Gruber drew the carriage to a halt a hundred yards or so away from our destination, lumbered down from his drivers' seat and ambled round to help us climb down to the pavement. Opening the carriage door he took each of our hands in turn and, eyes gleaming lasciviously, was rather too solicitous, I thought, in aiding our descent. When it was Justine's turn to alight she gave him a merry little wink and displayed for his benefit several inches of shapely, stockinged ankle and calf-an unnecessary expedient, I thought, since the poor man was already damp with perspiration and quite flushed with fresh excitement.
Before setting off towards the hotel Justine blew the unfortunate Gruber, who was by now putty in her naughty hands, a pretty little kiss and made him promise to meet us in the same place in three hours.
Amid much spluttering and coughing Gruber agreed to her request and climbed back on to his drivers' seat, rather painfully I fancied since his erection was the size and shape of a small Howitzer, before hurtling off down the street in the direction of his innocently unsuspecting mistress.
I hope she's ready for him, I thought with a grin. If the poor man doesn't spunk inside a warm cunt within the space of five minutes I swear his balls will explode with the buildup of pressure from within!
We entered l'Hotel Candide through a pair of heavy swing-doors fashioned from smooth, glowing mahogany and thick panes of crystal glass, and found ourselves in a totally different world from the one we'd left outside. A world of silent, deep-piled carpets, subdued lighting, polished wood, fresh flowers, hushed voices and the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Glancing around I noticed a small, elegant desk behind which sat an efficient-looking young lady with a striped blouse, spectacles and a rather prim, severe-looking hairstyle. She was peering at us over the top of her glasses in rather a pointed manner.
'That must be the receptionist,' I hissed. 'Come on, Justine, you'd better explain what we're here for… On the other hand,' I giggled, immediately visualising the likely furore cased by a true revelation of our intent, 'perhaps your explanation had better be a little less inflammatory!'
Clearing her throat and linking her arm in mine, she marched purposefully with me to the receptionist's exceptionally tidy desk and, chin held high in the manner of one who is used to being obeyed, began to speak.
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' she said in clear, even tones.
'Bonjour, Ma… Mademoiselle,' replied the slightly discomfited receptionist after first scanning Justine's hand for signs of a wedding ring. 'How can I help you?'
'My sister and I have arranged to meet my brother and his friend here this afternoon for coffee. Messieurs Renoir et DeClerc. I believe they are staying at l'Hotel Candide, non?”
'Mais oui, Mademoiselle. The two gentlemen to whom you refer left the hotel ten minutes ago in order to go for a little stroll in the park. Monsieur DeClerc assured me they would return within half an hour. Indeed, the gentleman did mention something about being sorely in need of a cup of strong coffee and one of our pastries.' Glancing around her to make sure no one was listening, she whispered, 'I've heard tell that one of them was fortunate enough to make a killing at the Roulette wheel yesterday evening, and they both spent the rest of the night at La Moulin Rouge, spending it!' She giggled irreverently until, embarrassed by her little outburst, she bit her lip, eyes downcast, and continued.
'Would you be willing to wait in the salon until they return? It is just at the end of that corridor over there. I will be sure to tell them you are here, waiting for them, when they return from their walk…'
'Merci, Mademoiselle. We will wait for them in the salon.'
As we left the desk, the young lady's expression softened a little and her mouth curved into a wistful little smile. She gave a small sigh and, with an absent look, followed or progress towards our place d'assignation.
In those few seconds I realised that she couldn't be any further advanced in years than Justine and myself. Had she guessed the truth behind our little fabrication? Did she yearn in her heart of hearts to join our little party for an afternoon of frivolity, fun and flirtation-possibly followed by fanciful frolics-with a pair of devilishly handsome young men, which I felt sure was the delicious fate awaiting my friend and I?
Settling ourselves on a small settee in the salon to wait for Pierre and Maurice, Justine and I attempted to attract the attention of the young waitress who dodged backwards and forwards between the kitchen and the salon with trays of coffee and cakes for her clients – a mainly elderly collection of ladies and gentlemen, and most certainly highly demanding of her attention to their gastronomical needs.
As my eyes followed those of the waitress, hoping in vain to attract her over to us so that we might place our order, my attention was caught by a solid, rather heavy-looking gentleman sitting in the far corner. Grey-haired and whiskered with a ruddy complexion and a pronounced pot belly, he had been gazing at us over the top of his newspaper with considerable interest since we'd entered some five minutes previously.
As my eyes met his, the randy old gentleman gave me a big, suggestive wink, then coughed in a self-conscious sort of way and pretended to return to his newspaper, glancing up at regular intervals to check my reaction to his rather forward gesture.
What an excellent manner in which to pass the time until our young men arrive, I thought to myself. A saucy little dalliance with a horny old duffer who, by the look of him, is old enough to be our grandfather!
Edging closer to Justine on the little settee, I gently nudged her with my elbow and, with a whispered explanation and a little series of gestures, alerted her to the comic, as well as the erotic, potential of the situation we now found ourselves in.
'Maybe he thinks we're a couple of working girls,' Justine hissed at me under her breath.
'Then we'll not disillusion the old boy,' I replied. 'Come, let's make his day and have some fun into the bargain!'
The next time my eyes met his I, too, winked suggestively and indicated with a little tilt of my head for him to join us at our table.
Eyes widening with surprise and delight he swiftly folded his newspaper and did as he was bid, pausing for a moment to instruct the waitress in hushed tones (continually glancing across at us all the while for fear we might disappear in a puff of smoke) to bring a fresh pot of coffee-for three-and a plate of Florentines.
Justine and I once again exchanged knowing glances, primping and preening, moistening lips and adjusting our posture in order to enhance the jut of our breasts for the satisfaction of our new 'friend'.
'Good afternoon, ladies,' he said to us in impeccable English as he sat down, rather heavily, in a chair facing us on the other side of the small, rococo table. 'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is David Hostridge I hope you will not be offended but I noticed from where I was sitting that you were experiencing a little difficulty in attracting the attention of the waitress, so I've taken the liberty of ordering coffee and Florentines for us all, if that meets with your approval?'
He gave an obsequious little smile which served to irritate me intensely, reinforcing my desire to teach this rather patronising gentleman a lesson.
I smiled sweetly at him. 'Why, sir, how extremely kind and generous of you to favour us with your presence in this way,' I simpered at him from behind my fan, coyly fluttering my long eyelashes, before dropping the dainty confection of ivory and lace to the floor beneath the table.
'Allow me. Mademoiselle,' he said with a flourish.
'No, sir, allow me!'
With these words I dived under the table and, totally ignoring the dropped fan, began to tickle and fondle the portly gentleman's ankles and calves through the smooth fabric of his trousers. (Fortunately, my exploits were completely obscured by the heavy damask cloth which draped to the floor on all four side of the table, shielding me from the possible gaze of interested parties.