Chapter 5: Approaching Eighteen

CHUCK's account

I must admit that I stood watching that impressive parade until everything had passed. The following day, I was due to visit Madame Grenouille. Her new premises were complete and I understood that her social club was reopening within days after a week's closure.

Usually when I took coffee with her I arrived mid-morning but, in this case, we had some business to discuss and she had asked me to arrive earlier. I had completed the main structure of the building and then had been dragged away by Craggs on to other projects. The only time I had returned was to install the large amount of plumbing to many of the rooms. I had included a narrow gauge natural gas supply for the mantles but took no responsibility for their safety. That was not my job either. None of the interior fittings were.

Both these experts were relatively new arrivals in Lush and Madame had contracted their services at, what I guessed, was a great cost.

It was pleasant to meet her just for a social occasion. When I had last seen the rear of the property it had been nothing more than a muddy builder's site, gouged out where we had made a ramp right down to below the level of the cellar floor. Of course my labourers had packed the earth back against the deep foundations and brick wall of the cellar.

What impressed me was that her own quarters on the ground floor opened out onto what was a patio and then a very large rectangular patch of lawn, surrounded by a high timber fence offering privacy. Sheep-cropped meadow had been brought in as turf to provide a very neat, enormous lawn, which she explained would be enhanced later by carefully planted bushes.

The grand procession was the topic of our conversation. Madame Grenouille certainly knew what she wanted. She listened with intense interest as I talked of the impressive sight we had watched the previous day, "That's just a foretaste of the growth in traffic that we shall be getting. Every one of the traders in the town will benefit from those visitors. I should imagine the saddler's already has a queue waiting of impatient men wanting improvements to their harness and repairs to be made after their long trek. The leather worker next door, we won't see him for a few days. Both the clothing store and the Emporium will be full of customers all day."

It was almost a self-satisfied expression she adopted as she boasted that the new visitors were probably just the forerunner of a terrific increase of traffic through the town. "And your own social club?"

"Oh, I have already made quite clear the fact we shall be open before they leave. Rest assured that I shall benefit from this and other wagon trains' arrivals."

I smiled at her business acumen, but in truth, I felt so good and relaxed as I left her, not having uttered one word of personal business in the whole hour. We had only managed this by agreeing to an appointment early the following morning.

This meeting was all business. We started on a positive note as she expected a big increase in turnover. This was due in no small part to the successful completion of the bridge. There was no doubt that she held me entirely responsible for bringing Hartglade into the present.

Very quickly, however, the conversation changed. I must admit that I wasn't very good at broaching the subject of money, but her, "You really must see all that we have achieved," allowed me to delay the difficult subject. Her intention was to show off the interior of the building.

We made our way inside, "We'll start by viewing the attic floor. There are still one or two rooms that aren't finished." From outside her own quarters, she took some backstairs directly up to the top floor.

"These are the staff quarters," she proudly announced, as we emerged right in the middle of the building finding ourselves in a very long a rectangular room with lots of doors off to the right and the left. Diagonally opposite, was another set of stairs going downwards. The room was bright and airy and a number of young women dressed in nothing more than a shift were sitting, drinking coffee at one end, though there were recesses in the ceiling where the skylights provided natural light. The far end appeared to be the focal point as a series of the dormer windows opened out over the Main Street.

It was there that the cluster of coffee drinkers had established themselves in a position where they could oversee the whole Main Street but, sitting back a little, nobody could see in, as this building was set far higher than any other in the town. That is, apart from the tower which housed the clock.

Behind us was where I recalled putting most of the plumbing on this level. "Yes," Madame agreed, "Here, let me show you?" With no further ado, she opened one of the doors to display in one area, a number of washbasins. Down the other side a number of thunder boxes were hidden within ventilated closets. The far end was a wet area with multiple showerheads from the plumbing feeds I had given her. Madame Grenouille had taken one of my side remarks to heart, and the whole floor was tiled, as were the walls around the showers and behind the washbasins. I had no idea where she had sourced the tiles, but I knew very well that the quantity in here must have cost a fortune.

Leading the way out, she walked to the next door, opening it she announced, "And we have a duplicate in here as well."

I looked in and quick quickly took in the fact that it was as impressive as the first communal restroom. "Yikes!" I yelled, withdrawing quickly. There were two undressed females at the far end twirling their bodies under the water.

Fortunately I retired before they were aware of my presence. "There are naked young women in there" I argued, red faced.

Madame just couldn't stop laughing, muttering through broken gasps, "I'm sure you haven't damaged them by peering in." Even so she appeared to have sympathy for my predicament. I was relieved that we retreated from the presence of all of them, including the others at the far end of the room. My outburst had drawn their attention. Though I'm not so sure they heard what I had said, I didn't want to be known as a peeping Tom and was relieved when my companion suggested, "Come, we must move on, there's lots for me to show you."

Standing by one of the many doors down the side of the room, she announced, "These are the bedrooms for the staff. Generally no-one, but the girls, is allowed up on this floor. Feel yourself honoured." Pulling the nearest door open, I saw it revealed a long very narrow bedroom that was illuminated at the far end by one of the dormer windows. From the outside these were a particular feature of the building. The three foot wide casements were let into the lower part of the roof every six feet along. I now saw that there must have been one to each bedroom taking up half the width of the outside wall that at waist height angled into the ceiling up to the apex.

At the present time three very attractive young ladies, wearing nothing but thin cotton shifts daubed with splotches of whitewash, were painting. One was just finishing off the inclined ceiling around the dormer inset. I was pleased to see Madame had taken my advice and had the ceiling insulated, but I had no idea with what. Had she heeded my warnings on selecting a fire-proofed material? I hoped so.

I studied the other two young women. They were gathered around a wooden container of whitewash and were about to drop in the contents of a large jar of powdered red ochre. Obviously they were mixing their own tint, "Stop!" I commanded.

In alarm, they looked up.

"Are you looking for a dark red or light pink hue?"

I heard a juxtaposition of responses, "Pinkish," "Sort of red," and, "I want a light colour."

Was it my place to offer them advice? Whether it was not, I did. "You' re going to have a very dark red if you pour all that into there. I'm strongly advising you against using dark red. The only place you could really put on a dark colour is on the side walls and then I'd recommend that you only paint one. The whole room is little more than six feet wide, once you put on one coat of dark a red, the room will look narrow and very dark. The light will hardly reach this far end. Can I suggest you try just mixing a little of the red ochre into the whitewash? I think you'd be more pleased with the results if you used a very pale tint."

"I told you so," started one girl

Madame just glared at the arguer, uttering one word quietly, "Merry," she admonished.

Very apologetically, Merry lowered her eyelids and turned around to try to suggest she was very busy. Obviously Madame did NOT like squabbling amongst her staff, furthermore she had them firmly under her control.

Ignoring the fact that she had stifled the start of any disagreement, Madame announced, "I'm pleased to see the girls are decorating their own rooms. We hardly had time to get everything finished before we moved in, but they are using spare rooms for the furniture while they do up their own."

I'm afraid I wasn't really listening to Madame, I was starting to feel very uncomfortable. It was when the red ochre girl was leaning down near me, dribbling bits of powder into the can of whitewash, I couldn't help but see down the neckline of her loose shift. The full view of the top of her breasts I found quite embarrassing and I made a point of standing back to heed what Madam was saying. Purposely looking away, I now discovered that there was only one line of sight from my position near the door. My eyes latched upon the girl at the far end. At the time she was stretched out, reaching up to do paint over the window. She was blocking out some of the sunlight, I think that's what caught my eye.

It wasn't the only thing that caught my eye. The cotton shift she was wearing was completely diaphanous, outlined against the harsh glare of the morning sunlight through the window. Every part of her body was illuminated, apart from where a few splotches of whitewash had made the cotton opaque. Thank goodness. There must have been a big splotch of paint covering the cloth between her legs. About the only thing that I couldn't see of her 'naughty bits, was one side of one breast. I caught no sight either of a dark shadow identifying the black-haired girl's pubic hair. Thank goodness for those splotches of paint. "I think we'd better leave the girls," I said, quickly opening the door and easing myself out.

I hardly dared to think of the physical attributes of both of the females of whom I had inadvertently caught sight, except to think that they were quite remarkable in looking so pretty. In fact, come to think of it, all the young women were very attractive.

What was happening to me? I began to feel I'd been missing out on something over the last couple of years. Last time around, between my age of sixteen and eighteen, I never managed to have an hour without thinking of the other sex. Of course, I was too awkward to even get a girlfriend. Engineers are like that. However, over this last couple of years, I'd never been interested at all. Was it that I'd been too preoccupied with work or was it that every female I saw looked and behaved like a strict order of nuns?

But now I was act feeling like an adolescent again; first the girls in the barn and now these waitresses, cooks and cleaners! I took a long deep breath between my teeth causing Madame to look at me in a very peculiar fashion. I blushed but could not take my mind of the girls.

Were they not aware of how they were unconsciously displaying themselves? Obviously not! These females were so modest they probably had no idea what the effect of their semi-nakedness had had upon a young man. Once they stepped foot outside, they'd think of wearing nothing else but their black garb covered with an apron and with a mob cap over their hair. I began to feel I was an interloper in here, transgressing on their innocence. They were certainly not destined to be sent out as housekeepers with the salacious suggestions that surrounded the orphan girls and their guardians. No, these appeared to be much more ingenuous.

I was glad the next door was pulled open. The room was piled high with furniture, mostly beds. "Ah, they've moved everything into here while they are preparing their own rooms," muttered Madame and moved on.

She went down a couple of doors and called out to one of the coffee drinkers, "Mr Charles, you've heard of him, he wants to see how his building has turned out."

"Oooh, it's lovely. We all like it and downstairs is great too. It'll be so much nicer working here."

She and her friends nodded carelessly as Madame suggested that she was showing me into their room. She made an assumption that it would be OK without asking for permission. I thought to myself, 'I don't think I'd have liked it if my employer had just walked into my bedroom with a man. What about my personal possessions'?"

It did not appear to bother the occupants. I now saw how the room was laid out. It was about twenty feet long, and down along the left-hand side were strung out three beds alongside the wall. At the head of each one was a little headset with room for knickknacks and the like. These were about three feet, or so, high and delineated the area of one occupant from the next. On the other wall was a set of fitted cupboards that extended the whole length, except that opposite the head of each bed there was no door. Instead it was shelved so the girls' possessions, that they didn't mind being on view, were set out.

I saw how each little area was personalised. They each had individually handcrafted coverlets. On each bed was a soft, cuddly toy, quite clearly handmade. It was sweet really, but then a cursory glance assessed that few of her staff were older than twenty-five and most a lot younger.

On the wall behind the middle bed there was a mural of a mountain scene, quite evidently defining the countryside around Hartglade. I would have taken my time to look a little longer but I felt that I was intruding and didn't want the girls to think we had been looking at their personal thingies. We left the room, and as Madame pointed out various features, we took the other flight of steps downwards.

Emerging on the next floor behind a corner, in a little niche, we opened the door which I saw was labelled,

"I'll show you around here later," my guide offered, and led me down a grand carpeted and curving stairway into a lobby. "We are in the social club now but I want to take you outside to give you the visitors' impression of first arriving at our club."

If that's what she wanted, so be it. We exited the main doors of the club which opened out onto the side street known as Slaughterhouse Alley. Walking up the road to the Main Street, I now looked at the building again. Just above head height, I could see that Madame was trying to give quite a different impression. There was a little wooden board about ten feet high attached to the brickwork. Painted on it in neat lettering was, "Merry's Alley."

Noticing what had taken my attention, she commented, with one of her little high-pitched giggles "I can only say that the first butcher who used to be here was called Mr. Terry." She giggled again. "but that isn't a signwriting error, no matter what some old residents believe."

"It could be misleading," I hesitated, conjuring up a mental image of the girl who had been painting and experiencing the most awful thoughts.

Ignoring my comment, Madame enlightened me, "We had a competition on what to call it. The girls of the room we saw being painted were the winners."

"Yes." I said, not quite understanding her attitude. It had been years since I'd heard any sexual innuendo. Who else in this strait-laced and moralistic town would, like me, see the double entendre? That poor girl, if ever she found how it could be misunderstood, she'd be mortified. I too giggled. Should I say anything? I wondered if Madame could quietly have it amended.

However, my attention was immediately distracted. She had brought me round to admire the whole building. It was something I'd not done, not having had time to stand around during the day. I had passed so many times when the exterior had been covered in wooden scaffolding that I had never appreciated the end result.

The side of the building was situated facing Main Street. Without scaffolding for it was now quite impressive with its patterned brickwork. I was most impressed with the skill of the brickies who had enhanced the patterns of different shaped bricks by incorporating other patterns of bricks that protruded slightly from the plane wall. Even as I admired it, I saw that it attracted the admiring glances of many a passer-by who, like us, was seeing its full effect for the first time.

Before I could ask Madame what she thought of the roof, she ushered me into this other entrance.

Mounting the steps, I understood that, to all appearances, one would believe that this was the main entrance with its grand portico. "Here we have the Visitors Lounge," announced Madame Grenouille proudly. Coming through this large portico I was immediately made aware of the carpets underfoot. I had taken little note of them when we exited through the club entrance. I was amazed that, here, in this part of the world, they even had carpets as my feet almost sank into the deep pile underfoot.

This was the first room that anybody would see. It was set out as I recalled a hotel bar in another era at a top-class hotel, three or four star. Here the emphasis was on comfort and use rather than on sleek lines. I could see where there was a small podium that extended out from one door along the far wall, and then into the centre of the room, on the right-hand side. The podium disappeared through another doorway. Obviously there was some form of entertainment which took place here from time to time, perhaps a singer?

"This is the entrance bar for which I make no charge for admittance. We suggest visitors take their time here. The prices of bar reflect the luxurious surroundings," she added with a grin. "We expect some of our customers to arrive with a companion, and occasionally that companion may stay here while his friend enjoys the facilities elsewhere. Even so, before they are offered the choice of activities, it is my policy to keep them waiting for a good few minutes. I imagine that I take more money here for drinks than at the saloon opposite the clock tower, probably both saloons."

It was certainly already geared up to keep the attention of any visitor. I saw various board games that were available, just as Craggs had said the first time he had told me he was off to the club. Why should people pay extra to join the club when all this was free? It was not my policy to query my guide's practices but then she appeared to be doing quite well without my help.

"Yes," she said as I surveyed or erotic?

Proudly, Madame took me through to the next room, indicating, as she did so, the foyer in which was installed a small desk. "That's where we take in the real money."

You know, I'd never thought of a social club as being such a moneymaking concern.

The room in which we ended up had another series of podiums or is that podia? They protruded from two walls, behind which were brief curtains. "Paying clients are encouraged to use this second lounge, where experience tells me, that we can encourage up to half of them to take advantage of further esoteric entertainments." I could see that some visitors may want to pay extra, but in all honesty, the first lounge bar was more luxurious than anything in the hotel on the square. I must admit that I had not been inside the new hotel, though I doubt that its conversion from a boarding house would be up to this standard.

"These are the facilities that the paying visitors enjoy," I learnt.

Retracing our steps, we arrived back in the foyer and mounted the wide curving steps up to the next floor. "All the bedrooms in this section are quite similar. Would you like to see one?"

It was a hotel! She was! She was going into the hotel business, a really upmarket hotel! I didn't like to say much, but was intrigued to see the whole building. I particularly wanted to see what they had done with the plumbing, for which I had spent a lot of time sorting out a complex system of pipework. I had ensured that everything would work efficiently without leaks. That had been my only contribution to the interior.

The first room was quite like that of any other hotel. Well not quite, it had a double bed. I had no idea that I had been designing a hotel. Just like all the hotels it had a couple of pictures on the walls. In this case there were two sketches of a female nude. I didn't want to show myself up by peering too closely at either but they were rather risqué. Wasn't it a bit much? But then, I decided, the only occupants would be men wouldn't they? On the other hand, the drawings would certainly not appeal to the older men of the town. I knew perfectly well what their attitude was to women. They expected them to be prim and proper.

After seeing the way in which the restrooms of the staff had been fitted out on the upper floor I was intrigued to know what had been done in this en suite. I had spent a lot of time and effort ensuring that the pipes were in exactly the right position. What had they installed? I opened the door into the restroom, which I discovered was quite large.

Immediately, I saw that the walls and floor were completely tiled with the drain hole at one side so almost the whole room could be used for showering. A bit extravagant!

And what was that? A bidet!

'A bidet in 1840?', I said to myself in amazement but aloud I announced, "I didn't know you were building a hotel?"

"A hotel?"

And then she suddenly burst into laughter, saying almost to herself, "Well some of our guests do stay overnight." Under her breath she muttered, "But they really pay for the privilege."

I couldn't see anything peculiar about that. Why was she laughing?

"You don't know?" She stood there for a moment, "But then, why should you?"

Walking around to face me, she stood in front so close to me, we were almost touching and she looked at my face, straight in the eye. Saying nothing, she pulled me into her body. It was quite disconcerting. The dress she wore was very thin and I felt two very warm breasts pressing into me. Again, I experienced the most unusual feeling that I had forgotten for the last few years. I took in her womanly scent accentuated by the odour of some local meadow flower that I half recognised. It was peculiar to this locality. I experienced a very 'heady' feeling. And the feeling was not all in my head. Suddenly I found that I had to pull my pelvis away from her as my cock must have been pressing hard against the inner side of her thigh. I dreaded to think what she must think of me, as my body was betraying some very robust feelings.

She melted into me, and though I had the experience of two girlfriends who had joined me in sex, the effect of this older woman was far more physical than anything I'd ever experienced before.

Did I say two girlfriends? Therein lies a tale. I shan't go into detail, but one was a mistake both for me and for her. I shall say no more than that we only met five times and I made a point of avoiding her ever after. The second, was my girlfriend for some months, it was only after I left college that I began to understand how she had used me. No, I don't want to go into details. I feel bad about it even now.

I think I feel worse in the way that I lent her five hundred dollars the last time I saw her and I knew she would never, ever repay me. Yes, she took me for a ride but then, like now, I was not very socially adept with females they walked over me. You noticed?

"You're meant to be writing about the first time you went to the social club." I waited, listening for the approaching steps before I dipped my quill back into the inkwell. It's all right having your work reviewed, but I hate criticism when it is something I can't do anything about, like the flow of my writing -- I was saying to myself, "Yes, I'll get back to the matter in hand." I took a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure that none of my women was observing me. Writing, I find, is a very personal thing. Now, back to what I was writing.

Where was I? Ah yes, the bedroom, no wonder I was distracted, the incident had a great effect upon me. My heart was pumping like mad when suddenly Madam drew back, "Oh no, my friend, I have not worked for many years, upwards of fifteen now. When I gave up, I swore I'd never entertain another gentleman but the feeling of you against my cunny brings back more than a few memories, good memories. You're almost enough to make me break my vow."

What the heck was she talking about! I was trying to make head or tails of what she was saying. I hadn't a clue. How was I to know that she had been a gentleman's escort for more years than she could enumerate? An escort! When I learnt that later, I could never have thought of my friend as a prostitute or whore. She was far too sophisticated. No, she was too friendly, too well brought up to have me think of her like that. She wasn't the type.

It was the last thing that would come into my head at this time.

That shows how much I know!

You're wondering why I'm waffling on. I couldn't keep my mind straight. My thoughts delved right down to below my waist. I could hardly appreciate what she was saying? As her lips were moving, her hands were pulling most strongly against each side of my bottom. This forced me to be pressed firmly against the thin material of her dress. I was more than ever aware of the gap I had found between her legs.

I had no idea of the age of Madame. Whatever it was, she still had, what was the word? Yes, she still had 'sex appeal'. No, it was something more. Whatever it was, I was forced to take some very deep breaths.

As if she understood exactly how I felt, she gently pecked me on the cheek. I saw it was with reluctance she let me go, but pulled me towards the bed where we sat next to each other. No, her intentions were no longer amorous and, as if to explain herself, she became more business-like, "I'm a strong-minded woman and once I decide on a course of action I stick to it," she said, finishing with a sigh.

What was she talking about? Only as the conversation progressed did I realise that she had reservations about not jumping into bed with me there and then. This was about her vow of celibacy.

I could have said that she touched my hand with her fingers very delicately, just as a sister would hold contact with her brother. This was not the case. Even the lightest and most reserved touches which her fingertips made went straight up my arm like a gentle electric tremble. I glanced at those fingers and then for the first time recognised their bone-iness. Is that a word? It was her hands and the wrinkled skin which could not be disguised. Madame was far more aged than I had appreciated.

Despite that, damn me! I'm sure that if she reneged on her vow I would have no hesitation in slipping under the covers with her. Was I mad? She was old enough to be my mother. Mother would resent that comment. Madame was old enough to be my mother's mom. If only I knew her real age!

I was suddenly aware that my hand was deftly trying to obscure the evidence of my erection.

I'm afraid I was unsuccessful in doing that. Perhaps my efforts themselves drew attention to my predicament. She adopted an almost motherly expression as her eyes appreciated what I was doing. I thought that maybe I'd be embarrassed if anybody else, woman or man, ever drew attention to that condition. Yet she had the knack of putting me at my ease, "Oh please, I'm never embarrassed to see a young man aroused. At my age it's most rewarding and I'm so proud of you! What a prong." (That's a word I'd never heard before to describe my dick.) "You are very tempting. It looks as hard as a rock. It's all I can do to keep my hands off."