Lily was pulling the bows on her stockings tighter in the bustle of the Moulin Rouge dressing room when another of the old hands, as it were, bent down to whisper in her ear. Elizabet’s red curls were easily recognizable in the lamp-lit mirror. “Lily, tell that inspector of yours that there’s another girl involved somehow, Giselle Martin. Least I heard her name not a half hour ago when I passed the comte and his party on the stairs.” She gave a snort, “They believe we are deaf as well as eternally grateful for one of their favours!”

Lily giggled and shook her head “Fools…mais merci, chérie. You heard nothing else?”

“Non,” Elizabet shrugged and grinned into the mirror, “not apart from the scandal that Lily Dubois is consorting with bluecoats. All the papers say we are living in new times, maybe is true, n’est-ce pas?”

Lily blushed a little and turned to kiss her friend’s cheeks. “Peut-être.” Always maybe. Monsieur Mauriac, however, knew exactly how to spoil a moment of happiness, and he screamed for Lily from out in the hall.

“Mademoiselle DuBois! For some reason you have been requested in the Comte de Richelieu’s box. Champagne…Maintenant!” Lily screwed up her face and sighed, nodding at the resigned “bon chance” as Elizabet departed down the hallway. A few minutes later Lily stood, her head held high at the velvet padded door of the box that had been reserved for the comte, carrying a tray full of glasses and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, perfectly chilled and one of the finest served in the Moulin Rouge. Madame Clicquot herself no doubt would have smiled.

“Entrez!” A smart young man held the door for her and Lily crossed the thick carpeted floor to the table, her skin bristling and her senses all open. Her strong fingers unwound wire and pressed the edge of cork to release a swirl of smoke then arranged four glasses—she just had to pour. “Et voila, Monsieur le Comte…” with a smile she let her fingers slip over the smooth glass, “Monsieur le Commissioner, welcome back to the Moulin Rouge, a votre sante…Et vous Monsieur…” her eyes looked directly at those dark black gems, “what shall I call you?” She put every teasing implication that she could muster in her voice, and the man could do nothing but respond. She was just a whore, what did it matter? He thought how it might sound to hear her French mouth say his name.

“Svyatoslav, you can call me Svyatoslav.”

Lily smiled and moved closer letting the champagne bubble from the bottom of the glass that she held in front of his mouth. A heavy hand on her shoulder pulled her back, evidently she was not to call him anything, and the fourth man stood quickly to guide her through the door. Lily knew a copper when she felt one, dressed too precisely in regulation civilian clothes and with those cool hard eyes that missed nothing. In truth she was glad to be out of there.

She was still shivering as she descended the stairs into the Hall. On stage the dancers were spinning and whooping and a great crowd was clapping and cheering; another night promising to fulfill the best and the worst dreams of those who entered. Abberline…where was he? Her eyes closed for a second. Even the thought of him and her stomach had flipped over enough times that it could have been up on the stage too. She needed to find him and pass on what small information they had found. Oui, of course that was why she was searching the sea of faces.

Grabbing a tray full of drinks, Lily wove through the crowded tables, bending to laugh at poor jokes and running her hand over rough chins. She was good at it; she had an instinct which tables had the biggest spenders and the most wandering hands. She even stopped at a table for a beautiful man whose fingers were cradling a pencil...a little too tightly perhaps for outlines and shading and his usual free strokes. As yet the page was still snow white, but then Gabrielle was on stage and he didn’t want to miss a second. “Bonsoir, Michel,” she whispered and set a free glass of wine in front of him. She would take the money from her tips.

At last she saw him in the shadows under the circle, sitting alone at a table with a cigarette between his long fingers and his eyes evidently following her. She could feel him from here, several feet away yet but already her skin flushing. A deep breath and Lily made her way towards him, a smile here and there, but still pulled right across the crowds. “Inspector Frederick Abberline…what is it that you would like?” With a step she was in his lap, her hand on his cheek, and a small whimper at the feel of his skin that only he could hear escaping her lips.

Fred Abberline’s lips just parted a little as his eyes sunk down to where her breasts were not inches from his face. He cleared his throat, “Do you think this is wise, Lily?” just quiet but with some difficulty all the same.

“No, but then I am a chorus girl, Inspector. We are not known for our careful consideration of the pros and cons, unlike a clever policeman like yourself.” She was cheeky and she knew it’ “Anyhow, almost every other man in the place has a woman on his lap...we wouldn’t want to raise suspicions now would we?” Her lips were almost touching his ear and she licked the tip of it with her tongue, “So you had best look interested.”

Fred Abberline closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, leaving Lily to feel the movement of his hand up her thigh. “I don't think that will be a problem, Lily. Now if you were exhorting me to look disinterested, then that might be more difficult, especially should anyone take a good look when you get up from this table.” Lily nearly moaned out loud, which definitely wasn’t the usual sound expected of the women serving these tables.

Her eyes, a little out of focus but always on the look out, spotted Claude, the bouncer, peering her way; she would have to talk fast.  She pulled his face to hers, “I went to see the comte, Abberline, he asked for me.” Well she might have smacked him for the sudden change.

“You did what?! Lily, what would possess to do that?”

Her fingers were on his lips, Christ, that felt good, but she pulled herself back, “I had to, and in any case I have information for you.”

She spoke quicker French than he had ever heard and he was concentrating hard, the only issue was his ability to focus on her words and not on her body pressed against his. Nevertheless, the news of undercover police and the name Giselle Martin were clear enough. Abberline stared back at her, a nod before his hand was behind her neck and his heavenly lips held the sweetest kiss against hers. “Hold that for now, Lily. And this is for Claude, you understand?” he slid a pile of francs onto the table and watched her disappear.

Fred Abberline smiled; this day really was turning out better than expected, but he was no fool. All the evidence in the world could be buried without trace and then he would be facing the bleak prospect of finding alternative employment with only “disgraced policeman” as a reference. What he needed was the tie-in with the undercover Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure (DGSE) and whatever shady names he could put pressure on and, if necessary, threaten to expose if they didn’t give up the comte. Ah now, that wasn’t a great career move either, but since “hanging on by the skin of his teeth” about summed up his position anyhow, what was there to lose apart from ending up in the Seine, of course...there was that. He gave a slight wince, well looking on the bright side it would unlikely be before the end of the night, a thought that caused another wince but for a different reason entirely.

And there she was on stage kicking impossibly high so that the cream of her skin was flashing before his eyes, and Abberline groaned at the pulse of a thought about those legs around his hips. He needed some air and some straight thinking. Passing Gabrielle, Abberline smiled, “Tell her I will be back, if you would.” Then Inspector Abberline stepped out into the cold, setting a pace towards the DGSE building over the river.

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