…the concluding section…
‘Bel, you look beautiful,’ smooth and charming. Not the cold dismissive tone he’d used as he’d tossed the francs on her dresser, telling her not to get ideas of being anything other than the occasional bit of fun, before quickly donning his clothes and striding off into the night, leaving Mary/Bel feeling ashamed and used.
‘Thank you m’sieur’, non-commitally.
‘Shall we spend some more time together tonight, you and I, Bel?’
‘A little more time, m’sieur ? But last night you told me I was only occasional fun…’
‘Ah well, that was last night and I’d overlooked how charming you look in your pretty little costume…’His fingertips stroked across Mary/Bel’s breasts. She drew her breath in – a sharp little whistle.
‘So, you want me again, m’sieur? And will you want me again tomorrow too?’
‘That will depend on how good a little girl you are for me tonight . . . ’
He sneered sardonically at Mary, so used to having his way with these little sewer rats. They were a disposable commodity. When one was used up, you simply moved onto the next one. That little Cerise was pretty, he’d noticed. Perhaps her, after Bel?
‘Oh, I will be a very good little girl tonight, m’sieur,’ said Mary/Bel quietly. ‘I will be so good, I will break your ‘eart.’ She reached behind her and fumbled with one hand in the drawer to her dresser. As she said ‘break your ‘eart’, her hand reappeared clutching a long slim paper knife and she swiftly thrust it deep into Monsieur Jacques chest. His face crumpled in surprise and then agony. A bright red stain spread across his crisp white shirt like a rose blooming and then a small bubble of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. He desperately grasped at her, then fell away, mouth yawning open as he gasped for breath. He fell to the floor heavily. Hearing the noise, Fifi rushed back in the room, exclaiming ‘as ee hurt you, ma petite?’ only to stop abruptly when she saw the body slumped on the floor.
‘Ah mon Dieu, what ‘ave you done?’
‘I ‘ave broken his heart –with the knife’ said Mary/Bel quietly, before spinning backwards through the vortex and hitting her head hard against the back of the threadbare chair. Red curtains. Like the stain on Monsieur Jacques shirt, but otherwise totally different. A grey suburban spinsters flat in a grey suburban street with a grey suburban spinster clutching a paper knife and a dark rusty brown tooled book with gold edged pages.
More to follow next week …
Follow me on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/pages/Debbie-Martin-author-and-writer/290947497649847
and on my website:
where you’ll find lots more to read and information when my books are published.
A new story starts next week …