He wondered idly how Claudine Ferrandi would measure up to the strict standards Louise would doubtless set. Claudine was quite fascinating, but that only meant that she was quite fascinating to him. How fascinating she would prove to Louise was another matter altogether.
Claudine's world was that half-world of the theatre. Her circle of friends was peopled with actors, producers, variety performers, songwriters, musicians, men and women and those "in-betweens" of the profession who, Hector had to admit, were often quite incomprehensible to him.
Yet Claudine herself seemed able, when she was with him, to shed this aura of the "theatre", as they called it. With Hector she had proved flexible, accommodating and entirely satisfactory in her role of his mistress.
Louise, lazing in the luxury of cool black silk sheets in her bed in the Negresco Hotel, had dimmed the light in her boudoir. Through venetian blinds, moonlight seeped into the room. From outside rose the traffic symphony that is the Promenade des Anglais.
It was of Andrew that she thought. Andrew, an ordinary hotel waiter. Well, not ordinary then. On the contrary, quite extraordinary. What would the suave, cosmopolitan Hector think of her lover, when she had to explain that he was merely a menial-servant – to whom, on nothing more substantial than a passing whim, she had so recently surrendered her glorious body?
And yet, she thought, there was a latent something about Andrew, a something on which she could not place her finger but which nevertheless reassured her. His behavior, while he wore his uniform, had been perfect. There was in it the competent subservience of the skilled hotel attendant at all times.
Once he had discarded his clothes, however, he had become a person in his own right. He had become Andrew Somebody – Andrew the Man… all man, in fact. Who was he, she thought, when he was not working for the Negresco? He had said something, she remembered, about being in Nice "only to train in hotel service".
Certainly he was a brilliant hotel servant, courteous and with polished manners, deferent yet efficient. Could it be that these were innate qualities, rather than the veneer laid on him by his calling, she thought? There was no doubt about it, when he shed his uniform, he became wonderfully different, wonderfully more exciting!
Yes, she thought. Hector will doubtless approve of Andrew. She decided to introduce the two of them, her lover to her husband, at the very first opportunity. Perhaps a day or two would not be too long to look forward to that meeting.
And as sleep claimed her, she smiled.
But in the end it was Claudine who intruded first into the Henderson menage. Hector, always quick and firm in his decisions, saw to that. No sooner had he accepted the terms imposed by Louise than he created the chance to put her plan into action. He telephoned Claudine.
"Claudine?" he said into the mouthpiece, when he heard her musical, French accented voice. "Hector Henderson, you remember? That's the one. Back, yes. But only for a fortnight or so. No, honey, Louise, my wife, she's with me this time. But all isn't lost; look darling, she has an interesting proposition. At least, I think it's interesting. You might too, at that. How about lunch, today if you can. You will? Wonderful! I'll tell you all about it then. No! I can't spend the morning with you. Your trouble is, you have no darn patience! What's that? You have? Well, what's it they say about patience? Bound to be rewarded, or something? Be with me, honey. Yours will be. Fine, then. By all means, drive yourself in. Sure – here at the Ruhl. Looking forward to it, darling. 'By, now!"
Hector put the phone down. Then he asked for Louise's number. He told her of the arrangements he had made and Louise agreed at once to the lunch.
She then rang for room service, hoping secretly that it would be Andrew who would be sent. She was right. It was Andrew, suave as ever and giving no hint of the intimacy that had occurred between them on the previous day, who knocked at her door, and entered at her bidding.
She ordered tea, croissants, a boiled egg, marmalade and butter, watching Andrew gravely noting down her requirements in his service pad. The sight amused her, and she laughed gaily so that Andrew looked up in surprise.
"Oh Andrew, forgive me for laughing, but you're so sweet, standing there as if nothing had ever happened between us!"
"Madame?" he queried, in genuine puzzlement. Ever since yesterday he had been in a turmoil about this woman, Louise Henderson, and the unforgettable incident that had taken place in that very room.
There had been fear, too, on his part. Just what, he wondered, had got into this guest, to have caused her to permit intercourse between herself and her room steward? Certainly, it had been irresistible. Even more certainly, it had been quite delightful. But ever since it had happened he had been uneasy about it. And now she was laughing at him! But, he sensed with inner relief, it sounded like a happy laugh.
Louise rolled over, presenting her back to him in her merriment, and Andrew noticed, with a pang of recognition, that she was naked against the black of the sheets. Her flawless back was entirely nude.
"Honestly!" Louise panted, between peals of laughter, "but you, Andrew, you're quite perfect! So absolutely the room service waiter, how do you manage it?"
Andrew felt her amusement was genuine and decided to risk participation.
"Well," he began. "You will admit that the situation isn't absolutely normal. After all, Madame, yesterday…"
"Yesterday," said Louise, "was only the start of something, Andrew. Don't worry. I understand. If you're feeling a trifle guilty, that'd be natural. But I promise you, you needn't."
The black sheet had slipped over Louise's shoulder, and the voluptuous curve of her breasts became deliciously visible, almost down to the brown circle of their areola.
Andrew gazed at it in reverent rapture and Louise, noticing the look, made just the slightest wriggle necessary to reveal even more of her titties to him.
"You see," she went on, "it's like this – but I hardly think it's necessary to impress this on you that I just don't idly give myself to any man. You were an exception and what happened yesterday, I assure you, happened because I think there is a lot more to you than just the room waiter you seem to be. Also there is the fact that, considered purely as a man, you are a damned attractive one. So yesterday was only the start of something between you and me. Right now, for example, would it interest you to know that I have one hell of a craving for you, right at this very moment?"
The sheet had now been deliberately slipped so that one entire breast was exposed in all its beauty. Andrew had eyes for nothing else. Quickly, he crossed to the bedside.
"Madame…" he began.
"Call me Louise," she told him. "And come and sit here by me. Caress me. Let me feel your hands again on my body. Take my breasts into your hands, kiss me!"
He did. Passionately he clung to her wet, parted lips. He let his hands rove in sheer bliss over the urgent flesh as he drank in the thrill she imparted with her tongue-darting kiss.
"Christ!" she murmured, "Oh, Andrew, have you the time? Can you fuck me now, right now. My God for six months I've been starved for it! And now that I've had the taste for it aroused again, Christ, now I can never get enough of it!"
Whatever she might implore, Andrew had not the time. He knew it. It was past nine o'clock. His duties from now until the guests left their rooms for their morning divertissements would be many. But nothing could have stopped him from making love to Louise as he was doing at that moment.
"No, my darling Louise," he replied, "I haven't the time. Damn it, but I haven't. But how can I leave you like this, all hot and passionate and unsatisfied. Come."