by Rosie Harris
Madame Delcourt shook her head as if in amusement. ‘Yet you end up being hired as a dancer; all so breathless it seems untrue. Never mind; we have found each other. You will start dancing immediately; your first rehearsal and costume fitting will be in the morning. Are you agreeable to all that?’
‘It sounds wonderful, I feel quite dazed by my good fortune,’ Fern told her.
‘That is good. Now I will find someone to take care of you until then. I will arrange some lodgings for you. Our girls are housed quite nearby. It is a large house and they all have their own rooms but enjoy each other’s company at mealtimes and whenever they are not working. There is a housekeeper who attends to their needs, arranges laundry and things like that.’
It took Fern several weeks to settle into her new life. The routine and rehearsals at the Folies Bergère were strict and arduous. She found living with so many girls was exhausting because it was so difficult for her to understand their constant chatter. She remembered with deep longing the cosy evenings spent with Maria and the close companionship she experienced when Rhodri joined them for a meal.
The highlight of her existence, however, was the fact that she danced a solo piece every night and the applause from the audience when she finished her dance was intoxicating and filled her with deep contentment.
The first time she saw her name listed on one of the Folies Bergère posters, she felt grateful that all her hard work had been worth it. She was no longer simply a dancer; she was a cabaret star and really had achieved her ultimate ambition.
Fern found that living in Paris was exciting, especially after the frugalities and regimentation she’d experienced in Petrograd. She spent a great deal of time window-shopping. The clothes on display were so wonderful that she wished she could buy them all, but she was equally content to simply view and dream. The elaborate costumes she appeared in each night – silks, satins and feathers – more than compensated her longing for glamorous outfits.
In many ways she had never been happier. At the back of her mind, however, there was always the feeling that she ought to return to Cardiff because she owed it to Maria to make sure that she was comfortable in her declining years. Maria had been like a mother to her. She missed Rhodri and his practical approach to life as well; they were her only remaining links with Glanmor.
She tried to tell herself that she had moved on and that that part of her life was now a closed book, but it didn’t always work. When she was feeling tired she became homesick and then it seemed she could think of nothing else.
Yet, much as she wanted to return to Cardiff, she didn’t want to give up the thrill of dancing to an appreciative audience every night and she knew quite well that there was nothing compatible with performing at the Folies Bergère. She even had a special admirer who came twice or sometimes three times a week to watch her dance. She always knew when he was in the audience because before the show started he would send round a single long-stemmed rose in an elaborate box.
She had no idea what he looked like, although she always tried to study the audience in the hope of picking him out.
The other girls laughed and teased her about him. Some said he was an artist who one day would want to paint her portrait; others said he was old and ugly and that was why he would never come to the stage door or arrange to meet her. Several told her that he was probably rich but married and had a wife who was so jealous that he dare not reveal who he was.
Many of the girls had admirers or patrons but they were usually short-term liaisons. Occasionally, one of them would receive a proposal and then the fortunate recipient would depart in a shower of good wishes for a life of luxury and never be heard of again.
It was many months before Fern discovered who her own admirer was and by then, she was curious to meet him face to face. When she did she found that she enjoyed his company.
Monsieur Laurain was a well-built man of medium height in his early fifties. His thinning dark hair was brushed back from a high forehead and his dark eyes were sharp and quite piercing. He was dressed in a flawless black tailcoat and dark trousers with a snow-white shirt and a dark grey bow tie.
Over a meal in an exclusive little restaurant in Rue Laffitte he told her to only ever call him Pierre. He explained that his need for discretion was because he was the head of a large financial organisation. He didn’t name it and Fern thought it was wisest not to ask for details but resolved to find out in some other way.
He flattered her by saying how entranced he was by her and told her that he would like to set her up in her own apartment. It would be somewhere very discreet, he promised, a love-nest where he could visit her whenever he was free to do so.
Fern was hesitant. She realised what would be expected of her in such a liaison and she still wasn’t at all sure that she was ready for such a relationship. Ever since Glanmor had died she had gone to great lengths to avoid becoming embroiled in any serious flirtations that might lead to romantic encounters because she was determined to remain true to his memory.
Even so, the thought of having her own apartment and being completely independent from the rest of the girls who danced at the Folies Bergère every night was tempting. Of late she had discovered that she much preferred to be on her own; working and living with the same girls day in day out was becoming claustrophobic. The only problem was whether he would be content with a platonic friendship or whether he would expect more.
He seemed to understand her hesitancy and emphasised that he didn’t need an answer from her right away.
‘I want you to take your time and think about it carefully but do not keep me waiting too long for your answer,’ he told her. ‘If you are agreeable to the idea, then I will go ahead and make all the necessary arrangements. I assure you that I will seek your approval before choosing any apartment. I want it to be one that pleases you and is exactly to your taste.’
Fern found this reassuring; she thought that such consideration for her feelings showed how perceptive and kind he was. Even so, she didn’t relish the idea of becoming his mistress, which she realised was what was involved.
It troubled her so much and she was in such a quandary about it, that she could think of nothing else. Finally, in desperation, she decided to confide in Madame Delcourt.
‘Ma cherie, I fail to understand what your problem can be,’ she said, frowning. ‘Surely you are aware that Monsieur Laurain is being extremely magnanimous?’
‘I know that, and I really do appreciate his generosity,’ Fern told her.
‘Then why are you so worried; why do you come to me to help you make a decision?’
‘I am not sure that I want to be involved in a romantic liaison of that sort,’ Fern explained hesitantly.
‘Foolish girl,’ Madame Delcourt scolded. ‘Do you not see that he is doing you a great honour? You may be a dancer here at the Folies Bergère but, compared to him, you are an utter nobody. Monsieur Pierre Laurain is not only a highly respectable, very wealthy businessman, but he is also greatly admired and has tremendous influence throughout Paris.’
Chapter Thirty
Fern longed to accept the apartment that Monsieur Laurain had taken her to see in Rue Laffitte, which was only a stone’s throw from the discreet restaurant where they had first met, but the thought of being under an obligation to him, and all that would eventually entail, deterred her from doing so.
She had been amazed at how very much in favour of her accepting Monsieur Laurain’s offer Madame Delcourt had been, but far from convincing her that it was the right thing to do it had made her even more cautious.
Each day, as she endured the discomfort of sharing everything, from the bathroom to mealtimes with the horde of chattering girls from the chorus, she longed for the privacy of the apartment.
To a degree the girls were all friendly but several of them resented the fact that she was English and a complete newcomer and yet had a solo spot in the show, and they made no attempt to hide their jealousy.
The other thi
ng that she found rather disconcerting was that they expected her to share with them what few possessions she had. They would borrow a dress, a hat, stockings, make-up, or anything else that took their fancy – even her hair brush and face flannel – without asking.
‘You are welcome to any of our things,’ they would retort with a cheeky smile or a nonchalant shrug, if she protested. ‘It is ridiculous for all of us to buy a new dress, or anything else, for that matter, when we want to dress up for a special occasion, when it is so much more convenient to borrow from each other.’
Fern appreciated that this was perfectly true. She pointed out that she didn’t mind lending her things, providing they asked permission first. She resented it when they helped themselves to possessions which were rightfully hers because it reminded her far too much of what life had been like in Petrograd.
There were many other ways in which she felt she didn’t belong. In their leisure time most of the girls never wanted to go anywhere else in Paris but loiter around Montmartre. Although she loved to explore the quaint cobbled streets, unlike the other girls, the attraction for her was the atmosphere, not the hope of being spotted by an artist asking if he could paint her.
There were so many other beautiful places to visit in Paris that it was never at the top of her list. As a result, her excursions to take in all the other vistas Paris had to offer, from the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and Notre Dame to the wonderful parks and gardens or walks along the banks of the Seine, were usually made on her own.
She knew this made her unpopular with the other girls and they regarded her as stand-offish. For this reason as much as any other she knew Madam Delcourt was perfectly right and that probably she would be far happier moving into the apartment she‘d been offered. It was the commitment that Pierre Laurain was expecting her to make if she did so that worried her.
Her decision was taken suddenly. She was so incensed because one of the girls had borrowed her white fox fur stole without asking that she knew she couldn’t stand communal living any longer. The fur was her most treasured possession because it was the very last present Glanmor had bought her.
‘What a fuss to make about an old piece of rabbit skin,’ the girl commented disdainfully as, with a cry of protest, Fern grabbed hold of the stole and pulled it from her shoulders.
The other girls regarded the scene in silence, some in disbelief, others in amusement, as, with tears trickling down her cheeks, Fern buried her face in the soft pile.
It was at that moment that she decided she couldn’t go on sharing living quarters with them any longer. She knew she was taking a chance but if she couldn’t have Glanmor she felt it no longer mattered. A week later she was installed in the apartment in Rue Laffitte and revelling in the spaciousness of her new home.
She padded around the three-roomed apartment in her bare feet, revelling in the feel of the deep-pile carpets. Every so often she would stop and pick up one of the velvet-covered cushions and hug it to her in delight and then flop down on the chaise-longue, or the sofa that was upholstered in gold brocade, completely overcome by all the luxury that surrounded her.
In the beautiful bedroom she was constantly running her hand down the smooth satin sheen of the luxurious heavy cream curtains that draped the windows. She stroked the rose-pink brocade bedspread that topped the soft satin sheets and the fur bedcover that was folded in three and draped across the foot of the bed.
Whenever she caught sight of her reflection in the cheval mirror or in the ornate gilded mirror suspended over the long narrow dressing table, she drew in a long, deep breath.
Then, remembering the frugal furnishings of the apartment in Petrograd which she’d shared with Jacob, Dairvy, little Egor and the two lodgers Boris and Vladimir, she felt a frisson of guilt that she was now living in such a spacious apartment.
She wished Maria could see it. Maria’s home had been comfortable and cosy but this place, she reflected, was opulence greater than anything she had ever known in her life before.
Monsieur Laurain was most tactful. For the first few times that he escorted her home after the show he showed her to the door but made no attempt to come in with her. Gradually Fern’s fears about what her move would entail faded into insignificance.
She had been living there several weeks when he asked, ‘Are there any other items you require for the apartment? You may make any changes you wish, remember. I want you to think of it as your home and I want you to feel completely relaxed and comfortable living there.’
‘There is nothing I need, it is very beautiful and I am most happy,’ she told him.
‘Then perhaps you would like to invite me in for a nightcap next time I bring you home,’ he said quietly.
‘You have the right to come in at any time,’ she said quickly.
He shook his head. ‘No, that is not so, ma petite. I would not dream of entering unless you invited me to do so. It is your home and I shall always respect that.’
Fern felt her colour rising as she realised that it had been slightly remiss of her not to ask him in before this. Her feeling of gratitude towards him increased because she realised that he had been extremely patient and courteous. He had allowed her time to settle in without imposing even the slightest demands.
‘Please,’ she laid her hand on his arm, ‘you must always feel free to stay and have a nightcap, Pierre, and also to visit me whenever you wish to do so. If you don’t, then I shall lead a very lonely life,’ she added with a smile.
From then on there was a much more relaxed understanding between them. He never mentioned his family but she learned that he was chairman of several very important companies and had a great many friends in high places and in government circles.
‘Perhaps, ma petite, you would like to meet some of them,’ he suggested one evening as he sat sipping the glass of absinthe which she’d poured out for him, knowing that it was his favourite drink. ‘I am sure they would be interested in meeting you,’ he added with a twinkle in his dark eyes.
Fern smiled dismissively. ‘It is very kind of you to suggest it but they must all be so clever and so learned that I wouldn’t know what to say to them.’
‘Nonsense! Anyway, you wouldn’t have to talk to them if you didn’t want to do so. They would enjoy watching you dance for them. I thought you could give them a private performance.’
Fern looked at him in silence. She was flattered but it seemed such an odd request that she didn’t know what to say. If they wanted to see her dance then they could attend a performance at the theatre.
‘Surely you are prepared to do that for me, Fern. It is the only request I have ever made of you,’ he said sharply.
Fern felt her colour rising. She knew that was quite true and it was something that had puzzled her ever since she moved into the apartment. Pierre Laurain had never made any attempt to touch her, other than to occasionally give her a chaste peck on the cheek.
‘You are quite right,’ she told him. ‘Of course I will dance for your friends.’
Soon the other girls at the Folies Bergère discovered where Fern was living. When they found out that it was under the patronage of Monsieur Laurain, their comments reflected a mixture of envy and scorn.
‘Imagine it! He is said to be one of the richest men in France,’ Eloise sighed.
‘I wouldn’t fancy becoming an old man’s darling,’ Marguerite murmured, pulling a face and shuddering.
‘No wonder she didn’t want us borrowing any of her baubles, they’re probably things he’s bought her,’ Dorita said scornfully, flicking her long tawny hair back from her shoulders disdainfully.
‘I wonder what you have to do to earn such generous patronage?’ one asked inquisitively.
‘If you get lonely in that huge rambling apartment we’d always be willing to move in with you,’ several of them told her.
‘Or if Monsieur Laurain has a rich friend who wants to set another one of us up in such luxury you have only to tell him my name,’ another giggled.
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br /> Fern tried to take their teasing in good part. Now and again a comment would hurt and she would wince inwardly, but she did her best to remain calm and apparently unfazed.
Madam Delcourt seemed to be delighted by her decision and even went as far as to wish her well. At the same time she cautioned, ‘It may not last for ever, you know, so enjoy it while you can and don’t be too heart-broken when it all ends.’
Fern knew this was sound advice. Since she no longer had to pay for her keep and Monsieur Laurain not only made sure that the larder was well stocked but also kept an excellent selection of wines and spirits, Fern prudently saved as much of her salary as she could.
She soon found that because she did not have to pay for anything other than her own personal beauty items she had money left over each week. It immediately became her ambition to save an adequate sum to live on for a few months if she lost her job. She also wanted to save enough to be able to return to Cardiff if ever anything went wrong or if she felt she couldn’t stand living in Paris any longer.
As her savings grew so did her restlessness and, somehow, all the luxury and crowds of admirers had a hollow, unreal feel. She decided that as soon as she had saved up enough she would return to Cardiff and the life she missed so much, and take care of Maria in her old age.
For some reason, she found it very demeaning when she had to dance for Monsieur Laurain’s friends, even though it was conducted in a very proper manner.
They came late in the evening, he was already there and, after an exchange of pleasantries, he would pour out drinks for all of them and they would make themselves comfortable on the sofas or armchairs. Pierre would select a record and put it on to the gramophone and then signal to her that they were ready.
At the end of her dance session they would all applaud and say how much they’d enjoyed the evening. It was all conducted in such a friendly yet restrained manner that she couldn’t understand why she always felt so uneasy and why, once she’d danced, she was so impatient for them all to depart.