Diary of an Escort Girl: Chapter 1

Instinctively, Celia Zahia knew that this man embodied danger. His haughty elegance as well as his arrogance had immediately fascinated her. Announce a visit to Madame. Authoritative, his voice was that of an Englishman. At twelve, Celia easily recognized by their accents the origins of the diverse beings who crowded around Paris. As she stared at him without answering him, he grew impatient. 

This house is really that of Celia Zahia? Suddenly aware of the sparseness of her attire, Celia mechanically wiped her hands on her blue serge dress. “Mrs. Sinclair is busy, sir. If you'll leave your card, I'll... My card! exclaimed the Englishman, what a mockery! My card is in such a lodging! Clear the way, woman, and tell your mistress that Lord Northington wants to see her, this instant! 

With one arm he pushed her away, entering the room unceremoniously. His brown eyes gleamed with wickedness, fine scars marked his face with high cheekbones, and a fleshy mouth. Very dark eyebrows made a surprising contrast with her powdered hair. 

So that was Lord Northington, the one whose mother, though so kind, had one day evoked the memory of as that of a ferocious beast! 

Don't just stand there like an idiot, he continued aggressively. I'll have you chased away, rascal. Go get me, ma'am! Celia draped herself in her dignity. Don't get me wrong, sir. I am not a servant I am a VIP escort girl, and I won't go looking for anyone. Leave me your card. It will be given to Madame as soon as possible. _ Little liar! I know she came back since I followed her. Obey me, or beware! Despite the half-light, Celia saw the demon's eyes glow with an evil heart, whitening the livid stigmata of his skin. Frightened, she took a step back, her heart pounding. _ In this house, you don't have to give orders to anyone! - Enough chatter, insolent! Insensitive to her protests, he shoved her unceremoniously, making the floor ring under his boots. 

He entered the small living room now stripped of furniture, a sneer on his lips. Celia suffered from this disdain. Since the death of Dad, mom lived in such poverty! Passing in front of the unlit hearth, the intruder crossed the room, in the direction of the kitchen. Celia tried to hold him back by taking his arm. He pushed her away effortlessly and in three steps reached the door, which he opened. - I find you finally, madam! He suddenly became a charmer, and there was something even more worrying about his eagerness than his brutality. Celia saw her mother face Northington with a calmness belied by the quivering of her lips. Her blond hair thrown back, her forehead clear and proud, she gazed at the Englishman with the serious gaze of her green eyes. What was she feeling at that moment? From fear, disdain? Celia could have said that. What a surprise, Mr Viscount. 

A pleasant surprise, I hope. If this hope is disappointed, what does it matter? Beneath the casualness of the intonation, Celia sensed a fierce firmness. Old Joshua approached and stood behind her, worried and disapproving. Maman and the Viscount spoke French, the language spoken by the former slave. The visitor seemed sure enough of himself to humorously accept this rebuff. You know at what price I value the happiness of pleasing you, he murmured, emphasizing his remarks with a light laugh. Permit me to doubt it, Viscount. What is the purpose of your visit? Of course, ma'am. Do you really need to be reminded? Celia saw her mother's facial colour. My daughter hears you, sir. At least have regard for his youth. 

Your daughter? This Cerberus? I should have suspected him. Such blondeness, such a look, that's all yours. Come closer, miss, and tell me your first name. Although Celia did nothing to comply, her mother quickly came between her and the strange visitor. "Don't leave this room, darling. Joshua will give you dinner. "I'll wait for you, Mom. Don't do anything, please. I will be back soon. 

Old Josuah put a soothing hand on Celia's shoulder so that she refrained from protesting when she saw her mother come out of the kitchen, followed by the Englishman, and walk with him down the long glass passage that led to the main house.

"He's crazy, that one," murmured Josuah. Coming all the way here... — I hate him! exclaimed the little girl. Mom doesn't like her either, I saw it in her eyes. Do you think he's going to hurt her? The old man nodded and began pouring soup into a bowl. Celia saw his handshake. 'He wouldn't dare, my dear. No one, not even an English lord, escapes the law. Come sit down, your soup is served. You will have your favourite apples. 

The bread... Did you bring back the basket Madame left in the hallway? - Oh! I forgot it when this... this person arrived. I will go get him. "Sit and eat, I'll take care of it." 

She looked down at her steaming bowl. The fine china and silverware, remnants of lost prosperity, made a strange contrast to the roughness of the rough wooden table. She was no longer hungry. She waited melancholy for Josuah's return, and for the bread that Mama had bought on the way, after giving her French lesson to the children of a wealthy family in town. Time was passing, the soup was getting cold. Overwhelmed by anguish, Celia felt a shiver run through her. Why did Joshua delay so long? What was mom doing? Celia left the table without taking anything and walked down the narrow veranda that led to what had once been the mansion.