The following evening I joined His Lordship and Her Ladyship for dinner at a restaurant in town. It always worked this way: we'd have a number of engagements together for a few days, and then hardly anything for a few weeks.
On evenings like this, the pretence of a married couple meeting their younger niece was a good cover story. I dressed smartly, perhaps with something a little low cut or a touch higher above the knee than a niece might usually wear, but not so much as to attract attention, and my clients always wore discreetly expensive clothes.
"And you're all set for our little gathering the evening after tomorrow, Camilla?" Her Ladyship asked me. As she spoke she placed her hand on my forearm; after the events of the previous day, it seemed that she was suddenly more comfortable with physical contact.
"Absolutely," I beamed. It wasn't even an option not to go: I wasn't going to let my most important client down. "The big question is, are you ready?" I asked her.
They exchanged a glance. "Mostly," she replied, "But I'm really hoping to get a new outfit for it."
"We were hoping you could help out with picking something tomorrow," His Lordship said.
"Of course!" I replied, "I'd love to!"
Actually, I'd planned the day off, but when your best client shouts "jump"... well, you know.
"What sort of outfit were you thinking of?" I asked.
I didn't need to add that my time would all be on-the-clock: our agreement was very clear cut, and we never needed to discuss finances. It would break the illusion to do so.
"There's a place I use, a little boutique," she told me, "They'll usually put a room aside for me if I call ahead."
Of course, I thought, when someone spends as much as Her Ladyship, any clothing store would bend over backwards to accommodate her privacy.
"Shall we say, two o'clock?" she asked me.
I broke into a wide smile. "Perfect." I would say that, whether it was perfect or not. "Just text me the address and I can meet you there?"
The three of us talked while we finished our meal, and I flirted with them both. I felt able to touch Her Ladyship's arm from time-to-time as we conversed, perfectly naturally, but we all knew exactly what it meant. She seemed more alive when we parted than when she had arrived and I hoped they would have a pleasurable evening together.
The next day I arrived at the boutique and looked at the window display: nothing had a price on it, a sure sign that I couldn't afford it. I went inside and spoke to the attendant about our plans for the afternoon and discovered that Her Ladyship was already in the back room with a personal shopper. For a second I was mortified: I was supposed to arrive before the client! But according to the I was ten minutes early, so I wasn't at fault.
I was led through to the back room where Her Ladyship was being a shown a range of evening dresses by a very elegant young woman.
"Thank you," Her Ladyship told the assistant, "I think I've got plenty here. I'll give you a call if I need anything else."
It was the effortless dismissal of someone with a life-long expectation of instructions being followed. The assistant, well-practised as she was, gave a nod of her head, a nod by way of greeting in my direction, and left the room.
"Camilla!" Her Ladyship said, "I had a free hour, so I got here early. I hope you don't mind."
I grinned: of course I didn't! And if I did, I couldn't say so.
"What have you found?" I asked. Not "what has been found for you", of course: Her Ladyship had to take full credit for her outfit choices.
"A bewildering array," she tailed off, indicating the rack of clothes. I have no idea how much all of the clothes she was choosing from might cost: it might be five thousand pounds, it might be fifty thousand.
Before I had become an escort, I had trained as a personal assistant for a time. With my background, and taste, it seemed the perfect career choice, and there were plenty of very wealthy women looking for someone to run their life for them. I could mingle with them as a near equal. It was only when I realised that I could make a lot more money if I just shifted my focus away from one client to many, and I had no qualms about using my body to do it, that I left my training.
"Let's see," I said, flicking through the racks. The personal shopper had chosen well, although she couldn't know as much of Her Ladyship's tastes as I did, so I was able to dismiss a few items.
"Try these on," I said, putting a handful of long, conservative evening gowns at the end of the rack.
"Thank you, Camilla. I think I'd be here all day without you." She smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder: there was the touch that would have been taboo just three days ago.
She took the first dress from the rack and walked to the changing room at the back. I went and sat patiently on one of the chairs with my legs crossed, my foot bobbing as I looked around the room at the other designer dresses that hadn't been deemed appropriate. On the whole, I agreed with the personal shopper's choices, and Her Ladyship would have eliminated the ones she didn't like. So why was my presence required at all?
Her Ladyship reappeared in the long, flowing scarlet floor-length gown I had picked out for her. It had a sweetheart neckline and she wore a matching short-sleeved blouse to cover her shoulders.
I wished I could push her to something a little more daring: there was no need for the blouse, not with her figure and her beautiful, clear skin.
"Do you think you need the blouse?" I asked her.
"I do," she said, and I could tell by her tone there was no room for negotiation.
"Try the next one," I suggested with a smile, "That one looks perfect, but we might find something better than perfect." She smiled, picked up the next dress and returned to the changing room.
Within a few minutes she reappeared again. The dress was just as long as the last but jet black. It made her look incredibly thin. It was sleeveless but had a high neckline and thick shoulder straps.
"I like that one better already," I said truthfully, "The black is so elegant, and you have lovely arms."
She blushed at the compliment, and I felt that, had it come from anyone else, it might not have drawn the same reaction.
"Turn around," I said, and she span on her feet, enjoying the attention.
"That's our prime contender right there," I said, "But let's see the next one anyway."
She smiled, and the next item was taken back to the changing room. Again, a few minutes later, she re-emerged in a long, red gown that had thick folds of cloth around the collar. It made her breasts look like they were hanging in two slings and did not suit her at all.
"Okay," I said laughing, "I think we can ditch that one." She joined me in laughing.
"Hang on," I said, and I reached for dress on a rack that the personal shopper had not chosen. It was the same colour as the one she was wearing, which suited her perfectly, but without the excessive folds of cloth. "Try this one," I said, handing it over.
