by Anita Dobs
The Connection
The allure of London weighed heavily on Victoria's mind. She'd always liked the city, despite the rain, despite the stodgy food, despite herself. Her father had always seemed more English than American in some ways. He'd been a strong disciplinarian and quite distant throughout most of Victoria's childhood. His almost regimental treatment of her and her older brother had sometimes made the pair of them feel like putting one foot out of place or saying the wrong word would arouse his ire and disapproval. This had been one of the factors that had in fact made Victoria one of the hardest workers and perfectionists in the business.
She was never late, she always said the right thing, and she was above all, the consummate professional. It had won her strong social connections with all the right people, and had been one of the major reasons she was always booked for the high profile shows that had led to her fame. But it was tiring always being perfect and controlled, in word and action. All the men that were attracted to her seemed somehow weaker than her, that was, until she'd met Philip Claringdale. If anything, he was far more controlled and measured than she was. She wondered what his upbringing had been like, and if it had been in anyway similar to her own. Unfortunately, she hadn't really had much of a chance to ask him about his childhood or too much of anything else either! He was always distant, but it was his flashes of passion and certain looks he'd give her sometimes, that seemed to draw Victoria further into his world.
Going through the channel tunnel from Paris to London, Victoria absentmindedly flicked through her magazine and then realized looking at clothes and pictures of other models, and even of herself in one ad, was no useful form of escapism from her job at all. In Paris, one of her ex lovers had taken her out on the town, just for 'old times sake', he'd said; but it had soon turned into him trying to seduce her. Had it not been for Philip, she'd probably have gone back with him to his penthouse apartment on the Champs-Elysees. She'd always liked that apartment of his, and the fact that he was one of the few non-gay fashion designers in Paris certainly helped. The view at night from his balcony was enchanting, with the arc de triomphe at one end, and the throng of night time shoppers below. Sipping champagne with him on the balcony had been one of the things she had always looked forward to about going to Paris, and Sacha was rather easy on the eye. He'd always been one of those 'casual sex friends' she would see when they were both in the same city. It was just something they had slipped into since they'd broken up. But when he had tried to touch her face as they stood beside the Seine river that night, one week previous, she'd felt cold, but it wasn't the wind or the autumn chill, it was the fact that another man was touching her that wasn't Lord Philip. The truth was, nothing in the contract had required her to be technically faithful, and she'd honestly not thought of the whole thing in that way, but somehow, her body or her heart, wouldn't allow her to be with another man.
This time, going back to London she'd not asked Cindy to meet her, just in case Philip sent someone to pick her up, although quite how he would know when and where she was arriving was a mystery to her, he'd known the last time though. Was he spying on her, she asked herself in a moment of clarity; and knowing she should feel affronted by that, she surprised herself by realizing she liked the thought of it. Quite what kind of people he knew that were capable of finding out information about her that other people couldn't, was an enigma, but then again, most things about Philip Claringdale were. As the train pulled into Waterloo station, Victoria pulled her hand luggage down from the overhead compartment getting ready to exit the train, and almost knocked out a rather fat gentleman sitting below.
“I'm so sorry!” Said Victoria, looking at the man rubbing his head.
Her thoughts had been elsewhere, and she'd forgotten just how deceptively heavy her luggage was.
“If you are unable to actually pull your own luggage down,” began the man angrily, “Then might I suggest next time you store it somewhere else, or ask for help!”
“I'm really very sorry.” Said Victoria, feeling bad and a little embarrassed as people in the seats in front and to the side were now looking at her.
“Hey.” said the man suddenly, looking at her directly for the first time, “Aren't you Victoria Hunt, the model?”
“Urm, yes, I am.” Replied Victoria, sensing a lawsuit coming on.
“You know, my daughter is a big fan of yours, can I get your autograph?”
Victoria felt relived and sighed, but the man took it as a sign of reluctance on her part.
“I think it's not too much to ask when you've just almost given me brain damage.” Said the man.
“Oh no, no, it's no trouble at all, it's my pleasure, do you have a pen?” Victoria asked.
The man fumbled in his jacket and found one, and then searched for something for Victoria to write the autograph on. Taking his wallet out, he riffled through it, looking for some paper but at last settling on a picture of his daughter, asking Victoria to autograph the back of it.
“Do you want me to say anything?” Asked Victoria,
“Just say good luck with your dream of becoming a model.” He said, still rubbing his head trying to see if a bump was forming.
“She wants to be a model?” Asked Victoria, turning the photo back around to glance at the girl who was no more than seventeen years old by the looks of her.
“Yes, it's all she ever talks about; do you think she has any potential?”
“She's pretty.” Said Victoria, being honest, “But just do me a favor, don't be one of those fathers who always comments on her weight.” Remembering her own father's constant references to her figure when she was a teenager.
The man raised his eyebrows and lifted his belly, bouncing it up and down and retorted,
“Do you really think that with a straight face I can tell anyone to watch their weight when I look like this?”
Victoria laughed,
“I suppose not.”
Handing back the photo to the man, she left the train and walked down the platform with the wheels of her luggage making a whirring sound and every now and then grating on a stone. Arriving in the main part of the station, Victoria realized she didn't actually have a plan as to where to stay. She'd only returned to London to see Philip and had no bookings for the coming week. She stood there feeling stupid, and wondering if anyone would approach her, but a quick look around showed her that there was no one waiting for her. She felt dejected, perhaps she should have called him after all. It was too much to expect he'd know she'd be arriving back in London that day, she realized. Sometimes, just sometimes, thought Victoria, this whole submissive contract deal was a little too much. Why couldn't Philip be like a normal man and call her and tell her about himself and what he'd been doing that day; why the mystery and almost clandestine meetings? She knew why though, his position and her career would be greatly affected if it became known to the general public. Looking at her watch, for no other reason than in a vain hope that standing there a little longer would make 'someone' appear to meet her, she finally gave up, and decided to go outside and take a taxi to the Grosvenor Hotel.
It was one of the few days in London where it wasn't raining, but the still wet leaves under her feet from the previous nights rainfall made walking in her high heels precarious. She had wondered if to just wear her sneakers that day, but had thought if Philip did come to meet her, it would take away something of her glamor; it was silly really, and she knew it. And now the heels of her feet were paying the price. Finding a long queue at the taxi rank, Victoria walked down the road someway to hail one on a side road where she thought she'd probably have better luck. She cursed the uneven pavement as her luggage bumped up and down and made walking a real chore. Looking down the road, Victoria suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder, turning around she saw a tall man in a black suit and tie.
“Excuse me Miss, my names is Fredricks, and I'm here to pick you up for Lord Claringdale.”
Victoria didn't know if to be happy or not, but knew, she
in fact was.
“I really should apologize, I was supposed to meet you in the station but I had so much trouble finding a parking space that I was late. If you'll just come this way, I'll take you to where you'll be staying.”
The man gestured towards her luggage, in a physical motion that was a question, asking if he could take her bag for her. Victoria gladly gave it to him, she was glad to be rid of the cumbersome thing, and followed behind him to the Bentley. Victoria had to ask herself how many cars Lord Philip had, she'd not seen that one before, but she'd not seen that driver before either.
“Where will I be staying?” Asked Victoria, wondering if the driver would be taking her to Claringdale Mansion.
“The master thouht you would feel at home at the Grosvenor, as you usually stay there, and it will be close to where he'll later meet you for dinner.”
That didn't seem too special, thought Victoria, staying at the same place she always stayed at, and felt a little disappointed. Yet the prospect of actually sitting down with Philip at dinner - where she'd be able to talk to him properly and ask him some much needed questions - calmed her.
“Where is Philip now?” Victoria asked, getting in the car as the driver held the door open for her, and then went around and entered the driver's side. Closing the door and starting the car, he answered her question looking back over his shoulder at her.
“He has a rather important engagement at present, but he told me to inform you he's looking forward to seeing you.”
That made Victoria feel good beyond her own expectation 'looking forward to seeing you', it had a nice ring to it. Was Philip now going to open up more to her, and be the man she wanted him to be? The chances looked good, she thought, as she watched the eighteenth century London buildings pass by. Perhaps after Philip had come inside her, his feelings had grown stronger toward her, or maybe they had already been that way, and that had been what had led him to spill his seed in her; she had no idea, but couldn't stop going over the moment in her mind. It had only been a couple of weeks previous, and if she was pregnant, there was no signs of such as yet. He must of known his actions could lead to her becoming 'with child', she concluded, so why had he done it? Victoria toyed with her shoe half way off her foot, feeling apprehensive of her meeting later with Philip. She knew she had to bring up the subject, but just quite how, was something she didn't yet know.
The driver pulled up beside the hotel and one of the doormen opened the door and greeted her. The driver called back and told her Philip had 'taken care of' the room and that he'd be back later to pick her up at 6pm. She didn't really know what he'd meant by 'taken care of' the room, but thanked him anyway, and got out. The girl on reception seemed to recognize Victoria, which wasn't exactly uncommon in her profession, but seemed more excited at seeing Victoria than a person usually would.
“Hello Miss Hunt.” The receptionist greeted her by name excitedly.
“Hi, erm, I believe you have a room already booked under my name, I guess it's my usual room.”
“Oh no Miss Hunt, we have the Cora Pearl suite booked in your name, we had to cancel some other bookings for it, as someone with some influence spoke to the manager.”
Victoria knew it must have been Philip, but just out of curiosity as to if Philip had revealed himself, had to ask her the question,
“Who booked the suite for me?”
The receptionist looked around making sure no one else was in earshot, and then leaned over the counter and almost whispered to Victoria,
“I've not actually been told, only the manager knows, but I can tell you we've never, ever canceled any body else's booking for the suite, except for you that is. So I don't know who it is that you know, but they must be someone pretty important.”
Victoria felt excited, she thought she had already experienced how it felt to be treated as a V.I.P in her life, but this was a whole new level for her, and the secrecy that seemed to go hand in hand with it, she couldn't deny, made her feel a kind of thrill.
“OK, well, can I have the key to the room, I'd like to freshen up as soon as possible.”
“Miss, it's not that kind of suite. This suite comes with your own personal butler. I will get him for you right away.” Said the receptionist, and hurried away to make a call. 'A personal butler', thought Victoria, for a hotel room? Suite or not, that was some kind of accommodation, she thought, raising her plucked eyebrows.
Victoria looked around and from one of the side doors came a tall immaculately dressed man in his mid-forties, wearing what looked to be the kind of suit a butler would wear in the previous century. The man approached Victoria and told her he'd take her bags up and unpack them for her right away, and also have her clothes pressed and ready for her.
“It's OK, just take me to the room.” Said Victoria, a little embarrassed at all the fuss.
“Miss, please follow me to the executive lounge. You can relax there while I take care of everything.”
“But I want to go to my room.”
“Of course you may... I'm sorry, in fact you should have been taken to the executive lounge directly, and we would have taken care of all the checking-in in requirements. But well, there was some confusion over your time of arrival and we were unable to get in touch with you. So I really must apologize on behalf of the hotel.”
“Oh, it's quite alright. So you mean my room's not ready yet?”
“Oh it's ready Miss Hunt, but there is champagne waiting for you in the executive lounge, and it would be such a shame to waste it, don't you think?”
Victoria could only agree, she never liked to miss champagne if it was on offer. Victoria followed him to the plush executive lounge, were a waiter began to faun over her, and make sure she had everything she wanted. The butler told her he'd be back down to fetch her forthwith, but asked her one question before he left.
“Would you like me to prepare a rose petal bath for you?”
“Bath?” Asked Victoria, more used to taking showers, although she knew the English had a thing for lying around in bathtubs for hours on end.
“Yes, a bath. We place fresh rose petals in it for you, it's most relaxing I can assure you.”
“Well... OK, I guess.” Said Victoria, deciding giving into the whole experience was probably the best course of action.
“Very well. I'll be back shortly.” He said, and walked off after giving her a slight bow.
She put her hands around the chilled glass, watching the bubbles rise and pop; taking a sip she thought about what she was supposed to do, but realized most of the decisions had already been taken out of her hands. It was one of the few times she didn't feel pressured to make things happen herself. She had her agent of course, but she still actually liked to maintain control of the day to day things like hotel bookings and flights. A few of her previous boyfriends had commented that she was a 'control freak', but in her opinion, had done nothing to change her. They had in fact tried, only none had ever succeeded in wrestling control from her, and had simply ended up bending to her strong will. But this was all new to Victoria, Philip was taking control, had in fact, taken control, and Victoria was starting to feel more and more comfortable with it, for the first time in her life.
After some minutes of her taking in the ambient music and finishing another glass of champagne, the butler came back and took her to the room. Going inside, she realized the suite was like no other room in the hotel. It was styled in the manner of Victorian rooms from a bygone era. The butler seeing her surprise explained that this was what the rooms on the second floor looked like in the nineteenth century. The hotel had, he said, made this suite as a homage to one of its most notorious residents, a courtesan to the rich and royalty, Cora Pearl. He pointed out the portrait of her over the double bed, with ostrich feather cushions beneath.
“This is why this is called the Courtesans' Boudoir.”
“Courtesan?” Said Victoria, walking up to the portrait to get a better look, “you mean prostitute, right?”
“There is a difference Miss.”
“Oh really? What?”
“Well, I guess the difference is a courtesan only 'entertains' men she has a kind of relationship with.”
“And what kind of 'relationship' would that be?”
The butler looked embarrassed, and so said.
“If there is anything else you'll be needing, you'll find my personal number on the table. Really, nothing is too much trouble. Don't hesitate to contact me.”
Victoria went to tip him but with a wave of the hand, he refused, and told her,
“Really, no Miss, everything has already been taken care of.” After giving her a slight bow once again, left the room.
Victoria walked around the room and took it all in. Everything, right down to the lampshades and the chandelier on the ceiling was made to fit the period. She felt like she had been transported to another time; running her hand across the understated floral pattern wallpaper, Victoria noticed the drapes on the window that were no ordinary curtains, but hung with an exuberance that hinted at decadence, the kind of decadence solely reserved for the kind of woman Cora Pearl was. Victoria honestly didn't know how to feel about Philip's choice of room for her, but the dramatic effect it had on her was undeniable, everything about the room oozed with opulence. She found her clothes already hung up carefully in the white mirrored classical wardrobe in the adjacent room, and then walking into the separate bathroom and found the monikered infinity bath tub, filled with hot water and red rose petals drifting lazily across the surface, the heat from the water releasing the aroma into the air surrounding her.
