Chapter Text
The first time he sees her she’s playing the violin in a quiet corner of the park. Busking as it were. He’s passing through on one of his rare lunch strolls, Anthea a mere step behind and to the right of him. She’d been reciting his schedule for the next few days, like he didn’t have it memorized already, but she falls silent at his raised hand. The recitation was more for her than for him, it gives her a purpose and refreshes her memory, but he has far more interesting things to listen to now.
The woman was seated in a relatively shady and unobtrusive bend in the parks path, well set back from the main thoroughfares. She wasn’t playing for monetary gain or even attention. Her eyes were closed, unmindful of the older couple sitting a bench away, listening to her half-heartedly. That told him more about the older couple than it did about her. Philistines really. Her violin was of no remarkable make but a professional violin nonetheless, worth well over 13000 pounds to an appropriate buyer. She sat with well-trained posture, her fingers were quick and her motions practiced and flawless. Her face was emotive. She played often and with feeling. She’d been trained professionally from a young age.
She was quite aesthetically pleasing by his standards, any standards really. Her features were striking, almost perfectly symmetrical. The glossy blue black of her hair fell perfectly straight over her shoulder, nearly but not quite falling to her lap. The color and texture paired with the shape of her eyes denoted a mixture of Asian heritage in her genes. However the slant of her cheeks and the shape of her mouth and nose also spoke to a Caucasian parent. Half British, half Japanese perhaps. The unlikely appearance of dark freckles across her upper cheeks and nose also announced her mixed heritage. Her skin was smooth and well cared for, moisturized regularly. Mid-twenties. Her makeup was minimal. Her expression was soulful and changing with the music she played. She enjoyed playing a great deal.
She was tall, her legs stretching under her bench, crossed primly at the ankle. Approximately 177cm (5’10”). Taller than most women and quite a few men by British statistics. She was slender, showed signs of working out regularly and daily yoga. She took pride in her appearance but didn’t want to be the focus while she played the violin. Admirable but semi-futile for a woman of her stature and appearance.
Her clothes were high quality, not second hand and just as well cared for as her form and violin. A navy blue peacoat, perhaps Valentino, was draped carefully over the back of the bench she sat on. She wore a black crepe couture short dress, definitely Valentino, most likely made in Italy, with a high collar and barrel fit sleeves. Size 4. Her long legs were encased in Chanel black stockings with polka dot detailing. Her heels were Louboutin. Her purse and her violin case were of the same high-class quality. No jewelry to speak of except small sapphire earrings. All expensive. Worn before but not well worn. Her appearance was well practiced and meticulous. Mycroft could appreciate that.
All of these observations took mere seconds.
But what really caught his attention was the piece she was playing with such clear passion. Ernst “The Last Rose of Summer.” A piece touted for its difficulty. The last of his Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. Yet this unknown woman seemed to be playing it with ease, obviously this was not a new piece to her.
Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the music to sweep his thoughts away. But only for a moment. He didn’t have time today unfortunately.
Turning his body just so, Mycroft kept his eyes on the violinist as he spoke to his personal assistant. “Once the violinist is finished with her piece, see about scheduling a private performance with her.” He hmmed thoughtfully to himself, ticking through his schedule. “Friday at 8:30 should do. At the Kensington apartments. Three hours of her time should suffice.”
“Sir?” Anthea questioned, furrowing her brows as she looked over the violinist. She clearly hadn’t seen what he had, but then no one did. Not even Sherlock.
“She works as a highly paid escort when she’s not busking in the park.” Mycroft elaborated, enjoying the astonished expression on his assistant’s face. He did love to show off on occasion and Anthea was so hard to shock these days.
“Her?!” Anthea squinted skeptically but then waved her disbelief aside and nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. Shall I have the apartments swept through beforehand?”
“Please do. Make sure she signs the appropriate paperwork.” Mycroft stepped away to continue his walk to his preferred café before stopping thoughtfully and eyeing the violinist one last time. “And please do make sure she brings her violin.”
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People didn’t approach her for appointments on the street. That wasn’t how this business worked and it wasn’t how The Comportment Agency worked. She exclusively received her clients through her boss, Lady Bates. She was not a hooker. She was not to see anyone else. It was against the rules. No boyfriends, no freelancing. And Edith followed the rules. It was the only way to live with any modicum of freedom in the life that she lived in. She got a call from Lady Bates every Sunday evening, sometimes Monday if Edith had had a Sunday client, and Lady Bates would tell her how her week would be proceeding. It had always been that way.
So she was understandably surprised when she opened her eyes after her rendition of Ernst to find a woman waiting patiently for her to finish.
“You’re very talented.” The woman opened with, giving her a benign smile that still made a chill go down Edith’s spine. That was when she knew this woman wanted something. People always did. They liked to take. They liked to want. They liked to touch. But the look when they were actively seeking something from her was different and this woman wanted something.
“Thank you.” Edith returned the smile, her own well practiced, like a well-oiled machine. One did not last in her profession if one did not have perfect control of their body. She began to tuck her beloved instrument away into its case, knowing she wouldn’t be getting any more playing done today. “Can I assist you?” She asked the woman.
Eyebrows flickering just slightly with surprise the woman nodded. She was good, practiced. Used to the unexpected. “My employer would like to procure your services this following Friday, from 8:30pm until 11:30pm.” She said, not as a question but rather as a command. She held up her blackberry like she was going to add it to her calendar immediately without waiting for a response. Her employer was someone important then, someone with a lot of clout. Someone not used to hearing no.
“Hmm, I’m sure he would.” Edith allowed a coy smile to play across her lips as she rose to her feet and slipped on her pea coat. “Unfortunately for your boss I don’t book my own appointments. I’m not a freelancer, as it were.”
“And to whom may I speak to procure your services?” The woman was still smiling as she lowered her phone. This was run of the mill for her. Perhaps not acquiring high class escorts for her boss, but certainly the running of the minutia of her boss’s life, no matter how odd the request. Very wealthy indeed then.
Edith gave the woman another once over. Normally she didn’t hand out her business card. She’d never done it before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. Based on this woman’s clothes and comportment she was paid well, extremely well, which meant her boss was likely the type of patron that The Comportment Agency generally looked for. The high class. The extremely wealthy. Royalty. Politicians. The Important with a capital I. She might receive a commission bonus if the agency had never conducted business with this client before. The richer and more influential he was the higher her commission.
Edith watched her fingers as she buttoned up her peacoat meticulously, then smoothed a manicured hand down the front to smooth it. By the time she’d finished checking her clothes and sliding her purse over her shoulder she’d made her decision. Lady Bates would be furious with her if she learned that Edith had declined a client, especially if the client was as influential as Edith was guessing he was. Better to have a new client, no matter how distasteful he turned out to be, than to get on the Lady’s bad side.
“I don’t normally hand out my card, for privacy purposes you understand?” She told the woman briskly. As she spoke, she pulled a card from the inner pocket of her purse.
The card was thick, made from the highest quality micro batched paper, each card unique in texture and color composition. She’d chosen a lovely pale pink with gold foil mixed sparingly throughout the paper. Posh and high class. Feminine. Perfumed just barely with rose water. Across the front was her first name in a fancy calligraphy font, crisply black and vivid. On the back the phone number to the appointment line. She did love her cards, despite their purpose. Maybe because they were one of the few things she was allowed to choose for herself.
“My boss and I appreciate your discretion.” The woman told her, taking the card with a slightly raised brow. Imperious.
“You may call that number to arrange for my services.” Edith said with a pleasantly bland smile, dipping her head. Time for the particulars. No use wasting time. “There will be paperwork, we only plan arrangements with those of a particular……class.” Here she input a slight upwards tilt to her smile to try to prevent offense. “NDA’s and the like, I’m sure you’re familiar. If your boss would like me to sign any additional paperwork then it must be sent through to be prescreened before I sign.”
The woman nodded, face just as blandly pleasant as Edith’s, like they weren’t planning her boss’s imminent sexual occasion. Edith appreciated the professionalism. “Understandable. I will call and handle the arrangements.”
Her smile a touch warmer Edith picked up her violin case. “I have a previous engagement this coming Friday but they should be able to find a time slot that will work for you and your boss. Usually scheduling a first meeting can take up to two weeks to go through the screening process.” It was Wednesday. There was no way he would be scheduled this Friday.
“My boss would also like to add a special request.”
Edith straightened fully, meeting the woman’s eyes squarely. Special requests were a mixed bag. Sometimes they were as benign as the client choosing the color she wore to the appointment. Other times they were not benign at all. “Oh?”
“He requests that you bring your violin.”
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Edith
Edith had no appointments on Thursday. Wednesdays and Thursdays were generally her slowest days. It was 7am but she was already up, having run through her daily exercise routine. Now, settled at the table after a shower, dressing gown wrapped around her firmly, she finally enjoyed her first cup of morning tea. It was a curious blend she’d found online, one she always enjoyed. It was a Japanese green tea, with traces of Moringa, pineapple and cherry blossom. Not exactly British but she didn’t really care.
Her flat was silent except for the sounds from the Chelsea neighborhood outside. Chelsea was never quiet, not even at 7am. She liked that though. A lot of the girls that the agency employed had rooms at the agency’s estate, cheaper that way. Edith found she liked this much better. It gave her the sense of privacy that she needed and allowed her an illusion of freedom from the agency. She also liked the feeling of being alone but not fully isolated, like a ship floating alone but within a sea of humanity. The camera that the agency had installed in her living room negated that feeling immensely but it wasn’t something she could fuss over.
With a sigh Edith pushed the Russian language primer away from her. She needed to brush up on her Russian, but she just wasn’t feeling it. She spoke it well enough, she didn’t absolutely need the brush up. She only had one Russian client and most of the time he liked to speak in English anyways, if he did any speaking at all that is.
Just as she was contemplating what she was going to do with the rest of her day her mobile began to ring. It was the distinctive ring she’d set for Lady Bates. Unusual. She normally only heard from her once a week. Dread rose in her belly. Lady Bates only called for scheduling and for disciplinary action. Edith couldn’t think of anything she’d done lately that would warrant an infraction……..except giving her card to the woman in the park. Hopefully this was about a client commission then, rather than any disciplinary action.
Cringing inwardly Edith picked up her phone and brought it to her ear. “This is Edith.” She kept her tone soft, feminine. Available and pleasant, just the way she’d been taught.
“Edith, my dear!” Lady Bates sounded pleased. Thank God. “Someone has been a very, very good girl!”
“Ma’am?” Edith questioned; eyebrows quirked. One of the other girls might have playfully batted the words away but Edith’s approach had never been designed to be playful. Elegant and sophisticated had always been the mantra from her teachers.
“I’ve received a client request from quite the big fish, my dear.” She gushed. Lady Bates never gushed. The man must have been more influential than even Edith had guessed. “I don’t know what you did to attract his attention but keep doing it! This is a huge coup to the agency, the likes of which we haven’t received in ages.”
“Big enough to warrant a client commission?” Edith asked, her nerves calming now that she knew the purpose of the call. One client was the same as any other, no matter how influential they were.
“Absolutely, my dear.” Lady Bates hummed and the clicking of compute keys could be heard in the background. “How does 25,000 pounds sound?” She asked even though they both knew it wasn’t a question.
Edith nearly gasped, her eyes widening in shock. She’d never heard of a commission being so high except the time Veronica had managed to procure the interest of a Saudi prince for an entire summer. Whoever this man was, he was very important. And she had not a clue what she’d done to get his attention except to play her violin.
“Whatever my lady thinks is fair will be perfectly fine, I’m sure.” She replied, keeping her voice cool and modulated.
“Good, good, my dear.” The Lady hemmed and hawed for a long moment over the line. The sound of paperwork and joined the computer keys. “I’ll have that deposited into your account momentarily. He’ll be using the name Wilhelm Ernst for the foreseeable future.”
“I see.” And she did. The piece she’d played in the park had been by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst. Edith doubted Lady Bates had understood the reference, however. She liked to portray herself as sophisticated but didn’t usually bother with classical music. So her client was obviously a lover of classical, perhaps in particular the violin.
“You’re first appointment will be tomorrow at 8:30pm. He’s requested three hours for the first session, quite ambitious for an older gentleman really.” Here Lady Bates snorted, a sound she would never permit Edith herself to make, but one Lady Bates often used herself. Her words put the picture of a fat old man into Edith’s mind. Marvelous.
“I thought Mr. Frost was scheduled for tomorrow?” She questioned curiously. Mr. Frost was one of her regulars and one of her preferred clients. An odd old man somewhere in his 60’s who liked to be read to, massaged occasionally and even more rarely given a very long blow job. One of the few clients that didn’t really want the sexual gratification as much as he did the company of a young pretty companion. Most of the time she chatted with him, drank expensive wine, then lay with him in bed for a little cuddle until he fell asleep.
“I’ve rescheduled him of course!” Lady Bates snapped. Her pleasantry never lasted and it had apparently reached its end. “I’ve also scheduled you an appointment at The Salon today at 9. Hair, manicure, pedicure, the works. I want you top shelf for tomorrow. The paperwork will be waiting for you there. Give it to Alice on the way out.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Edith inwardly cursed. There goes her day off. This would be an all day affair. The Salon was an exclusive salon that all the agency girls used. They performed a wide array of services and always had space for the agency.
“Mr. Ernst will be sending a car to retrieve you. I gave them your address already. Be on the curb 8:15 prompt.” Here she paused and the quiet of the line turned somehow more menacing. Edith knew what would come next. “And let me remind you to be on your best behavior. We want Mr. Ernst to remain a client.”
“Yes, Lady Bates, of course.” Edith confirmed blandly, then sighed aloud when the line went dead.
She gave herself exactly thirty second to close her eyes and press her hand to her forehead. No more than that however, anymore and it turned to wallowing. And Edith never wallowed. She was too practical for that.
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Edith
A man dressed as a butler opens the door when she knocks. He takes her long coat and doesn’t raise a single brow at her satin mini dress. He shows her into a posh library like sitting room, tells her to make herself comfortable and that Mr. Ernst will be with her soonest. Not exactly usual but then again, she’d learned not to go into a first meeting with expectations.
She takes a small turn around the room, mostly for curiosities sake. Her heels click distinctly across the dark wood parquet flooring. The room is beautiful, pleasing to the eye. Leather chairs, dark wood accents, rich emerald green and dark burgundy. It looks very old money. Very British. Masculine with no feminine baubles. Like what one would expect from minor royalty or something of the sort. A fully stocked sideboard. The walls lined with books, from what she could see without being obvious most were classics, first editions, with several outliers. Tasteful antiques are littered throughout the books. Two bronze warhorse figurines catch her eye for a moment. The room is clean, dust free, indicating regular use but then again one never knew with rich people, they could afford to have cleaners come as often as they liked, even while not in residence.
Curiosity semi-assuaged Edith sets her violin case and purse on the table, then seats herself on the leather couch. The butler said to make herself comfortable but she’s also not going to pour herself a drink from the well-stocked bar either. Instead, she bends her infernal gazelle legs to one side, crossing them at the ankle, then folds her hands into her lap.
Settling herself in to wait Edith lowered her eyes to her lap and began to think about the grocery shopping she needs to do in the morning. Since she’d been interrupted yesterday, she hadn’t gotten to it like she expected, and her cupboards were quite bare. She did have an appointment later in the day but that left her plenty of time for a quick trip to the shop.
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Mycroft
She’s just a lovely as the first time he’d seen her. He hadn’t of course requested her presence because of any aesthetic reason but Mycroft did find pleasure in things that were beautiful. Despite Sherlock’s opinion there was nothing wrong with that. To want to look at beautiful things was a natural human inclination.
And seated in his study she was indeed a thing of beauty. The rich Byzantium purple of her embroidered satin dress did much better things for her skin tone than the stark black of the other day. This one had miniscule, crisscrossed shoulder straps, displaying her long gracefully bent neck, slender shoulders, and the willowy length of her arms. Her bosom was also displayed quite daringly, despite the straight neckline. Her stockings were black and her shoes Jimmy Choo. Amethyst studs sat in her ears. Her skin gleamed. She’d had her nails groomed and painted, a soft shell pink. Her hair was loose, curled just the slightest into long waves. She’d been to a salon since Wednesday.
No pets. Didn’t smoke. No close family or friends. She’d taken etiquette lessons. Educated. Reserved. Her hair was natural, never colored. Her breasts were also natural. No plastic surgery of any kind. Had no marks from any regularly worn jewelry. Been in the escort business for several years despite her relatively young age. Her pulse was slow and steady, her breathing regular. She wasn’t nervous. She’d not moved or looked up in the several minutes he’d been standing in the doorway. Patient then, very.
But that was enough for now. No doubt there would be more, there always was.
He cleared his throat politely, folding his hands behind his back as he stepped into the room. Her eyes came up and he found himself surprised despite himself. Statistically speaking based on her ethnicity her eyes had the most probability of being brown. That was not the case. Instead, her eyes were gray, dark and stormy like the London sky, framed with long curling lashes. Her lips curved into a polite smile. His heart skipped a single beat.
That was his first indication that this transaction might end up being more fruitful than he expected. He liked beauty well enough but to find beauty that stirred him in anyway other than intellectually was another rare thing altogether.
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Edith
She didn’t like to have expectations, it wasn’t very professional, but she did admit to having a few. Based on Lady Bates commentary she’d expected an old man. Perhaps run to fat, perhaps close to collapse.
The man standing in the doorway of the sitting room was none of those things. He was older than her, most of her clients were, but he was only in his late forties if she had to guess. He was tall and lean, not fat or doddering at all. He wasn’t handsome, not in any traditional sense, but he did have an air of command about him that was attractive. His hair was receding, likely stress that, but it was a soft reddish brown, combed perfectly into place. A large sharp nose was a bit of a dominant feature, but his eyes were a sharp blue, watchful and his smile was a bit more akin to a sophisticated shark than anything else. His clothes were expensive, a three piece charcoal gray suit missing the jacket and a red tie. Posh. Powerful. Dangerous.
Edith smiled as she rose to her feet, keeping her hands clasped in front of her. She never offered to shake unless the client offered first. “Mr. Ernst, I assume?” She asked, keeping her tone modulated. She’d been told she had a pleasing voice. A bedroom voice.
“Indeed, and you’re Edith.” He stated rather than asked, his mouth staying curved into a mild smile as he stepped further into the room. Standing now she could tell he was a hand or so taller than she was, which was rare enough to be noted.
“Would you like a drink, Edith?” He asked after a long pause, heading towards the sideboard.
“Scotch?” She probably wouldn’t drink all that much of it but clients didn’t usually like to drink alone. And he looked like he would have the good stuff.
“Please sit.” It was a command, despite the please and Edith followed the directive, seating herself again while he busied himself getting the drinks. By the time she’d folded herself gracefully onto the couch, making sure her legs were folded just so and her skirt remained modestly positioned, he was back with her drink. “My dear?” The transition of the glass occurred with no accidental brushing of fingers whatsoever.
“Thank you, sir.” She quirked her lips and tilted her head, making direct eye contact as she took her first sip. Clients sometimes liked direct eye contact when they thought she was flirting with them. Some didn’t like it at all but so far he didn’t seem to mind eye contact.
Then she hummed appreciatively, almost involuntarily as the flavor hit her tongue. Her eyes fluttered just for a moment as she let the taste sit in her mouth. Damn. This was definitely the good stuff. The sound of him sitting in the leather chair across from her brought her eyes open and she smiled with teeth this time, genuinely pleased.
“Macallan, 25-year-old Highland single malt.” He told her with a slightly more sincere smile. Or at least the blue of his eyes didn’t seem to be quite as glacial. Her pleasure in the scotch had brought him some sort of pleasure. Good, that was a good sign.
“It’s very good.” Despite how good it was she set the glass on the table beside her violin case. She couldn’t afford to be tipsy before they worked out the details. “Shall we work out the details of our evening?” It paid to be blunt in this business.
“Straight to the point.” He murmured and despite the mildness of his manner there was an intensity to him that made her stomach tighten. The skin along her spine prickled, despite the comfortable warmth of his sitting room. “Yes, lets get to exactly what’s expected.”
“I have a menu here for you to look over.” She leaned forward, letting her hair slide over her shoulder as she pulled a menu made very similarly to her business cards from her purse. Not all of the girls at the agency had menus but a good majority did. It was a very helpful way to set limits and boundaries and what was or was not acceptable. She extended the menu over the table towards him.
“A menu?” He didn’t lean forward to take it, rather he lifted two fingers and beckoned her closer. Dominant. Arrogant. His eyes were watching her intently. The motion might have been a test, clients liked to do that. They liked to test just how much of a twat they could be before she reacted.
Instead of arguing she kept her pleasant smile in place and rose up off the couch. It only took three exact little steps for her to station herself directly in front of his chair. She offered the menu again. “The menu is here to help you decide which of my services might be the most useful to you. Don’t see it as limiting, see it more of a guideline to give you ideas.” That line she knew by rote. Men didn’t like to be limited so she was very good at not making it seem like she was curtailing their “fun” even if she was.
He took the menu from her, gave it a quick flip through and then leaned forward to set it on the table with his right hand, bringing his face within a handsbreadth of her stomach. He went still then, looking up into her eyes intently. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for. His warm breath, almost hot really, was fanning over her belly, perfectly felt through the thin satin of her dress.
His hands came up and settled on the outside of her thighs, just above her knees. His hands felt just as hot as his breath and her belly tightened, shocking her into stillness. She hadn’t reacted like that from a simple touch in a long time. Something about the intensity of this man made her insides shiver and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.
His hands slowly smoothed up her thighs. She kept her eyes locked with his, watching the way his pupil expanded just the smallest amount. His expression didn’t change once. It was smooth, flat almost, scrutinizing. Even as his hands smoothed up, up, up and under her dress. He took a longer moment to feel along the top of her Chanel stockings, no doubt feeling the buttery softness of the lace. Her breath was coming a little faster now, despite her best efforts. There was just something intense about this one, this man. His blue eyes were still squarely set on her face.
His hands were even warmer on her bare skin as they traveled up even farther. Over her bare skin, under her dress. She lifted one hand and set it lightly, so lightly on his shoulder. The warmth stopped at her waist, where her dress tightened into the bodice. Too tight to fit his hands without removing the dress. He had large hands, with long fingers, they nearly spanned the entirety of her waist within their circle. They felt unexpectedly arousing against her skin. She hadn’t expected that but she couldn’t deny that it felt nice.
Then his hands slid down again, quicker than they’d gone up. He gave her a proprietary pat on the bottom before removing his hands entirely and gesturing her back to the leather sofa. “Please sit, my dear.” His expression hadn’t changed the entire time.
Once she’d regained her seat, recrossed her wobbly legs and reclasped her hands in her lap she gave him another practiced smile. “Where would you like to start? Or would chatting for a while make you more comfortable?”
He watched her for a moment before leaning back in his chair and folding his legs, palms pressed together in front of his lips in thought. “Don’t bother with fake pleasantries if you please, I would prefer real responses. That would be a marvelous place to start.”
Edith dipped her head, keeping her eyes on him but allowing her brows to furrow and her smile to drop. That wasn’t an unheard-of request although sometimes they said it but didn’t mean it. She had a feeling that this client actually meant it.
“I can do that, as long as you don’t expect me to giggle at all your jokes.” She said with a quirk of her lip. Her real smile was crooked, always had been, with a dimple on one side. Lady Bates said it made her look like a bimbo.
“I’m sure I won’t be insulted.” He intoned seriously, with the slightest arch to his eyebrow. Yeah, he didn’t seem like the type to appreciate giggling. Or the type to tell jokes. “I also won’t be needing your services in the…..sexual capacity for the immediate future.”
Edith stared for a moment, a little taken aback. Not every client wanted sexual services but after his touchy feely display she’d not been expecting this. “In what capacity would you like my services then?”
“Simple really.” He gave her a glance like she was an idiot. “I’d like you to play the violin for me.”
“You….want me to play the violin for you….and that’s it?” She asked slowly, tilting her head to the side, sending her long hair cascading over one shoulder. She’d assumed he’d want her to play, since he’d asked her to bring the violin, but she hadn’t expected that to be the main draw.
“For now, yes. I quite enjoyed your execution of “The Last Flower of Summer”. It was admirably done.” He told her with another mild smile. “We may progress to items on your menu in the future but for now I would just like your services as a violinist.”
Edith allowed herself a real grin now, pleased despite herself with the compliment. The violin was one of the few things that Edith did because she genuinely enjoyed it. She didn’t mind getting paid for it. It was imminently preferrable to some of the other things she’d been paid to do. “Three hours of violin practice and I get paid for it? I think that sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”
“Very good.” His smile curled up just a smidge higher.
“What would you like me to play?” She asked, her fingers already beginning to itch as she unbuckled the latches of her violin. She’d already warmed up before leaving home, anticipating playing at some point. Her eyes were greedy as she carefully worked her beloved out of it’s case, running over the dark wood, loving the wood grain like always. She stroked a hand gently over the strings before adjusting her posture and lifting her eyes to her client.
He was watching her with eyes that seemed to burn with intensity, like he was reading a million things from her actions. Maybe he could. The idea made her feel uncomfortably exposed and yet her belly heated deliciously.
“Surprise me.” He said mildly.
And then she knew exactly which piece she would start with. With a grin she raised her violin and began. Meditation from the second Act in the Opera Thaïs. Meditation was from a section of the opera in which a beautiful courtesan is asked by a monk to leave her life of luxury so that she could find salvation in God. In the interlude she contemplates her life, the melody rising and falling as she reflects on her decision. Seemed mildly appropriate for the occasion.
And she knew he understood. His smile widened, just a hair, almost unnoticeable really. It was enough. She knew that he knew.
He watched her the entire time that she played. Every movement, every shift he watched. She could feel them, his eyes, almost like a warm touch across her skin and it made her entire body heat. Piece after piece she played, well past her arms beginning to ache. She became lost in the music, eyes drifting closed, but she knew that he didn't look away even once. Edith had never been aroused while she played before but then she'd also never played before such an intent solo audience either.
When she left at 11:30 on the dot her arms felt numb from exhaustion, but she was grinning wildly, almost exhilarated. She hadn’t played like that, let alone a three-hour session, in years. She’d have to build up the muscle endurance again especially if Mr. Ernst kept scheduling her services. The 600 pound tip in her purse might also have something to do with her grin, but only a little.
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Mr. Ernst procured her services again three weeks later, then again four weeks after that, and then again two weeks after that before their visits began to change. Those three appointments were much the same as the first, although he didn't touch her again. No hands smoothing up her legs, not even a hand shake.
Instead she was shown to his office (not the sitting room), her coat was taken, she was given a refreshment and then she was prompted to play while he worked at his desk. Less personal than the first visit to be sure, but no less pleasant. Sometimes he had pieces that he wanted her to play, most of the time he let her choose her own. He still watched her with those intent deducing eyes, like he was reading her life story, but there wasn't any conversation. In fact he said very little to her at all.
As far as she could tell he just genuinely liked the music and he liked to watch her while she played it. She could see that he did indeed relax after a time, although she didn't think it was in his nature to fully relax, not with a relative stranger so close. He was a very guarded man.
Those four first visits were almost like an introductory period between them. Edith later looked back at them as perhaps his way of relaxing her into his presence. He was a very intense man, Mr. Ernst, and she thought that perhaps he hadn't wanted to scare her away, hadn't wanted her to run. She might have run then, before she knew him. She'd never really know for sure. By the time she felt like maybe she should it was already too late.