Madam Lydia by Philippa Masters

Author:Philippa Masters
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 0352331151
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I had not seen what Philippe called his 'hotel' that night, having gone straight up to my room in that clanking elevator. I had, actually, thought the term somewhat pretentious but now I understood better. It did indeed resemble nothing so much as an hotel, and a palatial one at that.

The stairs from the second floor, where my room was, to the first were fairly narrow, but those from the first to the ground floor were wide and curving. They gleamed with rosewood and brass. Before I descended, I looked along the wide, thickly carpeted corridors that led off to my right and my left. Brass and ebony stands were ranged along the walls, each bearing a large onyx vase in which grew an aspidistra or one of those plants I have heard referred to as mother-in-law's tongue. Between these stands were large, highly polished doors. All were closed, and I felt it would have been impertinent to open any of them to peep in. Philippe was in the same business as Amelia and I, and who knew what I might walk in on!

The lower stair swept down to the huge, parquet-floored foyer, and I descended it slowly. So far, I had not seen another soul, and I was to learn later that this was quite usual during the morning hours. Indeed, business in this house did not really get under way until the early evening.

The first persons I encountered were two stalwart and beautifully uniformed footmen, standing one on each side of the outer doors. They looked like sentries, and I was to learn that that was more or less what they were, for their sole occupation was to guard the doors against intruders, and to control matters if passions rose between clients or, as happened very occasionally it seemed, between a client and a girl.

As I approached, I was pleased at the way their eyes roamed over me, confirming that my house-dress had not lost its effect; I asked where I might find Philippe. Of course, they spoke no English, and I very little French, so at first there was puzzlement. By dint of speaking louder and slower, and repeating that I wished to see Monsieur le Comte du Fallier, I at last got through to them, and with a grin of relief one of them pointed towards a quite modest side door, and gestured and nodded his head encouragingly.

I went to it, turned my head to check that it was the right door, and was pleased to see that the footmen's eyes were riveted to my figure. I knocked and, hearing a voice from within, opened the door.

The room I entered was obviously Philippe's office. The man himself sat behind a large mahogany desk with a black leather insert for the working surface. Philippe was sitting with a huge ledger before him and a fountain pen in his hand.

He smiled warmly and rose to greet me. I sauntered into the room, quite deliberately putting on my 'working girl' walk.

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