The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl Read Free

who do know me definitely do not approve.
    2 He’s a snob. Not that this is a deal breaker in and of itself. But to him and his friends, girls like me are on the bottom rung of middle class and always looking for an opportunity to marry up. Never mind that I couldn’t possibly be on the make because a) I don’t want to marry anyone and b) I make more than he does; it’s a class thing.
    3 He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Yes, I’m a snob too. I see enough arses in a day; I don’t need to be dating someone who constantly talks out of his.
    Anyway it turned out to be only the once, as planned.
    samedi, le 11 septembre
    Note to self: if in future really really need hair cut, but usual stylist is away, WAIT UNTIL SHE RETURNS. No one else will understand what is meant by ‘shorter but not too much shorter’. And pulling the hair won’t make it grow back any faster.
    The colour’s rubbish, too. No excuses there – same person as always. You know the dingy look from too many hours in the swimming pool? It’s like that. Why? Why???
    dimanche, le 12 septembre
    Wake up. Panic. Straight to mirror; yes, hair is still rubbish. Shower, rubbing scalp vigorously. Circulation helps hair grow, right?
    Run out door. Just catch bus; thank heavens for whatever genius invented Routemaster. Must learn to schedule time better before this route is phased out.
    Tube. Which change to make? Slower train with fewer stops, or faster with more? Compromise and go for alternative slower with infinite stops route; only just make train.
    Arrive panting at airport to learn flight is delayed by two hours. Spend six pounds on hot chocolate and try to make it last.
    Lose track of time. Feel tap on shoulder and look up and he’s standing, bags in hand, by my table. Dr C smiles and I can’t help but grin.
    Worth the wait.
    lundi, le 13 semptembre
    We sat on the sofa reading, my legs round Dr C’s hips, his head in the hollow of my shoulder. From here it’s like reading to a child, I thought, all softness and nuzzle and warmth. Though I did have to hold the book out at a strange angle in order to not block his view. After a few minutes, the raised hand started to tingle, and I put the book face-down on the table. I have always had the most appalling habit of breaking book bindings, but it’s something to read, not a collector’s item, right?
    I love it that Dr C doesn’t ask many questions. What goes on in my life is seldom up for examination, and that seems fine with him. Though it is beginning to bother me: when is a good time to tell someone you have sex with other men for money? I suspect he knows there are other people and chooses not to mention it. But I’m not sure most men can make the jump from thinking their girl has an active social life to thinking she’s a whore.
    The big problem is that I’ve been making an effort to be as nonconfrontational as possible with this relationship. When I think back on my most recent boyfriend, the shouting, the slammed doors, it doesn’t bear much examination. We were both passionate people, yes, but at the heart of it was that he couldn’t bear what I did for a living. I never want things to go like that again.
    I’ve been imagining how the conversation with Dr C might go:
    ‘You remember when I went back to your hotel with you the first time we met? I do that professionally, you know.’
    ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the blowjob. I’ve had a lot of feedback on that particular move, and eighty per cent of my clients agree.’
    ‘How about a little role play in the bedroom? I’ll pretend to be a call girl, and you’ll pretend not to be freaked out about it.’
    Er, probably not.
    He sighed and shifted in the sofa cushions. ‘This is like heaven.’
    ‘I was just thinking the same.’ Actually, I was really thinking how I’d forgotten to use any deodorant that morning and with his nose practically in my armpit, I hoped he didn’t notice.
    mercredi, le 15 septembre
    Dr C dashed off