'My other great discovery is that men are much more generous to women who do not need their generosity. To put it another way, generosity is relative to a woman's social situation. You, for example, lent me five thousand francs – more than I asked for, certainly, and enough to transform my life. But would you have thought you could have bought the Countess Elizabeth Hadik Barkoczy von Futak uns Szala for such a sum? She who is known to be worth at least a million.'
'Are you really?'
'I said known to be. Not that I am. Reputation is more important than reality, Mr Cort.'
'I see. And the answer to your question is no. But then, I very much doubt the idea of buying a countess would ever cross my mind.'
'Then you are unlike many men, for whom the more unattainable the prize, the more they must have it.'
'M. Rouvier?'
She held up a finger reprovingly. 'I am happy to discuss things in general, Mr Cort. But the particular must remain my secret.'
'My apologies. If my acquaintance of last night is correct, then you are fast becoming the most unattainable woman in Paris.'
'And hence the most expensive,' she said with a smile. 'And that takes money. Staying in this house for a month, entertaining lavishly, costs a fortune. But it also makes men more generous.'
'I find it difficult to believe that each interested party is unaware of the others.'
'Of course they know of each other. But each thinks he is in unique possession, while the others are merely jealous.'
'I do not see how such an arrangement can endure without some mishap.'
'Probably it cannot. But I believe that in another year it will not matter. I will have accumulated enough money to keep myself in comfort, and so will have no more need of such arrangements. I do not think that such a life can continue forever, and there are few things worse than a middle-aged trollop.'
The words made her thoughtful, and I sensed that they had also made her uncomfortable.
'I hope you will not find me rude if I say you must leave now, Mr Cort. I have work to do this afternoon.'
I rose to my feet and stammered slightly that, naturally, I quite understood.
She smiled. 'No. You misunderstand. I told you I am on holiday. I must attend the Princess Natalie. A boring and remarkably stupid woman, but I need her approval. So,' she said brightly, 'I must go and charm her, or at least, disguise my disdain.
'Please come and visit again,' she said as I prepared to leave. 'I am giving a soirée tomorrow evening here, at nine o'clock. You would be a welcome guest.'
'I am flattered. But I would have thought—'
'. . . I would want to keep you as far away as possible? Certainly not; it is agreeable to find someone whose way of life is even more immoral than my own. Besides, I think it would be best to keep an eye on you here. And I like you.'
It is strange how such a simple statement can cause an effect; from her lips, the sentence made a huge impact on me. She did not like many people, I suspected; life had taught her few were likeable and fewer still were trustworthy. Yet she offered me both. She managed to make the offer seem both generous and a privilege. Was that calculation? If so, part of the art lay in making it not seem so, but to be rather something that came from the heart.
You think me foolish, reading these words, that I could be so bemused by the wiles of a former streetwalker? Well, you are wrong, and would accept that if you had met her when she was at the peak of her powers. Not that she was gentle or vulnerable herself, however much she could appear to be so. She had learned to survive, to fight and never to give ground against a hostile world. However soft and feminine she appeared, she had a core that was as tough as steel. No one knew her, and certainly no one took advantage of her. Not twice, anyway.
She came closer to trusting me than anyone in her acquaintance. I hope I do not flatter myself by saying that I deserved it, that it was not simply because she knew my secret as well as I knew hers, although that was no doubt part of the reason. I had had the opportunity of mistreating her and had declined it. I had dealt with her fairly, and had not abused my power over her. I had treated her as her character deserved, not as her condition allowed. She was a woman of few loyalties, but when they were conferred they were boundless.
