Oh, if only it could be real, she thought, lying back on the pillows while Bruno tried to make sure the bed looked rumpled enough. If only he could be her French cop boyfriend, about to make her some strong coffee and smoke a Gauloise after hours and hours of sex. Why could they not, just this once, break a rule?
‘I wish we could,’ she said, reclaiming her breath after all the hysterical huffing and puffing.
He stroked her forehead.
‘So do I,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘Believe me. But not tonight, petit coquelicqot.’
‘Now I’ll be measuring up all the clients in the club against you. I think I’m in for a lot of disappointment.’
‘You know you can call me any time.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘OK, I think you have to go now. If you stay longer, I will have to take off your panties.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t stop myself.’ He raised his voice and called, ‘We are finished, you can come in.’
Poppy left the bed reluctantly and pulled her dress back on.
She couldn’t quite trust herself to look at Emma at first, convinced that something in her face would give the game away.
But Emma’s attention was on Bruno anyway, watching him lounge in the bed, mostly undressed, jabbing at buttons on his phone.
‘I hope you didn’t let him take pictures,’ she said to Poppy.
‘Oh, no, I didn’t.’
‘Good. If you showed up on a sex tube site Allyson wouldn’t be amused.’
Bruno reached for his wallet again.
‘Here,’ he said, counting out a wad of notes and proffering them.
‘Oh,’ said Poppy. ‘But …’
‘Take it,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Now.’
‘Thanks.’ She put the money in her jeans pocket without counting it.
‘Is it all there, love?’ Emma prompted her. ‘I hope you agreed the price up front.’
‘Yeah, I trust him.’
Emma laughed. ‘You really are green, aren’t you? Never mind. We’ll soon sort you out. Ready to go?’
Poppy slipped on her ballerina pumps and grabbed her jacket from the bedside chair.
‘I guess. Well, goodbye then.’
They were turning to leave, Poppy with some regret that Bruno hadn’t offered her so much as a farewell kiss, when the door began to bang and a man started shouting in rapid French.
‘Putain, he is drunk, ignore him,’ said Bruno, running to the door and admitting a blotchy-faced middle-aged man, who stank of beer and red wine.
Emma and Poppy were in the corridor, the sounds of an altercation between Bruno and the drunkard floating behind them, before either of them spoke.
Emma pressed the lift button.
‘Did you know he was a cop?’
Poppy felt her stomach twist.