were also
sweet. I mean, the work that went into them, the thought. It's not
something that an empress has to do for the grand …
Vera suddenly slowed her pace and peered off
to her left.
Wasn't that.. . ?
She was certain that she recognized the tall,
thin raven-haired beauty loaded down with photographic equipment
who was striding across the In der Burg courtyard, two wildly
clothed young men alongside her, and …
My God! It has to be! she thought.
...Coral Randolph, jet black helmet of hair
and white-white face, in a sable-trimmed coat, leading the way.
Unmistakably . Unmistakably Coral,
therefore almost certainly ...
Vera quickly resumed her pace.
... Serena Gibbons .
"What is it, darling?" Misha asked. "You look
as if you've seen a ghost."
"Nothing," Vera said lightly. "Nothing at
all. I thought I had something in my shoe for a minute, but I
don't." She smiled up at him, searching for any indication that he
had seen what she had. If he had seen her, she thought, I would be
able to tell it from his face. But apparently he hadn't, for she
saw nothing in his expression or manner that was a tip-off.
"You two still game for the crypt?" Manny
said quickly. Oh, God! he thought. I've got to get them out of
here. And fast! He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, but knew
his eyes hadn't fooled him—especially considering Misha's peculiar
behavior since lunch yesterday.
Serena Gibbons. She explained everything.
Chapter Six
Serena eyed herself critically in the
bathroom mirror, then made hollows of her cheeks by sucking them
in. She picked up her sable-tipped makeup brush, dipped it in the
tinted powder, and whisked another touch of Mata Hari blusher onto
her cheekbones. She looked again. "Purrr-fect," she told her
reflection. Then on second thought, she puckered her Cabaret-coated
lips just so. "No more," she decided. "Enough's enough." She bent
over double and began brushing her hair furiously, from the base of
her neck over her head, back to front, back to front, then stood
back up, swung her head from side to side, shaking her hair, and
gave it a few strokes from under the ears down. "There," she said.
"All done."
With that, she twirled out of the bathroom
and into the suite's bedroom, where she quickly slipped on a black
wool boat-neck sweater and quilted black leather micro-miniskirt.
Both by Iceberg, but anything but cold. She eyed herself in the
bedroom mirror for a moment, then heaved a sigh. "Shit!" she said.
She turned and slumped down onto the bed, arms on her knees, chin
in her hands.
Another promise broken, she thought. And to
the most important person around: me.
She sighed again, then got up and poured
herself a glass of mineral water and brought it over to the bed.
She put the glass on the nightstand and spread out. She'd promised
herself that she wouldn't make any special efforts for her meeting
with Misha today, that she would take their seeing each other in
stride. She would not let nervousness and excitement rule the
day.
Famous last words.
During lunch with Coral and the boys, she had
been anything but helpful in the discussion of the boys' careers.
She simply couldn't concentrate and had gotten increasingly
anxious, finally becoming so overwrought that she'd jumped up from
the table, told them she didn't feel well, and deserted them there
in the restaurant. Same reason, of course. She'd fallen prey to her
thoughts of Misha.
She took a sip of the mineral water and sat
up in bed. I'd better finish getting ready myself, she thought.
Now, what have I forgotten? I know I've forgotten something, but
what? Then it dawned on her: perfume. She jumped to her feet and
dashed into the bathroom, where she'd left a bottle of exotic scent
that had been specially concocted for her in Paris. She dabbed the
stopper on her neck, behind her ears, between her breasts, at her
wrists, and reaching up under her skirt, she swiped drops down her
thighs.
At that moment she heard a knock at
sweet. I mean, the work that went into them, the thought. It's not
something that an empress has to do for the grand …
Vera suddenly slowed her pace and peered off
to her left.
Wasn't that.. . ?
She was certain that she recognized the tall,
thin raven-haired beauty loaded down with photographic equipment
who was striding across the In der Burg courtyard, two wildly
clothed young men alongside her, and …
My God! It has to be! she thought.
...Coral Randolph, jet black helmet of hair
and white-white face, in a sable-trimmed coat, leading the way.
Unmistakably . Unmistakably Coral,
therefore almost certainly ...
Vera quickly resumed her pace.
... Serena Gibbons .
"What is it, darling?" Misha asked. "You look
as if you've seen a ghost."
"Nothing," Vera said lightly. "Nothing at
all. I thought I had something in my shoe for a minute, but I
don't." She smiled up at him, searching for any indication that he
had seen what she had. If he had seen her, she thought, I would be
able to tell it from his face. But apparently he hadn't, for she
saw nothing in his expression or manner that was a tip-off.
"You two still game for the crypt?" Manny
said quickly. Oh, God! he thought. I've got to get them out of
here. And fast! He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, but knew
his eyes hadn't fooled him—especially considering Misha's peculiar
behavior since lunch yesterday.
Serena Gibbons. She explained everything.
Chapter Six
Serena eyed herself critically in the
bathroom mirror, then made hollows of her cheeks by sucking them
in. She picked up her sable-tipped makeup brush, dipped it in the
tinted powder, and whisked another touch of Mata Hari blusher onto
her cheekbones. She looked again. "Purrr-fect," she told her
reflection. Then on second thought, she puckered her Cabaret-coated
lips just so. "No more," she decided. "Enough's enough." She bent
over double and began brushing her hair furiously, from the base of
her neck over her head, back to front, back to front, then stood
back up, swung her head from side to side, shaking her hair, and
gave it a few strokes from under the ears down. "There," she said.
"All done."
With that, she twirled out of the bathroom
and into the suite's bedroom, where she quickly slipped on a black
wool boat-neck sweater and quilted black leather micro-miniskirt.
Both by Iceberg, but anything but cold. She eyed herself in the
bedroom mirror for a moment, then heaved a sigh. "Shit!" she said.
She turned and slumped down onto the bed, arms on her knees, chin
in her hands.
Another promise broken, she thought. And to
the most important person around: me.
She sighed again, then got up and poured
herself a glass of mineral water and brought it over to the bed.
She put the glass on the nightstand and spread out. She'd promised
herself that she wouldn't make any special efforts for her meeting
with Misha today, that she would take their seeing each other in
stride. She would not let nervousness and excitement rule the
day.
Famous last words.
During lunch with Coral and the boys, she had
been anything but helpful in the discussion of the boys' careers.
She simply couldn't concentrate and had gotten increasingly
anxious, finally becoming so overwrought that she'd jumped up from
the table, told them she didn't feel well, and deserted them there
in the restaurant. Same reason, of course. She'd fallen prey to her
thoughts of Misha.
She took a sip of the mineral water and sat
up in bed. I'd better finish getting ready myself, she thought.
Now, what have I forgotten? I know I've forgotten something, but
what? Then it dawned on her: perfume. She jumped to her feet and
dashed into the bathroom, where she'd left a bottle of exotic scent
that had been specially concocted for her in Paris. She dabbed the
stopper on her neck, behind her ears, between her breasts, at her
wrists, and reaching up under her skirt, she swiped drops down her
thighs.
At that moment she heard a knock at
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