I’m naive to the point of stupidity.’

  ‘Ah Basil my good man, her coldness is distressing but I’ll not be vanquished. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” At this rate she’ll turn into an embittered spinster. Such succulent sweet beauty does not last forever, especially if it remains unplucked. Do bring Miss Torte’s other present over here, Basil. And then we shall leave as requested. It seems that my lady doesn’t have a heart after all.’

  Basil placed the second object on the table but he didn’t remove its green velvet cover. My nerves were in a state of disarray; something under the velvet shroud was tempting me. It was dangerous and forbidden. I glanced at it with feigned disinterest and then turned my back on it. But even without looking at the object I could still feel its insidious power. I rinsed out a dishcloth and made a big show of doing a final clean up.

  Supposedly absorbed in wiping down the pastry marble, I said, ‘The artisan who made the music box is very gifted but I simply cannot accept it. To do so would encourage your attentions and I want nothing further to do with you.’

  ‘Sasha, there are no strings attached. Please keep it. You know it can only be owned and appreciated by you. Let me show you something else and then I’ll leave. I promise.’

  He whisked away the velvet cloth and curiosity compelled me to look. Resistance was useless and my feet carried me towards the exotic ceramic jar. It was Eastern in style and sealed with a waxy substance. I detected a faint green light emanating from the jar. I yawned and tried to sound unimpressed. ‘What is it?’