After a considerable amount of time spent looking at her from head to toe, no doubt gauging her outfit; usually a dark blouse and skirt that softened her generous forms, Alfie Solomons emitted a hoarse "hmm", which she interpreted as a hello, failing to understand its true nature.
He then scrutinized her smooth face with cherry-colored full-lips, which contrasted with the pallor of her complexion, framed by chestnut hair whose rebellious curls often fell on her large, clear green eyes, perhaps waiting for an answer from her.
So she often said, "What do you want me to do, Mr. Solomons?"
"Well, smile?" he answered most often with a questioning pout under his beard. But in front of her impassive face with a cold look, he ended up giving her a real task in a resigned sigh, which she executed without discussion.
Here's how usually began her working days at the "bakery", installed at the desk which was almost facing the imposing and unfathomable man Alfie was, whose glances in her direction were never stealthy nor succinct. He was certainly not embarrassed to stare at her; he was not a man to embarrass himself with good manners, or to hide what he did not like. But as far as she was concerned, he sometimes made vague allusions to the content of her activities the night before, usually too metaphorical for Ariane to grasp the real meaning.
Allusions made about a bad habit, which she had taken a few years earlier, of not being able to get to sleep without getting drunk. Gin was her favorite poison, and the bars of Camden Town would soon see their sales increase the night her demons would assail her brain more cruelly than usual.
The first night, after Allie accompanied her to her quarters; the house where she would live on Lyme Street, more comfortable than she could ever afford, she had not deigned to take off her coat and settle down that she had already visited the first pub she had crossed.
The contract that Alfie Solomons had given her under her arm, she had read and read again. But as the number of glasses increased, her confused brain read only "You are now the property of Alfie Solomons" to each paragraph a little paranoid she read, where no question should be asked if she had any of suspicion as to the activity of the company. No information relating to the company should be communicated to anyone, whether staff member or not, unless otherwise advised by Mr. Solomons. In short, nothing happened without his approval.
It was with the strange feeling of selling her soul to the devil that she had given the signed contract to Alfie the next day. He had ostensibly sniffed it right under her eyes. It smelled of gin and cigarette, as his men had told him. Under the cover of banal activities, like having a drink after work, they watched the comings and goings of certain people in particular.
Ariane did not notice them at first, these men with long black coats sitting at the bar or tables behind her. She never saw the reproachful nods that they addressed to any man who tried to approach her, making them understand that she was off the menu. Women were rare in such places, except prostitutes. But no one had ever mistaken her for one of them, she thought.
She would have liked company some nights, not an ear to listen, just hands to make her feel the life that still inhabited her body. But who would have liked to share his warmth with a sad soul? That was what she said to herself. And in the mornings, when she could not remember how she had gone home, she could not remember being escorted near or far by these men in black.
Alfie knew all that. Alfie knew everything that was happening on his territory. Even what tormented Ariane, who did not show anything and pretended not to understand his attempts to make her speak.
More and more intrigued by this woman, Alfie began showing signs of impatience and getting more and more insistent to get into her head over the weeks. It did not escape her and she began to fear that this intimidating man would one day impose on her a face to face to discuss the elephant in the room.
One day, Alfie Solomons received a visit, a business meeting like a few others she had already attended. The man did not seem to pay any attention to Alfie, turning constantly, more interested in Ariane's tights whose legs protruded under her desk.
Her heart began to accelerate as Solomons furiously glared at his visitor and then at her.
"Miss Marchand!" He growled suddenly, interrupting the distracted rant of the man sitting in front of his desk, "Surely you have better things to do, don't you?"
Her heart missed a beat. After it resumed his run, she could finally say "You ... want me to leave?" with a look full of incomprehension.
"Well, do that, yeah." he answered sternly, clutching his large fists on his desk.
The confusion soon gave way to bitterness and anger in her eyes as she wondered what she had done to deserve to be humiliated in this way.
With fixed eyes under his frowning brows, Solomons watched her as she took her things in tense silence and left the office without a word. She gave him only one last look, heavy with reproaches, before deliberately slamming the door behind her.
That night, she had drowned her anger in gin again. But her resentment seemed stronger than the degrees; she was angry at not getting drunk properly and left the pub furiously, glaring at the men in black who stared at her. Never did anyone speak to her and solitude began to add to her misery.
That evening, with her face down, ruminating against Solomons aloud on the way, she did not notice that once she had arrived at her door, he was there.
Solomons was waiting for her in his long black cloak, leaning with both hands on his cane, his eyes barely visible under his hat.
Ariane stepped forward cautiously, unsure of being able to trust what her eyes were showing in the twilight of the evening, until she stood under his face that was scanning her, so close that she could hear him breathing and smell that spicy scent of his.
Realizing he was there, only alcohol allowed her to keep a certain composition. She lowered her face before looking at him again. She thought she saw disappointment in his eyes.
"I'm an embarrassment to you, am I not, Mr. Solomons?" She asked with eyes unfocused.
"I saw worse, yeah ... One day, I saw a man shitting himself, literally, out of fear. Well, one does not use this kind of image lightly after that, right? Or that other soldier digging in the trench mud with his fucking bare hands. He wanted to bury himself there, and die" he said in his usual slow flow, without taking his eyes off hers, in which, for the first time, he saw an ounce of sadness pass.
"Talk to me, Ariane," he murmured, trampling on the spot.
"Why are you telling me that... you think you can understand, because you were there?" She began screaming in his face. "Have you lost a lot?" She quipped, pretending to look sad.
"Yeah, I left some pieces on the way ..." he said, glancing at his cane. "Everyone has lost something, Ariane, that's war ..."
"Bullshit ... You are back! One day it was over ... And you got home Alfie, you! It was still there, lucky boy! I ... I lost my home ... everyone, my...joy ... I left my soul there ..." the words became like balls in her tight throat. Ariane had not dropped her gaze but she did not really see him anymore behind the wet veil that covered her pupils.
Unfazed, Alfie took a few steps back and opened the door with keys out of his pocket. Turning in her direction, he nodded at her to go inside.
"Et merde..." she swore in French in a heavy sigh, wiping her eyes awkwardly, before complying with an unsteady step.
As he followed her and closed the door behind him, she slumped on the couch with a frowning expression without letting go of her bag, her coat still on her back. Her blouse, pulled down by her unsuitable position, foreshadowed the birth of her cleavage on which Alfie lingered a few moments. It was certainly hard not to imagine the roundness of the curves that hid under the fabric, even in a moment like this.
Resuming his concentration, Alfie looked at her, dumbfounded by the gap between the cold, taciturn young woman who spent her days with him, and the one, direct and sad, that he had in front of him.
She lit a cigarette and blew smoke in front of her, through the locks of hair that fell on her face, in a sonorous sigh. Alfie lit the gas lamp that sat on the table. It was still full; Ariane was visibly fond of the darkness.
A cloud of smoke hovered in front of her, soon disturbed by the advance of Solomons in the room.
She pushed her curls away with her fingertips and looked at him from head to toe. How to trust what she felt at that moment? She dreaded him, and yet his presence, imposing and silent, reassured her. If it were not for gin and anger, she would never have spoken to this man that way.
"I'm perfect for you, you know, I mean ... for your job. I'm so lonely that you did not even need to sign me for your damn contract! NO ONE speaks to me in this damn town! Damn, not a person!" She enraged suddenly. "I feel like ... a nun, you know ... Vow of silence, vow of ... Chastity ..." she went on, full of irony. Looking up at him with a hard look, she added: "I'm for nothing, you know, he was looking at me ... men look at me sometimes, or... used too... It wasn't my fault ..."
Alfie shook his head slightly, chasing from his mind the image of Ariane begging for his touch. To remain impassive in front of this woman was eminently difficult at that moment, her fragility awakening in him the same protective instinct that when this man had dared to ogle her like that. "If that bastard didn't have so much money to make me win, I'd have him swallow his fucking teeth, yeah." he let out, jaw clenched.
"What? ... Why?" She asked in a sharp voice after a few seconds, not sure she understood.
He stared at her suddenly; his eyes wide, his expression stern, unable to silence what made him boil but could not decently admit his jealousy. "You do not covet what's mine, no, no one does this to me, let alone under my own eyes." he said, harshly in a deep voice.
At these words, various emotions invaded her. Her good sense definitely diminished by the drink, Ariane did not know what prevailed, the outrage done to her person as a human being belonging to no one, or the strange arousing in her belly to the thought that he considered her his, and was ready to fight to defend it.
The idea that Alfie Solomons could be attracted to her suddenly turned her whole perception of the man, the way he looked at her, the smile he was constantly asking for. Her laborious reflection made her mute and her gaze drifted into the room without being able to land. Her head began to spin suddenly.
Alfie approached slowly and grabbed the smoking butt between her fingers to crush it in the ashtray, already full on the floor. He lowered himself to grab her firmly by the shoulders, slowly tilting her to the side, forcing her to lie on the couch.
"Gin is bad, it's not what you need, sweetheart, it digs deep inside you, and only goes back to the sadness and regret that lies there." he whispered, uncomfortably squatting at her side. "I'll bring you something better, right?" He offered. But she could not hear him anymore, her body and head numb, swept into a dreamless sleep.