The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl by Belle de Jour Page A

went on to a friend’s birthday picnic, and in the evening to another friend’s birthday drinks in a pub on the Thames. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Who was this Henrietta? How did they meet? Did he love her? But didn’t, and he thankfully steered well clear of any mention of her. Standing on Hammersmith Bridge, after the sun has gone, thousands of spiders come out and build their webs in each of the diamond-shaped holes in the side barrier. The strings of white lights along the bridge attract insects, and we watched the spiders reap their reward for a while.
    lundi, le 25 octobre
    A day for strange conversations. First, waiting for the bus, a fair-haired gent strikes up a conversation as if we’ve known each other for ever. I can’t for the life of me recognise him. Turns out he’s a neighbour. Shows how much I’ve been paying attention. Fit as they come, too – muscular legs, nice hands, reminds me more than a little of Dr C. We exchange numbers; I’ve had worse starts to the day.
    Giles dropped by my desk after lunch to ask about some reports I’m meant to be writing. To be honest I’m coasting through mostly on cutting and pasting from the Web, but I don’t tell him that.
    He didn’t mention Friday night, so neither did I. He probably doesn’t even remember what happened – I hope. He was about to leave when he turned back. ‘Meant to mention, saw you going off to lunch the other day,’ he said.
    I stiffened. I should have known it. Now what? He invites me back to his office for a chat, a threat, and maybe a come-on? Can the end of my career really have come so quickly? ‘Did you?’ I said.
    ‘You looked …’ Please don’t say fuckable. Please don’t say fuckable. ‘… great,’ he said. I noticed Mira and Erin stop their endless chatter to eavesdrop. ‘Were you meeting a friend?’
    ‘Er, yes, just a friend. Not to worry, he won’t be dropping by the office.’
    ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m curious what a woman like you would find attractive in a man.’
    I cough. Is there any way to answer that? ‘Um, yes, well.’ He tapped the corner of my desk and left.
    mardi, le 26 octobre
    Right, I’ve made my mind up to get out of the sex trade for good. It’s time. Not just because I checked with the bank today and am now the proud recipient of an actual salary deposit. It’s been long enough. I’ve been turning tricks for almost two years, which in straight employment is something like three reincarnations with the same company.
    There’s no denying I’ll miss it, though. Lunchtime trips to swank hotels; dinners out with the sort of men you usually only read about in the business papers; the underwear; the sex.
    So you might be thinking, Yeah, sex, taxis, stockings, whatever. But you had to live a double life and never get enough sleep. The most you’ve seen of London in two years is the inside of a lot of hotels. What’s the benefit?
    I’ll tell you what it is. It’s getting to see the nice side of men.
    The clients, they’re not all gentlemen. They’re not all smart, handsome and charming – in fact, few are. They’re not always on their best behaviour. But sometimes, in the arms of a naked stranger, they drop the defences they’ve been building up since the first time Daddy told them boys don’t cry and become … nicer, somehow.
    I get tired of men. I get tired of people in general, especially when there’s so much city and so many people and so little time when your ears aren’t ringing from aeroplanes or car horns or screaming in the street outside. But then someone smiles at you, and you remember that people are basically decent after all.
    Like tonight. The shy fumbling, as a long-time client reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. An afterthought as I was on my way out the door. A kind gesture, a trinket, the cutest little jewel – fashioned into a bee shape, with a sparkling sapphire set in the body. It wasn’t a special