book.”
“It is a travesty,” said Bertrand, helpfully.
“It is indeed, my fine French friend.”
“ Belge ,” said Bertrand, sulking again. He was going to have to be taught a lesson in manners.
“In any case,” said Frankie cheerfully, “not many people actually read Walter Scott, thank God. I am quite ready to admit that I got no further than chapter three, and have never been so bored in my life. I prefer something with a bit of…action.”
“Me too,” I said.
“We understand each other, do we not? Now, in the film, for instance, there are lots of fights. Hugo Taylor leaps into action in a kilt and no shirt.”
“Ah,” breathed Bertrand.
“That interested you, mon petit . And there are some excellent gallops across the moors, which we filmed on location
in the Trossachs, and a very splendid swordfight on the battlements of Edinburgh Castle, for which we have shot the exteriors. The rest will be completed in the studios when Mr. Taylor has settled into his next West End run. Which, as Monsieur Damseaux will tell us, is…?”
“A revival of La Dame aux Camélias , with Tallulah Bankhead.”
“Correct! Would you like a job, monsieur?”
Even Bertrand looked interested now. “ Vraiment ?”
“Let us just say peut-être at this stage. We can discuss it in London. And now, gentlemen, you must excuse me. I must attend to my charge. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
We shook hands. “Thank you for the inside information. And don’t worry. We’ll be discreet.”
“Indeed. Keep an eye on the diamond merchant for me. I don’t want him bankrupting British-American if at all possible.” He beamed at us both and left.
“There!” I said. “Charming. And generous too. He offered you a job.”
“That, we shall see.”
“And I think he would like to fuck you, too.”
“Also that, we shall see.”
“Ever had two men at the same time, Bertrand? Up that neat little ass?”
“Oh, Mitch,” he said, in a way that could easily have meant yes or no.
I was about to drag him back to the carriage and damn the consequences, when the diamond merchant sat down at a nearby table and we had leisure to observe him. The first thing I noticed, as he pulled a nice-looking gold cigarette case out of his jacket pocket, was a large diamond ring on his right hand. The stone was substantial, sunk discreetly into a plain gold band, but it signaled wealth far more effectively than the flashy settings favored by Miss Athenasy.
This was a rock of consequence, worn, I had no doubt, by a man of consequence. The young mother was staring open-mouthed. Her husband too was glaring at the handsome diamond merchant, watching him like a hawk.
“Hey, check out the ring!” I said.
“Hmm,” said Bertrand, impressed. “ Ça, c’est un bijou .”
“And he’s not bad-looking.”
“I find him very good.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“I do.”
“Better than me?”
“ Non, mais … Better than your friend Dickinson, for example.”
“I see.”
The diamond merchant lit a cigarette—even his cigarettes had gold bands—and ordered a brandy. He looked out the window at the scenery flashing by, his eyes flickering, tired. It must be tough to be that wealthy, I thought. Perhaps I could help to take his mind off his troubles.
“Tell me, Mitch,” said Bertrand, reading my thoughts, “is there anyone on this train that you do not want to fuck?”
“I’m not crazy about the dowager.”
“Ah. Well, that is some relief. You are not altogether without discrimination.”
“Come on, Bertrand. Let’s get back to that carriage and pull down the blinds again.”
“You will get me into trouble.”
“You’re already in trouble, boy. A little more won’t hurt you. Much.”
The excitement of the morning, the wine, the company, and the constant rhythmic bumping of the train had made me reckless, and I was quite prepared to risk discovery in order to get my rocks off with Bertrand, even if it was
“It is a travesty,” said Bertrand, helpfully.
“It is indeed, my fine French friend.”
“ Belge ,” said Bertrand, sulking again. He was going to have to be taught a lesson in manners.
“In any case,” said Frankie cheerfully, “not many people actually read Walter Scott, thank God. I am quite ready to admit that I got no further than chapter three, and have never been so bored in my life. I prefer something with a bit of…action.”
“Me too,” I said.
“We understand each other, do we not? Now, in the film, for instance, there are lots of fights. Hugo Taylor leaps into action in a kilt and no shirt.”
“Ah,” breathed Bertrand.
“That interested you, mon petit . And there are some excellent gallops across the moors, which we filmed on location
in the Trossachs, and a very splendid swordfight on the battlements of Edinburgh Castle, for which we have shot the exteriors. The rest will be completed in the studios when Mr. Taylor has settled into his next West End run. Which, as Monsieur Damseaux will tell us, is…?”
“A revival of La Dame aux Camélias , with Tallulah Bankhead.”
“Correct! Would you like a job, monsieur?”
Even Bertrand looked interested now. “ Vraiment ?”
“Let us just say peut-être at this stage. We can discuss it in London. And now, gentlemen, you must excuse me. I must attend to my charge. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
We shook hands. “Thank you for the inside information. And don’t worry. We’ll be discreet.”
“Indeed. Keep an eye on the diamond merchant for me. I don’t want him bankrupting British-American if at all possible.” He beamed at us both and left.
“There!” I said. “Charming. And generous too. He offered you a job.”
“That, we shall see.”
“And I think he would like to fuck you, too.”
“Also that, we shall see.”
“Ever had two men at the same time, Bertrand? Up that neat little ass?”
“Oh, Mitch,” he said, in a way that could easily have meant yes or no.
I was about to drag him back to the carriage and damn the consequences, when the diamond merchant sat down at a nearby table and we had leisure to observe him. The first thing I noticed, as he pulled a nice-looking gold cigarette case out of his jacket pocket, was a large diamond ring on his right hand. The stone was substantial, sunk discreetly into a plain gold band, but it signaled wealth far more effectively than the flashy settings favored by Miss Athenasy.
This was a rock of consequence, worn, I had no doubt, by a man of consequence. The young mother was staring open-mouthed. Her husband too was glaring at the handsome diamond merchant, watching him like a hawk.
“Hey, check out the ring!” I said.
“Hmm,” said Bertrand, impressed. “ Ça, c’est un bijou .”
“And he’s not bad-looking.”
“I find him very good.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“I do.”
“Better than me?”
“ Non, mais … Better than your friend Dickinson, for example.”
“I see.”
The diamond merchant lit a cigarette—even his cigarettes had gold bands—and ordered a brandy. He looked out the window at the scenery flashing by, his eyes flickering, tired. It must be tough to be that wealthy, I thought. Perhaps I could help to take his mind off his troubles.
“Tell me, Mitch,” said Bertrand, reading my thoughts, “is there anyone on this train that you do not want to fuck?”
“I’m not crazy about the dowager.”
“Ah. Well, that is some relief. You are not altogether without discrimination.”
“Come on, Bertrand. Let’s get back to that carriage and pull down the blinds again.”
“You will get me into trouble.”
“You’re already in trouble, boy. A little more won’t hurt you. Much.”
The excitement of the morning, the wine, the company, and the constant rhythmic bumping of the train had made me reckless, and I was quite prepared to risk discovery in order to get my rocks off with Bertrand, even if it was
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