Hotel du Barry

by Lesley Truffle

  As glasses clinked, Sean lasciviously fondled Mary’s abundant breasts in the linen room and devoted himself to pleasuring her. She knew it was his way of demonstrating appreciation for her ingenuity. Sean had not yet learnt to express his admiration with roses and chocolates.

  Judiciously, Mary made no mention of Mr Matthew Lamb or his sister. Mary always retained a cool head, even in the throes of sexual passion. As Sean kissed, licked and stroked, he slyly cross-examined her. He was jealous the boss might have designs on his woman. Between gasps, Mary informed him, ‘Mr du Barry’s apartment is real grim.’

  Sean lifted Mary up onto a handy shelf, shoved her skirt up and parted her legs. ‘What’s the joint like, eh?’

  ‘Nothing like the rest of the hotel. Just plain walls, ugly lumps of art and strange looking paintings. Shocking, it is. Can’t believe he actually likes that stuff when his dad built this hotel so posh and gorgeous like.’

  It has been written that style is nothing more than exposure. However, it would be some time before Mary acquired a taste for modernist décor, Cubist art and Futurism.

  Sean vigorously demonstrated his affection and Mary cried out, ‘Ah, oh! I loves it when you do that. Do it harder, Sean. Ohhhhh . . . yes. Again.’

  Mary’s success had toughened her resolve to start asking for more. More of everything.

  3

  Lust, Love and Lies

  There was a conference down in the labyrinth and the staff unanimously decided that Jim Blade’s criminal associates should be paid to forge the baby’s birth certificate. Bertha took up a collection. Everybody gave generously, even if they couldn’t afford to. The baby was one of them and they were going to see her right. Through nefarious means she was registered officially as a citizen of the British Empire.

  The staff decided to name her Joybelle Hortense Maguire. It was a democratic decision. Everybody wrote their favourite names on slips of paper and the two winning names were plucked out of Jim’s trilby hat. As the baby had been abandoned by her mother on the fourteenth of June, Bertha Brown settled on the fictitious birth date of the fourteenth of April. Mrs Brown informed the kitchen staff it was, ‘An inspired choice, even if I do say so myself. She has all the hallmarks of having been born an Arian. Aries is a cardinal fire sign ruled by the aggressive planet Mars. Joybelle Hortense Maguire will be headstrong, capricious and worldly. Yet strangely untouched and innocent.’

  It was widely known that Mrs Brown consulted her horoscope every single day. She also gobbled up romantic novels and had a marked preference for skittish, wayward heroines.

  Things moved quickly after Daniel du Barry was presented with the bogus paperwork and in due course he decided the baby would be christened Caterina Anastasia Lucinda du Barry. It could have been worse. Daniel had been inspired by the name when he was busily getting rat-faced on Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne the night before his wedding. And Lucinda had been his mother’s name.

  The name Caterina Anastasia Lucinda du Barry was promptly shortened by the staff to Cat du Barry. Everyone declared themselves satisfied. Daniel had sobered up by this stage.

  So highly sought after were invitations to Cat du Barry’s christening that Daniel could have floated them on the Stock Exchange and made a killing. Tatler gazette breathlessly made predictions as to the guest list, while rumours flew thick and fast as to how the new Mrs Daniel du Barry was coping with a baby that wasn’t of her own making.

  Daniel invited Mary to both the Sunday christening and the party afterwards, but she declined to attend the celebrations in the hotel’s rooftop Winter Garden. ‘Nice of you to invite me to sit with you Daniel. But I’d rather sit with the rest of the staff and let you and Mrs du Barry get on with it.’ The corners of Mary’s mouth twitched. ‘She must be dying to take over and have her go at motherhood, eh?’

  Daniel didn’t take the bait and he hid his smile by gazing out the window of his study. ‘You know, I’d like you and my staff to be part of the christening celebrations too, Mary. You all went out of your way to help Caterina. Besides, things are getting grimmer.’

  ‘Grimmer? Is there going to be more war?’

  ‘No, but everybody is still grieving for their loved ones. And some economists are predicting a major financial downturn in Britain in the next year or so. I could easily organise an impromptu christening party in Toucan Court for the staff. Perhaps an afternoon tea dance. With champagne, of course. What do you think, Mary?’

  Mary beamed. All this and I won’t even have to make nice with that daft cow. Things certainly weren’t getting grimmer.

  The church christening was a glamorous affair. The former Eddie Lamb wore a superb white woollen day dress trimmed with white ostrich feathers. She was late and had forgotten her hat. Her blonde hair glistened in the weak sunlight as she paused and smiled beatifically at the assembled press. The Hotel du Barry Baby had been heavily featured in London’s newspapers. Not only was it a feel-good tale that had begun as a tragedy, but the story had been accompanied by photographs of some very attractive protagonists.

  Hemlines were modestly rising in 1919 and Edwina’s ankles were slyly photographed from every angle as she paused at the top of the church steps. Fortunately she didn’t have fat hocks. ‘Gentlemen, I have no further comments. Other than to say that my husband and I feel blessed to start our family with this beautiful baby. I assure you she will be unconditionally cherished and loved.’

  Edwina dipped her chin and widened her eyes at the voracious cameras. She was rapidly becoming one of the most photographed society women of her generation.

  Accompanying Edwina was her one remaining friend, Gloria von Trocken. Gloria was Edwina’s alibi in the friends’ stake. Every other chum had been dumped once Eddie Lamb bagged Daniel du Barry.

  Gloria was a tad chubby but she had an endearing smile and came from a long line of impoverished aristocrats. This meant she possessed both pedigree and a fine but decaying country estate, where Eddie frequently hobnobbed with titled houseguests.

  As Edwina entered the house of God, she whispered to Gloria, ‘Mary Maguire is a working-class slut who’s conned her way into my husband’s esteem. I can’t believe he’s made her his secretary. He’s even got that pretentious old tart, Mildred, teaching her typing and shorthand. So Mary’s now off scot-free while I’m stuck with her illegitimate brat. Not for long, though. Danny Boy doesn’t know it yet but it’s going to be boarding school all the fucking way.’

  The congregation was ready and waiting, and every head swivelled when Edwina walked down the aisle. She flicked her eyes sideways and gleefully noted several famous faces.

  ‘Everyone’s here who came to our wedding. I wasn’t sure they’d show, given that christenings can be such a bore. Ours will be fabulous though as Danny is laying on a sumptuous luncheon. That man certainly knows how to throw a bash. Remind me to tell you later about our fabulous honeymoon. I met a wonderful man, an American. Married of course but who cares?’

  Daniel was nervously waiting at the church font. Thank God I employed a capable nanny. No-nonsense-Betty is going to be a real plus in situations like this.

  After the blazing row they’d had this morning, he’d been worried that his wife wouldn’t show at all. Edwina simply couldn’t make up her mind what to wear, so Daniel, feeling exasperated, had left for the church with Mary Maguire, the baby and Betty.

  Caterina Anastasia Lucinda du Barry, was resplendent in a white embroidered christening smock. A Vogue journalist had already decreed that the satin smock was a du Barry heirloom. In actual fact Maurie du Barry had surreptitiously purchased it from a deceased estate before slyly presenting it to his wife. All three du Barry boys had been christened wearing it. Maurie had been nobody’s fool and he’d noticed that all the best British families embellished their history with ancestral silverware and costly knick-knacks that whispered of power, privilege and status. Fortunately such items could be purchased from penniless aristocrats. And job lots of heirlooms could
be discreetly appropriated from Christie’s auction house.

  Betty and Mary took turns holding the baby. A few dabs of olive oil, a quick splash of baptism water and she was deemed to be a Catholic. Mary was unable to conceal her emotions and she wept with joy.

  Everyone noticed there was no love lost between Daniel du Barry’s new secretary and Mrs du Barry. So when Edwina refused to be photographed holding the baby, Mary – being the child’s alleged mother – took offence. But Daniel managed to smooth ruffled feathers before things got out of hand.

  Daniel’s relatives on his mother’s side, hadn’t been too keen on him marrying the flash blonde society beauty, but they were too well bred to badmouth Edwina. Indeed they’d always hoped he would marry a jodhpur-wearing, fox-hunting, country aristocrat like themselves. However good breeding didn’t prevent them from gossiping while standing around together under the church portico.

  ‘It’s all hush hush but I heard from my butler that Miss Maguire is the real mother.’

  ‘Perhaps that explains why Edwina’s being rather cool to her?’

  ‘Who knows. Mary’s a marvellous gel and her daughter will be remarkable.’

  ‘Mary’s smart as a whip, too. The child will inherit both brains and beauty.’

  ‘Just as long as she doesn’t inherit her mother’s promiscuity.’

  ‘Nonsense. I heard on the grapevine she’d been raped by a married man.’

  ‘Oh? I heard the father is someone close to the Crown.’

  Rhubarb, rhubarb. Gossip and be damned.

  People were pleasant and sociable at the christening with the exception of a sour-faced woman hovering in the background. No one knew who she was, or where she came from. As she was immaculately dressed and possessed an imperious manner, nobody dared question her.

  When Bertha Brown shed tears at the christening, Doc Ahearn tried to distract her. ‘The anointing of babies with baptism oil harks back to the ancient days, when athletes were massaged with oil before competing to strengthen them and make them supple. Thus the baby is symbolically strengthened for the struggles of life ahead. Sometimes it even works.’

  Bertha burst into tears again.

  Mary leant over and confided to Bertha, ‘The first time I clapped eyes on that bitch Eddie Lamb, I recognised her for what she is. She already had Daniel’s balls in her handbag. Not bad going, eh? Especially given the fact he likes men better than women. I heard Eddie got her claws into him at her brother’s funeral. She’s got Daniel by the short and curlies all right. But I can see why he went for her; Eddie looks just like her brother. She’s flat-chested with the same cold blue eyes and that stupid floppy schoolboy haircut. Small wonder Daniel ended up marrying her. He knows fuck all about women and even less about back-biting, gold-digging, mean vicious whores.’

  Mary was never one to mince matters.

  Daniel dutifully played host at the christening party held in the Hotel du Barry’s Winter Garden, even though he desperately wanted to sneak down to the Toucan Court bash on the ground floor. Edwina possessively kept her hand on his arm and insisted on being introduced only to his most influential guests. Her beauty, grace and style charmed them as she parried questions about her adopted daughter with aplomb. ‘Daniel and I feel privileged to have the opportunity of raising this child after she had such an unfortunate beginning.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs du Barry, the poor little mite. How can mothers abandon their young?’

  Edwina’s face showed compassion. ‘Lady Blythe, I have high hopes for Caterina’s future. She represents the peaceful promise of the new century.’

  Daniel was impressed by the quantity of Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne his wife was throwing back. She must have hollow legs, or have I married a woman who can drink me under the table?

  Later, when Edwina was being violently sick in the Ladies powder room and Gloria was holding back her hair, she sobbed, ‘Fuck it. Gloria, how did I end up with a crying, leaking baby? The idea of wiping a baby’s bottom turns my stomach. I don’t have a maternal bone in my body.’

  ‘Nonsense. You just haven’t had time to adjust. And she’s such a darling little thing.’

  ‘True. But her vulnerability scares me. Doc Ahearn told me that babies’ skulls are soft and delicate. Diabolical things happen to their brains if they get shaken around like a martini. I didn’t want to hold her in the church in case I dropped her. Oh God . . .’

  Gloria sensed there was a lie in there somewhere but she was determined to think well of her best friend. ‘Eddie, you need to calm down. You’ve got Betty on hand to do all the bottom wiping and baby handling. Nothing terrible will happen to her.’

  ‘It’s too much responsibility . . . oh no.’ Eddie retched again.

  After a while she stood up and wiped her mouth. ‘That’s it. I feel better. But why did you have to tell me about Daniel? I can’t believe he’s outside on the rooftop with that handsome officer. Christ.’ She shuddered. ‘The whole of bloody London must be sniggering at me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Edwina. Only close friends know the true state of your marriage. I just overheard a woman in the hotel foyer saying, “By golly, I wish I had Edwina du Barry’s wonderful life.”’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. So come on, let’s freshen you up. Then I’ll introduce you to a charming titled gentleman who’s been dying to meet you. He’s in the swim with the royal family.’

  It was in the Winter Garden that Daniel met the love of his life. Michael was standing with his back to the christening party and admiring the view from the panoramic glass windows. He didn’t turn around, but simply smiled at his host’s reflection as Daniel appeared beside him.

  ‘Daniel, you haven’t met me; I’m not one of your listed guests. My sister was short of a date. The tosser she’s been seeing stood her up.’

  He turned around and extended a firm hand. ‘I should introduce myself – I’m Michael James.’

  ‘Are you Lord James, the chap who recently took his seat in Parliament?’

  ‘Yes. My old man died last year and it’s his legacy. It’s a filthy job but someone has to do it. Rather like inheriting an entire hotel empire perhaps?’

  They grinned at each other with an ease that neither fully understood. Daniel was perplexed. I feel like I’ve known him all my life. Perhaps it’s not a cliché after all?

  He picked up a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘Michael, let me show you the view from the highest point of the Hotel du Barry. It’s sensational. Do you feel like a brief respite from this shindig?’

  ‘Bloody good idea. Those champagne corks are going off like gun shots.’

  ‘Let’s go then. It’s out this way.’

  Up on the rooftop there was a comfortable silence and neither Michael nor Daniel felt a need to fill it with small talk. What do two war heroes talk about once peace has been declared and the dust has settled? They sure as hell aren’t going to discuss the price of armaments. And chances are they’re going to get half-cut before making any attempt at serious conversation.

  For Daniel, it was a huge relief to be able to talk to a fellow officer who’d also experienced the horror of war. In return Michael could tell his story to a man who understood the ramifications of what it meant to have hunted and killed in cold blood. Even before Michael took his leave, both of them knew they’d formed a bond for life.

  Meantime downstairs in Toucan Court, Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne flowed and many brains were tickled. Sean Kelly taught Mary Maguire how to dance the tango. Soon all the staff were half-cut and slithering across the polished marble tiles in time with the sexy Afro-Latin American rhythms oozing from Tommy Zingernagel’s Orchestra.

  Sean knew if he was going to rise above the rent boys of Soho, as had Matthew Lamb, and become a successful gigolo, it was essential to know all the latest dances. Fortunately Sean had natural rhythm and style as well as a circle of debutantes who lived to shimmy. And he was now armed, dangerous and eager
for the opportunity to move into the upper echelons of society. For Sean Kelly was one of the few men in London who’d bothered to find out exactly what women most desired in a man. Thus when the opportunity presented itself to make off with other gentlemen’s wives and daughters, Sean Kelly would be well equipped. So to speak.

  That Sunday afternoon when Tommy Zingernagel’s saxophonist let loose with a heart-wrenching riff, Sean promptly forgot about his career aspirations. With Mary Maguire in his arms and her sweet breath soft against his neck, Sean was in heaven. He was stunned that dancing with Mary in a public place, could damn near bring him to his knees. Sean shuddered. Jaysus. Get a grip, young man, or you’ll find yourself out shopping for saucepans and a wedding ring.

  Often as Sean joylessly caressed a scrawny socialite he’d pretend it was Mary moaning underneath him. He would clearly picture her thatch of red curls, wicked green eyes, small waist and fulsome breasts. This fantasy never failed to increase his ardour and inadvertently, he pleased his paying clients. That afternoon on the dance floor he toyed with the idea of telling Mary how much he loved her, but he suspected such a confession might complicate his life. So Sean Kelly continued paying Mary Maguire for services rendered.

  It kept things nice.

  While Sean was contemplating the perils of true love and moving Mary effortlessly across the dance floor, Mary was worrying about the sour-faced woman at the christening. Nobody recognised her. She’s too old to be Cat’s mother. Who the fuck is she? Mary anguished that the woman was a bad fairy, sent to poison Cat’s childhood with spells of doom.

  Mary Maguire had been reared on grisly fairy tales. At the orphanage the darker tales were thought to be morally instructive. If girls misbehaved they could well end up having their feet cut off like the little girl who coveted the red dancing shoes. The message hadn’t been lost on Mary and she’d always avoided wearing red shoes. She’d also developed an aversion to red capes and hoods.