Dangerous Affairs

Chapter 1

"Telegramme pour Monsieur Carocelli. Monsieur Anthony Carocelli," the ragged messenger announced to the pretty, young receptionist in the foyer of Lucile’s luxurious Paris salon.

"Merci, je me charge de le lui donner."

"Signez là, s'il vous plaît."

The receptionist sighed and signed where indicated. Va t-en maintenant, she said curtly with a double wave of her hand as if brushing dust off an objet d’art.

The messenger, seeing he was in a place unappreciative of his importance to society, turned on his heel and departed, leaving behind a response which elicited from the receptionist an expression of disgust and caused her to switch her new electric fan on high.

* * *

In his spacious studio in the depths of Lucile’s busy salon, Anthony Carocelli was expertly pinning the bodice of one of his unfinished creations around a young mannequin, and he was not happy to be interrupted at just that point. His left hand was justly and professionally employed inside the model’s dress, pressing against her bare breast, and he was enjoying the sensation. So was she, judging by her movements. All in a day’s work for the chief designer at one of the world’s finest fashion establishments. And all in a day’s work for a junior mannequin trying to please her boss.

Having completed the pinning without puncturing anything vital, Tony withdrew his hand and took the telegram from the intern who had brought it. He quickly ripped it open and read the contents.

DEAR CAROCELLI STOP ASSIGNMENT COMPLETE STOP RESULTS WILL BE OF GREAT INTEREST TO YOU STOP SUGGEST YOU RETURN TO LONDON AT EARLIEST CON-VENIENCE FOR CONSULTATION STOP PLEASE ADVISE ARRIVAL TIME STOP SIGNED HOLMES

Tony grimaced. This was what he had feared. It could mean only one thing - Annie’s alleged affair must have been confirmed. He dismissed his mannequin with a friendly pat on her now scantily-clad derriere, gathered Chocolat and Rosé, his signature poodles, and went immediately in search of his own employer. He found Lady Duff Gordon ensconced in her plush pink office on the second floor — her counting house as he like to think of it. From there she could keep an eye on the main showroom and hear the quartet of harpists whom she employed to soothe the customers souls — and loosen their pocketbooks.

* * *

Lady Lucile Duff Gordon was an eminent British fashion designer, socialite and business woman who was married to Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, himself a moderately distinguished member of Scottish aristocracy. Using her considerable talents as a designer of women’s apparel, Lady Duff Gordon had created a highly successful business in London before she ever met Sir Cosmo. But, thanks in part to his financial encouragement, the firm had opened successful branches in both Paris and New York and Lady Duff Gordon — Lady Lucile — had become quite wealthy and distinguished in international high society.

But, her real secret weapon was Anthony Carocelli. Athletic, tall, and only thirty-three, he cut a dashing figure about town, making it all the more amazing that he was also an extremely accomplished fashion designer and dressmaker. Anthony, himself, credited his expertise as a dressmaker to the long apprenticeship he served at the knee of his father, a well-known Italian tailor who had emigrated to Leeds with his family in 1890 when Anthony was only twelve. Now, he was even more valued for his independently-gained expertise as a designer of women’s fashions, and, especially, for his uncanny ability to know just where in the world to find the unusual and beautiful fabrics he employed for his designs. For these talents, he was well compensated by Lady Lucile and had become widely sought after in British and French social circles - especially by female patrons.

Tony’s own secret weapon were his perfectly-coiffed miniatures poodles — one a natural chocolate color, the other an artificial pink — and they accompanied him everywhere. The dogs were a sensation with Lucile’s customers and would often parade on the unique fashion runway, an invention of Lucile’s, in company with the models during Madame’s fabulous seasonal shows.

Lady Duff Gordon had discovered Anthony while he was still making a name for himself in a shop owned by a rival fashion queen in Regent Street. When she later ran into him at a fabric fair in Milan, she made him a handsome offer of employment which she felt would surely secure his services for her own firm. It did not, but it did help secure for him a higher salary from his current employer. In the next six months, Lady Duff Gordon tried twice again with much improved offers before finally realizing success on the third attempt.

Tony went to work at Lucile’s London Salon in the summer of 1904 and had acquired Chocolat and Rosé as puppies almost immediately thereafter. The three of them became instant hits. Seven years had passed since then and Lucile’s had thrived, thanks in large measure to Tony’s work, and his now-renowned poodles. In fact, the team of Anthony Carocelli and Lucile Duff Gordon had become something of a national treasure, he for his creations and popularity with the ladies, she for her wealth, connections and marketing skills, as well as her generous philanthropic activities.

* * *

Upon entering the lady’s domain, Chocolat and Rosé immediately leaped to their accustomed positions, like royalty, on the side chairs next to Lucile’s large desk.

Pardon my interruption, milady, Tony said, but I must tell you that your source may have indeed been right in spite of my protestations. I’ve a telegram here from your man Holmes. He advises that I return to London with haste to be apprised of his findings.

My dear Anthony, I am so sorry to hear that. I was hoping my information would be wrong. Lady Lucile sounded genuinely concerned. She could ill-afford a scandal to taint her business, not that one would in her line of work. On the contrary, it could be of benefit. You must, of course, leave for London immediately and take care of this unfortunate business. We will manage without you for a while.

"Thank you, Madame. I will finish my work here today, then go about making my travel arrangements. As you can imagine, I am most distressed over this turn of events and can only hope I have misunderstood the gentleman’s telegram. In any case, I will get to the bottom of this and return to work as soon as possible. And, once again, my thanks for your concern and thoughtfulness."

Not at all, Tony. But, since you’ll be in England anyway, just stay and work out of the London salon for awhile. I’ll be back there myself in a few days. Meanwhile, let me know if we can be of assistance to you in any way. Oh, and give my respects to Sherlock, when you see him.

Tony clicked his heels, bowed slightly and departed with his poodles close behind.

* * *

His first stop was the travel agency, where he was able to exchange his Friday tickets for accommodations leaving early the next morning. This would get him home late in the evening, but two days early.

He then reluctantly made another stop.

"Chéri," Désirée Bagot cooed, "Ce qui vous apporte ici si tôt — what brings you here so early?" She pulled him into her flat and helped him out of his coat. The poodles blitzed through the door, leapt onto her couch and awaited the treat she always had for them.

He held her face in his hands. "My sweet fille, I have bad news. I have been called to London unexpectedly and I won’t be able to meet you tonight after you finish work. I’m so sorry. I had great plans for us." He caressed her gently, breathing in her familiar perfume, his favorite. Désirée, at twenty-six, had that rare soft, supple, and willing feel that women in their stiff girdles always lacked and that Tony so dearly loved.

You are leaving tonight, then? Désirée pulled away to get the dogs their treat.

No, early tomorrow, but if I come to you, you will keep me awake all night with your loving. Besides, I have discovered my wife may be having an affair and that puts me in a bad mood.I would not be a good lover for you tonight.

Désirée pouted. I suppose that means you couldn’t be a good lover for me right now, either. Then she brightened. But if your wife is cheating, maybe you will get rid of her and marry Désirée, soon, eh?

"Chéri, you know better than that. You are my lover. A lover is much better than a wife, as I’ve explained before. Do I make you wash my clothes and have my children, do the dishes and clean the house? No. You are above such things. I put you on a pedestal. I carry you about on a silk pillow. I take you to the best restaurants and shows, I take you to the finest hotels and resorts. I make love to you often, and all night long. I don’t treat my wife as well as you."

Maybe that’s why she cheats on you. Could that be? She looked at him with that certain tilt to her head, that certain coy look in her eye that Tony found irresistible.

He smiled. "No, mon amour. And that’s another thing. A wife cannot cheat on her husband. It is not acceptable in polite society. It is socially disgraceful to her husband. But you don’t have to worry about that. You can take other lovers if you like and no one but me would think twice about it. But if you were married to me, you could not."

"But I do not cheat on you now, chéri and, if I were married to you, I would surely not cheat then either. That’s the difference between your wife and me. You should be happy to make me your wife."

Tony gave her a long hug and she responded warmly. Another few seconds of that and they’d be naked on the bed. As much as he would normally want that, on that particular day he truly was not in the mood and pushed himself away, searching for an excuse.

"Désirée, listen to me. The travel agency closes in less than an hour. I must go. Take care and I will see you next time I’m in Paris — next month. I’ll bring you a new gown. Okay? D’accord?" He called to his poodles who came quickly to heel.

"Si tu veux," she said with a pout.

Bravo! Give us a kiss now and I’ll be off.

She did and he left without looking back.

Chapter 2

The trip from Paris to London and from there to his home in Berkhampstead, was always an all-day affair. Leaving Paris at seven in the morning from Gare du Nord, he could expect to arrive home around seven in the evening, God and the weather willing.

His accommodation on the train to Calais, where he would change to the Dover ferry, was comfortable. On many such trips he would find gentlemen to engage in a game of Bridge or Chess. But that day he was in a sulky mood and happy just to relax in his seat with his dogs.

While it was not his nature to presume the worst, in this case he saw no way to avoid it. After all, he had been warned by Lady Duff Gordon that Annie might be having an affair. When, at her suggestion, he had contacted detective Holmes and asked him to investigate his wife, a prospect that thoroughly revolted him, he knew what might be the result.

Still, he hoped fervently there would be no truth to the rumor and that Mr. Holmes would only have good news. After all, his cable had only said he had news of great interest. No news would be of more interest than that his wife was being faithful.

As the train clacked along the rails, Tony’s mind drifted back to when he and Annie had first met. It was at a party given in London by the Chancellor of the Exchequer and his wife to welcome local officials of the Banque de France, which had just opened a London office. The Duff Gordons were invited, of course, as was he, but Tony felt that he probably owed his own invitation as much to the beautiful dress he had once created for the chancellor’s wife as he did to his own, independent reputation. Except that Lady Lucile had practically insisted he attend, he would have tried to avoid such stuffy company as he expected to find there.

But, to his surprise and delight, a pretty blonde functionary from the French bank was in attendance, apparently without escort. Her name, he soon learned, was Annette Rousseau and, due to her language skills, she had already become the unofficial interpreter for their new London branch.

He had noticed her again when she showed off her skills by interpreting between Sir Cosmo and the French official in charge of the new branch who was, unaccountably, not proficient in English. Tony had immediately admired her abilities because Sir Cosmo’s English, issuing from a froggy throat, filtered through a heavy moustache and burdened with a thick Scottish brogue, was barely intelligible to an Englishman, let alone a Frenchman. Even so, Annette handled it with a refreshing demeanor, as if she had been conversing with Sir Cosmo all her life.

Lady Duff Gordon had been impressed, too, and doing her duty for the Empire, as well as displaying her natural hospitality, had offered as a gift to Annette and the wives of the two French bank officers, any gown of their choosing at Lucile’s Salon.

Thus it was that he and Annette had formally, and rather intimately, become acquainted while he was carefully fitting the gown she chose to her particular set of curves. Not only because she happened to have selected a gown of his own creation, Tony found Annie, as she preferred to be called, to have eminently good taste and a charming personality, not to mention a figure to kill for. It didn’t hurt that Annie was instantly in love with Chocolat and Rosé and they with her. Since neither he nor Annie were attached at the moment, he had vowed, then and there, to vigorously pursue her.

Annie was quickly receptive, Tony remembered, and they started seeing as much of one another as discreetly possible when he was at home in England until, on the twenty-second of June, 1907, he and Annette were married. She settled in with Tony and his girls, as she referred to the poodles, in his comfortable apartment in St. James Place. That’s when their romance began in earnest.

For the first year they were hardly out of bed enough to work and eat. In fact, by the end of that first year, they were each over a stone lighter, the heat of their sexual play having literally melted the weight off their bodies.

But then, not surprisingly, she got pregnant and her instincts seemed to turn from mating to motherhood. She took leave from her position at the bank and began urging Tony to buy a house in the country for their family, which he promised to do. But to his chagrin, three months into the pregnancy, Annie would tolerate no more sex, believing it might hurt her unborn child. This had been a bitter pill for him, he recalled, and rationalized it was the reason he began to casually reconnect with one or another of his young female acquaintances while in Paris or New York.

Still there were good times during the following six months. He bought an old ivy-covered three-story mansion, called Ramshorn, for her on the edge of Berkhampstead, some twenty-five miles from downtown London, and they spent many happy days — and a lot of money — remodeling it into their dream house. Annie had wanted a quiet and rural place to raise her children, and she felt this would be the perfect spot. Yet they both believed it also had the potential to be a joyful place for dinner parties and dances, once they established a suitable list of mutual friends.

When Annie finally came to term, her pregnancy resulted in not one, but two children with the birth of perfect twin boys they named Fabian and François.

Not long after the birth, Annie had a change of attitude and they rekindled their previous sex life. This suited Tony just fine because he was very much in love with his wife and felt more than a little guilty for cheating on her — but not so much that he found it necessary to bring that activity completely to an end.

Within an hour, the train began slowing for Amiens, the only scheduled stop that day, and Tony’s thoughts came back to the present. Since he knew there was a telegraph office in the station at Amiens, he used the opportunity to cable his schedule to Mr. Sherlock Holmes of London. He asked Holmes to confirm his availability to the office in Dover, where Tony expected to arrive at about 1:00 p.m.

Owing to a line at the telegraph window, Tony, with his dogs on leash, finally had to run and jump to board their departing train, already on the move. Since punctuality was not one of his strong points, his athletic dexterity had repeatedly been tested in a similar manner over the years.

Back in his seat again, Tony reflected that under any other circumstance, he would have cabled Annie of his early arrival home, as well. He hoped he wouldn’t later regret not having done so this time.

* * *

Tony was startled when the conductor came through the car announcing their arrival in Calais. He must have dozed off soon after leaving Amiens.

A two-horse coach carried him and two others to the docks to board the noon ferry to Dover. He arrived with barely enough time to purchase his ticket and board before a throaty horn announced their impending departure.

The weather in the channel was typically foggy, so the trip across promised to be boring, as usual, and Tony settled back to endure the crossing with Chocolat and Rosé straddling his lap. He wondered nervously whether what he would learn in the next few hours about his wife would mean the end of his marriage. If not, he vowed to strengthen it by becoming totally faithful to Annie.

Chapter 3

The train from Dover arrived at Charing Cross station at dusk in a steady cold drizzle. He had about forty-five minutes to find a cab and reach the address of detective Holmes on Baker street by five o’clock, a somewhat iffy goal in the evening rush of traffic.

But, as luck would have it, on that particular evening traffic was light, due in part, perhaps, to the wet and increasingly blustery skies. So at five o’clock straight up, Tony rang the bell at number 221, a rather nondescript, narrow building with a brown brick upper facade and a lighter lower facade, one among several similar dwellings on the block. His ring was soon answered by a tall, thin and decidedly ancient butler dressed in formal, if rumpled, attire.

Yes, sire? The man sniffed.

My name is Anthony Carocelli and I’m not royalty, so no need to address me as sire, my good man. I am here to see Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He will be expecting me.

Oh, yes, sire. His is the flat one floor above. May I take your coat and hat, sire?

Tony shrugged and handed his outer garment and hat to the butler who placed them on a rack in the hallway.

Those are beautiful animals, sire. Do you wish me to look after them while you are with Mr. Holmes?

No, not unless Mr. Holmes won’t accept them in his apartments.

I don’t believe he will object, the ancient fellow wheezed, so just follow me if you please, sire. He looked up the seventeen steps with no evident enthusiasm for the coming ascent, then slowly started to climb.

Tony followed, thinking they would have a much better chance of arriving at the top of the stairs in the current era if he pushed the old boy from behind. But he restrained himself, and they did eventually arrive at a landing which contained two glossy dark-paneled doors, one prominently sporting the letter B in its center. Another flight led up in the opposite direction to a higher floor.

The butler rapped three times on the door, which soon opened.

Mr. Carocelli, sire, for Mr. Holmes.

Ah, Mr. Carocelli, come in, come in. Mr. Holmes has been expecting you. I am his associate, Dr. Watson.

Tony, with his poodles straining at their leashes, entered the interior of the flat with its busy red flocked wallpaper and highly polished wood paneling. The carpet, he noticed, was worn but the room was quite hospitable owing to a cozy fire in the small fireplace to one side.

Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to say, has not woken from his afternoon nap. Nowadays the gloomy weather dims his mind, you know. But he did ask me to see him up when you arrived, so if you’ll just excuse me a moment...oh, and please don’t allow your pets to jump on Mr. Holmes. The short, grey-haired man exited through a door on one side of the room, closing it behind him.

Tony mused that Dr. Watson didn’t seem to have the air of a medical doctor, and thought he might hold a PhD of some denomination instead. He looked about the thoroughly Victorian room and wondered if the place defined the man who occupied it. If it did, that man would be as stiff as Victoria herself.

After a brief wait, the door through which Dr. Watson had left the room opened again and out stepped the doctor, followed by a tall tweedy man who looked not so much Victorian, but oddly right for this place just the same.

Sherlock Holmes introduced himself and showed Tony to a comfortable settee near the fire. After stooping to admire the poodles for a moment, Holmes took a seat on a couch opposite Tony and allowed the dogs to sit next to him, one on each side. Watson busied himself preparing tea.

These are magnificent specimens, Mr. Carocelli. You clearly value them highly. Holmes scratched both animals behind their ears.

I do, indeed. But Mr. Holmes, Tony began, wanting to get right to the point, your cable said you had news that would be of great interest for me. I trust that will be good news and that you have not found my dear wife to be compromising our marriage.

"Come, come, my good man, let us not talk of such things on an empty stomach.