Belle (31 page)

She flounced away from him towards the bedroom and began peeling off her clothes.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he saw petticoats dropping in the doorway.

Belle came back into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on. ‘What does it look like?’ she said curtly. ‘I’m a whore, you’re paying for me, so let’s get it over with, shall we?’

In that moment Faldo realized he’d handled her all wrong. When Belle was dressed she looked sophisticated and poised. From that, coupled with her intelligence and the ease with which she could communicate with others, anyone would assume she was in her mid-twenties. She wasn’t just pretty, but devastatingly beautiful, with those black curls, eyebrows like tiny angels’ wings over deep blue eyes, creamy skin and such a wide, sensual mouth. He had called at Martha’s just after she had left there, and Martha had had a great deal to say about the girl, namely that she was a treacherous, conniving bitch, who would take any man for everything he had.

Faldo hadn’t wanted to believe her; he tried to tell himself that Martha was just being spiteful because she’d lost her top girl, and a large chunk of income. Yet the poison she’d dripped in his ears, plus the knowledge that he was no great prize, and odd-looking too, all combined to convince him he’d made a fool of himself and Belle was just toying with him until someone richer and more influential came along. It had spoiled everything, and the only way he felt he could keep face was by treating her harshly and never displaying any affection.

There was so much about Belle which bore out Martha’s opinion of her. She was such a practised courtesan, always wearing the red and black lingerie he’d given her when he called. She let him take her any way he chose without protest, and often caressed, pleasured and touched him in ways that no decent woman would do. Stimulating and sensual as this was, it hurt because it was further evidence of the hundreds of other men she must have done it to.

Martha had claimed that Belle was lying when she said she was abducted and forced into prostitution. She maintained that Belle was a cold-blooded predator who had been groomed to be a whore by her own mother who owned a brothel. She’d come to New Orleans because prostitution was legal here, knowing that she could make big money.

But now she was naked in front of him, her eyes swimming with tears, he could see for himself that she was none of the things Martha had insisted she was and that he had chosen to believe. She was just a vulnerable young girl, slender and perfect, and though she had pert, well-rounded breasts, they only emphasized her youth. She might be striking the pose of a seductress but he could see her hurt, and the decent, kindly man within him was reminded that it was a series of men not that different to him who had stripped her of her innocence.

For several weeks now he’d been noticing she had a kind of glow about her. He’d worked himself up today to believe that was because she had another man, and he’d come here tonight to catch her with him.

It was when he saw her sketches that he knew he’d got it all wrong. It wasn’t another man who would take her from him, but her own intelligence and ambition.

‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘what are you waiting for?’

He went towards her, intending just to take her in his arms and apologize for hitting her, but as his arms went around her slim, naked body he was instantly aroused and all he could think of was possessing her. He flung her on to the bed, unbuttoned his pants with one hand and then forced himself into her. He was aware she was very dry, and he knew he was hurting her by the stiffness of her body, but in that moment he didn’t care. She was his woman and he wanted her.

‘Faldo, no, no,’ she cried out. ‘Surely I don’t deserve this?’

She fought to get away from him, but that only inflamed him more. He pounded harder and harder at her, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh on her buttocks, and the excitement of such a brutal and frenzied attack made his heart race.

Belle was terrified. Faldo might have been cold and undemonstrative with her for some time, he might have shocked her earlier when he struck her, but she would never have thought it possible that he could become a crazed brute pummelling into her like those terrible men did back in Paris.

First she attempted to fight him off, and when that made him even more ferocious, she tried putting up no resistance. But she couldn’t stop herself from crying, not just because he was hurting her physically, but because he wanted to humiliate her. His face was buried in her neck, and as he panted and wheezed his breath was as hot as steam from the kettle.

It went on and on; his shirt was wet with sweat, and his breathing more laboured. But when he began to make a kind of strange growling, yelping noise her first thought was that at last her ordeal was almost over.

But then, while still inside her, he arched his body away from her and clutched at his chest with one hand, and although the light in the bedroom was dim she could see his face had turned a deep mottled red. Instinctively she knew something was badly wrong.

‘Faldo!’ she shouted, wriggling from under him and at the same time pushing him down on to the bed and rolling him on to his back. ‘Mary, Mother of God, what is it?’ she asked, for his eyes were rolling back into his head and he was jerking as if having a fit.

She ran to the kitchen and got a glass of water and a wet cloth. But the water just ran out of his mouth when she tried to make him drink, and putting the cold wet cloth on his forehead didn’t seem to have any effect.

‘Faldo, listen to me,’ she pleaded with him, ‘try and tell me what’s wrong.’ But even as she spoke she knew he was unable to answer, that this was something really serious and she’d got to get a doctor for him.

She dressed herself quickly, then turning back to Faldo she tucked his penis away in his pants and buttoned them up. Without even stopping to grab a shawl, she rushed out on to the street. As was usual at ten at night it was deserted, so she ran up to Canal Street where she hoped she might see a policeman or a cab driver who might know where to find a doctor.

Luck was with her. Two police officers were walking down Canal Street together. ‘Please help me!’ she shouted as she ran towards them. ‘A friend has had some kind of turn. I don’t know how to find a doctor.’

Less than five minutes later the younger of the two men entered Belle’s house with her. The other officer had gone off to call on a doctor.

For a brief moment Belle thought Faldo had recovered, for he’d turned on to his side and in the dim gaslight he looked as if he’d just fallen asleep. But something made her stand back and let the officer go forward to examine him.

He put his fingers on Faldo’s neck, then felt for the pulse in his wrist. The officer straightened up and turned slowly round to look at Belle. ‘I’m very sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘But your friend is dead.’

‘He can’t be!’ Belle exclaimed, clamping her hand over her mouth in horror. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her, that one minute Faldo was red-hot with anger and passion, the next dead. Was she responsible?

Her cheek was throbbing where he’d hit her, and she remembered that he’d said he wanted her heart, and all at once she was sobbing.

‘I’m so sorry, miss,’ the officer said. ‘Can you just tell me who you both are and what led up to him having this turn you spoke of?’

She looked at the young man bleakly. He had bright blue eyes and he looked very sympathetic, but she knew she mustn’t let that influence her into telling him the whole truth.

‘His name is Faldo Reiss, and he came round about nine to visit me,’ she sobbed. ‘We were talking for a while in the kitchen, then he said he felt a bit strange. He looked very flushed and hot. He stood up to go out the back way for some fresh air, but he was staggering, so I led him into the bedroom to lie down. Then he was breathing really hard and holding his chest. I tried to give him a drink of water and sponge his forehead, but when he couldn’t speak I ran out to get help.’

‘You did the right thing,’ the officer said. ‘Now, you said he’s just a friend. So where does he live?’

‘In Houston, Texas,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know the address. He works for the railway, you see. He comes to New Orleans most weeks with his work.’

The officer’s eyes narrowed as if considering something. ‘Are you English?’ he asked.

Belle nodded. She was terrified because she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was asked far more probing, difficult to answer questions. Faldo had an important position with the railroad company. He might have been vile to her tonight, but she still cared enough for him to try to prevent a scandal which would hurt his wife and children. There was also Martha to worry about. If she got wind that Faldo died, and where, she might put two and two together.

‘You say he was your friend?’

Belle’s stomach lurched at the police officer’s question because she guessed he had already surmised that Faldo was more than a friend. He was young, no older than twenty-five, at least six foot, nice-looking, with light brown hair cut very short, and the bright blue eyes she’d noticed earlier. But however nice he looked, police were by the very nature of their job worldly types and hard to fool.

‘Yes, just a friend,’ she said. ‘He was very kind when I first arrived here and helped me get this place to live. He usually pops in to see me whenever he’s here on business.’

The officer was jotting down what she’d said in a notebook and asked again for her name. She had to say she was Anne Talbot as Faldo had opened the accounts at the two shops with that name and it was possible the landlord had that name too. But before he could ask her anything further, the other officer arrived with the doctor and the three men went into the bedroom.

Belle stayed in the kitchen and put the kettle on to make some coffee. Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure the three men would be able to hear it.

The doctor, a short, stout man with a bald head and glasses, came out of the bedroom after only a few minutes. ‘Well, my dear, the signs are that your friend died of a heart attack. I am very sorry, but I will make a call to the mortuary and get them to come and collect him.’

The officer who had been asking the questions and who had told her his name was Lieutenant Rendall, stayed behind when his colleague and the doctor left.

‘This must be very hard for you,’ he said as Belle poured him a cup of coffee. ‘Have you got any family you could go to?’

Belle told him she hadn’t and began to cry again. He patted her on the hand and asked if Faldo was her lover.

‘No, he wasn’t,’ she sobbed. ‘He was a married man with children. That is why this is so terrible. I hope you can avoid telling his wife anything about me, as she’ll probably jump to the same conclusion.’

‘She surely would! And if you don’t mind me saying, Miss Talbot, few wives would appreciate their husband coming to see someone quite as pretty as you,’ the officer said, and the way his eyes twinkled suggested he didn’t believe what she’d told him. ‘But as long as the inquest doesn’t show anything odd or unexpected, I can see no reason to tell his wife anything more than that he died in a boarding house.’

Belle thanked him.

‘But I am curious as to why an English girl should come alone to New Orleans,’ Rendall went on, fixing her with his bright eyes. ‘New York or Philadelphia I could understand, even Chicago, but not down here. New Orleans is a dangerous city.’

‘I came with someone else, then he left me,’ she said impulsively. ‘And as soon as I can raise enough money to go home, I shall be gone.’

‘Would you like to tell me about him?’

Belle almost laughed, for this man had an engaging manner. ‘No, I don’t want to tell you about him,’ she said. ‘What I’d really like is for this horrible night to be over. But I suspect I’ll never sleep well in that bed again, not after Faldo died on it.’

‘I could escort you to a boarding house for the night if you wish,’ Rendall said. ‘There is a quiet, decent one just around the corner in Canal Street.’

‘That’s really kind of you,’ she said. ‘But I can’t afford to pay for a room somewhere else. I’ll manage here.’

‘Do you have a job?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I work at a milliner’s,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask where. ‘But it doesn’t pay very well.’

‘Was it Mr Reiss that hit you?’ Rendall asked, looking at her intently. ‘I thought it was a shadow on your face earlier, but I can see now you have a bruise coming up on your cheek.’

‘I tripped earlier on the back steps,’ she said. ‘I fell against the post on the balustrade.’

Fortunately the mortuary van arrived just then, the horse’s hooves sounding very loud in the quiet street. Two men came in, Rendall showed them into the bedroom and just a couple of minutes later they left with Faldo on a stretcher covered by a blanket.

Rendall said goodbye to Belle and hoped she would be all right, but he hesitated at the door, looking back at her as she sat by the stove crying.

‘I don’t like to leave you like this, miss,’ he said gruffly.

‘If you don’t leave people will talk,’ she said sharply. ‘It will be bad enough that a man died here, without one of the police officers staying on.’

‘Yes, I guess you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘What I kinda meant to say was that you should have someone with you.’

‘I’ve lived alone for a while now,’ she said. ‘I don’t have any other friends in the city; Faldo was the only one.’

‘Then I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, and finally opened the door and left.

Once he’d gone, Belle locked and bolted the door, and went into the bedroom. She was trembling all over and her stomach was churning. She had never felt more alone.

She could see the indentation on the quilt where Faldo’s body had been and she could smell his hair oil and his sweat. She wanted to be able to cry for him, she owed him that much, but she was angry because he’d left her like this.

She remembered Suzanne back at Martha’s telling her about a man who had died on her. Like Faldo, it had been of a heart attack. But the way Suzanne and the other girls told the story, it was really funny. Suzanne even admitted she’d gone through his wallet before the doctor got there and helped herself to a hundred dollars.