Adventures of a London Call Boy (22 page)

‘Brilliant,' shouted Frances, patting me on the back. ‘Did you know this all?' she said, turning to face our hostess.

‘Of course. Why do you think he's here? I'm only disappointed he hasn't got on with any work yet,' said V., with an ever-so-slightly superior tone in her voice.

The music struck up, while someone announced that there was cause for celebration. I even heard champagne corks popping, and in the confusion, slipped away with Celeste and led her to the balcony.

‘Are you alright?' I asked.

‘Yes, of course,' she said, with a laugh.

‘I don't know why you didn't tell me. We're sort of in the same profession,' I said. She cast me a mocking look.

‘Only sort of, Cesc, only sort of.'

‘Does it pay well?' I asked.

‘Oh yes. Very well. You'd be amazed.'

I nodded and looked around me. ‘Do you think our hostess is trying to arrange an orgy here?' I asked.

‘Oh yes,' replied Celeste. ‘And I think your job is to start it.'

‘I think you're probably right,' I said. I left her and returned to the others. I held out a hand to Frances the journalist, and we danced for a while.

V. came over and joined us.

‘Apparently, it's my job to start an orgy,' I whispered to her.

‘You could do worse,' she said. With Frances's hand still in mine, I moved closer to V.

‘Just one question,' I said.

‘What?' she answered.

‘Why all the subterfuge? Are you hiding something?'

‘Oh no. Subterfuge just makes it more interesting.'

‘Is this legal?'

‘Which aspect?'

‘Erm, all of it.'

‘Well, probably not the tax bit.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, technically, this is a works do.'

I smiled as she continued.

‘I'm not sure about the rest. Why not just try?'

V. slid away with a smile, leaving me with Frances. I spun her towards me with the music.

‘Apparently, it's my job to start an orgy,' I whispered to her, close to her ear, holding her close to me.

‘Start one with me, if you like,' she whispered back, biting my earlobe as she did. She sashayed off, away from me and towards the stairs down to the bedrooms. I caught up with her and caught her hand. The underwear couple got the message, and followed behind us, while I saw Celeste turning her attentions to one of the staff.

Let's just say that I did my job.

Chapter Forty-eight

Some time in the small hours of the next morning, I crawled back into my own bedroom. Frances followed me, leaving the wreckage of her own room, where champagne bottles, clothes, half-naked bodies and a few abandoned sex toys were littered over every surface. We curled up together in my bed and slept.

Despite the hangover and the lack of sleep, I woke with the sun, and wandered out into the gardens, enjoying the chill of the sprinklers in the air and the cool of the grass on my feet. Back in the room, I showered, making sure to wake up Celeste, who swore at me through the door. I was surprised to see the door open and Yuri scuttle through it. I couldn't remember at quite which stage that particular coupling had begun.

Frances was curled catlike in the bed, so I went back out to the kitchen and had one of the staff bring some coffee and juice.

As she woke, bleary eyed, it was clear that her writer's brain had been working overdrive.

‘You'll have to change the names,' I said, before she'd even begun to speak.

‘Not everything's a story,' she said.

‘But this is, isn't it?'

She shrugged, the sheets falling to reveal the smooth curves of her breasts. It was hard to reconcile the demure image she cast that first morning with the woman I'd seen going down on Dieudonnée while I'd screwed her from behind.

‘I suspect my editor might want to cut some of the more scandalous bits.'

She sipped her coffee and then looked at me.

‘Why the lie?' she asked.

‘It was V.'s idea.'

‘Are you embarrassed?'

‘I'm more embarrassed about the lie than getting found out. I'm not ashamed of my job, that's for sure. I guess I just don't go round shouting about it. It's not quite as respectable as some careers.'

‘You must have some great stories,' she said, searching around on the floor for some cigarettes.

‘I guess so. But it's strictly confidential. My clients mostly pay me for discretion.'

She gave me a long look as she finally lit her cigarette.

‘Whatever you do, make sure I give you a card, OK?'

‘Why? Do you want to put some work my way?' I said.

She nodded. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps.'

The next few days were less dramatic: Frances decided that she preferred my bed to anyone else's, and we spent long afternoons and nights making love, interrupted only occasionally by shouts from Celeste telling us to keep the noise down. The other couples settled back into something rather more normal, with frequent noisy orgasms emerging from Yuri and Dieudonnée, who seemed to have decided to make up for their night apart with ever more frantic screwing. I have a strong suspicion that Celeste may have snuck out of her room one night to screw one of the kitchen staff, but I can't be sure. After a couple more days, everyone in the group seemed to act like old friends, so it was a surprise when we started going our separate ways.

I took Frances's card, but back in the UK didn't get round to calling her. It felt for all the world like a holiday romance, and I had no interest in being the main subject of a chapter in a book about Perverted London, or whatever she was going to call it. I also didn't think that I could really try to charge her, having already given her a whole series of freebies. I looked her up on the Internet a few times, but found no mention of those few days in France.

Over the next few weeks I found myself with some more time on my hands. Work settled down into something like a regular pattern, and I'll confess that the number of new assignments started to slow down. It might be, you never know, something to do with the credit crunch, although when Celeste suggested this to me, I pointed out that I didn't give credit.

In the meantime, I thought about Frances, and about Yuri, and realised that it would be worth jotting down a few things here and there, just in case I ever decided to write my memoirs.

One day, as I arrived at the flat, back from an assignment, I found Celeste reading something on screen. She looked up, shocked, slightly red faced.

‘What's wrong with you?' she asked.

‘Nothing. I've had a shocker. I ended up doing a Banksy out of the window when the Jen's husband came home.'

‘Right,' she said, hastily closing what I realised was my laptop.

‘Celeste, what are you doing?' I asked.

‘I never realised you kept a diary.'

‘You shouldn't read that,' I said, clicking the lid shut and taking the machine away from her. But as I did, I noticed something curious. She had on a dressing gown and little else. I'd clearly caught her up to something.

‘Celeste, what were you doing?'

‘Nothing. You know,' she said, ‘some of this is pretty funny.'

‘Funny?' I asked. ‘Were you reading it for comedy?'

‘Sort of,' she said, pulling her robe around her.

‘Sort of? Admit it. It turns you on.'

Celeste looked embarrassed, and then stuck on her most brazen face.

‘Well, if you ask,' she said. ‘I must confess that I did consider, well, using some images as inspiration.'

Celeste had been masturbating to my diary. I was appalled. But also really rather touched.

‘You were thinking about me, Celeste? How sweet.'

The End

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