The Girl Behind The Fan (Hidden Women) (30 page)

‘I’ve been reading up on Augustine ever since Calum mentioned he’d signed to play Remi Sauvageon,’ Kat told Greg. ‘She’s such an interesting character. It’s incredible the amount of wealth those courtesans amassed. I was reading about one – La Paiva – whose lover built her a palace on the Champs Elysées. Can you imagine? What’s the equivalent today? I suppose it’s becoming Hugh Hefner’s number one bunny.’

‘Even Hugh’s married these days,’ said Greg.

Greg and Kat settled into an easy conversation about the lives of the
grandes horizontales
, as the very best of the courtesans were called. I didn’t feel I could add very much. Though I had never encountered Kat during her time at university, I could see why Steven had offered her a place on his course. She was intelligent and widely read. She was keen to know as much as she could about whatever subject you cared to introduce her to.

‘Sarah, we’ve been doing all the talking,’ said Greg after a while. ‘Perhaps you could tell us a bit more about how you envisage Augustine?’

‘She was very much a romantic at heart but she did not give her love easily. Though she gained a reputation as one of the wickedest women in Paris, it was largely unfounded. She actually had only two lovers her entire life: the Duc who gave Augustine her fortune and, of course, Remi Sauvageon.’

‘I find it fascinating that she let him come back to her, after he’d been such a jerk, leaving her alone in the garret while he went back to live in comfort with his family,’ Kat interrupted.

‘Whoever said love is rational?’ I asked. ‘I can think of plenty of modern instances where a woman has forgiven a man who seems to be one hundred per cent rat.’

‘I wouldn’t do it,’ she said, with a confidence that made me sure she had never really been in love. She had no idea what it was like to be humbled by your feelings for another person. I knew then for certain that she would come to no harm if her relationship with Calum didn’t work out. It would barely touch her. Kat was no Augustine. She was more like Arlette, moving from one man to another, making sure that each move was in the upward direction. Captivating Steven had almost certainly helped her in her first year at university. Charming Calum had launched her into the stratosphere. I imagined their first meeting – she said they’d met in a gym. The poor bloke probably didn’t know what had hit him. And now he was willing to risk putting her in a movie that could make or break his career without ever actually having seen her act? Kat certainly had some skills of seduction.

‘I would never let go of my pride like that,’ Kat continued.

‘You’d be surprised at the things you’re prepared to let go of when you really love someone,’ I assured her.

‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not my idea of love.’

Kat left after forty-five minutes. She had a meeting with a model agent in town. Yes, even though she was a good four inches shorter than the average catwalk model, Kat was trying her hand at that too. It seemed there was nothing she couldn’t do – or rather, nothing people didn’t think she could do – now that she had Calum’s seal of approval.

Greg and I were left alone.

‘What do you think?’ asked Greg. Before I could answer, he told me, ‘
I
think she is absolutely charming. She’s got a timeless look about her. I can totally see her in a recreation of the dress Augustine’s wearing in the portrait. I could see her in just about anything, to be honest. I don’t say this very often, but that girl’s got star quality. Maybe Calum wasn’t just being led by his libido after all.’

‘She certainly seems to be very switched on,’ I agreed.

But I was still confused by the way Kat had not shown the slightest hint of having met me before. I started to wonder if it was a deliberate dig at me, reminding me that I was insignificant. Perhaps she had liked Steven more than I suspected and he’d told her when he wrote to me while I was in Venice, asking me to reconsider our split.

Whatever Kat’s reason, I was glad I would not have to spend too much time with her, if any. I could probably get through the rest of my life without ever having to see her in the flesh again. Though Greg had offered me the opportunity to write the first draft of the actual script, he had warned me at the same time that it was very unlikely I would get more than one go at it. He was already looking for what he referred to as a ‘name screenwriter’. It was just as important as getting the right actors on board. Perhaps more so, because there were very few actors who had the skill to make a bad script into a great movie. They were only as good as the words the screenwriter put into their mouths.

Still, despite the caveats, I was grateful for the opportunity and the money that came along with it. It was more than I would earn in a year as an academic.

‘Of course,’ Greg continued, ‘she’ll need to do a screen test and the casting director will have to take a view, but as far as I’m concerned, Kat’s got my vote. I’ve seen pictures of her with Calum. It looks like they’ve got chemistry. This could be dynamite.’

‘She’d certainly make a good Arlette,’ I suggested. ‘She has a knowingness about her.’

‘No. She’s not old enough for Arlette. She can do the ingénue,’ Greg insisted.

‘Well, if she can’t, then perhaps Calum will be happy if she plays Arlette instead, is all I’m suggesting.’

Greg nodded, but I knew he wasn’t really taking much notice of me. He had succumbed to Kat’s magic. Why wouldn’t he? After all, I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of her gale-force charm. It was not something any mortal could hope to resist.

‘I’ll fix up the screen test. Do you think you could write a scene for her with Calum? It would be useful to see what their chemistry’s like. Weird thing is, I was always convinced he was gay. I guess he’s just very good at the casting couch.’

I thought about that on my way back to my apartment. What a cut-throat world it was, if you could only get ahead by pretending to be whatever the producer standing in front of you wanted. Straight, gay, submissive. What’s your pleasure?

Chapter 44

Later that evening, my mobile rang. My French mobile. So few people had the number that I barely recognised the ringtone. When I eventually picked it up, after it had rung three times, I didn’t know the number on the screen. I pressed answer.

‘
Bonsoir
?’ I said tentatively.

‘Sarah, it’s Kat.’

‘How did you . . .?’

‘Get your number? Easy. I told Greg I’d like to talk to you about Augustine. Get more of a feel for the character before I fly to LA to do the screen test. Greg was delighted to hear I’m taking the role so seriously. I think it’s in the bag. I have a feeling Greg would give me anything I asked for right now.’

She laughed. Her laugh was slightly cruel.

‘So,’ I said. ‘What do you want to know? From the conversation we had at the Bristol, I’d say that you’ve read pretty much everything that’s ever been published about Augustine. I’m not sure how much I can add. It’s all down to your acting skills now. And they’re pretty good, I have to say.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Certainly no one would have guessed that you and I had met before. You played the stranger brilliantly.’

‘What should I have done instead? Said, “No need for the introductions, Greg. I’ve already brought Sarah to orgasm in a seedy London sex club?”’ She laughed again. ‘I was trying to spare your blushes. Though I have to say, I was pretty surprised when I saw you. I didn’t think we’d ever meet again. Not after you ran off to Venice.’

‘I didn’t run off to Venice. I had a research project to finish. I’m a historian. Seems like you’ve given up on that.’

‘I only picked history because it was my favourite subject at school. I had no intention of seeing it through if something better came along, and something better
has
come along.’

‘Calum?’

‘You could call it that. I call it the chance to be an actress, which is what I always wanted. Look, I didn’t call you up to trade insults over the phone. What are you doing tonight? Do you fancy meeting up for a drink?’

It wasn’t the question I had expected. Part of me wondered why she would ever think I might want to go for a drink with her. She must have known on some level how difficult I had found my split from Steven and that I blamed her for being the catalyst. A larger part of me was both flattered and intrigued. I found I wanted to know more.

‘OK,’ I said.

‘I knew you’d say that.’

‘Does anyone ever refuse you?’

‘Not often,’ she admitted.

‘So where shall we meet? Do you know Paris at all? I can recommend a few bars near to your hotel. There’s a place called the . . .’

‘I know Paris pretty well,’ Kat interrupted. ‘Why don’t you meet me at Willi’s on the Rue des Petits Champs? Dress up.’

When I arrived at Willi’s, Kat was already at the bar, chatting to the handsome older guy behind it. She had changed out of her elegant floral frock into something much more edgy – a tightly corseted number that even I recognised as an Alaïa original. She beamed when she saw me.

‘We meet again,’ she said, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Nice dress,’ she added. Her lips curled to tell me that she recognised it and was amused by the memories it brought to mind. I had inadvertently put on the dress I wore to L’Infer.

‘I didn’t know what would be appropriate,’ I said.

‘Oh, that dress is totally appropriate. You could wear it anywhere. Dinner with the in-laws. A sex club . . .’

I shook my head to warn her not to go there.

We drank a bottle of wine and shared a plate of cheese. The conversation was not as awkward as I had expected. Kat really did seem serious about preparing for her screen test. She was deadly serious about becoming an actress. Inspired by her enthusiasm, I told her more about Augustine than I had planned to. But then, Kat had a way of getting you to give up more than you intended. We talked until the bar staff started to clean the tables around us.

‘Come on,’ said Kat, when one of the barmen swept the floor around her feet. ‘I know another great place nearby.’

We walked – slowly because of Kat’s heels – around the corner to the Rue Thérèse. There didn’t seem to be much going on there, but Kat drew my attention to a plain, blue-painted door next to a large plate-glass shop window hung with a venetian blind.

‘This is it,’ she said.

‘Really?’

She pushed the door open. Beyond that first door was an anteroom, as plain and uninspiring as the waiting room of a minicab firm. It had a hatch just like a minicab firm too, but that was shut. There was no one to greet us. I wondered if Kat had got the right address.

‘This is where they decide whether or not we’re sexy enough to get into the club itself,’ she told me.

‘How will they do that?’

‘It’s like a holding pen. We’re being watched. See?’

Kat looked up into the corner of the little anteroom where a CCTV camera was focused down on us. She gave it a little wave.

‘Take your coat off,’ she told me. ‘Show them what you’ve got.’

I thought about Clemence and Arlette encouraging Augustine to show her shoulders at the opera.

‘I don’t know . . .’ I began.

‘Come on,’ said Kat. ‘This place is fun and not everyone gets to see inside it. Don’t you want to know more about the real Paris?’

Maybe it was the wine that made me agree with her. I shrugged my coat from my shoulders. Kat, meanwhile, preened for the camera like a young hopeful on
X Factor
. She had all the moves.

After about half a minute – though it seemed much longer – we heard a buzzing sound that indicated the inner door was opening. We were through.

‘What is this place?’ I asked my new friend.

‘Just a club,’ said Kat. ‘You’ll like it. They stay open until late. Lots of famous people come here.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.’ Kat laughed. ‘Come on.’

It didn’t seem like much of a place. It was dark and old-fashioned. Kat found us two stools by the bar and ordered two glasses of champagne. A whole bottle duly arrived. The barman explained that it was courtesy of the man in the corner. We peered to see him. He was quite ordinary looking. He wore a suit with a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Kat raised a glass to him before she turned back to me.

‘Cabinet minister,’ she whispered.

‘What? How do you know?’

‘I’m interested in French politics,’ she said. ‘My mother is French. I lived here until I was eleven.’

That explained her ease with the door staff at the Bristol. Kat was a bilingual flirt.

In the dim light, Kat looked even more beautiful than before. No matter what I’d thought of her before, I could see the star quality Greg talked about. She knew her power and her potential. I wished I could have absorbed some of it too. I especially wished that I’d had her confidence when I was her age. It was a rare thing for someone so young to appreciate the mesmerising quality of youth.

We wouldn’t want for a drink that evening. Even as the barman was upending our empty bottle of champagne in the ice-bucket, another shadowy figure was signalling across the room that our next drink should be on him. Kat received these favours with grace and poise. I would have spluttered and insisted on paying my own way, insulting the giver because I was not sure I deserved the gift. Kat was not like that. She was a true descendent of Arlette Belrose and Clemence Babineaux. She understood how to turn beauty into wealth.