Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Bonjour, M’selle MacQueen – votre petit déjeuner. Voudriez-vous que j’ouvre les rideaux?’
The words tinkled like musical notes, charming but meaningless, an assemblage of sounds. Flora stirred, hearing indistinct noises around her: a spoon clinking on a saucer; voices in the corridor outside; the swish of the curtains on their rail.
Light spilled in, a gentle slump rather than a rush, suffusing behind her eyelids. She blinked, groggy, unable to pull herself from the depths of her slumber. The bed was too soft and she felt sunken, as if she was underground...
‘Merci.’
The sound of the male voice made her eyes fly open and she lifted her head from the pillow just as the door softly closed.
George was standing by the fireplace, several newspapers rolled under his arm. They stared at one another for a moment and she saw in his eyes some of the residual hurt caused by yesterday’s showdown; scar tissue forming over a wound.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked stiffly, going over to the tray that had been left on a small table. He poured some tea from the pot, bringing a cup back to her and setting it down on her bedside table.
Reluctantly she hauled herself to a seated position. Behind him, she saw her dress like a silver pool on the floor. She had climbed into bed mere seconds after he and Edward had left the previous night, but sleep hadn’t come easily as she lay in the dark, troubled by Edward’s sudden kiss.
‘Fine... Tired.’ Her body ached, her head heavy from all the champagne, and she sank back into the pillows again, pulling the sheets up around her and curling into a ball. She thought again of her lost baby, somewhere out there without her, and she felt exhausted in body, mind and soul; she just wanted to sleep and sleep...
‘Well, the reviews are in,’ he said, collecting his own teacup and beginning to pace slowly. He glanced back at her to check she was still listening and not drifting off again. She blinked in reply.
‘Paris-soir called you a “tour de force”. Le Populaire are calling it the “battle of the savages”.’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘They’re pitting you against Miss Baker, which is good, I suppose – you’ve heard of her “Danse Sauvage”? Although I’d have liked a more upmarket tone.’ He went back to the papers with a tut. ‘Variety – the one whose opinion we really care about – says, “The lustrous Miss MacQueen radiates such star quality, it’s only a matter of time before Hollywood comes calling,” and Le Monde has declared you the most eligible young woman in Paris.’ He threw the last paper down with a slap, looking mildly satisfied. ‘What do you say to all that?’
But her eyes had closed again and she was slipping down under the covers.
‘Flora!’
She forced them open, blinking at him. ‘I’m sorry... what?’
He frowned. ‘You should eat something.’ He went over to the tray and brought her a pastry. ‘Sit up.’
Flora sighed, heaving herself up the mattress again with effort. She took it from him wordlessly but saw that it was the hazelnut cream cornet – her favourite – a small nicety that passed unspoken from her favourite uncle, her only friend here.
‘You’re so good to me,’ she said quietly, picking at it. ‘I should never have said what I said to you yesterday. Of course I’d never tell anyone what I saw.’
George, pouring himself more tea, fell still, his back to her.
‘Do you... love him?’ She asked the question tentatively. From the very start, the balance of their relationship had been entirely weighted towards her – teaching her, showing her, guiding her. They had never once gone near his own personal life, his past or future hopes.
He turned back to her, his expression bemused. ‘Of course not.’
‘But...’
‘Sex isn’t love, Flora. It can be companionship. Or lust.’ He shrugged. ‘And sometimes it’s just a stress release.’
‘Oh.’ She had never heard anyone speak so candidly about the act before; back home it simply went unmentioned, buckled to matrimony and what the reverend called the Christian duty to reproduce. Though of course, there were occasionally ‘mistakes’ outside of marriage – such as those made by Flora herself and by Mhairi, not to mention Flora’s cousin Kitty. But several times over the years, she had also accidentally happened upon some of the younger men, either in a cleit or behind a wall, engaged in solitary pleasure. To her shame, she had never averted her gaze.
‘But seeing as we’re getting personal at breakfast... may I ask what happened to your fiancé?’
She felt her body sag. It wasn’t a question she would ever be able to answer without physical pain. ‘It was an accident. He was part of an expedition to the Arctic and their ship got trapped in the ice. The hull was breached, and...’
‘He drowned?’ he said for her when the silence lengthened.
She nodded, looking away.
‘Was his body recovered?’
She shook her head quickly.
‘But you’re sure...?’
‘Of course! It’s not something that could be mistaken!’
‘No, no, I only meant...’ He held his hands up apologetically as a small silence blossomed. ‘How did you come to meet him?’
‘Actually, James visited St Kilda with Edward and his family. Their fathers were old friends and they’d both gone up to Cambridge together.’
‘Ah.’ Understanding dawned across Pepperly’s face. ‘So you met him and Rushton at the same time?’
‘Aye.’
‘But you chose your James fellow over Rushton?’
She hesitated, surprised he should have guessed that there had been a love triangle between the three of them. ‘... It was tricky,’ she conceded.
‘I’m sure it was. Although it’s a lot less tricky now, if what I walked in on last night is anything to go by.’
Flora felt her cheeks burn. ‘That wasn’t... I didn’t... know he was going to do that.’
‘No?’ Pepperly gave another of his small, bemused laughs. ‘I did. Why do you think I came back?’
Flora swallowed. ‘He was just a little drunk and emotional, that’s all.’
Pepperly watched her. ‘And does Rushton know about the baby?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Don’t jump down my throat, Flora!’ he snapped back. ‘I’ve got to be in full possession of the facts, that’s all. Until we were all sitting at dinner, I had no idea about your past history with Rushton, and yet he’s my main investor. It isn’t irrelevant to the situation at hand.’
She swallowed back her indignation. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Hm. Make sure you make no mention of it to him. Best not to give him any... leverage.’
‘Leverage?’
But he wasn’t listening. ‘Tell me, what precautions do you take?’
She looked at him blankly.
‘Have you a diaphragm, is what I mean?’
‘A what?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, question answered. Don’t worry, I know a doctor here who can help out.’
‘Pepper, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I need a doctor? I’m not ill.’
He sighed, coming to sit on the end of the bed, his teacup still in his hand. For several moments he just looked at her. ‘Now that Rushton’s staying in town for a few more days, we need to be realistic about what’s around the corner. I’m doing what I can, but I won’t always be able to... rescue you.’
‘Rescue me?’
‘Yes. Like last night.’
She frowned. ‘But I didn’t need rescuing last night.’
‘No? And what do you think would have happened if I hadn’t turned up when I did?’
‘Edward would have left and I’d have gone to bed.’
He sighed again, looking as if he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Look, Flora, possibly – because the two of you are “old friends” – he might have been satisfied with just a kiss last night. But he’s joining us at Le Boeuf after the show again tonight and then taking you on somewhere. And he will be expecting more than a kiss then, I can assure you.’
‘What?’ She blinked at him in disbelief. ‘Well, he won’t be getting anything at all!’
He put a hand out and patted her foot over the covers. ‘Flora – he won’t leave Paris until he’s got what he wants.’ He took in her expression. ‘... Don’t look so horrified. It’s not uncommon in this industry. This is how business gets done. The casting couch often helps... confirm a hunch.’
‘A hunch?’
‘Exactly. Men like Rushton are taking huge risks with their own money any time they invest in one of these projects. Sometimes – very often, in fact – it’s these “little extras” that help a deal over the line.’
Flora could only stare at him. ‘Pepper, I don’t think you understand. Edward would never... he would never be so improper with me. Last time we met, he wanted to marry me.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, unperturbed. ‘Because back on St Kilda, the only way he could possibly have gotten you off the island and into his circle – by which I mean, into his bed – was by proposing to you. But now you’re already here, and... Well, to put it in very crude terms, I own you and he owns me.’ He shrugged at the bald intimation.
Flora stared at him. ‘What do you mean, he owns you?’
‘Shows need financing, Flora. You know money doesn’t magically grow on trees! He’s my principal backer. I need him on board with my projects – and the moment I told him about you, he was on board. Which, of course, makes perfect sense now.’
‘You told him about me specifically?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean, you gave him my name? You told him where I was from?’
‘Naturally. It all added to the legend – a beautiful island girl comes to the big city... He’s been waiting for months for this to come together. He gave me carte blanche with the budget. Who do you think gave me the green light to put you up here?’ He gestured to the opulent room.
Flora fell quiet as she absorbed this, remembering Edward’s mild amusement as he had surveyed this room last night, the way he’d laughed as he’d learned of her expensive breakfast habits – a habit he himself had paid for. He had been waiting for her all this time? She felt as if she had been caught in some kind of trap.
‘Stop looking so horrified,’ George chastised her. ‘He’s not a monster! But it’s important that you understand his expectations. He’s a key player in this industry and... well, it pays to keep him happy. If he were to pull the plug, it would hurt us both.’
Flora could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘You’re saying he’ll expect me to lie with him because he’s financed the show?’ She drew her legs back on the bed, pulling the covers to her chin. ‘No! I won’t do it.’
A look of disbelief travelled over George’s face. He looked confounded that the logic of his words had missed their mark. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t love him! Why else?’
‘Love?’ he scoffed after a moment, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘What have I just been telling you? Sex is always a transaction, be it in marriage or business.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Flora, you – as a beautiful woman – know better than anyone that you’ve been trading on your looks all your life. You know damn well that you’re a prize, something to be won, and you dangle that over every man you meet. But there has to be a winner in the end. Someone was always going to get you.’
‘And it was James. I accepted James because I loved him!’
‘And now he’s dead.’ Hs words were like a slap. ‘I’m sorry to be so direct, but those are the facts – and Rushton is still in the race. He won’t give up, Flora, especially now, with his tactical advantage over both of us. If you turn him down, you’ll risk losing everything you’ve come by – and I do mean everything. I saved you, but by extension it was Edward who saved you. Is it really so bad if he asks for something in return? Something you’ve already freely given?’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me,’ she whispered.
‘No? Would you rather I’d left you to work it out for yourself as he takes your dress off you this evening?’
Flora didn’t reply. She watched as he rose from the bed and crossed the room.
‘It’s time to grow up, Flora. This is Paris – it isn’t chic to be bourgeois. I’m trying to help you, as I always have. I don’t want you to come to any harm and there’s absolutely no reason you should – but if you run, he’ll only chase harder.’
She stared at him, appalled by what he was telling her. Her act on stage was in fact no act at all. She was a songbird, imprisoned in a jewelled cage by the man who owned her.
‘Let him have you and he’ll move on quickly, I assure you.’
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a thick wad of francs from a money clip, tossing it onto the bed beside her. ‘There’s a boutique on the Rue Saint Honoré. Buy yourself some appropriate nightwear.’ He looked disapprovingly at her heavy, undyed linen nightdress; woven by her father, hand-sewn by her mother, it smelled of home. ‘They’ll have a selection to choose from.’
‘So this is his money you’re giving me, to buy clothes to seduce him in?’ she asked, picking it up angrily. ‘Isn’t that just a bit pathetic?’
‘Whether it is or it isn’t, it’s his money that will keep this show on the road and enable you to locate your son,’ he said, stating the facts in the terms she would best understand. She fell back and he walked slowly back to the armchair to retrieve his hat. Flora watched as he set it carefully on his head.
‘Where are you going?’ Her voice trembled.
‘To the theatre.’ He glanced over at her. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not expected.’
‘But you said to Edward—’
‘I was giving you an alibi, Flora. As I said, I’ll do what I can to run interference between the two of you, but I can’t stop everything altogether. And, if he senses that’s my game, the consequences will be dire, I have no doubt.’ He headed for the door. ‘Rest while you can; now we’re up and running, you need to conserve your energy.’
‘Pepper, please,’ she whispered, as he reached for the doorknob.
He looked back at her. ‘It’s just business, Flora. Don’t make it personal when it’s not.’
She watched him go, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
But it would always be personal to her, she thought. It was impossible to think of going to bed with Edward when she still belonged to James. He remained with her, even in death and her heart had become like a fossil – impermeable now, and indelibly imprinted with the shape of something that had gone before, refusing to ever let it go.