Read Online Sins of Omission by Fern Michaels - Free Book Online Page B

glass, her precious Monet and Renoir. And on the far wall, where the fall sun found itself rivaled for brilliance, was a Van Gogh. A field of sunflowers, yellow and orange and deep green shadows for contrast. Little crystal dishes, vast vases of flowers, thick peach-colored carpeting bordered with a pattern of grape leaves and dark purple fruit. The mantelpiece was Italian marble, the hearth wide and deep, holding logs thicker than Reuben’s leg and almost as long. Gilt-edged mirrors, venetian blinds slanted to catch the last ray of sunshine, and satin draperies trimmed with golden fringe. And always the colors were soft, muted, each pattern cleverly chosen to blend into the next.
    Madame Mickey’s wardrobe seemed to be endless. Unlike the sleek, tailored clothing she had always worn on her trips to the clinics and hospitals, here Reuben noticed that she preferred simpler dresses in soft, elegant colors that brought out the tawny freshness of her unadorned skin and the golden lights in her chestnut hair. Chanel was a young designer with whom Mickey was acquainted in Paris. The styles were revolutionary, and Mickey wore them to perfection.
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    â€œHer name is Gabrielle, but everyone knows her as Coco,” Mickey explained about her friend, “and one day she will be famous, I promise you. She is what the fashion world awaits. This is a world in which women will take their place, Reuben. There will be little room for snug hobbled skins and painful boned corsets. Ease of dress, that is the secret of Coco’s designs. Away with corsets, away with them forever. Long, simple lines; supple, easy fabrics and knits. Trousers that have slim legs and flare at the bottoms, somewhat like the ones sailors wear. Bell bottoms, I believe they’re called. Short jackets, jersey knits, and I have seen her wear a coat that she patterned after General Black Jack Pershing’s. A trench coat, it is called. Horrible name, wonderful coat. Many elements of her designs are borrowed from a man’s haberdashery.”
    During their French lessons, Reuben and Daniel found Mickey to be a hard taskmaster. Often she would tap their knuckles like an old schoolmarm. “Someday you will thank me for this,” she kept saying over and over. Reuben doubted it; Daniel just smiled.
    It was obvious from the beginning that Daniel had a greater aptitude for learning a foreign language then Reuben. Daniel worked diligently on the verbs and syntax, and late at night, after Mickey retired, he would quiz Reuben so he, too, could have his lesson prepared for the following morning. Somewhere along the way he’d become attuned to Reuben’s feelings, and he knew Reuben hated to be mocked or made to appear foolish. Mickey’s gentle gibing was embarrassing to him. Twice he’d blustered that he didn’t want to learn a stupid, damn flowery language and stomped out of the room in frustration. Unperturbed, Mickey had kept on with the lesson. She never referred to Reuben’s outburst and had smiled warmly, when, after his temper had cooled, he had returned.
    After an hour in their respective rooms, where Reuben and Daniel would dose their eyes and apply compresses, lunch would be served, usually a meal of thick, hearty sandwiches and robust soup. If weather allowed, they would then embark on their daily walk, which covered several miles and always ended at the stables, where Mickey would treat her horses with sugar lumps and green apples stored from the autumn before.
    â€œAll gentlemen ride,” Mickey declared. “It is an art, and I will teach you when your health returns. One must be fit to control an animal.” Then she’d looked at Reuben and said, “One day, when you are rich and powerful, you will have a country estate and invite others who are rich and powerful. They will all know how to ride. It will be expected of you. Do you understand, chéri? ” Reuben nodded. Then she fixed her gaze on