Chapter 3: First meeting

The Hotel and Restaurant de l’Atlantic in Biarritz was situated in the same square as the main casino of the town, the reason for the many hotels and first class restaurants in the area. Biarritz was a magnet for the rich, and the not-so -rich, who came to spend the summer months gambling, dining, and fornicating; and there were plenty of establishments catering for those three activities in the city.

Working at the Hotel and Restaurant de l’Atlantic was a breeze after the Hotel de Pyrenees-Oriental. I was not employed as a waiter in the main dining room of the restaurant because I had not been completely trained in Silver Service, the name given to a specific way of plating and serving meals which is traditionally used in more formal settings, and is also known as service à l’Anglais’. Thus I worked at the sidewalk Café Pavé, which was much more fun than working in a stuffy dining room although the tips were not as good. I soon settled into my lodgings in a house full of restaurant workers like me, made friends with some employees of my own age and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I first met the Chevalier at the Café Pavé. He and two well-dressed females were seated at one of the tables I serviced. At first I thought them a family of father, mother, and daughter, although the father seemed much older than his wife. I estimated the father’s age to be 55, the ‘wife’ 35, and the ‘daughter’ to be 15. I learned later I was wrong on all counts.

It was obvious the two females were mother and daughter. The older female was a honey blonde with a trim, well-shaped, body and prominent bosom. Her hair was cut short framing a face that was half hidden by a huge pair of sunglasses. What I could see was very attractive; her mouth had a pouting, inviting, kissable, look about it. The daughter was slender with hardly any bosom and her hair was a lighter shade of blonde than her mother. The girl was not wearing sunglasses and I saw she had pale blue eyes and had the similar pouting, inviting, mouth as her mother. She wore her hair in a French plait and I would imagine if unbound it would hang half way down her back. I learned later this type of young girl was catnip to the Chevalier.

The man ordered a large pot of Mocha coffee for the three of them.

“Would the ladies like to see the patisserie menu, Mes --.” I stopped as I noticed he wore the ribbon of a Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur in his lapel. We had a very good customer at home with this distinction and we always addressed him as ‘Chevalier’; I thought it polite to do the same for this man. “Chevalier?” I continued.

The look from his grey eyes seemed to plumb my very soul. “You are very observant, Rafael, and yes, I’m sure the ladies would like to see the menu.” Which showed that he too was very observant as the name tag I wore on my waistcoat was quite small.

I placed the coffee order at the counter and came back with a menu that I handed to the older female. She took off her sunglasses and gave me an appraising look. Her eyes were a startling cobalt blue.

“What would you recommend, Rafael?” She asked, giving me a smile that made my heart race.

“Our éclairs are fresh made this morning, Madam,” I suggested.

The woman nodded. “Yes, I will l try an éclair.” She turned to her daughter who had had not taken her eyes off the screen of her portable phone since sitting at the table. “What would you like, Chloe?”

As she leant forward to hand the menu to her daughter I had an eyeful down her cleavage, seeing the lace of her brassiere and the swell of her breasts while getting a slight but aphrodisiacal whiff of the musky scent of her body. I had a sudden mental image of squashing éclairs all over that delectable breast flesh and then licking it off. Had I not been wearing a waiter’s heavy canvas apron around my loins my erection would have overturned the table! I averted my gaze quick as a flash but was sure my lecherous look had been noted by both the man and the woman. The young girl declined any patisserie and I hurried away to put in the order, my face red with suppressed desire and my rampant zob making its presence known in my underwear.

When I served them their coffee and patisserie the woman thanked me and once again removed her sunglasses. She gave me what can only be described as a meaningful look and then said. “I adore the feeling when an éclair oozes its cream into my mouth!”

Once again my apron saved me from embarrassment and I hastened away to serve the other patrons. I didn’t see the Chevalier’s party leave but I was left a very good tip of 5 Euros.

The woman had spoken adequate French but from her accent I surmised she was an American. I had only a smattering of English but as many vulgar Anglo -Saxon words are known worldwide I could swear like an American or even an Englishman.

It was few days later when the three of them again appeared at my station at the Café Pavé. Once again they had a pot of Mocha coffee and both females had an éclair (What the mother had said about the cream from an éclair oozing into her mouth had given me a wet dream that night!) We were very busy so I had no time to stay around their table even though the mother was wearing a low cut blouse from which the tops of her breasts rose like freshly baked bread.

After the rush had died down I was clearing up; taking away the dirty crockery, wiping the tables and sweeping around the chairs, when I saw a gleam of gold under the table where the three had been sitting. They had not long left so whatever it was must have belonged to one of them. I picked up what I thought was a bracelet. It was made of gold, with tiny diamonds studded around it. The clasp had snapped open and must have fallen without anyone noticing. As I was turning it over in my hands, examining it more closely, Raoul, another one of the Cafe Pave waiters, came over.

“What have you got there?” He asked.

“It is some sort of bracelet that looks like it may be expensive,” I said.

Raoul took the bracelet from me and whistled. “You’ve hit the jackpot, Rafe. This must be worth at least two hundred Euros. It’s an ankle bracelet like putas wear.”

“I think it must be from the Chevalier’s party. I must get it back to him.”

Raoul looked at me in amazement. “Don’t be such a fool. They won’t know it’s gone for hours, and even then they won’t know where it was lost. Sell it quick, and we will take those two Belgian chicks to the motel on the AutoRoute near Bayonne, book a room for the night and joder their brains out in a bed for a change!” he said, using a vulgar Spanish term for sexual intercourse.

Raoul and I had met two Belgian girls, both jardin d’enfants (kindergarden) teachers from Charleroi, a week ago and had been horizontally dancing them senseless every night since. It was Raoul who had picked them up; his gift of the gab and swarthy Spanish good looks got him plenty of female company. We couldn’t take them to our lodgings or go to theirs so we did it on the beach, and very nice it was too. I hadn’t yet had sex with a girl in a bed or even indoors. Nola Cambrone, the other local girls, and now the two Belgian females, had all been horizontally danced al fresco.

The thought of a night of passion in a bed was inviting but I knew the honourable thing to do was to hand the ankle bracelet back rather than sell it, and said as much to Raoul. He was aghast at the idea and tried to persuade me otherwise but I knew what the right thing to do and was adamant about doing it. Raoul shook his head in disbelief when he realised I would not be swayed and muttered something in Basque that fortunately I didn’t understand. I spoke some Spanish and Catalan and could curse in English but Basque was beyond me. In fact, Basque is beyond anyone not Basque- born. Raoul came from Irun and although nominally Spanish he rarely spoke that language but conversed with me in French, in which he was adequate but grammatically incorrect at times. He spoke quite good English, or so I supposed as my knowledge of that language was only the vulgar Anglo-Saxon words for the sexual organs and the sexual act. The two Belgian girls spoke Walloon French, a dialect I found difficult to decipher, but they both spoke very good English and chattered away to Raoul in that language, only including me at times. However, the grunting, groaning, moaning, screeching, screaming and squealing emanating from the quartet when Raoul and I engaged with the girls in groin to groin combat was a universal language.

I knew the Chevalier was staying at the Hotel Du Plage, so when off duty I went to the hotel reception desk and asked for the Chevalier to be paged. The toffee nosed receptionist wasn’t too keen to do the bidding of a low status waiter like me, but I knew how to put the fear of God up officious little pipsqueaks.

“If I don’t get to talk with him the Chevalier will have cause to complain to the management and you could well be looking for a new position tomorrow morning, “ I said, glaring at her. “I believe McDonalds are recruiting so you may be lucky!”

As luck would have it the Chevalier and his two companions were in the hotel bar and he came to the desk when the receptionist sent a bell boy looking for him.

I handed the Chevalier the bracelet.

“I found this under the table where you’d been sitting. Does it belong to one of the ladies?”

He looked at me for a few moments with his soul searching gaze, and it was only then I realised his eyes were the same shade of grey as my father’s.

“This belongs to Madam Curtis,” he eventually said. “The catch has been sticking and she intended taking it to a jeweller to have it repaired.” He pulled a business card from his wallet. “You are an honest, polite, and obviously a well brought up young man, and I have need of someone like you.” He wrote something on the back of the card. “This is my hotel suite telephone number; I have a proposition to put to you. Later today the ladies and I are off to San Sebastian for a short visit so call me when I return in two days’ time.” He gave my hand a firm shake “And no doubt Madame Curtis will also want to show her appreciation when we return.”

That night, as Raoul and I danced the two Belgian school teachers to a climax on the beach I was thinking of Madame Curtis with éclairs smeared all over her body when I came inside Jeannette. I was still thinking of Madame Curtis when I came inside the other girl, Clara. Raoul and I would swap partners until both we and the girls were sated, which usually took us to well after sunrise.