“I feel ridiculous,” she murmured. “You are the last person I should be talking to.”
“But that is exactly why it should be me you talk to! It will go no further and it will not matter to you, will it, what I think? Because you do not love me as you do Amy.”
Startled, Francesca looked into her face.
Aphrodite was staring back at her with a knowing expression in her eyes. “I know this, Francesca. You cannot help what you feel, and it will make it easier for you to tell me things you would prefer others not to know.”
“Madame, I—”
“No, do not fib. You will not hurt my feelings, I promise you. Tell me what it is that troubles you over Mr. Thorne. You never know, I might be able to help,” she added, with the sort of smile that suggested she had helped many others before.
Again Francesca opened her mouth to protest but the words died on her lips. Aphrodite had spoken the truth, and what was wrong with being truthful? Far better that their relationship should be based upon honesty than any false hopes. She nodded.
Aphrodite removed her arm, but she did not move away.
Francesca took a deep breath and plunged in. “I have always sworn never to become involved, passionately involved, with a man. I don’t want to be like you, Madame. I don’t want to be the plaything of a man, of men. But now I find myself drawn to Sebastian in a way that is almost impossible to resist. I think about him all the time. I dream about him. When I am with him I feel as if I want nothing more. If I did what I long to do, and gave myself to him wholeheartedly, I believe I could be…happy. But for how long? A feeling like this cannot last—it is too intense. But if I turn away from him, I ask myself whether I will regret it all my life.”
Aphrodite’s silk skirts swished as she moved about the room. “It is a dilemma,” she said quietly. “But maybe this is not a grand passion?”
“This is my first passion, so I have no experience as to whether or not it is a grand passion.”
“I see. It is intense, though, oui? Sometimes passion such as you describe wears itself out. It cannot be sustained, and soon it dies and goes cold.”
“But now I have tasted this passion, won’t I wish for more?”
“You mean you will seek it out with other men?” Aphrodite said dryly. “You do not need a man’s love to make you whole, Francesca, but your body may crave a man’s touch. You may take lovers for that reason, but if you are a woman who loves one man, then you will find such experiences a degradation of your spirit.”
She returned to her chair and sat down, steepling her fingers under her chin. “A courtesan makes her living from the men who love her, admire her, need her to be their companion. I did love the fathers of my children, and at that time I was searching to re-create a greater love. A love that I had lost long bef
ore. But then I found it again, and now I know that without that great love—that grand passion—my life would be empty.”
“I don’t want to be like you.”
Aphrodite sighed. “Loving is not a weakness, and it need not make you unhappy. You and Mr. Thorne may finish your affaire without scars. You may find you are the better for having known him and loved him. You do love him, don’t you? You are a passionate woman. If you try to stifle that passion, then you will grow sour and bitter and lonely. As much as you might want to, you cannot change what…who you are.”
Abruptly Francesca stood up. “I must go.”
“I have not helped you,” her mother said unhappily.
“Yes, you have. I think you have.” She reached the door and then paused. “Thank you, Madame,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
Dobson was hanging around the front of the club, as if he was waiting for her. “How did you find your mother, Miss Francesca?”
“She was a little tired, perhaps.”
“I’ve asked her to take a holiday from the club, but she won’t. I’m worried about her.”
Francesca drew on her gloves. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I can’t tell her when to take a holiday, Dobson. She wouldn’t listen to me.”
“She might,” he said quietly.
“I very much doubt it.” Dobson obviously loved Aphrodite very much. Francesca wondered whether the feeling was returned just as strongly. Her mother had said that she had found the great love of her life, but did she mean Dobson or someone else, someone who was now gone?
“You will visit again soon?” Dobson asked her, following her down the steps to the street.
“Yes.” Francesca smiled and held out her hand. After a pause, he took it. “Good-bye, Dobson, and thank you for your kindness to Rosie.”
His surprise vanished in a broad smile. “She’s a sweetheart,” he said.