Sins by Gould Judith

Author:Gould, Judith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fashion, power, sins, new york haute couture revenge, glamour paris, venice ambition
Publisher: Renaissance Literary & Talent

By the time she came home from the atelier a week after the shooting, it was, as usual, a quarter to six. She closed the front door wearily, crossed to the telephone table, put her purse down, and began to pull off her gloves. She sniffled. She hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold. She started as the telephone began to ring. Quickly she reached down and picked up the receiver.

'Hélène? It's Jacques.'

'Jacques,' she said, 'this is a surprise.'

'Listen, I called to tell you that the proof sheets are printed. The photos turned out even better than I'd expected! You're naturally photogenic. Anyway, what do you say I pop over and show them to you?'

'Now?'

'Why not?'

'I appreciate your calling, Jacques, but I'm afraid I'm tied up tonight.' That was the truth. The Comte was in town and he'd be spending the night. Just thinking about it made her grimace. She'd be up half the night. What she really wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep for thirteen or fourteen hours. Maybe then this cold would work out of her system.

'Christ,' he mumbled with bitchy disappointment. 'Well, I suppose there's plenty of time for you to see them.' Then his voice took on a brighter tone. 'Before I forget, what do you say we take the L'Officiel shots on Saturday?'

'So soon?'

'Sure. Don't forget, it takes months before the issues hit the stands. The sooner they're taken, the sooner you'll be a star.'

She smiled. 'Saturday it is. I'll call you on Friday to confirm?'

'Fine. Talk to you then,' he said. ''Bye.'

She said good-bye, and when she heard the click at his end, she dropped the receiver back down on the cradle. At the same moment she noticed a letter propped up against the vase. She recognized the envelope immediately. It was from the Karl Haberle Agency. Her heart pounded as she snatched it up. The first thought that entered her mind was that Haberle had found Schmidt and the white-faced one.

She tore open the envelope, took out the letter, and unfolded it. The type was thick, black, and smudgy, as if the typewriter it had been pounded out on was a piece of antiquity. As she read, her excitement faded. It was nothing more than a progress report—a report of no progress at all.

Hélène balled up the paper angrily and tossed it into the wastebasket. What was it with Haberle? Did she have to pound him over the head for him to realize that she was dead serious? She would have time to draft a quick letter to him. The Comte wouldn't be here for another hour.

She went into the salon, sat down behind the leather-covered desk, and took a sheet of vellum from the box in the top drawer. She dipped the pen into the inkwell, hesitated for a moment, and then swiftly scrawled the reply:

Dear Herr Haberle,

I have received your letter. I think I have made it quite clear that no matter how long or expensive the task, I am totally dedicated to finding the men who have perpetrated such evil.

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