Chapter 86: MON LOULOU
Later that morning
Croydon Aerodrome
Thomas carried Lady Bennett's precious Bebe as he escorted the Dowager and Lady Bennett across the airfield. He had never been so close to an aeroplane. It was not as impressive as he had hoped. In fact, it seemed little more than the toy of some giant child. He looked up to see the pilot in his open-air cockpit. The pilot waved gaily to the passengers as they approached. Thomas wanted to wave back but thought perhaps that would be gauche.
Thomas assisted first Lady Bennett and then the Dowager as they took turns ascending the stepladder to the plane's door. As each of the ladies reached the top step, a uniformed steward stationed inside offered his hand. Once both ladies were aboard, Thomas climbed the steps himself, keeping a firm grip on the dog. Inside he found two rows of cushioned wicker seats separated by an aisle and a buffet in the rear from which the steward would be serving the lunch Lady Bennett had mentioned.
Lady Bennett and the Dowager were seated across the aisle from each other in the two front seats. Thomas returned Bebe to Lady Bennett, removed his hat, and took his seat behind the Dowager. The ladies had coached Thomas carefully. He and the Dowager would avoid addressing each other until they were certain no acquaintances of theirs were seated among the other passengers. If all of the passengers proved to be strangers, then Thomas would assume the guise of the Dowager's gigolo immediately, not that they would refer to him as such.
Thomas tapped his pockets to confirm the presence of his wallet and his notebook. Lady Bennett had given him a substantial sum in French money to help create the desired illusion. A woman of position would fatten the wallet of her kept man so that he could give the impression of paying to entertain her, not vice versa. Thomas intended to track every centime he spent of Lady Bennett's money.
Thomas strummed his fingers on the armrest and watched through the curtained window as another plane landed and released its passengers. Men and women left the plane as though they were stepping off a bus ... as though exiting a contraption that had freed them from the confines of gravity were the most ordinary thing in the world.
The steward stowed the stepladder and shut the door. Then he made his way to the front row and began taking beverage orders. Both of his ladies asked for tea, but Thomas would be damned if he were going to give an aeroplane the opportunity to toss a cup of hot tea on his lap. After hearing the selections, he settled on lemonade. No sooner did the steward move to the next pair of seats than the engines started up, causing the entire structure to whine and vibrate. They were not even airborne yet!
Thomas watched peripherally as the Dowager calmly stood and stepped across the aisle to ask Lady Bennett about the likelihood of rain in Paris this time of year. As she spoke, she casually glanced up the aisle at the other passengers. Lady Bennett answered the question, and the Dowager returned to her seat.
Thomas picked up his hat and stood to place it on the overhead rack. He tried to get a look at all the passengers, but the steward was blocking his view of several seats. He approached the steward and asked what time they would arrive in Paris.
"About 2.30, sir."
Having observed the remaining passengers over the steward's shoulder, Thomas thanked the man and returned to the front of the plane. The Dowager gestured to him, and he leaned over her shoulder. "Nothing," she reported quietly. "And you?"
"The same," Thomas whispered back. He placed his hand over the Dowager's as though it were something he did regularly. "Is there anything I may do for you, my darling?" he asked, speaking in a normal tone.
The Dowager's mouth pinched for the tiniest of moments before smiling amiably. "Not a thing, mon loulou. You should sit and enjoy the flight, dear boy."
"Whatever you say, my darling."
Thomas returned to his seat. Mon loulou. He remembered how pleased Lady Bennett had been with that choice of endearment.
"When Vi was a newlywed, she first addressed her husband as mon loup," Lady Bennett informed him at their first practice tea.
"My wolf," translated the Dowager. "That was a long time ago."
"Today, Vi is a grand lady. A woman in her position would never think of endowing her young man with the power of a wolf. You understand."
"I understand," responded Thomas.
"Addy suggests that I address you as mon loulou. I prefer dear boy. I'll use whichever suits me at the moment."
"What does it mean ... mon loulou?"
"Addy, how do I explain it?"
Lady Bennett thought for a moment. "It doesn't translate to English. It's an affectionate term for a man or boy that ... doesn't ..."
"... that doesn't confer power," summarised Thomas.
"So you do understand," observed Lady Bennett.
Why not mon loulou? thought Thomas. I'm already Winnie-the-Pooh.
The plane began to move. It travelled a short distance on the ground and stopped. For a moment, Thomas thought something was wrong. Then the plane began to rumble down the runway, bouncing wildly as it picked up speed. Thomas leaned back in his seat and gripped the armrests. Just as he felt his stomach turn over, the bouncing stopped.
The pilot had done it; the plane was in the air, and they were all birds! As the plane continued to climb, Thomas craned his neck to watch everything on the ground grow smaller until he lost all sense of size. How he wished Bates and Anna were here to experience this!
The steward served a simple but pleasant lunch of sandwiches and cakes and pointed out sights of interest along the route. By the time Thomas strolled across the French airfield carrying Bebe and escorting his ladies, he felt quite the sophisticate.
Later that afternoon
Thomas Barrow's Bedroom
Maison de Bennett
Thomas sat at the writing table in his room and jotted down the details of his flight and his impression of Lady Bennett's home. There were some things he could share with Bates and Anna without revealing the exact nature of his visit.
Maison de Bennett, or Bennett's folly as the Dowager called it, was in the modern style. Lord and Lady Bennett had it built at great expense in 1920. Clean lines and expansive windows gave the house a brighter, fresher feel than Grantham House. The butler, housekeeper, cook, lady's maid, and chauffeur lived in servants' quarters that were separated from the main house by a formal garden. Their rooms were over a garage. "One of the first in Paris," boasted Lady Bennett.
The butler, Brouette, led Thomas not to the servants' quarters but to a suite in the main house with its own dressing room, bathroom, and terrace. "I hope you find these rooms suitable, Monsieur Barrow."
"Quite."
"I would be happy to serve as your valet during your visit," offered Brouette.
Thomas liked Brouette. He had mastered that tone to which Barrow aspired, that perfect balance of service but not subservience. "That's kind of you. I won't need assistance dressing, but if you would see to my clothes and shoes."
Brouette pointed to Thomas' bag. "May I?"
"Be my guest." Thomas watched with approval as Brouette expertly unpacked his clothes. "I'll need my evening clothes tonight."
"I'll have them pressed immediately, Monsieur Barrow, but ... if I may be so bold ..."
"Yes, what is it?"
"I did not find evening links."
Barrow frowned. Lady Bennett had thought of everything else. She had Thomas fitted for stylish evening clothes and bought him a fine pair of shiny patent leathers, but she had forgotten cuff links. "I'm afraid my day links will have to do."
"Let me see if I can arrange something, Monsieur Barrow."
Early that evening
Thomas had followed Lady Bennett's advice and taken a short nap followed by tea and sandwiches in his room. He had taken a refreshing bath and was wearing his underclothes and robe when Brouette placed his crisply pressed suit and polished shoes in his wardrobe.
"This is the first year Lord Bennett hasn't returned to Paris with Lady Bennett, and he still has some clothes here."
Thomas nodded. He was aware that Lady Bennett's husband was in his nineties and, after a minor stroke, had declared his traveling days were over.
Brouette held out a pair of sapphire and diamond cuff links. "This is the pair he usually wore for evening. I think they will do nicely."
"Indeed, but does Lady Bennett know?"
Brouette smiled congenially. "She knows, Monsieur Barrow, and she approves."
"Thank you, Brouette. I appreciate your looking out for me."
"My pleasure, monsieur. Is there anything else I may do for you."
"No, but I'm curious, Brouette. How is it that you speak English so well ... if that's not too personal."
"Not at all, Monsieur Barrow. I was born on a farm near the estate that belonged to the family of Lord Bennett's mother. She was French, you know."
"I believe Lady Bennett mentioned it."
"It didn't take long before my mother decided that I was too frail for farm life."
"You? You don't seem frail to me."
Brouette chuckled. "You haven't seen my brothers, Monsieur Barrow. They all have legs like tree trunks. For that matter, so do my sisters!"
Thomas laughed appreciatively.
"In those days, Lord and Lady Bennett still lived in England and would visit the estate twice a year. When I was twelve, my mother approached Lady Bennett and begged her to take me to England as a servant. Lady Bennett agreed to take me as a hall boy on the condition that I apply myself to learning English. And apply myself I did."
"You certainly did," agreed Barrow.
"It wasn't difficult. I was young and working in an English household. And now I'm older and have the pleasure of serving you, Monsieur Barrow, in English."
"You make me ambitious. I shall have to learn French or consider myself a slacker."
"You don't strike me as the slacker-type, monsieur."
Barrow wondered if Brouette was a snob as he knew himself to be at times. "I was a butler myself before I came here. That's how I met Lady Grantham."
"Were you, Monsieur Barrow? Then you shall do us both proud when you step out tonight."
To his shame, Thomas could see that this man had the generous nature to which he himself merely pretended. "I shall do my best, Brouette."
Late that night
Café du Dôme
Thomas and his ladies had enjoyed a fine dinner at Michaud's so that Thomas could have the opportunity to test his playacting in public before being introduced to Ella at Le Dôme. He confessed only to himself how much he enjoyed paying for the expensive meal from his own wallet. Now he sat in Le Dôme between the Dowager and Lady Bennett waiting to begin his assignment in earnest.
Lady Bennett leaned close to Thomas. "The two women sitting in the corner to your left ... the slimmer one who'll be blotto within a couple of hours ... that's Isadora Duncan. She enjoys attractive young men and may speak to you. Do not under any circumstances mention Sacco and Vanzetti to her ... or anarchy for that matter. You could start a riot."
Thomas was amused by Lady Bennett's use of blotto, but he took note of her warning. As he turned his attention back to his own table, a man waving for a waiter caught his attention. The man reminded him of Bates. It was not that they had similar facial features, but they both had similar builds and projected the same masculine energy. "Who is that man with the moustache, Lady Bennett, two tables over?"
Lady Bennett lowered her voice. "He's not for you, Barrow. He's not an auntie."
Thomas was baffled. "Auntie?"
"Addy means the way you're an auntie." The Dowager also spoke in a hushed tone.
It took a moment before Thomas understood that auntie was his ladies' code word for his sexual proclivity.
"Listen to me, Barrow. If you choose to ignore my advice, then do not allow yourself to be caught up in that man's personal stories. Ernest Hemingway is a myth of his own creation. And if you still choose to ignore my advice, then prepare yourself to be memorialised as some pathetic character in one of his books."
Before Thomas could reply, the Dowager took hold of his shoulder. "Look, mon loulou! They're here!"
