She’d told Jane that she had ‘fantasised’ about doing it, but had never done it. But it was clear that this was a lie. She had often spoken of travelling to Paris, and Jane now believed that she had probably played this identical charade scores of times. First, she would have driven her lovers wild in her bed, then she would have flattered them with talk of their exceptionality and asked them if they wanted to ‘go further’ in their debauch – and they would have assented, just as she had assented, because nobody could refuse Julietta Sims. After that, she would have brought them here, and then …

Jane’s mind turned back to the racks of costumes, still perfumed with the stink of sorrow and decay, even with the stale effusions of desire. In the shadowy little cubicle behind the silk curtain, she began to feel faint and sick. She was burning hot, then icy cold as sweat began to pour down her back. She flung away the top hat and dragged her arms free of the coat.

She was tearing at the bow tie when Julietta returned with a triumphant smile on her face, babbling that Monsieur Tirard had given her ‘the very perfect thing we are going to need’.

‘It’s very expensive,’ she whispered breathlessly, ‘but we will enjoy it so much, we might die of pleasure …’

It was only then that Julietta noticed that Jane was taking off the green-and-black outfit.

‘Stop!’ she said. ‘We’re going to buy the costume, Jane, and I am going to take us to be photographed together, with you wearing it … “Monsieur and Madame”.’

But Jane was now stepping out of the trousers and reaching for her own clothes.

‘I’m sorry, Julietta,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to do this.’

Julietta immediately went to Jane and held her close against her breast, boldly sliding her hand between her legs, beginning to chafe her there and saying gently, ‘You’re shocked, my dearest. I understand. I thought you might be. I know I’m very, very wicked, but you will see—’

‘You are only “wicked” because you lied to me.’

‘Lied to you?’

‘You said you’d never done this before, but it’s clear from the way you’re friendly with Monsieur Tirard—’

‘Hush, Jane. Don’t be so bourgeois, or I will have to send you straight back to Bath. Of course I’ve done it before. I’ve travelled every road to ecstasy with women that you can imagine, and probably some that you can’t, because this is what I choose to do. But it is also to say nothing important at all, only to remind you that now I can be a very good lover to you. Isn’t this what you want? Does anything in the past matter one jot? Now, steady yourself and press harder against my hand. Like that, yes. You see how quickly you surrender to me?’

MORGUE

Dinner that evening was at the Café Anglais on the Boulevard des Italiens.