Chapter 90: SEND BATES NEXT FLIGHT STOP
A half hour later
La Ruche
Thomas was impressed by the spring in Ella's step as they climbed the stairs to her third floor studio. It was difficult to believe that Ella was the same age, more or less, as the Dowager.
"It's stifling up here in the afternoon," remarked Ella as Thomas opened the door for her. "Feel free to remove your coat."
Thomas removed his coat and carefully draped it over a wooden chair that was well removed from Ella's paints and charcoals. Ella yanked a man's white shirt from a hook in the cupboard. It was stained and smudged and the cuffs had been cut off. She slipped the shirt over her dress and rolled up the sleeves to her elbows.
Thomas was feeling self-conscious. "Where do you want me?"
Ella gestured to a battered, overstuffed armchair. "Pull that chair to the centre of the room."
Thomas did as instructed. "Here?"
"Back about two feet. Right. Now angle it a bit. A bit more. Good. Now sit."
Thomas perched stiffly on the thick cushion.
"Good god. What are you doing?"
"I'm posing. Shouldn't I?"
"Please, the last thing I need is a posed model."
"Then what do I do with myself?"
Ella stepped in front of her easel. "Stand up."
Thomas stood obediently.
"Now imagine that Vi's gone out shopping and left you alone. How will the mouse play while the cat's away?"
Thomas grinned and plopped into the chair, hanging one long leg over the padded arm.
Ella laughed appreciatively. "That's more like it." She settled on the stool and selected a piece of charcoal. "I'm going to sketch your face for reference so I can work on a painting after you've returned to England.
"May I talk while you sketch?"
"I'm counting on it."
Later still
A Taxi
"47, rue des Acacias," Ella instructed the driver.
"What's there?" asked Thomas as Ella settled back in her seat.
"A thé dansant."
"A tea dance? That was your 5.00 surprise?" Thomas was disappointed. "We have tea dances in England."
"The surprise isn't the where or the what, it's the who."
"Fine. I can wait. I'm a patient man."
"Are you?" asked Ella.
"No!" The two laughed. "You know, Ella, you bewitched me today. I don't think I've ever rambled on and on about myself the way I did while you were sketching me."
"An artist always has a little magic up her sleeve to get what she wants from her model."
"I only hope I don't end up with my mouth on my backside and three noses."
"No, that's not my style."
"What is your style, Ella?"
Ella stared out the window. "That's what I hope to find out."
5.10 that afternoon
The Acacia
Baker sat at one of the tables that crowded the perimeter of the dance floor. As she cheerfully greeted fans and signed autographs, she kept an eye on the entrance for Ella. Ella had telephoned her late last night and asked that she meet a new acquaintance of hers, a young man from Yorkshire. Baker pretended to object – what could she possibly have to say to some dull British rube – but she knew she could never say no to Ella. She hadn't seen Ella since her recent publicity fiasco and was desperate to see a non-judgmental face. Ella would understand. How was Baker to know that an innocent joke about marrying her manager on her 21st birthday would erupt into a news story about America's first coloured countess? And how was she to know that Pepito was not really a count? And how did the newspapers find out that the two had never married?
Baker and Ella decided to meet at the Acacia where Baker sometimes performed before her show at the Folies Bergère. Baker waited impatiently until she caught sight of Ella and her little farmer boy and watched as they wound their way to her table. The little farmer boy was not so little, and he was sharply dressed for a rube. Baker could not deny that he was a handsome man, and he had the most charming silver streak in his thick black hair. As they came closer, Baker could see the handsome man's shock as he recognized her.
Ella greeted Baker with a kiss on each cheek. "Josephine, how good it is to see you." She tapped the centre of Baker's large spit curl. "I love this. Was it Pepito's idea?"
"Yes. He's making me over whether I like it or not."
Ella made the introductions. "Monsieur Thomas Barrow of Yorkshire, this is Mademoiselle Josephine Baker, of the Paris stage."
The handsome man extended his hand. "You need no introduction, Mademoiselle Baker. I'm terribly pleased to meet you."
Baker shook hands with the handsome man. "Please sit with me. I haven't seen Ella in ages."
The handsome man held a chair for Baker and turned to do the same for Ella, but she had already taken a seat. He sat between them.
"We took Monsieur Barrow to see your show last night."
"Did you? And what did you think?" Baker could guess the handsome man's response. He would talk about jungle rhythms or perhaps use the word primal or savage. He'd probably compare her to a jungle cat.
"You exploded with joy," the handsome man replied. "You made me so happy that I forgot myself. I wanted to dance in the aisles."
Baker was pleased by the handsome man's simple response. "And did you?"
"Dance in the aisles? No, no."
"Why not?"
"Because ... because I'm not Josephine Baker!"
Baker laughed congenially. She liked this handsome man. "Do you like to dance, Monsieur Barrow?"
The handsome man looked wistfully at the dance floor. "I'm good for an amateur in Yorkshire, but when I see professionals dance ..."
"That's not what I asked. I asked if you like to dance."
"I love to dance."
"Well? Aren't you going to invite me?"
Baker saw the handsome man glance at Ella who responded with a nod punctuated by her enormous smile. The handsome man stood. "Would you honour me with a dance, Mademoiselle Baker?"
The band was playing a tango. Baker did not know that the tango was the one dance in which the handsome man had been coached by a professional. While the other couples, each indistinguishable from the other, glided quickly in a genteel circle about the dance floor, the handsome man pulled Baker into the centre and danced with her slowly ... sensuously ... seductively. One or two couples stopped to watch, then another and another until only Baker and the handsome man were dancing. When the music ended, the other couples applauded and shouted Baker's name.
The handsome man escorted Baker to their table and held her chair for her.
"All these people assume that I was responsible for that display, Monsieur Barrow."
The handsome man's face fell. "I beg your parson, Mademoiselle Baker. I didn't mean to make a spectacle of you. Please accept my apology."
Baker and Ella looked at each other and burst into good-natured laughter. Baker patted the handsome man's cheek. "I'll be making a spectacle of myself every day until I die, Monsieur Barrow. It's my business. Now tell me where you learned to dance like that."
"I had a few tango lessons last year in London. What I really want is to be able to Charleston like you."
"Then you must come to my club tonight – Chez Josephine – Ella knows it. You and Ella and Monsieur Giroux must come as my special guests."
The handsome man's eyes lit up, and Baker saw him glance again at Ella, who nodded her approval.
"I can't thank you enough, Mademoiselle Baker. I look forward to it."
Ella stood, and the handsome man stood as well. "Josephine, I must ring Lyle. You don't mind if I leave Monsieur Barrow to entertain you for a bit, do you?"
"You know where to find us, Ella."
Ella disappeared in search of a phone, and the handsome man took his seat.
"Excuse me, Mademoiselle Baker, but may I ask you about the brooch on your shoulder that's holding your scarf?"
"Are you interested in fine jewellery, Monsieur Barrow?"
"Not usually, only I was wondering, is it a strawberry?"
"That's right."
"But it's blue."
"That's right. Sapphires and diamonds on a platinum setting. You'd be surprised at the stuff designers give me to promote themselves."
"But ... blue?"
"That's what makes it unusual ... what makes it memorable, Monsieur Barrow."
"I wonder if I might find something similar in rhinestones."
"Rhinestones!"
"I can't afford sapphires and diamonds."
Baker laughed, "Neither can I! Tell me, Monsieur Barrow, what is it that inspires your interest in strawberries?"
"My sister-in-law. I call her strawberries because ... well, I can't very well call her sweetheart in front of my brother."
Baker laughed. There was something appealing about this man besides his good looks.
The handsome man continued, "I'd like to give her something special. She puts up with a lot from me for my brother's sake. I think she would appreciate an unusual piece like that."
"You have good manners and good taste, Monsieur Barrow. You certainly don't seem like any farmer I've met."
The handsome man laughed, not unkindly. "What makes you think I'm a farmer?" he asked.
"Ella said you were from Yorkshire, and I assumed ..."
The handsome man laughed again. "Until recently, I was the butler on the country estate of an earl."
"You were a servant?"
"That's right."
Now it was Baker's turn to laugh. "That's funny, isn't it. I began life as a servant."
"In Paris?"
"No. In St. Louis."
"In the states?"
"That's right. I was only eight when I was sent to work for a white woman, Mrs Keiser. I lived in her basement with her dog. The law said I had to go to school, so I had to get up at 5.00 to get in all my morning chores."
The handsome man nodded his understanding. "I was thirteen when I went into service, but I had passed the leaving age for school."
"How were you treated?"
The handsome man shrugged.
"Mrs Keiser thought nothing of beating me. But it all ended one day when she thought I had used too much soap in the washing. She forced my hands into boiling water to punish me, but a neighbour heard me screaming." Baker saw that the handsome man was staring at her unscarred hands, and she slipped them onto her lap.
"You were lucky," remarked the handsome man.
"How can you say that to me? You think I was lucky to be beaten and burned?"
"You were lucky because someone heard your screams. Not all of us were so lucky."
Baker was about to ask if the handsome man was referring to himself, but he changed the subject. "How do you know Ella?" he asked.
Baker smiled. "I met her when I was first making a name for myself in Paris. I was eating at one of the better restaurants with some new friends when the waiter seated an American couple near our table. The woman saw me and wanted me removed from the premises. Americans can be like that, even in Paris."
"What did you do?"
"Before I had a chance to think, Ella, who was sitting behind the woman, picked up her plate and dumped her dinner all over the woman's dress. Then she got up and said, I'm sorry, but I'm only a stupid white woman, and I don't know how to behave in public."
"That sounds like Ella!"
"The woman stormed out dragging her husband behind her, and everyone returned to their dinners as though nothing had happened. It turned out that Ella didn't have any idea who I was. I've adored her ever since."
"I don't wonder. Look, here she comes." The handsome man stood. "I was beginning to worry about you."
"No need. I had to wait for a free phone. I'm sorry, Josephine, but something's come up that requires my attention. We'll see you tonight, though, am I right Monsieur Barrow?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
"I'm counting on it," replied Baker. She turned to Ella and detected a hint of gloom beneath her bright smile. "There's nothing wrong, is there, Ella?"
The handsome man turned to Ella with concern. "Is there, Ella?"
"Nothing's wrong," assured Ella. "In fact, everything's about to become much more right."
That evening
Dingo American Bar and Restaurant
Thomas had been waiting outside the Dingo for fifteen minutes, dressed to the nines for their visit later that night to Chez Josephine. He wondered if he should go inside and grab a table. He was irritated with himself for not having his taxi pick up Ella, but she had insisted that she had some important business to settle and would meet him at the bar. He was about to go in search of a telephone to ring her when he caught sight of Giroux on the other side of the street and waved. Giroux waved back and crossed the street to meet him.
"Where's Ella," asked Thomas.
"You don't know then?"
"Know what?" Thomas held his breath. Had something happened to Ella?
"That Ella's given me my walking papers."
Relief washed over Thomas. That must have been her important business. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."
"I don't understand what happened. I was a perfect gentleman."
Thomas felt a bit sorry for the man. "Perhaps Ella prefers a gentleman who's a little less perfect."
"She said as much. In fact, she mentioned you."
"Me?" Thomas laughed, but Giroux was not amused. Giroux stared at Thomas intently until Thomas understood the implied accusation. "Monsieur Giroux, certainly you don't think Ella has an interest in me? I've done nothing to encourage such a thing!"
Giroux's intense gaze softened, and he chuckled. "I was only joking, Monsieur Barrow. I suppose I must say goodbye to you now. I understand that you'll be going back to England soon. I doubt our paths will cross again. I did enjoy getting to know you."
"Likewise, Monsieur Giroux."
"You must permit me to buy you a farewell drink."
Thomas hesitated. Ella had probably gone home to change her clothes after leaving Giroux and would arrive any minute.
Giroux seemed to read Thomas' mind. "I promise not to cause a scene. I'll leave the instant Ella arrives. Come, Monsieur Barrow, let's drink a toast Paris."
Thomas smiled. "All right. One toast to Paris."
The pair stepped inside and approached the bar. Giroux called to a chubby-cheeked barman. "Jimmie, Perrier-Jouët." He held up two fingers and the barman nodded. "Thomas Barrow, this is Jimmie Charters, a countryman of yours."
"Oh?"
"I'm from Liverpool," clarified the barman as he poured their champagne.
Thomas nodded. "I'm from Manchester, but I live in Yorkshire now."
"Jimmy used to be a boxer," reported Giroux, "but now he prefers to contribute to the delinquency of the lost generation. Isn't that right, Jimmy."
Jimmy smiled pleasantly. "Whatever you say, Monsieur Giroux."
Giroux paid Jimmy for the champagne and lifted his glass. "To Paris and all her charms."
Thomas lifted his glass. "To Paris."
At that moment, Thomas heard a commotion and turned to see a fight breaking out near the entrance between two large ruffians. They were speaking French, and the larger of the two spoke in a peculiar high-pitched, nasal whine that did not suit his size. A third man, whom Thomas took to be the bouncer, managed to separate the brawlers and pushed first one and then the other out the door.
Giroux laughed. "The perfect divertissement for a toast in a Parisian bar! I couldn't have asked for anything better if I had planned it myself."
Thomas turned back to Giroux, and the two men clinked glasses and drank their champagne.
"Where will you go now?" asked Thomas.
"I may stay in Paris. I'm interested in the surrealism movement."
Thomas pulled at his collar which was feeling too snug. "What the hell is surrealism, anyway? First there was Dadaism, and I thought I understood that. Now surrealism seems to be exactly the same."
Giroux laughed. "Don't let a surrealist hear you say that."
Thomas looked about to see if any surrealists were listening, but no one seemed to be paying him any mind. He was feeling hot and a bit dizzy, but turned his attention back to Giroux. "So what's the difference?" he demanded.
That was all the coaxing Giroux required. He spoke in his usual passionless way of Duchamp and Miro and automatic writing and the Manifeste du surréalisme. Thomas tried to grasp what Giroux was saying, but the lights and Giroux's words were growing dim.
Thomas heard Giroux's voice in his ear. "You're looking a bit green, my friend." He felt Giroux's arm about his waist. "Jimmie, you should toss out that bottle. My friend and I aren't feeling too well." He felt Giroux's arm tighten and heard his voice again in his ear. "Let's get some fresh air." With Giroux's help, Thomas stumbled outside and into the black.
The next morning
The Servants' Hall
Grantham House
Bates was starving. He was always starving after his early morning session at the pool. Before Thomas left for Paris, he had arranged for his friend, Garland Jobin, to continue with the swimming lessons. Initially, Bates was embarrassed to be instructed by a stranger, but the little man was an excellent teacher and never remarked on the advanced age of his pupil. Bates could not wait to show Thomas that, in only two sessions, Garland had taught him to float on his stomach and even swim a few sloppy strokes.
Bates had no sooner taken his seat next to Anna than one of the local hires, a gawky lad of 13 by the name of Oscar, tapped him on the shoulder.
"Miss Childs says the old man wants you in his dressing room. Right away she says."
"His Lordship, not the old man," corrected Bates gently. He turned to Anna and gave her a wink before heading to the stairs.
Bates found Lord Grantham in his pyjamas and robe. He was pacing and holding a telegram which he shoved at Bates. "I just received this from my mother. I don't know anything more than what it says."
Bates pulled his glasses from his pocket and read the telegram.
BARROW MISSING STOP SEND BATES NEXT FLIGHT STOP TELEGRAPH ARRIVAL TIME STOP WILL MEET HIM
