Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ now, jouncing along in the Daimler, she felt she had to decide who she was supposed to be before she met with Mickey. Was she going to be Bebe Rosen who cared only for herself? Or could she chance being herself, the little girl inside, the shy sixteen-year-old who desperately wanted a new beginning?

      Party girl, she decided. It was safer. If the time came when she had to tone down her image, she could do it overnight. Her father said Mickey liked fun and excitement. If she allowed her vulnerabilities to show, Mickey might leave her out and attend parties and social functions without her, burdening her with school lessons and a stodgy old tutor. Mickey was expecting a handful, Bebe knew. Why disappoint her? Besides, who in his right mind could fault this beautiful Golden Girl with the laughing eyes and charming smile?

      “Monsieur, do you know why I’m to go to Marseilles instead of Paris? I thought my aunt would be living in Paris,” Bebe said, leaning over the seat.

      “Madame Fonsard felt safer at the small château. She is a loyal Frenchwoman and felt she could do more for the war effort from there. She seems to prefer the château these days to Paris. She leads a quiet life. The war is a reminder to us all to treasure those things and the way of life that means the most to us. You’ll enjoy the village, mademoiselle.”

      “Doesn’t she ever go into Paris?” Bebe questioned, disappointed.

      “For the moment, mademoiselle, her attentions are not there. As her avoué, I can handle most things for her.” His voice was creaky, like a hinge needing oil. If this man was Mickey’s attorney, Bebe felt sorry for her aunt. Her father would have put the old man out to pasture a long time ago. But she was in France now and would have to learn new ways and new approaches to doing things. And it really wasn’t any of her business what her aunt did. Unless, of course, it affected her own whims and desires in some way.

      For the first time Bebe felt a chill of fear. What if her aunt didn’t like her? Most adults didn’t for some reason. Worse yet, what if she didn’t like her aunt? What if her aunt didn’t have the maternal qualities that she craved? Make the best of things and cut her visit as short as possible—if her father would allow the visit to be cut short.

      A château in the country. That meant no bright lights and no parties. She’d read a book once about a young girl who was sent away to an old aunt in the country, and her only entertainment was taking long walks and gathering leaves to paste in a book. Bebe shuddered. She just knew she would die of boredom.

      In California her life had been wildly exciting even during those times when the school principal suspended her for smoking in the girls’ bathroom, kissing boys in the hall, and generally acting like a hoyden. School, discipline, and authority were simply not enjoyable. She was bright and intelligent, more so than most of the youngsters in her class, and it was a simple matter to catch up in her studies after one of her numerous expulsions.

      Bebe kicked off her red shoes and curled her legs under her. She wished she had something to hug to her chest, something warm and alive to squeeze her back. Tears pricked her eyes. It was always like this when she started to think too heavily. It was so much easier to laugh and carry on because your heart didn’t ache even if you were just pretending to be happy. Please, she prayed silently, let Mickey like me and let me like her in return.

      “How much farther is it?” Bebe asked the lawyer.

      “Not too much longer, Miss Rosen. We’ll be there before you know it.”

      The old man irritated Bebe. She’d asked him a simple direct question and he’d responded the way her father had when she was six years old. He probably thought her dimwitted. Wearily, she shook her head. There was no point in trying to carry on a conversation with him, she decided; because of his age he couldn’t do two things at once even if one of the things was talking and the other was driving the stupid car. She slumped back onto her seat and thought about the racy friends she’d left behind in California.

      Chapter Eight

      Mickey hadn’t slept all night. Even now, with dawn just minutes away, she still couldn’t sleep.

      It was all due, she knew, to Bebe’s imminent arrival that afternoon. The three of them would go to the depot to meet the girl. Beyond the initial meeting and a beautifully planned dinner, she’d made no plans.

      Since sleep was out of the question, she knew she should get up and go to the kitchen to make an herb poultice for her eyes. With luck she could diminish the dark circles Reuben had noticed the night before. After arguing with herself for a good fifteen minutes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, then debated a moment over which robe to wear, the ruffled filmy one or the warm flannel. Since it was early she opted for the warm one. As she padded down the carpeted stairs, she scolded herself. She was a mature woman, knowledgeable in the ways of the world. One slip of a girl shouldn’t be having this effect on her. Ah, but when it comes to matters of the heart, there are no rules, she told herself. Emotions, she had discovered, were the single thing upon which one should never rely.

      Mickey rattled around in the kitchen, making more noise than she intended. When the old housekeeper appeared at her elbow, she jumped in surprise and almost squealed her fright. The old woman shooed her to a spot at the table and placed a cup in front of her. Coffee would be ready soon, she said, and she herself would make the poultice since Madame either used too much or too little of the dry herbs. Miracles could not undo days of damage to delicate eyes, the old woman grumbled under her breath.

      At eight o’clock Mickey was at the breakfast table waiting for Daniel and Reuben. She’d bathed and donned one of her favorite dresses, designed just for her by Coco—a deep burgundy wool jersey with huge pearl buttons down the bodice and on the sleeves. The hemline was shorter than fashion decreed, but Coco had said she had beautiful ankles and should show them off. Her hose matched the dress, as did her shoes. Jewelry, Coco had advised, would ruin her magnificent creation; sheer elegance did not require jewelry, she’d emphasized impatiently, her spritelike body and little hands in constant motion. Power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. Mickey had been in a hurry the day she’d picked up the dress, and while she’d promised not to wear jewelry, she hadn’t understood what Coco had meant about the aphrodisiac…until this moment.

      The depot was a cacophony of noise when the train from Le Havre pulled into the station. Steam hissed and whistled through the air, blocking visibility for the Three Musketeers. Departing passengers jostled one another, some good-naturedly, others angrily. There were mountains of luggage everywhere. Mickey found herself looking for the most expensive trunks, the most elegant chapeau boxes, and when she sighted them she didn’t need to see the name Barbara Rosen engraved on the handles to know to whom they belonged. There were seven trunks and nine hatboxes. A wry smile tugged at the corners of Mickey’s mouth. There were times when she herself had traveled with just as much for as little as ten days—a trunk of shoes, one for lingerie, another for daytime dresses, and one for evening wear; still another case for purses and evening bags, at least two for furs depending on the season, and the last one for casual wear, those outfits of which one was uncertain.

      Mickey sucked in her breath. If Bebe was anything like she was, she would wait for the crowd to disperse, then disembark from the train looking bored and put out, pouting at the inconvenience of travel. Instead of allowing her coterie of young admiring men to help, Bebe would expect Mickey and her guests to do her bidding. Daniel would be of little help because of his recently mended shoulder; it would be up to Reuben to carry the heavy trunks unless she could prevail upon a porter. And so far all of them appeared to be occupied—the price one paid for making a grand exit.

      When at last Bebe stepped onto the platform, Mickey’s first thought was that the girl looked ridiculous in her oversize fur coat and teetering СКАЧАТЬ