The Girl Behind The Fan (Hidden Women) (29 page)

‘I love all this history you Europeans have,’ said Greg. ‘I just wish the plumbing wasn’t quite so antique.’

I laughed at his self-parody of the American abroad.

As we talked about the project so far, I began to feel excited. Calum Buchanan – one of the most sought-after young stars in Hollywood – had signed on to play Remi Sauvageon. His name had brought millions in funding in the past few days. A contract had been signed while Greg was in the air over the Atlantic.

‘This is the best news but alas, there’s just one condition,’ said Greg. He took another gulp of wine as though to steel himself to tell me what that condition was. ‘He wants to pick the actress who plays Augustine.’

‘Is that a problem?’ I asked.

‘It is when he wants me to audition a complete unknown. Here. You’ve been living and breathing Augustine du Vert for the past few weeks. You should have a good idea what kind of girl could play her. Tell me what you think.’

He reached into his folder and pulled out a black and white headshot. He passed it across the table to me.

Unknown to Greg she may have been but the girl in the photograph was not unknown to me. It was the girl behind the mask who had been the catalyst for my first break-up with Steven. I knew her all too intimately. The girl in the picture was Kat. I could only stare at her familiar snaggle-toothed smile.

‘English teeth,’ said Greg. ‘No offence. She’d have to get those fixed. Having said that, maybe it doesn’t matter so much if she’s going to be playing a nineteenth-century whore. I don’t suppose they were all that hot on orthodontics back then.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t suppose they were.’

As I traced the outline of Kat’s face with my finger, one of Colette’s maxims came to mind.
Look for a long time at that which pleases you and longer still at what pains you.

‘But she’s pretty enough,’ Greg continued. ‘And there’s something kind of timeless about her face.’

‘What’s her experience?’ I asked.

‘She did a load of adverts when she was a teenager.’

That explained why I thought she’d shown confidence way beyond her years when we met at L’Infer.

‘She’s done some short films. Nothing full-length. Certainly not as a lead. The one good thing is that she’ll be cheap.’

I passed the photograph back.

‘It’s quite a risk, isn’t it, expecting someone so inexperienced to carry a film?’

‘You’re not kidding. But Calum made it a condition that we find something for her to do. With a bit of luck, by the time I’ve seen her he’ll have started dating someone with a proven track record. Someone who can actually act.’

‘When are you seeing her?’

‘She’s coming to Paris tomorrow morning,’ he said.

Chapter 42

Paris, 1846

Who would have thought that being in Remi’s presence again could bring me so much pain? When the Duc was with us, or when Pierre or one of the other servants was in the room, Remi was perfectly correct. He would make small talk and entertain us all with his stories. The moment we were alone again, the torture began. Now I knew he had not just abandoned me that winter, my heart softened towards him all over again. I forgave Elaine too. I knew she had only been trying to protect me by sending Remi away – she had heard about the horrible letters and believed, as did I, that they were from Remi’s hand – but what happiness we had missed as a result. What terrible paths we had taken instead.

Then, one day about a week after he began to paint me, Remi announced that he could take no more. He clasped my hands and beseeched me.

‘I have to be with you. I want you to be my wife.’

‘But what can we do? You are to be married to someone else and even were you not, I have fallen so far, you could never possibly acknowledge me as your woman in public.’

‘I can and I will. I am not the frightened provincial boy who fled Paris at the first sign of hardship any more, my love. I am the most sought-after artist in this city. The most fashionable people in Europe want me to paint their mistresses, their wives, even their horses . . . I must get more practice at horses.’ He laughed at the thought. ‘The situation is very different this time, Augustine. I will be able to support you. Not quite like this.’ He waved his hand around the room. ‘But . . .’

‘I don’t care about this,’ I assured him. ‘This place has never felt like my home. I was happier in our little garret than I have ever been in this gilded cage. I should be glad to be away from it. I hate all this fanciness! Give me the man I love and a simple wooden rocking chair and I should be the happiest woman in the world.’

‘Then we’ll do it.’

‘How?’

‘We shall run away together. We could go now! The Duc will not be back this evening. By the time he realises you’ve gone, we could be on the other side of La Manche.’

I would have done it. I would have left the Duc right that minute. I would have packed up only the things that were truly mine: my old bone comb and my father’s seascape; and run away with joy in my heart. But moments later, Remi was not so ready to put our plan into action.

‘Wait. I am being ridiculous. We cannot leave quite so quickly, my dear little bird. However romantic it sounds to run away with nothing but the clothes we’re standing up in, we will need something to live on until the scandal dies down. The Duc has said he will pay me the first instalment for the painting tomorrow. When he has done that, we will have the funds to rent a little cottage for a year. It will be modest but it will be warm.’

‘And we will be so happy there!’ I said.

He took both my hands in his.

‘Yes. Yes. We will be so happy there.’

Then he smothered me with kisses.

We did not waste any time. Having sealed our new pact with a kiss, Remi and I retired to the day bed. We rolled and giggled just as we had done in our youth. In Remi’s hands I was helpless and helplessly happy.

‘Stay with me,’ I said.

The Duc would not be back that night. He was far away from Paris. He had been concerned I would miss him, poor fool, but in fact I was filled with elation at the thought of being without him. I would be spending the night with my true love instead.

‘What about the servants?’ Remi thought to ask when we were both already naked.

‘They are loyal to whoever pays them,’ I said. ‘I have more than a little money in a box beneath my wardrobe. I will make them a gift and the Duc will hear nothing, I promise.’

I trusted my servants. I had overheard them gossiping in the past. The cook said she felt sorry for me, saddled with such a cruel lover. She would not begrudge me a little happiness. Pierre the manservant, who was in love with the cook, would look to her for his opinion on the matter.

Momentarily putting on my dress again, I went down to the cook and told her I would have a guest for dinner.

‘Very well, mademoiselle,’ she said. The glint in her eye told me she approved.

How sweet it was to make love to Remi again. After so many years of being tossed around like a doll stuffed with rags by the Duc, it was simple ecstasy to be back in his arms. When we kissed, we were connected in many more ways than the simply physical.

Remi’s body was so beautiful. Perhaps he was a little heavier now that he was a famous artist and could afford to eat and drink all that he wanted, but otherwise he was little changed since we last lay together in the Rue de Seine. He assured me that the same was true of me, though I knew that unhappiness had robbed me of my appetite and made me thin. It had also stiffened my shoulders so that I might have been carved from a block of wood. Only when Remi kissed me so tenderly did I feel my body relaxing in his embrace.

How happy I was to see Remi’s manhood, bobbing up to greet me like an old and trusted friend. I was only too delighted to fall on my knees in front of Remi’s penis and take him into my mouth. The growing sense of his arousal was wonderful to me.

To have him inside me again was pure bliss.

Later Remi caressed the most secret part of me and I came just as I used to. And I cried, but for the first time since the Duc took my second-hand virginity, I was crying with happiness. With Remi back in my arms, I felt complete.

With the Duc, I never reached that place where I found my own pleasure and during the long dreary years with him, I had given up on finding pleasure for myself when I was alone. With Remi back in my life, it was as though I was waking from a long winter.

The next morning when I woke, the sun was shining brightly like a blessing but my darling Remi was already gone. In his place, he had left a note on the pillow. He promised me that he would devote the rest of his life to making me the happiest woman in the world. Once he had prised me from the Duc’s clutches, we would never again be parted.

With his note pressed to my bosom, I stepped lightly through the house. I had a smile for everyone and they had smiles for me. When I was dressed and settled in my salon, I did not insist that Pierre move my chair so that it faced away from my likeness any more. Now that Remi was back, I could remember the love with which he had painted me with soaring happiness.

Later in the day, my mood dipped just a little. The Duc would soon return from the countryside and he must not see me changed. He must think that I had spent the previous evening alone, pining for his company. I hated the thought that I must continue to deceive him, but I knew Remi was right; he must be paid before we could make our escape. I had already decided that I would not take any of the jewels the Duc had given me when I ran away. If I took nothing, he would be less likely to try to find me, as he surely would be able to if I tried to sell any of the distinctive baubles.

‘And how was your day with the artist?’ the Duc asked when he returned.

‘It was dull,’ I lied. ‘I hate to have to sit still for hours on end.’

‘But did he not entertain you with his conversation?’

‘He had nothing to say that interested me.’

‘Good,’ said the Duc. ‘If he tried to steal you from me, I would have his brushes stuck up his arse and used as a wick to set fire to him.’

I must have grown pale; the Duc apologised for his coarseness.

‘But of course, you are not so silly that you would ever run away from me, my darling child.’

He took my left hand by the wrist and kissed my palm. I flinched as I remembered how Remi had kissed me in exactly the same spot so very recently. And then I felt triumphant. This would all be over soon.

Chapter 43

It had been less than a year since I last saw Kat, but in that time she had changed quite a bit. When we met at L’Infer, she was nineteen years old and Steven’s student. Though she had incredible confidence for someone so young, she was also kittenish and eager to please, living up to her name. As soon as I saw her walk into the lobby of the Bristol, I knew that she was considerably more sure of her worth now, although she was still only twenty.

The doormen fell over themselves to help her, though she was carrying only a tiny paper bag of macarons. I didn’t think I would have attracted so much assistance had I been dragging in a trunk the size of a coffin. Kat was wearing a slim-fitting denim jacket. She handed it to another member of staff, who carried it off to the cloakroom as though it were a mink. Underneath, she wore a summer dress, diaphanous and elegant and, though it was just a scrap of fabric, obviously very expensive. The perks of having a movie-star boyfriend, I supposed.

As Kat chatted for a while to the concierge, I took a moment to examine her more closely. I wondered if Steven knew about the elevation in Kat’s status as far as men were concerned. Perhaps he didn’t even know she’d left university to become an actress. After all, he’d been in Paris for several months. I wondered then if Kat had visited him here.

Greg Simon came down into the lobby. You wouldn’t have guessed for a moment that he had any reservations whatsoever about being forced to consider an unknown for the biggest role in his film (or second biggest, as he’d wryly pointed out to me. Now that Calum was on board, there was every chance that the film would shift focus to the painter rather than the prostitute). He greeted Kat warmly. She air-kissed him on both cheeks with a nonchalance I could never manage. Kat certainly would never bump noses, as I always seemed to end up doing. They chatted for a short while: weather, traffic, macarons (Kat showed him the bag from Ladurée), before Greg motioned that they should make their way to the bar where I was waiting.

‘Kat Adams, this is Sarah Thomson. Sarah has been developing the script. I thought it would be interesting for you to meet her since she knows Augustine du Vert as well as any of us. She’s a bona fide historian. Didn’t you study history, Kat, before you gave it all up to risk your sanity in the movie business?’

‘I did,’ said Kat. She put her hand out to shake mine. Her eyes did not betray the slightest sense of recognition. Perhaps she did not recognise me – after all, we had been wearing masks when we met – but surely she would have put two and two together when she heard my name and my profession. How many historians called Sarah Thomson were there? Or perhaps Steven had meant so little to her, she’d genuinely forgotten that before she came along, he had a girlfriend called Sarah.