The Doctor’s Son ( The First ‘Patron’)

I moved her out of that dreadful place, straight away. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer any longer. She cried, hung on my arm and looked up at me with those clear eyes, not yet hardened by city life or with weeping, and begged me wordlessly to save her. What could I do? Always been a slave to beauty, even in my youth. Especially in my youth.
So, yes, I set her up in a little place on Rue P_____ She skipped like a filly foal when I showed her it - the tiny kitchen, the cozy parlour and the high ceilinged bed chamber.

To be honest, that’s just what she reminded me of, a long legged young animal, still not knowing quite how to manage her limbs, rein in her excitement or control her temper. We had some quarrels, I can tell you and then,ah,the making up......
I adored her, fool that I was. I indulged her, treated her like the pretty, precocious little child she seemed to be. How could I have guessed the cunning behind those tilted almond eyes - those eyes that would fill with tears at the slightest scolding or the sight of a kicked stray dog.
I ignored the gossip of those old crows living in the quarter. I imagined their sharp tongues to be spiteful daggers plunged into the smooth flesh of my darling through pure envy of her beauty.
A gloomy late afternoon in February, the day before St Valentine’s, is when I saw her for what she truly is. It was darkening, both with night and cloud, as I hurried along the back streets, my heart beating with the anticipation of a night in her silken arms. I saw her, there was no mistake. There could not be. She is unique.
She was getting out of the back of a car, slipping on her high heels as she clambered clumsily out onto the wet pavement. I remember thinking that her heels were worn down and I must take her shopping for a new pair; then I saw her stuff her pink satin underwear into her pocket, like the cheap tart she was and blow a kiss to the fat, sweating man groping his way round to the front seat.
Something broke inside me that moment, something which has never been mended and I doubt ever will.
I did not confront her. I watched her skip over to the door and turned my back. I did not want to hear her honeyed voice, once so sweet to me, tell me her lies.
I gave notice to the landlord and never went near the place again. I heard the bailiffs threw her belongings out onto the street. She herself was long gone.
Some months later I visited the cafe on the corner of the street. When I had not been to see her for three days, she had merely packed up her clothes and disappeared. She left the little canary I gave her with the cafe owner’s wife. It pined for her and died. I doubt she would care, the heartless whore.