'Would you care for some tea, Mr Cort?'

'Thank you, Countess. That's my real name, by the way. I see no point in playing games with false ones. There, I think, we differ.'

She rang a little bell on the side table, and gave the order to a servant who appeared with great speed. I very much hoped he was not the sort of servant who listened at doors.

'Don't worry,' she said, reading my face well. 'It is very thick wood, and neither of us have voices that carry. Besides, although Simon has waggling ears, he is both well paid and has secrets of his own that are better not exposed to public view.

'As for my little subterfuge, my own name would open no doors. A title of nobility, however spurious, does so in this republican country. One does what is necessary.'

The tea arrived, with delicate china cups and a silver teapot. Very pretty, although not for the serious tea-drinker. One has to make allowances. 'Do you wish to sit outside?' she asked. 'It is a fine day, and I have an excellent view of the sea. Then I will tell you something of my story, if you wish.'

She nodded to the servant, who took the tray outside, and when all was prepared, we followed. It was delightful; the villa was halfway up a small hill which rose up from the beach, with a large and well-stocked garden, a mixture of grass and plants more used to warmer climates. There was a tall tree to provide shade, and under this we sat at a graceful metal table, looking out over the sea, which entertained with the roughness of the waves, even though it was warm and still where we were.

'Here, you see, we can be quite certain that we will not be overheard,' she said as she nodded that I might pour her tea for her. 'Curiously, there is not so much to tell, once you leave out details that you would find sordid and unbecoming. I will put it in your own language, just as I took your approach. I reinvested my profits, and accumulated capital, and then decided to diversify into a new area of operation. How does that sound?'

'It sounds highly commendable, even though it tells me nothing at all.'

'You know the early part; I worked my way up the ladder of seniority amongst the officers in Nancy, where I made a great discovery. Which was that it was more profitable to be a man's mistress than a whore. Forgive my language. Men reward their mistresses, and married men will go to considerable lengths to keep them quiet. As they have only a limited amount of time to consort with people like me, there is much time left over. Consequently, I realised that I could be the exclusive mistress of one man on Monday, of another on Tuesday, a third on Wednesday, and so on. As long as none knew of the others, all would be well. All of my shareholders, as I call them, agreed to keep me entirely, and so I gained five times as much, the majority of my earnings being pure profit. As two were exceptionally generous, I very soon accumulated enough to consider an independent existence.'

'Enough for this?'

'No. I have very little money at the moment. All my earnings I have invested once more – the jewels, the clothes, this villa, the house in Paris. I survive on a diet of debt and donations. But I no longer fear the gutter.'

'I am glad for you.'

She nodded.

'So you are still . . .'

'Yes?'

'How to put this? Juggling clients? How many?'

'Four. It is all that can be managed safely. And I do find I like time to myself; I reserve two or three days a week for relaxation and proper sociability. And, at present, I am on holiday. Of a sort.'

'Of a sort?'

'My other great discovery is that men are much more generous to women who do not need their generosity. To put it another way, generosity is relative to a woman's social situation. You, for example, lent me five thousand francs – more than I asked for, certainly, and enough to transform my life. But would you have thought you could have bought the Countess Elizabeth Hadik Barkoczy von Futak uns Szala for such a sum? She who is known to be worth at least a million.'

'Are you really?'

'I said known to be. Not that I am. Reputation is more important than reality, Mr Cort.'

'I see. And the answer to your question is no. But then, I very much doubt the idea of buying a countess would ever cross my mind.'

'Then you are unlike many men, for whom the more unattainable the prize, the more they must have it.'

'M. Rouvier?'

She held up a finger reprovingly. 'I am happy to discuss things in general, Mr Cort. But the particular must remain my secret.'

'My apologies. If my acquaintance of last night is correct, then you are fast becoming the most unattainable woman in Paris.'

'And hence the most expensive,' she said with a smile. 'And that takes money. Staying in this house for a month, entertaining lavishly, costs a fortune. But it also makes men more generous.'

'I find it difficult to believe that each interested party is unaware of the others.'

'Of course they know of each other. But each thinks he is in unique possession, while the others are merely jealous.'

'I do not see how such an arrangement can endure without some mishap.'

'Probably it cannot. But I believe that in another year it will not matter. I will have accumulated enough money to keep myself in comfort, and so will have no more need of such arrangements. I do not think that such a life can continue forever, and there are few things worse than a middle-aged trollop.'

The words made her thoughtful, and I sensed that they had also made her uncomfortable.

'I hope you will not find me rude if I say you must leave now, Mr Cort. I have work to do this afternoon.'

I rose to my feet and stammered slightly that, naturally, I quite understood.

She smiled. 'No. You misunderstand. I told you I am on holiday. I must attend the Princess Natalie. A boring and remarkably stupid woman, but I need her approval. So,' she said brightly, 'I must go and charm her, or at least, disguise my disdain.

'Please come and visit again,' she said as I prepared to leave. 'I am giving a soirée tomorrow evening here, at nine o'clock. You would be a welcome guest.'

'I am flattered. But I would have thought—'

'. . . I would want to keep you as far away as possible? Certainly not; it is agreeable to find someone whose way of life is even more immoral than my own. Besides, I think it would be best to keep an eye on you here. And I like you.'

It is strange how such a simple statement can cause an effect; from her lips, the sentence made a huge impact on me. She did not like many people, I suspected; life had taught her few were likeable and fewer still were trustworthy. Yet she offered me both. She managed to make the offer seem both generous and a privilege. Was that calculation? If so, part of the art lay in making it not seem so, but to be rather something that came from the heart.

You think me foolish, reading these words, that I could be so bemused by the wiles of a former streetwalker? Well, you are wrong, and would accept that if you had met her when she was at the peak of her powers. Not that she was gentle or vulnerable herself, however much she could appear to be so. She had learned to survive, to fight and never to give ground against a hostile world. However soft and feminine she appeared, she had a core that was as tough as steel. No one knew her, and certainly no one took advantage of her. Not twice, anyway.

She came closer to trusting me than anyone in her acquaintance. I hope I do not flatter myself by saying that I deserved it, that it was not simply because she knew my secret as well as I knew hers, although that was no doubt part of the reason. I had had the opportunity of mistreating her and had declined it. I had dealt with her fairly, and had not abused my power over her. I had treated her as her character deserved, not as her condition allowed. She was a woman of few loyalties, but when they were conferred they were boundless.