‘I’m afraid not, Belinda. Gentlemen have a marked preference for girls who speak nicely. And you’d do well to cut out the blasphemy and swearing. At least in public.’
‘Gimme a break. Most blokes couldn’t give a toss if their squeeze can even string sentences together. Where I come from, men only ever think about food, darts, football, lager and cunt.’
There was an outraged chorus of, ‘Ohhhhh, Belinda!’
Jules shuddered. He’d always wondered what women talked about when they were on their own. Now he just wanted to block his ears. There was nothing to be gained from further eavesdropping, so he knocked loudly. Silence, then the door was partially opened by a buxom young woman wearing a maid’s uniform. She had somehow managed to turn a conservative black and white hotel uniform into a costume from a French farce. Even her tiny frilly apron stated quite clearly that she was up for it.
Belinda surveyed him with blatant interest. She took in his expensive Italian shoes and worked her way up the sharp creases of his grey pinstripe trousers. Her eyes caressed his broad chest and briefly admired his glossy, closely cropped black hair. His dark eyes appeared to be sleepy but she knew the cogs of his mind were working overtime. In short, he was extremely mattressable.
She languidly adjusted her starched white cap. ‘Can I help you, Sir?’
‘I have a message for Caterina du Barry, from her mother.’
‘Her mother? Oh, you mean Mrs du Barry.’
‘Yes, I’m the new butler.’
‘I see. Well, come on in.’
Belinda didn’t move out of the way, so he was forced to squeeze past just to get in the door, inadvertently copping a feel of her buxom bosom. She winked and Jules went red. Bloody hell. Should I apologise? No point. She set me up and now she’s laughing at me. The du Barry maids are a special breed. I’m really going to have to watch myself.
As Jules stepped into the studio he found another three pairs of eyes checking him out. He respectfully focused his attention on the most mature woman present. A formidable piece with well-upholstered breasts, flawless skin and midnight blue-black hair. On any other woman her age, the dyed hair would have signalled mutton dressed as lamb but she managed to pull it off. She had style, poise and elegance and was the type of classy dame he’d always admired in Paris.
‘Ma’am, I have a message for Caterina du Barry and have been told to wait for an answer.’
Bertha gave him the once-over. ‘And your name, young man?’
‘Julian Bartholomew.’
‘I’m Mrs Brown, head housekeeper. And this is Belinda, Susie and Mavis.’
The girls giggled. Mrs Brown gave them a stern look and they instantly sobered.
Jules swallowed hard and checked the knot of his tie. ‘Pleased to meet you all.’
Bertha smiled knowingly. Jules sensed he’d been weighed and assessed and that Mrs Brown had already rumbled to the fact that he was using a false name. She’d probably picked up on the faint remnants of his Irish accent. One perfectly plucked, raised eyebrow indicated that Madam was amused and she’d chosen to reserve her judgement for the time being. Jules tensed up. Fuck me, these ladies really know how to cut a cocky lad down to size.
Bertha kept her eyes on him and said over her shoulder, ‘Cat, it’s for you. It’s Mr Julian Bartholomew, the new butler.’
A girl, probably about sixteen or seventeen years old, stepped out from behind a large easel. She walked towards him with long lean strides, holding a paintbrush. He tried not to gape. Her blonde hair was piled randomly on the top of her head, accentuating the most extraordinary violet eyes. Her gaze rested on him with polite interest. She was wearing men’s trousers cinched tight with a wide belt and her chin was smeared with oil paint. Caterina’s face was sad and there were dark rings under her eyes. She’s probably still grieving for her dad. Cat smiled diffidently as she wiped her hands down the front of the trousers. And she doesn’t even know how goddamn beautiful she is.
Cat moved closer to him. She wasn’t much shorter than his height of six foot two and she smelt fantastic. Jules inhaled her scent and his head spun. She was all peaches and vanilla with just a hint of oriental musk. A wave of pure lust swept over him; he was drowning in his own desire. For once his silver tongue failed him. Fortunately Cat was concentrating on savagely ripping open the pink envelope and reading the note. A frown creased her lovely face. The other women chatted away quietly but he knew they were still checking him out.
Jules assumed an urbane, detached manner. Humble and self-effacing was not the way he’d been playing it. When he’d practised facial expressions in the mirror, he’d settled on a faintly superior gaze with undercurrents of good humour. After all, the only definitive information he could find on butlers had been in P.G. Wodehouse’s short stories. Initially, he’d adopted the personality of Wodehouse’s butler, the formidable Jeeves, but found it far too constricting and stuffy. Jules had finally settled on an air of fearless British efficiency, overlaid with a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. This had come in handy that morning, when he’d ironed the pages of The Times and then fronted the chemist to buy Mrs du Barry’s feminine hygiene products.
Cat screwed up the note and tossed it away. ‘Please tell Mrs du Barry I’ll be there at four. As requested.’
Jules nodded sagely and somehow managed to extricate himself from the room. In the corridor he walked a few paces, fell back against the wall, loosened his tie and lit a cigarette. He could still smell Cat and when he closed his eyes all he could see behind his lids was the colour violet.
The Hotel du Barry’s Toucan Court was always busy at four in the afternoon. Moneyed matrons reclined among the potted palms and nibbled on dainty cucumber sandwiches before devouring teacakes and scones with jam and clotted cream. They also decimated dozens of pastries, Victoria sponges and fruit cakes. After an exhausting day of hunting and gathering, they were desperate to slip their shoes off and rest their weary feet on the cool marble. Maurie du Barry certainly knew what he was doing when he’d insisted that all the Toucan Court tables should be covered with long white tablecloths reaching to the floor.
The women felt soothed as they wriggled their bare toes and listened to the piano player tinkling out Cole Porter tunes. They inhaled the delicate aroma of Earl Grey tea from the finest of china and shovelled up cake with elegant silver cake forks. Those who’d resisted the lure of the cake trolley chain-smoked to suppress their appetites. Linen napkins daintily dabbed away lipstick before sliding off laps. Waiters were constantly retrieving lost napkins since no lady would ever think of stooping to such a menial task.
Henri Dupont stood watching the clientele and said to the maître d’, ‘If a fire broke out here, these bloody women would refuse to surrender their cake forks. They’d sit there whining about the service. Expecting the firemen to bring them more hot water for their Lapsang Souchong tea.’
Edwina perused Toucan Court and checked her watch. Caterina was already two minutes late. If the girl didn’t turn up, she’d cancel the Lapsang Souchong tea and order a martini. To hell with afternoon tea. As rightful custodian of the du Barry empire she could now do what she damn well pleased.
She glanced up and was startled to see that Cat had arrived and was pulling out a chair. It was disconcerting that the girl could move so quietly. Cat had dumped her paint-splattered trousers in favour of white trousers and a striped top. She’d tied a red gypsy-style scarf around her head and wore a lot of clanking costume jewellery.
Edwina sighed. ‘Ah, so I see you’ve decided to arrive at last. You’re three minutes late. Why on earth you couldn’t have worn a feminine frock is beyond me. With a wardrobe like yours, you choose to dress like a peasant.’
‘And a good afternoon to you too, Edwina.’
They eyed each other across the floral display and an uncomfortable silence lasted until the waiter placed a teapot and a plate of sandwiches on the table. Cat knew him as a fellow student at Slade. He said cheerily, ‘Cat, I love what you’
re doing for the Turner commission. Professor Smith gave me a sneak peek. I’m in awe of your technical mastery.’
She mimicked the voice of an upper-crust society hostess. ‘You’re too kind, Tim darling.’
The two of them sniggered.
Edwina curbed Tim’s enthusiasm with a steely glance. So with a suitable display of servitude, he slipped back into his waiter’s role and having poured the tea, melted away.
Edwina shoved her handbag aside. ‘Well, Caterina, let’s talk. This art school business is all very well but I need all hands to the pump.’
‘All hands to the pump?’
‘Yes. It’s high time you started to train for a management role in our hotels. I’m willing to financially support you with this art school nonsense but you must be prepared to contribute.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m sure you’re well aware of the government’s fiscal mismanagement. Running a string of hotels is riskier than it used to be, especially with all the recent social unrest. Frankly I don’t know why they simply didn’t round up those demonstrators and send them to jail.’
‘Come off it, Edwina. Those unemployed men walked three hundred bloody miles to present their petition. Trying to make people like you realise there’s no jobs to be had in the shipyards. They want new industries in the area, and the government’s gone and docked their measly dole money. The financial losses of the middle and upper classes are nothing compared to the poverty of the north-eastern unemployed.’
‘Don’t get clever with me, young lady. I see you’ve become a bleeding heart. Just like your father.’
Cat studied her teacup. She felt skinless and defenceless. Her fierce longing for Daniel was overwhelming. She repressed the urge to climb under the table for a quick kip and tried to smother several yawns.
Edwina sighed. ‘Oh, come now. The one thing Danny and I did agree on was that it was crucial we find a cure for your sleeping sickness. You’ll never bag a British lord or a foreign prince if you keep nodding off like an opium addict. I’ve consulted Dr Otto Rubens and he thinks he can help you. I’ll give you his phone number.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Look, I’m not about to turn into a wicked stepmother, you know. I did think of making you drop your art studies altogether but tongues would wag and we wouldn’t want that, would we? Instead I’m prepared to allow you to study two days a week on the condition that you work a regular forty-hour week at one of our hotels.’
Cat struggled to remain alert as a chasm opened up under her feet.
Edwina continued. ‘It’s nice that your artiness goes down so well in some circles but it’s not really a career, is it?’
‘It could be, Edwina. I’ve obtained another sculpture commission. Given time, I could easily make a living from commissions alone. It’s been publicly acknowledged by those more qualified than you that I’ve got the talent and drive to succeed. Two days a week at Slade is not enough.’
‘Come come. Don’t delude yourself. Your current success is probably nothing more than a flash in the pan. Making art is just another hobby, similar to needlepoint or aeroplane modelling. You can do that in your spare time. Education rarely has much to do with success in later life. I’ve never felt the need for tertiary education and look at me now.’
‘But you told me you won a scholarship and first-class honours!’
‘Nonsense. I said nothing of the kind.’
‘But you told me you had. Why would you lie about it?’
‘Don’t be silly. I probably just said I lived near London University.’
Edwina took a big gulp of tea followed by a deep breath. She choked, inhaled the wrong way and hot tea shot out of her nostrils. She was mortified, struggled to regain her composure and failed. The two ladies sitting at a nearby table stopped talking and stared with blatant interest, as she discreetly dabbed her face with a napkin and then whipped out a face powder compact.
While Edwina repaired her makeup, Cat thought back to Venice and her conversation with Marguerite. She recalled her saying: ‘Cat, I don’t think Eddie Lamb has been honest about her past.’
Bloody hell. On top of everything else, was Edwina a compulsive liar?
Tim was passing with the cake trolley. Edwina clicked her fingers at him, ‘Pass me that ashtray and get me a double dry martini with three green olives. Now.’
‘Right away, Mrs du Barry.’
Cat felt her eyelids getting heavier and smothered another yawn. The smell of the fish paste sandwiches was making her feel nauseous.
A woman laden with pearl baubles approached. Her dress was a tight-fitting tube of polka dots extending to mid-calf, with a huge white pussy bow at her neck. Proudly draped across her pigeon chest was a double-headed fox fur. Cat was distracted by four glass eyes staring at her.
The woman purred, ‘Edwina, my dear, how lovely to see you.’
Edwina placed her arm around Cat and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Cat froze. Edwina pushed back a strand of Cat’s hair. ‘Oh hello, Muriel, have you met my talented daughter, Caterina?’
‘My, how you’ve grown! I just adore your chic outfit, it’s so very Parisian.’
‘Thank you.’ Cat adjusted her headscarf and grinned at Edwina.
Muriel was just warming up. ‘You’re becoming quite the successful artiste, I hear. I do hope you’ll be coming to my séance next Thursday? Caterina, you simply must meet my son. Hamish is doing his final year at Oxford. He’s captain of the rugby team, you know.’
Edwina beamed. ‘You must be so proud, Muriel.’
Cat squirmed. ‘Thank you. But unfortunately I already have a prior commitment.’
Edwina kicked her hard under the table. ‘Nonsense, we’ll both be there. What a treat!’
Muriel stroked her fur. ‘Excellent. Hamish is dying to meet you, Caterina. Cheerio then.’
She clattered off across the marble tiles, fox heads lolling on her prominent breasts.
Edwina quickly moved away from Cat. ‘From now on, my girl, you’ll be spending more time with your social equals. Hamish can introduce you to Britain’s future movers and shakers.’
‘I can’t believe you and that ghastly woman are trying to matchmake me with that filthy bastard.’
‘Oh don’t be so moralistic, Caterina. You must stop defending the underdog and downtrodden. The rape charge never made it to court and Muriel arranged for an abortion at a very nice clinic. Hush money changed hands. And let’s face it, the so-called victim is only a hat-check girl in a second rate nightclub, whereas Hamish is about to inherit his father’s title and estates and he has a brilliant political future ahead of him. Play your cards right and you could marry a Marquis.’
‘Christ. I can’t believe you’re actually coming out with this shite.’
‘Oh please! Don’t be so bourgeois. Muriel has big plans. She’s working on committing Hamish’s father to an insane asylum. Apparently something nasty happened to him in the woodshed when he was a child and subsequently he’s always been emotionally fragile.’
Cat stood up and slammed her fist on the table. Several ladies put down their teacups and stared. ‘You people are out of whack. You’ve got no moral compass.’
Edwina’s face tightened but she kept smiling. ‘Sit down, Caterina. You’re making a scene.’
‘I’ve never understood why you married Daniel. You didn’t give a rat’s arse for him. The staff told me that when you got drunk and nasty, you’d refer to him as the Cash Register.’
Edwina leant back, lit a cigarette and gave Cat an icy stare. ‘I’m a realist and I deserved a better life. Unlike you, I understand the power of social connections. Unfortunately your father didn’t insist on you cultivating the right peer group but I intend that you shall marry well. Defy my wishes and I’ll simply terminate your art studies. Sit down. Or I will make your life a living hell.’
Cat sat down. It didn’t seem coincidental that Edwina’s cigarette smoke was blowing in her direction.
> Edwina stared hard at the gawping ladies until they lowered their eyes.
‘Back to business. Now tell me, what position do you wish to be trained for in our hotels?’
Cat gazed out across the lobby. ‘I can choose any position I like? At any hotel?’
‘Well, I’d suggest that you might find it more prestigious to be trained as a hotel manager, rather than a laundry maid.’
Cat leant over the table. ‘Fine. I want to be trained up by Jim Blade as his assistant. I know Daniel was about to advertise and fill the vacancy. But surely there’s no reason it should have to be another male. After all, during the war women did a lot of the men’s jobs.’
Edwina’s expression did not change. She waved merrily as a pair of debutantes cantered past. A quick flash of equine teeth, twin sets, dreary tweed skirts and expensive pearls.
Edwina lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘If only you’d make the effort to dress with the same flair and style. Anyway, getting back to business. I can see no benefit to your social standing if you fraternise with Jim Blade and his corrupt associates. That man is nothing more than a jumped-up criminal. I want you to move into management. You could take up a prestigious position in the Hotel du Barry Monte Carlo. That part of the woods is teeming with European royalty. And many of those chaps are now of marriageable age.’
‘I want to stay in London. This is my home and this is where my real family lives. And my career is based in London.’
Edwina snorted. ‘Career? Don’t make me laugh. Mucking around with clay and oil paint is definitely not a career.’
‘Well, Edwina. It’s more of a fucking career than the one you had as a chorus girl in the third row of a burlesque show. I met Desiree Emmanuelle’s daughter in Venice. She’s very worldly, so I asked her to explain what the term polite prostitution meant.’
Hotel du Barry Page 15
