the maids. She had them scurrying. She had them always busy. “They can't do anything right. The cook is always drinking. Yes, your cook. I've never known a cook that didn't drink. And the maids look at me too much. I don't like them looking.”
“I hadn't noticed.”
“They're not clean, are they?”
“Not clean?”
“It's laziness, of course. I think English maids are as lazy as those in Paris. They're all such greedy little things. Wretched and greedy. I shall find some decent girls for us. Edward, we do need decent maids in the house, don't we?”
She took obvious pleasure in the house, in her new domain. I hoped her attitudes would change. I told myself she needed to mature. I had a wife. I hoped the years of peace for me would begin. Claire did have intelligence. She had her beauty. I prayed she would find her soul in London.
But before long I understood nothing would change so easily. In London Claire's attitudes became more evident. She proved to be extravagant with money. She cared about nothing except her own pleasures. Soon after arriving in London, she devoted herself to acquiring the most fashionable clothes. Dressmakers were hired, then dismissed after a week. She finally found a woman in West Kensington who promised everything in a fortnight. An enormous sum was spent, hours of fittings, additions and subtractions and restitchings, and then at the end of it Claire was still less than satisfied.
She liked to amuse herself with her jewelry. She would pass hours at her dressing table, examining her jewelry, putting something on, taking it off, examining it again. She adored an evening out, especially the theater. In those years Claire loved the theater. But her interest was not the stage but the audience. What she wanted was the eyes of others upon herself. She wanted the people in the stalls looking up at her with admiration. An evening at the theater meant Claire as a queen in full regalia reigning in a box. The box preferably forward. One can't be seen too well in a rear box.
In the bedroom there was nothing but selfishness. Her only interest was the accomplishment of her own satisfaction. Our connections were severely limited in scope, quite unimaginative, always in her bedroom, always designed to afford her the maximum convenience. She enjoyed having my mouth upon her sex. She liked to lie on her bed completely immobile while I licked and sucked at her sex. She would never return the caress, not in those early years. On occasion she would allow me to have her from behind. This occurred only when she wanted something in return, a present, a promise, something new and invariably expensive. I always agreed. I would pay any price for the pleasure of holding her bottom in my hands as I stroked in and out of her sex. It was as simple as that. What a terrible clarity there is in one's life. When the fog is brushed away. I wanted Claire's marble buttocks turned up under my eyes. She knew it. She knew the power she had over me. She used her sex as a weapon to rule her little world.
Then one day as I walked in the hall outside her bedroom I heard a plaintive cry. The door was slightly ajar. I had a sudden fear that she'd taken ill. I moved quickly into the room. She was half-reclined upon her chaise. She wore one of her Japanese silk dressing gowns, the gown pulled open to show her legs. One of the maids knelt on the floor with her face between Claire's thighs. When Claire saw me, she kicked the maid away in a fury. The girl looked at me with horror and flew out of the room. I was startled, unable to compose myself. I told Claire of my distress. She shrugged, reached to a nearby table and found a cloth to polish her nails. “I don't know why you care. She's only a servant, isn't she? I mean they're not like ordinary people. Of course now you've made a scene and she's to be dismissed. Really, darling, it wasn't necessary to make a scene.”
“I thought you were ill.”
“Well, I'm not ill. In any case, she'll be gone tomorrow. She's a bit too cheeky. I don't like them when they're cheeky. My dressmaker says all the girls from Bristol are cheeky.”
She forced me to agree the matter was of no consequence. I suppose I wanted to see it that way.
Her attitude was that I had discovered her minor amusements with servant girls. She said she'd always done it, always had them lick her when the fancy struck her. Then she turned coquettish. Did I like her Japanese robe? I hadn't known it was new. Things Japanese were so popular that year. The robe parted and her legs were exposed. She smiled as she noticed my eyes. She coaxed me, touched herself, told me how much she wanted me. She soon had me drugged. I refused to do it with her on the chaise. We moved to the bed. I kissed her thighs. I opened her sex with my tongue. She made a sound, the same sound I'd heard when I was out in the hall. A great shudder went through her as I licked her clitoris. Now there was no play at indifference. Now she allowed her pleasure to be displayed. I felt victorious. I sucked at the flower, sucked at the flowing nectar. She called my name as she quivered again.
In the beginning we visited Claire's family in Paris at least twice a year. Claire always boasted to her family about the luxury of her life in London. The envy of the younger sister was always obvious. Hector seemed pleased by his daughter's success. On occasion he attempted to be paternal towards me, but I always refused the gesture. I had married his daughter, not his dreary bourgeois pretentions. Odette seemed at peace. Her concern now was Julie's marriage. She said they must find an Englishman for Julie. Did I find it possible to be of some assistance to them? Surely there were scores of suitable prospects in London. I found it all a bit crazy. I thought they ought to find a husband for a girl in Paris. This passion for the British seemed ridiculous. But I promised to help them. Julie was an attractive, lively girl and I said I thought there should be no difficulty finding her a suitable English husband.
In the Fontan house Claire refused to make love. She always refused. It became a cause of constant irritation, a constant bickering between us when we visited her family in Paris. She refused to yield. She talked of the prying of the maids. She talked of the eyes of her sister, the annoyance of her mother. Odette's annoyance. How stupid it was. But of course I could say nothing about Odette. I was caught in a tangle of absurdities. On one occasion I threatened to leave Paris at once and return to London if Claire did not yield to me in our room in the Fontan house. She responded with a flurry of kisses, a touching of the insistent scoundrel between my legs. Amusement in her eyes as she milked me. I hated her more than ever. I was certain I ought to force her, but now I had no interest in it. Once desire is subdued, the mind returns to practicalities.
And of course there was her mother. We began again, Odette and I. Flirtation and feverish caresses. Oh, the hot excitement of it. In the Fontan house Odette and I always managed something. Brief, surreptitious but always something. Odette was sly, eager for it, never refusing. She delighted in having me spend between her lips. A hurried sucking of my root, my fingers rubbing her clitoris, while the other members of the family waited for us in a restaurant. Had Odette arranged it? I was never certain of anything in the Fontan house. Late one afternoon, we had a single brief poke, the only one in years. Odette knelt upon the bed as she had the first time when I arrived from Madrid. Now the bed was the bed I shared with her daughter, as her daughter's husband. Odette knelt with her skirts raised, her bottom exposed. That full bottom. The mother was so much more seasoned than the daughter.
Completely ripe. Her fig bulged with invitation. And above it the dark little rose winking between the broad white globes. As she had the first time, she insisted I use her bottom; she would not allow an entrance into the other place. She was in a great rush. But I was determined to take my time, determined to enjoy the moment completely. Odette rolled her hips as I went in. She was now past forty, in the fullest bloom a woman can attain. I found her appealing as always. I used my fingers to make her spend first, her rose-hole stretched by my tool. How passionate she was. I had a marvelous time with her. I was certain the maids could hear the noises we made. Odette's wailing. The servants had to know. When I finally spent in her bottom, she uttered a wild cry. She said she was ravished. She kissed my cheek and hurried away. I remember I lay upon the bed and wondered if Claire would ever be as passionate as her mother.
And then came Baden-Baden. An ideal summer; a physician's advice to take the waters. Claire now had more poise with the rich. After a few days we met the Baron von Broda and his wife Helga. Claire was delighted with them. She said they were all she thought the nobility ought to be. She said they were such an interesting couple.
