The Reform Club, Pall Mall, London
A journalist for the Daily Courier in London, Edmund Molloy was delighted to meet a beautiful girl, Agnes Cardwell, at an art exhibition. He was even more delighted, after a rapid courtship, to have her perform an intimate act upon him. Deciding they were destined for a life together he attempted to propose, only to have Agnes declare that their brief relationship was over as she sought a more adventurous man. Bitterly disappointed but determined to show her how adventurous he could be, he set off to see his best friend William Britten at the Reform Club on Pall Mall...
I was ensconced in
the Reform, at Britten’s favourite table, relating my sorry tale. He expressed
great surprise over Agnes’ forward behaviour and I detected a slight sense of
envy.
“Well, I was rather surprised myself,” I told him. “Wasn’t expecting that
level of, er, intimacy at all. I was just going to propose and…”
“Did you?” asked
Britten.
“Did I what?”
“Did you propose!”
“Oh yes! Well I
started to. Down on one knee and everything!” I replied. “Just after the, well,
you know!”
“Oh dear!” said
Britten. “Afterwards? Had you discussed it before?”
“What? The proposal?”
Had I done something terribly wrong in proposing, I started to wonder?
“Well I didn’t mean
the bagpiping!” he said.
“Bagpiping? Oh! I
see! No. No. Not discussed any future plans of marriage. It just came over me!”
“I thought she
swallowed it!” he joked. I glared at him. This was no time for levity!
“What? Have I made
some terrible faux pas?” I asked.
“Well, if we look at
it from her point of view…” he said.
“Why should we?” I
replied, baffled. William sighed.
Well, if we did. You had not discussed any prospect of a future
married life with Agnes at any point since you first met her?”
“No.”
“You had not sought
her father’s permission?” he added.
“No. She is over
twenty-one!” William raised an eyebrow.
“Oh. I should have, anyway, eh?”
“And after she
performs an act of such intimacy upon you that many married women would demur
at performing upon their husbands, you ask her to marry you. Might this not be
interpreted by her that you have decided that she is such an abandoned trollop
you better snap her up quickly, so she can provide a life of companionable
debauchery on demand?”
“But, but, I didn’t
demand! She volunteered! She made all the running! I was seduced, not her!” I
went on to relate our painful discussion after The Act, as Britten insisted on
calling it.
“Well this does put a
slightly different complexion on the whole affair. In which case her
declaration that The Act was by way of a goodbye gift may well hold true. You
have been thrown over, Edmund. Entertainingly, no doubt but the effect is the
same!” I sat there in
silence and swirled my cognac disconsolately around my glass.
“But she
intimated that if I performed a valiant act of adventure she might reconsider!”
Although in retrospect I realised that she had done no such thing. It was just
me raising my own hopes that such an act would lead to a reconciliation.
“The age of chivalry
is obviously not dead. Perhaps she would like you to confront a few dragons!”
said William, getting up and waving at the waiter to sign his chit.
“Oh! Do we have to
leave? I do not have a shift tonight! I fancy a late supper! And quite a lot of
drink!” I said, disappointed. I hoped that a solid meal and a couple of bottles
of claret would settle the horrible gnawing feeling I had in the pit of my
stomach.
“We certainly are
leaving but I too have a day off from work tomorrow, as I worked over the
weekend and I have been given a day in lieu. I will take you somewhere where we
can get some excellent claret, a fine cold collation and other entertainment as
well. You, my friend, need a night for yourself and I am paying for it!”
“There is really no
need!” I said but I was grateful, of course. The salary of a junior journalist
was meagre to say the least. Britten had plenty of money and was generous with
it, without ever giving the impression he was paying for the poor friend out of
pity.
We left the
Reform and crossed Pall Mall into St James Square and then proceeded to a large
white town house in King Street, close by the St James’s Theatre. It had a
small brass sign next to the door which read ‘Babylon Imports’. “You are not, I
hope, going to conduct some business involving the import of rubber at this
hour?” I asked. He shook his head and pressed the doorbell but I did not hear
any sound. Britten smiled at me and we waited for around half a minute.
Eventually, the black painted door was opened and a gentleman, who had the
appearance of someone who exactly fitted what you might imagine a clerk at an
import business might look like, appeared before us. Grey, thinning hair, wire
glasses, black jacket, striped trousers, a large nose, furrowed forehead and a
somewhat confused looking expression.
“Ah, good evening,
sir! How nice to see you again. Is this gentleman your associate?”
“More than that Mr
Oliver, he is my very best friend!” said Britten.
“Excellent! Well you
must both come up!” We stepped into the building and to the right, through a
glass door bearing the words 'Babylon Imports', I noticed a normal office, as
you might expect, with a large map of the world visible on the far wall.
However, we were led straight up the stairs and were shown to the only door on
the first floor landing. The landing was completely lacking in any noteworthy
items at all. Not a table, not a lamp not a painting. Just a rather worn blue
carpet. As we approached the door it was opened from inside by a large
negro, dressed, rather surprisingly, in the eighteenth century manner, complete
with powdered wig, silver embroidered black tailcoat and white breeches.
“Good evening Mr
William. How nice to see you again!” he rumbled in his basso profondo.
“Good evening, Jacob.
This is my particular friend Mr Edmund! He is my guest tonight.”
“Welcome, Mr Edmund”
said the imposing fellow. “Will you be dining tonight? He asked Britten.
“We are absolutely
famished!” said Britten. “And passing thirsty too!”
We were shown into a
large, sumptuously appointed salon with dark panelled walls and rich red
leather upholstered furniture. Small palms in brass planters were scattered
about the room, breaking it up into smaller areas. One wall was almost entirely
made up of bookshelves holding a myriad of gold embossed volumes. An old style
globe sat in one corner. There was a large tiger skin rug on the floor and,
indeed, I noticed a number of interesting decorative items from foreign parts:
an ancient Greek statue, an oriental warrior’s helmet, some spears and other
weapons which had an African look about them and some primitive tribal masks.
Paintings on the walls were of jungles, waterfalls, tropical islands and
mountain ranges. A splendid roaring fire was a pleasant antidote to the chill
March air outside. Above the chimneypiece was a large painting of bare breasted
native girls of the South Seas. This was not done in the modern style of Gaugin
but more in the traditional and realistic manner of someone such as JW Godward.
Agnes’s father possessed several charming pictures by that artist.
“It’s like the Royal
Geographical Society!” I observed. “Although rather smarter. This is, I take
it, some kind of private club?”
“It is the Babylon
Exploration Society,” said William. “Members explore the geography of many
foreign parts! It was founded by the directors of Babylon Imports below; a
company associated with my own.”
“I suppose you are a
member because of your trips to Brazil and Malaya,” I said.
“Indeed, it was
through our Chairman, Sir Gerald Crozier, that I was put forward as a member of
the Society!” he said, as we were shown to a pair of comfortable armchairs near
the fire with an unusual, intricately tiled hexagonal table between them. It
was very ornate and I looked at it with interest. It had the look of Egypt or
the Levant about it
“It is Turkish, sir.
Sree ‘undred years old, I am told!” Britten and I stood up at the feminine
voice and I was presented with the most elegant lady, dressed in midnight blue
evening attire which left her shoulders and collarbones quite bare as well as
offering an enticing glimpse of her upper bosom. She was tall, perhaps five
foot six, with deep, dark brown eyes, prominent cheekbones, a strong aquiline
nose and well formed lips. She smiled and I was quite taken with her.
“Good evening,
madam,” I said, entranced by the brunette beauty before me. “My name is Edmund
M…”
“Stop zere, Mr
Edmund. We ‘ave a tradition ‘ere of using only our Christian names. I myself am
Madame Nathalie!”
“I am enchanted!” I
said. “Are you, perhaps, from France?” I asked. “Your accent is most
mellifluous!”
“Indeed, Mr Edmund. I
am lately from Paris, where I run a similar society to zis establishment. I was
asked by some visitors from England if I might set up such an organisation in
London as well and so, sree years later, ‘ere we are!” she spread her slender,
bare arms to encompass the luxurious interior. She wore, most unusually
for a woman, a delicate, gold wristwatch.
“This is a splendid
salon, indeed!” I noticed that several other gentlemen had been shown into the
room by Jacob and were being seated away from us.
“Well, please enjoy
yourselves tonight. I must attend to ze other members!” she smiled and left
with a rustle of silk and an enduring cloud of lavender perfume. We sat down
again.
“What a striking
woman!” I declared, quite overcome. “But how unusual to have a woman presiding
over an exploration society. Does she have any history of exploring herself?
Like Lady Baker, perhaps?” I had interviewed the redoubtable widow of the
explorer at her house in Devon the previous year.
“I believe that she
once lived in Indo-China and, indeed speaks several oriental languages,” said
Britten, smiling at me.
“Why are you smiling
at me in such a fashion?” I asked. He laughed.
“No
reason at all. You are priceless! Now how about some supper and, more
importantly, some wine!” We were offered some Champagne by Jacob, shortly
afterwards.
“Your dinner will be
in the oriental room, Mr William,” he said, “whenever you are ready.” We soon
finished our Champagne and stood up to cross the salon. Britten led me through
a door and we found ourselves in a corridor with a number of doors off it. The
building seemed much larger on the inside than it did from the outside. Who
would have thought it? Each door had a small brass plate upon it, engraved with
a map of a geographical region. Northern Europe, The Mediterranean, North
America, South America, North Africa, The Levant and Arabia and so on. We
stopped outside a door with a map of Japan, China and Indo-China on it.
“This is a novel idea
but how apposite for an exploration society!” I said. We entered the room and
there was a medium sized dining table set for dinner with two Chinese
Chippendale chairs arranged opposite each other. The walls were hung with jade
green silk, appropriately, and there were a large number of small oriental
paintings and prints on the walls although I could not see them in detail as
the room was rather dimly lit but to cozy effect. A large oriental style bronze
of a lion sat in one corner and even the lamp shades were of oriental design.
“How splendid!” I said, as indeed it was.
“Can’t think why you bother with the
stuffy old Reform when this is so much smarter!”
“They offer different
environments, indeed,” said William. “Now, the food here is good but it is all
cold at present. They are having the kitchen remodelled and there is no choice
here so we will be presented with a cold collation, if that is acceptable?”
“Acceptable? It
sounds ideal!” I replied. It was now gone nine o’clock, according to the clock
upon the chimneypiece. The clock itself was of a bronze elephant on an ornate
stand upon which the clock rested. Atop the clock was a Chinese-looking male
figure. It looked expensive and I wondered what the membership fee was of the
society. More than I could afford, I knew.
The door opened and,
much to my surprise, two oriental beauties entered the room, holding red
leather portfolios. They were dressed in brightly coloured oriental silk gowns.
I was surprised to find more women on the staff.
“Good evening, sirs!”
said the first girl who was dressed in a scarlet gown embroidered with gold
chrysanthemums. She had loose, waist-length black hair.
“Good evening
Jasmine!” said William. “This is my best friend, Mr Edmund. It is his first
visit this evening!”
“Welcome to Babyron
Explolation Society!” she said, struggling with the longer word, somewhat. “May
I plesent wine rist?” she said, passing the red folder to Britten.
“Excellent! What
shall we have? Why don’t we have some more Champagne? To celebrate your freedom
from the tedious Agnes and all the opportunities you can now pursue instead!”
“I don’t feel like
celebrating. I feel completely rejected,” I said.
“Nonsense. You have
escaped, not been rejected. And at least you have an entertaining memory to
console you! A bottle of the Pol Roger, I think. Jasmine!” She bowed and left
the room leaving the other girl, who was dressed in one of the brightly
coloured Japanese kimonos which had been so fashionable a few years earlier.,
She stood just inside the door clutching another red leather folder. She smiled
at me. Her face, while also oriental, was of a different aspect from the first
girl’s and her hair was pinned up on top of her head.
“This is Hoshimi. All the
staff come from foreign countries!”
“Where does Jacob
come from? Africa or the West Indies?” I asked.
“He is from
Bermondsey, I believe," said Britten. "But south of the river
is almost overseas, don’t you think?”
Jasmine returned,
accompanied by Jacob who opened the Champagne for us and poured it, holding the
bottle carefully in his white gloves. They both left and Hoshimi stepped
forward presenting me with the leather folder.
“This evening’s menu,
sir!” she said, giving me that dazzling smile again. I have always responded to
a beautiful smile on a girl more than any attribute, I do confess. It was
Agnes’ smile that had first attracted me to her, across the crowded Sackville
gallery. I took the leather folder from her and looked at William.
“I thought they did
not have menus at present?”
“Not for the food,”
he said. I opened the leather binder and there on the first page, instead of
the expected list of dishes, were two photographs, each about the size of a
postcard and mounted on cream card, of a blonde woman. The first was a portrait
of a smiling, fresh face with curly fair hair, not dissimilar to Agnes. Her
lips were rather fuller and her cheeks had a softer, almost cherubic aspect.
The photograph below showed her reclining completely naked on a chaise longue,
her soft round breasts and fleece of pale hair at the apex of her thighs
completely revealed. Underneath the photographs was written, in neat
copperplate: ‘Anna. Sweden. Nineteen. Five foot four inches.’ Realisation
dawned on me as I turned the page. A dark haired lovely gazed out at me in her
portrait and underneath there she was, standing naked, apart from black stockings,
with her hands behind her bottom leaning against a brass bedstead. Her fleece
was black and she had small, well-shaped breasts with dark nipples. ‘Béatrice.
France. Seventeen. Five foot three inches’. There were about twenty five pages
in all. I had a thought and flicked past the charms of Claudia from Italy,
Elvira from Spain and Gretchen from Germany. Helpfully, arranged in
alphabetical order, I soon found ‘Hoshimi. Japan. Twenty-one. Five foot two
inches’.
"But this is
a…a…” I stammered.
“It is a private
society for the entertainment of gentlemen and, actually, a number of ladies.
They have their own salon. Madame Nathalie is a very modern woman.” said
Britten, sipping his Champagne.
I flipped through the
rest of the ‘menu’, puzzled about the activities of the lady members. I was
very taken by the volupuous charms of ‘Mette, Denmark. Twenty. Five foot five
inches.’
“Do you mean there are men here who…who…” I said.
“No, all are women,”
he answered.
“But why would a
woman want to lay with another...? Oh! Really?” My sexual knowledge was
increasing at an extraordinary rate that day. “But what do they do? I mean,
without a…?” I stopped, realising that I was making myself seem like a simple,
unsophisticated Irishman; which is exactly what I was, in this new secret realm
of sexual interaction.
“Well, another time
we can perhaps arrange a demonstration for you!” He nodded at Hoshimi.
“Anna for me, if she is available.” Hoshimi nodded and smiled.
“You have made
choice, Mr Edmund?” she asked me, giving me that lovely smile. How could I even
be thinking about employing the services of a prostitute at this point, however
beautiful and poised? What a betrayal to Agnes! To my intended! The woman to
whom I was going to prove myself with an act of derring-do! I stopped that
train of thought and frowned. The woman who had just completely and heartlessly
rejected me as I presented and exposed my whole being to her for her approval!
On my knees! An adventurer. That was what she wanted! Not a storyteller.
The way she had used the word made me sound like someone who wrote juvenile
books for children. The Golden Fairy, by Edmund Molloy. A fairy who turned out
to be a witch! It was at this precise moment that I decided to record my
erotic adventure that night. I would be a storyteller, yes, but a teller of
tales for adults. Hoshimi coughed, quietly. I realised I had been staring into
space.
“Do you know,
Hoshimi, you are not only the most beautiful girl in this, er, menu but you are
quite the most beautiful I have ever seen! So my choice is for you, if you
accept me.” Her smile lit up the room and she bowed to me and left us alone.
“I didn’t know your
taste ran to such exotica, Edmund. I was sure that you would select a blonde!”
said Britten. “Perhaps the Dane, Mette.”
“Neither did I!” In
fact although I did find Hoshimi beautiful and enticing I really wanted someone
who looked as different from Agnes as possible. “What happens now? When do I,
well…? I have never been in such a place!” A thought suddenly occurred to me.
“Hoshimi. You haven’t, er…have you?”
“No, my taste does run
to blondes. And redheads but my favourite, Bettina, is not available today,” he
said, flicking through the menu. “Next time! There are many more girls than
appear here. Madame Nathalie brings new ones across from Paris every month or
so. I believe that she is setting up another establishment in Berlin too. There
is a negro girl from Jamaica whose figure you would not believe! What a
marvellous arse she has! The selection changes from day to
day. And the rumour is that she has secured a pair of identical twins from
Constantinople, who should be arriving soon!”
“Twins?” I said. “I
knew a pair of identical twin girls back in Ireland. Moira and Muriel. Flame
haired beauties who kept the whole city of Dublin in their thrall. There was
something slightly disturbing about them, as if they were communicating
wordlessly with each other in your presence. There were many fights caused by
those two, I can tell you, as they appeared to enjoy juggling and, it is
rumoured, swapping their many suitors!”
“Red headed twins?
Superb!” said Britten. “I would imagine the Turkish twins will be dark! Oh
well!”
Hoshimi and Jasmine appeared once more and laid out a quite splendid
cold collation. There were chicken and duck legs, slices of ham and rare roast
beef, pork chops, cold sausages and a game pie. There was also a plate of big
juicy prawns, smoked mackerel, salmon and trout. Various condiments were placed
on the table as well. Britten, patted Jasmine affectionately on the bottom as
she placed a silver spoon next to the mustard. She smiled at him. I thought
about doing the same to Hoshimi but did not think I could carry off Britten’s
insouciance.
“Now, you need to finish your Champage, Edmund, as the claret is
here!” Jacob had reappeared with a bottle of 1900 Château Pichon Longueville,
Comtesse de Lalande, already decanted. As we drank and helped ourselves from
the loaded plates I was simultaneously becoming happier and more relaxed while
also harbouring an increasing nervousness about what might happen as regards
Hoshimi. “Will this be your first time? Or have you had some of those copper
thatched beauties out amongst the bogs in Ireland? Some lusty colleen in the
potato fields?” said Britten cutting a sausage in two. I winced slightly as my
mind was on more carnal pleasures than culinary.
“Have you ever
actually been to Ireland? You seem to have a peculiar view of the place!” I
said. He laughed.
“I
saw the coast from the liner to Brazil! Very green!” I shook my head. I
wondered how far I would have to travel to impress Agnes.
“In answer to
your question, no. My experience with Agnes is my sexual frontier to date! I do
not have your undoubted experience, old chap!”
“Yes, but I think you
score more highly. All of my carnal fun has been with professional ladies such
as we find here. My father bought me my first one as a twenty first birthday
present. Not here of course. In Paris. Couldn’t understand a word she said and
although she was passing pretty with black, curly hair, a nice curvy figure and
a round, yielding rump, she wasn’t of the quality you find here. No, Molloy.
You have had an experience with an independent, beautiful woman of her own
volition. Virginia won’t even let me kiss her. All I am allowed to do is to
clasp her hand when we meet and say goodbye!”
“Well, look, perhaps
Virginia is not the right girl for you. I cannot imagine that such a lack of
interest in physical contact at this stage will magically transform into a
burning passion on marriage. How long has it been now? A year? I have known
Agnes for just a few weeks and already...”
“Yes, alright, I take
your point. But many men have sexless marriages and obtain their fun outside
with a mistress or in places such as this!” He was poking the remaining slice
of game pie with his knife. Eat it or leave it, I thought, hungrily. When the
food had arrived I had thought it enough for four but we had scoffed most of
it.
“But shouldn’t the
ideal be a woman who is all things? A life companion, a mother to your children
and a willing sexual partner?” I asked. “You only get a mistress when your wife
is past it, at, say, thirty. Perhaps thirty five, if she maintains her looks!”
“Rare as hen’s
teeth!” he mumbled and put his knife down. I reached out and grabbed the last
slice of pie. He made a face, picked up his knife again and waved it at me like
a rapier.
“You have to grab
what you want!” I said.
“Perhaps I could grab
Agnes? I’m an adventurous type! Been to Egypt, India, Singapore, Malaya and
Brazil!”
“Well apart from the
fact that making a grab for Agnes would involve me having to take you to
Charing Cross Hospital, on account of your broken nose, I suspect that staying
in the Grand Hotel de l'Europe in Singapore would not fulfil her criterion of
adventurous,” I said. “The risk of being savaged by a cocktail waiter bearing a
Gibson rather pales compared with facing down a tiger, I would have thought!”
“It was
a jolly nice hotel!” he said. He had returned from there last month.
“I cannot believe that it is you giving me advice on my love
life when we are here to advance yours!”
“Well, it is not
really love if you have to pay,” I said. I was now not sure if I could go
through with what was contemplated. “It is for money not love!”
“Well, all women love
for money but most are more indirect about the payment,” maintained Britten.
“Dinners out, trips to the theatre, dresses, jewellery, etcetera. Let alone a
place to live. Security and comfort for life. All they have to do is pop out a
few babies! You jolly well pay for every roll with a wife!” he declared. “One
way or another! And the girls here will love you for an hour or two. Genuine,
unconditional, passionate love!” I smiled, believing that these women must just
be particularly good actresses, which is what old McCandless said once about
the high class ones. Toffers, he called them.
I was disappointed in
Britten's cynical view of womankind. There must be true
romantic love that was not dependent on financial gain, I hoped. Britten was
five years older than me , however, so perhaps I was just being naive again. My
more immediate issue was whether I could engage physically with a woman I had
only just met and with whom I had no emotional bond. I was starting to
doubt it.
There was a gentle
tap on the door and I jumped in alarm. My heart began to race.
Chapter notes on this episode can be found here.
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