The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) Read Online Free Page A

kept a daily diary since she was eleven years old and right then she had a lot to catch up with. ‘Will you please leave me alone?’ she asked. ‘Go on. Shoo.’ She waved him off.
    With that, he fell to the floor at her feet and begged her not to send him away. He beseeched her. He would do whatever she required of him. She only had to say the word. All he asked was that she let him clean her boots with his tongue and after that he wanted nothing more than to lie prostrate upon the floor while she unleashed the contents of her bowels on to his head.
    ‘What?’
    Kitty stood up. The man was still clinging to her ankles.
    ‘Unleash my what?’
    Kitty’s German vocabulary was fairly limited but she certainly knew ‘ Scheißen’ . The old man repeated his fondest wish and added actions to make his meaning even clearer.
    Fearing that the old man was about to pull down his trousers in the middle of the dining room, Kitty flew into a panic. She swatted at him with her napkin. He seemed to think it was all part of the game. The more she whipped him about the head with the dirty white cloth, the harder he clung onto her. And then he started licking her boots. Actually trying to clean the leather with his tongue. It really was too much.
    ‘Help!’ Kitty screamed. ‘Someone help me! Help! Hilfe! Helft mir! ’
    On the other side of the room, a young man, tall and smartly dressed, decided it was time to come to Kitty’s aid. He pulled the old man to his feet and, dusting him off quite gently, told him with a smile of wry amusement that he’d got the wrong girl.
    ‘But she . . .’ The old man gave Kitty’s green leather boots one last longing glance.
    ‘I know,’ said the young man. ‘But I don’t think that’s their meaning. She isn’t from round here. You heard her accent. Let her get on with her dinner and look for your ideal mistress outside. This lady doesn’t wish to be bothered.’
    ‘She’s asking for it, the way she’s dressing . . .’
    ‘How dare you!’ said Kitty. ‘Go away, you vile man.’
    ‘You’re a prick-tease, you are,’ said Kitty’s aged admirer.
    The young man’s face hardened. ‘Come along, Grandpa.’ He nodded towards the door and the old man slunk away. Kitty collapsed back down into her seat and fanned her pink cheeks with her hand.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said to the young man. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you. That old chap was quite deranged,’ she continued. ‘Kept calling me “mistress”. He wanted to lick my boots and have me . . .’ Kitty pulled a face in place of the terrible word. ‘You know . On him . Can you imagine?’
    ‘I’d rather not. But it is what you were advertising,’ said the young man after a pause. He pointed at her footwear. ‘Green boots. Gold laces. Debasement and a bit of defecation.’
    That was how Kitty came to be aware of the secret semaphore of footwear in Weimar Berlin.
    ‘You should stay away from red boots too, if you’re going to frequent this establishment. Red or maroon means you’re into flagellation.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ said Kitty. ‘These are the only boots I’ve got.’
    ‘In which case, best buy a longer skirt,’ said Kitty’s hero. ‘Or dine somewhere else. All the old dominas hang out here when they’re not busy.’
    ‘Dominas? I don’t think I understand you . . .’
    ‘I have to go to work now,’ he said. ‘But it has been nice to talk to you, Miss . . .’
    ‘Hazleton.’ She held out her hand. ‘Katherine Hazleton.’
    ‘Otto Schmidt.’
    With gentlemanly grace, the young man lifted her hand to his mouth and pretended to kiss it. ‘Pleased to be of service.’
    Kitty felt an unexpected tingle as for the first time she got a proper look at the young man’s startlingly blue eyes. He smiled in a way that suggested mutual recognition. This was something more than two strangers making passing acquaintance. Kitty watched Otto Schmidt leave the restaurant and found herself wishing he might