Empress Bianca

by Lady Colin Campbell

  ‘Oh, Bianca, I love you,’ Philippe declared, pressing himself against her fully clothed body. ‘I’ve loved you and wanted you since I first met you.’

  ‘Not here, not now,’ she replied between his fumbling kisses.

  ‘Marry me. Marry me. You won’t regret it. I’ll give you an even better life than Bernardo does.’

  Bianca raised her index finger and gently put it against his mouth, pleasure coursing throughout her body and soul. Philippe was hers, to do with as she pleased, and even though she did not really want him, she nevertheless thrilled at the idea of having someone so ardent and so useful in her power. If only she could keep him dangling forever, that would be ideal. ‘We’ll speak about this outside. I can’t stay here any longer. If one of the servants discovers us, it will be a disaster.’

  ‘I’ll marry you, Bianca,’ he said, trying to reassure her.

  ‘I know, and I love you for it, but I have the children to consider.’ With that, she pecked him on the lips and let herself out onto the veranda of the pool house.

  Within minutes, he came back outside, a large bath towel covering the erection that had not quite disappeared. Bianca, noticing his state of arousal, felt another frisson, this time of satisfaction. It was so gratifying to be desired.

  Before Philippe could say anything, she said: ‘Darling, I want you to know how very happy you’ve made me this afternoon.’

  ‘We need to be together properly,’ he replied.

  ‘In marriage or in bed?’ she asked, sharp as a whip: a trait that never failed to quicken the pulse of this most astute of men.

  ‘Both,’ he said, reaching for her hand. She let him take it and allowed him to caress it, although she was not responsive the way she would have been with Bernardo. ‘What about coming to the apartment tomorrow afternoon at siesta time?’

  ‘Philippe, I can’t slink into a man’s apartment at siesta time, as if I were some common prostitute.’

  ‘No one will know.’

  ‘Your porter will, for one. It leaves us open to blackmail. No. I can’t behave like that. I have a husband and children and a reputation to consider.’

  ‘You can always divorce Bernardo and marry me. I’d love to be a stepfather to your children. You know Bianca, I’m a rich man, relatively speaking. I can take care of you. I may not be as rich as Ferdie, but I am worth a few million dollars.’

  ‘You’re going too fast for me. We haven’t even slept together…’

  ‘I know we’ll be fantastic together…’

  ‘That may be so, but I can’t just leap from one marriage to another, Philippe.’

  ‘We need to be together.’

  ‘Not here. Not in Mexico. We would have to meet abroad,’ she said, stalling for time.

  ‘That’s very clever, Bianca. No wonder I want you so much. You’re so much more than a pretty face. I’ve always said that brains are the ultimate turn-on to a man with a mind. The problem, of course, is that so few women with brains look the way you do,’ Philippe said, taking her hand and resting it near his penis. ‘And let’s face facts: a man doesn’t go to bed with a woman’s brains. You’re the perfect package.’

  She smiled, pulled her hand away and said: ‘Maybe we should meet in New York in March. I’ll tell Bernardo I’m going shopping for the new season’s clothes. But you must tell him that you’re going to Paris or some such place.’

  Although Bianca did not enter into the affair with any enthusiasm, the March trip was an unexpected success. Although the sex was perfunctory and could not compare with what she had with Bernardo, she nevertheless

  did not mind sleeping with Philippe. He was so sweet and so ardent that she almost desired him and would have done so, had he been more proficient in bed. However, he was like many highly successful men: highly effective out of bed, totally deficient in it. Still, his acumen as a businessman made dealing with him easy, if only because he was used to making compromises as a part of deals. Therefore, when she insisted that they occupy suites on separate floors (‘Just in case Bernardo is having me followed. I don’t think it’s likely, but you never know for sure’) he booked a suite for her and, three floors beneath, a double room for himself which he never once slept in, although he was careful to stash his clothes there (‘In case one of the staff is a private detective,’ Bianca suggested.)

  Bianca’s nervousness and the precautions it forced upon them only added to the excitement of the occasion. ‘If Bernardo finds out you were here, we can say that we ran into each other and linked up for companionship,’ she said. ‘And if he doesn’t discover that you were here, we’ll keep our mouths shut.’

  Having lived in Lebanon and travelled extensively on business throughout Europe and the Americas as well as the Far East, Philippe was actually considerably more sophisticated than his new mistress. This sophistication now came to his aid, helping to seduce her and lure her more deeply into the relationship. He made sure he served up all the treats a great metropolis such as New York has to offer to those in the know. For the four days of the trip, he laid on the latest Broadway shows, lunched and dined at Le Pavillon, La Cote Basque, La Grenouille and the other fashionable watering holes. They danced at Le Club, the chicest discotheque in Manhattan, and Bianca was supremely impressed to discover that he had been one of its founding members. Clearly, she noted with surprised delight, this funny-looking and superficially dull little man had hidden depths.

  By the time Bianca flew back to Mexico while Philippe made his way to Paris, their relationship had undergone a fundamental change, even though it was not enough to make her contemplate leaving Bernardo for him. It was on their second foreign assignation, however, that her respect for him surged, bringing her closer to the precipice she did not yet know existed.

  Once more, Bianca and Philippe stayed at the Pierre, that most sumptuous of hotels on Fifth Avenue diagonally opposite the Plaza, where Ferdie Piedraplata’s good friend, Aristotle Onassis, kept a permanent suite.

  Once more, they did all the things chic New Yorkers did, but it was when he introduced her to the magic of Mainbocher that she entertained for the first time the idea that one day she might…some time in the very, very far future…replace the solidly parochial Latin American Bernardo with the more cosmopolitan Philippe.

  On the morning after their arrival in New York, he’d simply said to her: ‘This afternoon, you’re going to receive an invitation to visit the salon of Mainbocher. I’ve arranged things through the King of Morocco’s sister-in-law, who’s a friend of mine from Lebanon. If you’d like me to come with you, make the appointment for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Otherwise, go and choose whatever you want.’

  Mainbocher was America’s premier couturier. You couldn’t just walk into his salon on the eighth floor of the KLM Building on Fifth Avenue without first being invited, because this man, who had made his name between the wars in Paris, did not have clients. He had house ‘friends’.

  These included the Duchess of Windsor, whose dress for her wedding to King Edward VIII had been his creation; Babe Paley, CZ Guest; Gloria Vanderbilt and every other luminary on the American social scene. Never in her wildest dreams had Bianca ever hoped to become a house ‘friend’. Never had she imagined that she would reach the stage in life where she, Bianca Barnett de Calman, would have her own dummy made, the way all Mainbocher’s other ‘friends’ did, and that it would repose alongside all the Ford, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Van Rensslaer, and Windsor ones, ready and waiting to be draped, pinned, pricked and fitted with a creation that would be hers, and hers alone. The idea that she, Bianca Barnett de Calman, would ever be able to spend $2,000 on a suit, the way Mainbocher ‘friends’ customarily did, had never occurred to her. Sure, she was well off and had a reputation in Mexico City for being a lavish hostess, but this was something else again.

  Bianca at first was too stunned to reply to Philippe’s invitation.

  However, she was not so taken aback that she did not notice that Philippe had been too ele
gant to add that the bill would be sent to him, which she knew would be the case. He was also, she knew, too proud to say that he’d like to come with her, but she had no doubt that this was what he wanted.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of going without you, darling,’ she said. ‘You must come and give me the benefit of your guidance.’

  The following morning, the lovers were received on the dot of eleven by the premiére vendeuse, who introduced them to Main himself. He was so charming, confidential even, that Bianca could see why he had ‘friends’ instead of clients.

  On that first occasion, Bianca chose - but only after consultation with Philippe - a magnificent emerald-green silk jacket with contrasting skirt and a burgundy boucle woollen suit with a plunging neckline. Those garments would perfectly complement the emerald parure Bernardo had given her as a present and would give her the opportunity to wear the necklace to cocktails instead of only with a long dress, as she had been obliged to do until then.

  Philippe could not have planned his campaign of matrimonial seduction better. By now he recognized that capturing a prize like Bianca was going to be a long and exacting enterprise. He would have to bring to bear all the artistry that he used to ensnare clients into believing that only he, Philippe Mahfud, could provide the key that would unlock the door to their desires. The world of Mainbocher was only one of the many enticements he proposed to set before Bianca, until she realized that he, Philippe Mahfud, could give her a richer, broader, fuller, more interesting and fascinating life than Bernardo Calman.

  In furtherance of his long-term objective, on their third trip to New York, Philippe said to Bianca on the day of their arrival, ‘After lunch at The Colony, I have somewhere I’d like to take you.’

  ‘Where?’ she asked eagerly.

  For Philippe, part of the pleasure of giving was the undisguised relish with which Bianca received. Like many other genuinely generous people, she understood the need not to spoil a giver’s pleasure by receiving with anything less than wholehearted appreciation.

  ‘Indulge me in my little mystery. Suffice it to say, it’s an oyster awaiting its pearl.’

  After lunch, the chauffeur drove them to the Frick Museum. The car pulled up, the driver leaped to open the kerbside door, and Bianca stepped out, wondering what was up. Philippe took her arm and escorted her inside. ‘This is the setting you should have,’ he said. ‘This house contains one of the finest collections of furniture and art in the world. I want you to take it all in. This is the sort of thing you deserve. We could have the most fantastic life together, if only you’d leave Bernardo and marry me. We could have a house like this in Switzerland. Filled with museum pieces. A palace in the South of France. One of those pre-war co-ops on Fifth Avenue, again filled with furniture and paintings like these, for our trips to New York. The banks in Geneva and New York are doing fantastic business and are just crying out for me to spend more time in those cities. I shouldn’t be spending as much time as I do in Mexico City. You’re the only reason I do. I don’t want to rush you into a precipitate decision, but I do want you to see, with your own two eyes, the sort of life I’m offering you.’

  Not since childhood, when her father taught her that she was his little princess, had anyone so baldly indicated to Bianca that she was worth the absolute best of what life had to offer and that anything less was cheating her of her true worth.

  Bianca melted. ‘Philippe, I do love you,’ she said, ‘and what you’re offering is tempting. Very tempting. But I can’t just leave Bernardo as simply as that. He’s been a good and loving husband. My parents adore him. His parents adore me… and his father has ultimate control over the purse strings. The kids love him and have a happy family life. I’ll destroy my standing within the family unless I leave Bernardo very, very carefully.’

  ‘But will you leave him?’

  ‘Yes. But I need to lay the ground first.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, if I could catch him out in some infidelity, that would be a good reason for seeking a divorce.’

  ‘How can you do that when, by your own account, he never cheats?’

  ‘That’s my problem, not yours. He’s my husband and the father of my children, and I must wrap up the marriage in such a way that I don’t get the blame. Otherwise my life won’t be worth living.’

  Despite her reassuring words, Bianca was not about to make a precipitate or irrevocable move without first checking that she would be getting precisely what Philippe promised. When she returned to Mexico she therefore made discreet inquiries among their friends to ascertain whether Philippe Mahfud was worth as much money as he had indicated he was. She discovered he was worth even more.

  With that discovery, Bianca became torn between staying with a man she loved passionately and whose world was limited and leaving him for a man she did not love passionately but whose world seemed limitless.

  Sleeping with Bernardo was always such a joy. It was like being swept up in the arms of a god. ‘What a difficult choice,’ she said to herself. ‘A man who has everything or a man who is everything.’

  Unsure of what to do, Bianca was pulled in two separate directions.

  One day she would avidly make love with Bernardo and ask herself how she could possibly give up such fulfilment. The next day, she would try to pull away, to loosen the bonds that tied her so firmly to him, only to bounce back when her desire for Bernardo, and his for her, proved too powerful an attraction.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Bernardo asked one afternoon after yet another day of Bianca being withdrawn for no reason. ‘Since you returned from New York, you’ve been blowing hot and cold. Is something the matter with you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, seizing the opportunity he had unwittingly presented her with. ‘But something’s the matter with you.’

  ‘With me?’ he said incredulously. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘I’ve been told you’re having an affair.’

  ‘Me? An affair? You’ve got to be joking. Who told you that?’

  ‘One doesn’t reveal one’s sources. You know that only too well,’ Bianca said, assuming a haughty English manner.

  ‘Come off it, Bianca. It’s me you’re talking to: Bernardo. Who told you that lie? I want to know. I demand to know.’

  Bianca, surprised at how relieved and happy she was by his reaction, walked off, saying placidly: ‘OK, Bernardo. You’re not having an affair. I believe you. Shall we forget it?’

  For the next month, they fell back into their established pattern of marital satisfaction. It is, of course, difficult to leave a man you love, so Bianca simply shelved the idea of withdrawing for the foreseeable future while enjoying the attentions of both her husband and Philippe, who still danced constant attendance upon the Calman family in general and upon his beloved Bianca in particular. She would have loved to keep her husband while availing herself of everything her lover had to offer, but she knew that life is not like that, and sooner or later she would have to make a choice which would terminate her relationship with one or the other of them.

  The next stage came when Bernardo was out of the country on a business trip to Boston. ‘Amanda and Ferdie are having a cocktail party the day after tomorrow for Prince Johannes von Thurn und Taxis. He’s a German banker and does business with us. Would you like to come as my guest, and we can go out and have a quiet dinner afterwards at the Jewish Club?’ he asked.

  ‘What a good idea,’ Bianca said, concealing her delight at finally receiving an invitation to the Piedraplatas, even if it was only a second-hand invitation. The tussle between love and personal ambition was now beginning in earnest.

  The invitation not only caused Bianca to see Philippe in a favourable light but also made her ask herself whether she would ever achieve her ambitions as Bernardo Calman’s wife. Obviously, Mr and Mrs Bernardo Calman were not big enough for the Piedraplatas. But since Bianca on her own was acceptable, maybe Bernardo was the dead weight that was preventing her from reaching her natural heights.
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  Bianca had never been so torn. So out of control with her own destiny, her own desires. Philippe was proving, for all his protestations of love, to be a tougher nut to crack than Bernardo had ever been. On the one hand, he offered more than she had ever wanted, with the result that even her ambitions and objectives had perceptibly altered since their affair began. On the other hand, he was the cause of her torment because she could not occupy his world without relinquishing the most intense pleasures that life with Bernardo afforded her. The real issue, she could see, was that she was being forced to choose between two sides of her own self. No matter which one she chose, she would have to give up something of great value.

  Choice would mean pain. And she couldn’t choose.

  Realizing that an orderly withdrawal from her present way of life would never happen, if only because she really didn’t want to leave a happy marriage - although she didn’t want to give up the prospect of a richer life either - Bianca resolved to trust her instincts to make the choice for her, rationalizing that they would take her where she truly wanted to go.

  She then unthinkingly followed them to the extent of greeting Bernardo, upon his return from Boston, with ardour. For the first two days, they spent as much of their time in bed as they could, making love as if they were newlyweds. On the third day, however, after Bernardo had gone to work, on an impulse Bianca pulled one of his shirts from the laundry basket and smeared the back of it with lipstick.

  When Bernardo came home that evening he was confronted by a wife who was so convincingly furious that she took even her own breath away.