Secrets

by Galia Ryan

  That was not the real issue, though. If she really wanted to stay where she was, the allowance from her father’s estate would cover the monthly payments.

  The problem was that over the past months the demand for her girls had grown. It was the last thing she had expected. Sam’s party had been quickly followed by another, and of the original six girls, four were still with her. Word of mouth had filled the vacancies, with each newcomer already aware of the benefits that came with being part of her enterprise.

  Stephanie also understood that in the right circles it was beginning to be said that she handled the most gifted amateurs in the region. Her reputation was growing, as was her bank balance.

  She had to decide. Should she put her business on a more professional footing, or should she try harder to find a place in the legal profession?

  Both options had merit.

  * * *

  Hélène LeConte owned the oldest and most successful escort agency in town. She had known of Stephanie’s fledgling business almost from the start. Little went on in the town she wasn’t aware of. Especially when it came to the sex industry.

  She had over sixty girls on her books. Girls of all nationalities, ages, and expertise. Not that she would have recognized any of them on the street. The day-to-day running of the business—the recruitment, advertising and booking—was left to her staff.

  Her role was to ensure that her business continued to be a highly profitable enterprise and, like any other business owner, she watched her rivals like a hawk.

  She’d had Stephanie investigated. It was her usual practice when dealing with the unknown. After all, it paid to be completely certain who, or what, she was dealing with, and knowledge was power.

  She hadn’t expected much. Stephanie was young, and therefore the file would be thin. It was. But it had been interesting nonetheless. She wondered why, having gained her degree, Stephanie hadn’t continued to focus on her legal career. Especially since she was doing little else of merit with her life. She had flicked through photocopies of articles relating to Alain Duvall’s death and noted that any promise of scandalous wrongdoings had eventually evaporated. It would have been a difficult time for the family, she mused.

  On the whole it appeared that Stephanie had led a fairly blameless life. With one exception. Her name had appeared a significant number of times in the columns of society pages. Usually alongside that of Olivia Devries-Smythe.

  Of course, Hélène didn’t know Olivia personally. But she’d heard of the English aristocrat’s reputation for having a significant number of sexual partners. She wondered how the two women were connected.

  By the time she had closed the file she had decided to ask Stephanie to lunch.

  * * *

  The invitation was sealed in a tissue-lined envelope and hand-delivered. A card was attached. It gave the name of Hélène’s agency.

  Aware of its well-established reputation, Stephanie was a little awestruck, as had been the intention. She had no issue with Hélène’s intention to garner a full understanding of her status and authority. Had she been in the other woman’s position, she would have done the same. She spent the morning having her body pampered and her hair styled. She reasoned that since this was the first time she had been called upon to represent her business in an official capacity, she should be at her best.

  Lunch was to be at home. The address was a prestigious and sought-after location high in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. At the appointed hour, a car—complete with liveried chauffeur—arrived for her.

  Hélène’s property was suitably grand and impressive; Stephanie would have been disappointed otherwise. Architecturally, the house was a modern take on a Roman villa. Had it been her choice, and given the fabulous setting, Stephanie would have preferred something a little more in keeping with the locality. But who was she to say?

  She was led onto the terrace by a maid. As she had expected, the panoramic view of the ocean was breathtaking. Set into its limestone surround, the otherwise ostentatious swimming pool, with its mosaic dolphins tiled into the bottom, paled into insignificance.

  At the farthest end of the pool a woman in a towelling robe was reading a newspaper. She was shielded by an enormous sunshade. Walking towards her Stephanie guessed the woman’s age at anywhere between forty and sixty. Close up, she considered the latter was probably closer to the truth, especially given the impossibly unlined skin.

  “My dear. Thank you for coming. Please, sit down.” Hélène’s smile was practiced as she put aside the newspaper and gestured to the wicker armchair next to her own. “We will have drinks out here while lunch is being prepared.”

  Stephanie knew that behind the large dark sunglasses she was being appraised.

  “You have a very beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. I have owned it a long time.” Hélène took a moment to sit back and smooth her robe. “I have been looking forward to meeting you. May I call you Stephanie?”

  “Of course. I’m surprised you even know of my existence.”

  “I like to keep an eye on what is happening in the town. As would anyone with business interests.” Almost imperceptibly her smile tightened.

  Stephanie waited. She had known that, should she continue to supply girls to her wealthy clients, she would probably be called to task by one of the established agencies. It had just been a matter of when.

  “Competition can, of course, be healthy,” Hélène went on. Then her lips pursed. “Too much, though, and the market is saturated.” She crossed her legs. The gesture was designed to intimidate.

  Stephanie willed her own body to relax. “You can hardly class my activities as competition. I am far too small to be of concern to a well-established business such as yours.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “Perhaps not at present. But who knows what you may do tomorrow?”

  Now Stephanie smiled. “I can assure you that I have no intention of expanding, if that’s your concern.”

  The maid had returned and was placing tall glasses clinking with ice and what appeared to be fruit punch on the table. The two women fell silent. Grateful for her own sleeveless cotton dress, Stephanie felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl in her black uniform.

  “Strawberry and mango liqueur, with a squeeze of both lime and lemon,” Hélène said, once the maid had departed. “Enjoy. So tell me. If you are not intending to develop your business, what are your plans for your little stable of girls?”

  “I have no plans. I help out friends and acquaintances needing girls for parties. That’s all.”

  “But the grapevine is busy. You are continuing to receive requests, I believe.”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you intend to act upon them?”

  “I do.”

  Stephanie leaned back and, mirroring her hostess, crossed one leg over the other. She offered up a prayer of thanks for Olivia’s advice on how to appear at ease, even under the most trying circumstances.

  Having taken a sip of her cocktail Hélène slowly placed the glass down. “If you want to take your business seriously, you will need more than a handful of girls. Otherwise you will soon be devoured by the bigger fish.”

  “As I said, I really don’t have any plans.”

  “And what about the legal profession?”

  Stephanie tried not to look surprised. “Word certainly does get round.”

  “As I said, I like to know everything going on in the town.”

  Stephanie found there was little she could say.

  Watching her closely, Hélène continued, “I might have a proposition for you, one that might suit an ambitious woman like you.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “What would you say to taking over an agency that is at present poorly run, but has huge potential?”

  It was the last thing Stephanie had expected. “Where?”

  “Oh, not here in Cannes. I’m no fool. The truth is, I want you gone,” Hélène stated
bluntly. “But I think you would do well in our business, and this opportunity might just get you started.”

  “I see.” Stephanie knew she had to proceed with caution. This was a woman used to getting her own way, after all. “I’m grateful you think I’m worth considering, but at this stage I think I would prefer to leave my options open.”

  “That might not be possible.”

  Stephanie frowned. “And why would that be?”

  “Without the support of your American boyfriend, you will be forced to find another way of funding your lifestyle. And that won’t be easy. Even with your trust fund. Or do you plan to find someone else to take care of your financial requirements?”

  Stephanie was quiet.

  “You might like to think over my offer. Do you really want to chain yourself to another man? Or would you rather control your own destiny?”

  Hélène waved her hand in an expansive gesture that encompassed the house, the pool, and the panoramic view.

  Stephanie thought of Olivia.

  Both she and Hélène had the same end in mind, but it was obvious each had a very different idea of how to achieve it.

  Stephanie was well aware of the enormity of accepting Hélène’s offer. It would affect the rest of her life. Was that what she really wanted? To become the owner of an escort agency? She wasn’t sure.

  During lunch Hélène had kept the conversation light. She touched on her lifestyle—the villa, her luxury cars and vacations. She enjoyed cruising, she admitted, and went every year for at least a month. Always in a suite with a private balcony and personal butler service.

  In winter she sought the sun in the Pacific.

  “I love Tahiti. And of course, it’s a French territory. So much easier to converse in one’s own language, don’t you think?”

  Stephanie understood Hélène’s tactics. Keeping her expression pleasant and attentive, she asked enough questions to flatter the older woman. But it wasn’t just the lifestyle that piqued her interest.

  The potential challenge of turning around an ailing business was appealing. She had nothing else on the horizon, and there was no reason why the project had to be anything other than short-term. Once it was back in profit, it could be sold.

  There would be a healthy return for her, and she would be free to move on.

  It was a tempting idea.

  Chapter 25.

  Giancarlo’s letter arrived the following morning. It had travelled a tortuous route. Not least in getting out of Africa. He had sent it to her home address, but unfortunately she had neglected to inform Amelie of where she was living. Her stepmother had passed it to the family solicitor, who forwarded it to her bank.

  It was postmarked two months earlier.

  She did not open it straightaway. Instead, she placed it on her bedside cabinet. It remained there, waiting for her to pluck up the courage to read it.

  She had received his first letter months ago. It was full of his journey and the circumstances he found himself in. He was excited. Motivated. It ended on a personal note, touching on their night together. He seemed to expect that their lives would be forever linked.

  The second letter was not so exuberant. There was so much he had never expected. He’d known he would be witnessing poverty and disease firsthand, but everything was on a much larger scale than he’d imagined. And the corruption. He was completely at a loss as to how it was allowed to continue. He felt inadequate; his contribution was less than a drop in the ocean. Even his presence there concerned him. There was no mention of their night together.

  This was his third letter.

  Stephanie did not want to be drawn into his world, which was the antithesis of hers. His description of hardship and suffering made her uncomfortable. She was at her happiest surrounded by wealth and flamboyance.

  If only he would come home. Given the time he had spent on volunteer work—and in Africa, at that—he would find any number of legal firms willing to discuss his future.

  That night she lay in bed thinking of him, and comparing him to other men she had known. It was a luxury she rarely allowed herself.

  He was so different. Usually men were only interested in her body. He liked her for herself, and she was beginning to understand how very special that was. As brief as it had been, her relationship with Giancarlo when compared to her other liaisons, came over as wholesome, honourable.

  Even her arrangement with Charles had been flawed. She thought of his numerous infidelities. Those she knew of, and those she didn’t. Antoinette would have suffered even more grievously, had she known the extent of her husband’s desire for other women.

  It was almost as if he believed he was entitled. Such an attitude now seemed arrogant, to say the least. But she had played a part, too. She did not expect forgiveness from either Antoinette or Amelie. Perhaps over the course of time ... but somehow she doubted it.

  She gazed up at the ceiling and wondered what it would be like if she and Giancarlo were truly a couple. In her fantasy they would be gloriously happy. Each would have a fulfilling legal career. They might have a child. Two, even. She and his Italian mama would squabble over him. His father would secretly take her side.

  That scenario wasn’t remotely like what Olivia—or even Hélène—intended for her. But life wasn’t always straightforward.

  She came back to reality. There was really little chance of that happening. The truth was that Giancarlo had a surfeit of male pride; it would be impossible for him to accept her past and her numerous lovers.

  Unless she kept it hidden. And that might just be possible if they lived somewhere she wasn’t known. Rome, perhaps?

  Feeling a surge of hope, she looked at the envelope again. It was pale in the moonlight, her crossed-though address barely discernible. Could she keep everything from him? It would be a damning secret if he ever found out.

  She woke to find the sun streaming into the room. It had to be late, she thought irritably, as she buried her face in her pillow. As if on cue, her phone rang.

  “Am I speaking to Stephanie?”

  “You are.”

  “Excellent. Look, you don’t know me, but we do have people in common.”

  “Go on.” She was instantly awake, and easing into a sitting position.

  “I understand you know a lot of girls who like to party.”

  “No more than anyone else.”

  “Yes. Well, I was wondering if you know anyone who might be interested in a little event we are having.”

  “What type of event?”

  “A birthday party. We’re thinking of cruising down the coast for a day or two.”

  “How many days, exactly?” Stephanie was already calculating numbers.

  “Let’s play it safe, and say two.”

  “And how many of my friends would you like to invite?”

  “About ten.”

  Stephanie’s mind raced. Ten girls for two days equalled another substantial commission. Leaping from her bed she made for the side table, and her notebook.

  “Give me your name, number, and the person who suggested you call me. I’ll see if anyone I know is interested.”

  “Thank you. I look forward to your call.”

  Giancarlo was forgotten already.

  * * *

  Hélène was pleased that Stephanie had decided to take an interest in her business proposal. It was only tentative at the moment, but it was a start, and it would save so much bother. She really didn’t like to put pressure on anyone, but there were times when she had little choice.

  This was one of them. Any fool could see the girl was intelligent. Just as they could see she was ambitious. At her age, Hélène didn’t need the competition.

  She was already planning her retirement, and her financial portfolio was securely in place. In just a few more years she would be ready to hand over the reins, and Stephanie might well be her ideal successor. If that was to be the case, however, she had to get a little more experience. Learn the downside as well as the up
. It was all well and good dabbling in supplying girls for parties, but there was a lot more to the sex industry than that.

  Hélène would see whether Stephanie managed to save the other agency; she still couldn’t fathom how it had been allowed to get into such a financial mess. If the girl did well, then she might offer her a partnership.

  They were in the office Hélène kept in town. It was where interviews were conducted with those considering the lifestyle, and rewards, of escorting. The décor was a monochromatic statement of black leather furniture, white walls and a pale grey carpet. There were touches of colour, though. Hélène considered herself a patron of the arts, and supported local talent.

  She was sitting behind a large glass desk.

  Stephanie had made herself comfortable in one of the high-backed chairs facing it. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about that agency—the one that could benefit from new management,” she suggested.

  Hélène sighed. “It’s a shame really. All it really needs is fresh blood at the helm. Someone with the energy and attitude to make it the success it should be.”

  “Someone like me.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Indeed. Unfortunately the business has not been well cared for. The girls have been there far too long, and they’re ordinary, to say the least. Unlike your girls.”

  “And what is your connection?”

  “The owner and I go back a long way.”

  Stephanie shrugged, as if the origin of the business were of little interest anyway. “What is she asking for it?”

  “Less than it’s worth.”

  “You know I have no capital to speak of.”

  “Of course. I will lend you the money.”

  “On what terms?”

  “My terms.” Hélène was enjoying herself. It wasn’t often she was able to make a connection with another woman. But she liked Stephanie. The girl had guts.

  “How do you know I would succeed?” Stephanie calmly quizzed her.

  “I would train you.”

  “Train me?”