“No,” Tanya said. “No.”
“Yes, Mother,” Janette said.
Tanya moved toward her. “My poor baby.”
Janette avoided her arms. “I’m not your poor baby, Mother. Not anymore.”
“Why didn’t you call me? At least answer my calls?” Tanya asked.
“What difference would it have made?” Janette shrugged. “You would have had the baby anyway.”
“You have a sister, Janette.”
“And my sister will have a sister,” Janette said.
Tanya stared into her daughter’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t be stupid, Mother,” Janette said. “The same man that made you pregnant made me pregnant.”
“That’s impossible!” Tanya said.
“Is it, Mother? That week you were in the clinic, Maurice came up to the school and brought me to Paris to see you. But he never took me to the clinic. Instead I spent the week in his apartment and on the day you came home, I went back to school.”
“Maurice?” There was a note of incredulity in Tanya’s voice. “I can’t believe even he would do that.”
“No, Mother?” Janette opened her small purse and took out a set of keys. She threw them down on the table next to her. “He even gave me a set of keys to the apartment so that I could come back there at Easter.”
Tanya stared down at the keys, then up at her daughter. The tears began to flood into her eyes. “Why didn’t you let me talk to you? Why? I was going to tell you. Maurice is not Lauren’s father. I’ve never let him come near me since the day we were married.”
“You’re lying, Mother,” Janette said.
“I’m not lying,” Tanya said. “One look at your sister and you would know that. Blond and blue-eyed. Why do you think Maurice is suing me for divorce charging adultery? There’s never been a blond blue-eyed child in his family for generations.”
Janette stared at her. “I didn’t know that, Mother. No one ever told me.”
Tanya took a deep breath. She felt as if her insides had turned to stone. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “It’s done and can’t be undone. We must make plans for tomorrow. The first thing to do is to see Doctor Pierre.”
Suddenly the tears sprang into Janette’s eyes. “Oh, Mother,” she cried. “I’m sorry.”
Then they were in each other’s arms, their tears running down each other’s cheeks. For a long while they stood there, clinging together without words until the daylight had faded from the windows.
Two days later, Tanya waited in the small office of Dr. Pierre until he came from the operating room of his clinic. She rose to her feet as he entered. “How is she, Doctor Pierre?”
“She’ll be all right,” he said. “It’s all taken care of. She’s resting now.”
“Thank God,” she said.
“Yes, thank God,” he said solemnly. “If she had had the baby she would have died.”
Tanya stared at him.
Dr. Pierre shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of an animal she was with but she was all torn apart inside. He must have used a battering ram on her. Not only were the vagina and tubes torn apart but her anus and part of her bowel were ripped. I couldn’t believe it.” He looked into Tanya’s eyes. “I repaired her as best I could. At least she won’t have any problems from it.” He paused, letting out a deep breath.
“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” she said in a tense voice.
He hesitated a moment. “Janette will never be able to have a child,” he said. “I had to remove all but a part of one ovary.”
It was two o’clock in the morning, exactly ten days later, the day after Janette had returned to school, that Tanya parked the small car in the street in front of the apartment building on the Ile Saint-Louis. The street was deserted as she got out of the car. Automatically she locked it, putting the car keys in her purse, at the same time taking out the keys to the apartment. She looked up at the building. All the windows were dark. Slowly she made her way to the outside door.
It was the big key, always the big key for the street door. It turned easily, sliding back the bolt, and she stepped into the dark hallway. She had to stop herself from reaching for the hallway lights automatically. One thing she didn’t want was to call attention to herself. She waited a moment until her eyes became used to the darkness, then moved toward the elevator.
The noise the old creaking elevator made as it ascended seemed loud enough in her ears to wake up all Paris. She held her breath until finally it came to a stop. Then, with a feeling of relief, she stepped out. There were two apartments to a floor. She hesitated a moment, then struck a match. There it was. A small brass plate over the doorbell. Le Marquis de la Beauville.
She closed her eyes for a moment and thought. Was there anything she had forgotten? Her will had been properly signed and executed. The instructions to the Swiss bank regarding the vault in which the gold was kept had been received and acknowledged. If something should happen to her, Joann would take care of everything. The children would be protected.
The first key made no sound as she turned it slowly. She heard the faint click of the bolt. Good. Now for the second key. It squeaked faintly. She stopped. There was no other sound. She turned the key the rest of the way slowly. It clicked and the door swung open slowly.
She took a tentative step into the apartment, then stopped, listening. There was no sound. Quietly she shut the door behind her. Now she waited, while she got her bearings.
She tried to remember what Janette had told her about the apartment. Straight ahead through the big archway would be the living room. To the right, a small door led to the service entrance and the kitchen. Beyond the living room through another smaller arch would be the dining room. Maurice’s bedroom was through a door on the far end of the dining room.
Carefully she moved through the rooms, moving slowly so that she would not stumble against an unseen piece of furniture. Now she was in front of the door to the bedroom. She opened her purse again and took out the razor. It was only right that it should be Wolfgang’s razor. There was no doubt in her mind now that it had been Maurice who betrayed him to the Russians.
She opened the razor so that the cutting edge faced outward away from her hand and turned the doorknob softly. The door swung open and she stepped into the room, moving softly on the carpeted floor. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her.
She could see the bed in the faint luminescence that filtered through the draperies from the streetlights outside. She walked toward the bed. She sensed, rather than saw, the huddled mass beneath the blanket. She paused over him, looking down, trying to see him. The heavy sound of breathing came to her eyes but she did not know whether it was his or her own. “Maurice!” she said softly.
He turned, starting to sit up. Then she struck. With all her strength, she ripped the razor down his body. A strangled scream rose in his throat and he rolled frantically away from her, his hand pulling something from the table at the other side of the bed. Angrily she kept on slashing as he tried to turn. She saw the glint of something hard and metallic in his hand but kept on slashing and striking.
A roar exploded in her ears and blue fire seared her eyes at the same time that a sledgehammer blow seemed to strike her in the chest, almost throwing her backward, but still she pressed on, the razor rising and falling. At last he collapsed inertly on the sheets.
She stood there breathing heavily, then put her hand down to touch him. Her fingers seemed to sink into a morass of blood-sodden sheets. She pulled her hand back quickly, the razor falling from her fingers. The pain in her chest was growing more intense now. She pressed her hand against her breast and felt the warm blood seeping through her dress onto her fingers. For the first time, she realized she had been shot.
Slowly she turned and made her way back through the apartment, the pain growing more agonizing with every step. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the apartment door. Now the pain was r
olling in waves through her body and she felt dizzy and wavering, as if consciousness were draining from her through the blood running down her fingers.
She reached for the door. Suddenly the light in the hallway outside flooded on and the door sprang open in her hands. He stood there in open-mouth shock, the light spilling from behind him across her face.
She stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “Oh, no, Maurice!” she screamed. “You’re dead! I just killed you!” Then she began falling as consciousness left her, never to return.
IV
Book Two: Janette
Shiki stood in front of the easel studying the design critically. He heard the door close behind him and the girl’s footsteps approaching. “Take off all your clothes,” he said without turning around. “Let me know when you’re naked.”
A moment later he heard the low voice. “I’m naked.”
He penciled in a small adjustment to the drawing and turned around. “Merde,” he said, his jaw dropping.
Janette laughed at his consternation.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked.
“I thought if you were switching,” she smiled, “I would like to be the first.”
He reached for a robe on the chair next to him. “Put this on,” he said uncomfortably.
She didn’t take it. “Come on, Shiki. Wouldn’t you like to eat my pussy? You might even like it.”
“Cut it out,” he said, annoyed. “I’m working.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” she replied.
“I thought you were the model I sent for to try on a new design,” he said.
“You can try it on me.”
He shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
He looked at her critically. “You’re too much of a woman. Your tits are too big, your ass is too big and your mons veneris sticks out further than most men’s cock and balls. You’re just not the model type, that’s all.”
“What type am I?” she asked.
“You’re like your mother,” he said. “Big and strong. An earth type. Pure animal sex. You walk out on a runway and automatically every other woman in the place would hate you, which means no matter what you wore they wouldn’t buy it. You’re too much of what each of them would like to be.”
“That’s a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one,” she said, reaching for her jeans, which she had thrown over a chair, and getting into them. She slipped into a large man-tailored shirt and tied it around her waist.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked.
“I had an appointment with Johann,” she said. “But he was in a meeting so I thought I would drop in on you.”
“It’s always good to see you,” he said.
She smiled. “Even if I’m not the model type?”
He laughed. “Even so.”
“Maybe you ought to change your models,” she said. “There are more girls like me than there are like them.”
“Most girls like you can’t afford the kind of clothes we make,” he said.
“That could be what’s wrong with our business,” she said. “Too many haute couture designers fighting for too small a market.”
“We’re doing all right,” he said half defensively.
“I’m sure we are,” she said quickly. “I was just thinking out loud.”
The telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up, then looked at her. “Johann’s meeting is over. You can see them now.”
“Thank you.” She blew him a kiss and left the room.
He stared at the closed door for a moment, then locked it and went back to his desk. He sat down behind it, took a joint from the neat cigarette case and lit it. He leaned back in his chair and let the smoke drift thoughtfully from his nose.
Like mother, like daughter. Like mother, like mother, like mother. But even more, like daughter.
“Two years at the Université is enough,” she said. “I’m not going back.”
Johann’s face was expressionless. He looked at her across his desk. In a way he wasn’t surprised. She was nineteen now and there was very little of the child left in her. More and more each day, she reminded him of her mother. Tanya had been about the same age when they first met, the same reddish-brown hair, long and falling down her face, partly concealing her high cheekbones and dark eyes in the fashion of the day. “What would you prefer doing?” he asked carefully.
“I think it’s time I became involved in the business,” she said. “After all, in two more years I will be responsible for the whole thing. I think it’s about time I learned something about it, don’t you?”
She was like her mother. Johann nodded. “I agree with you. Now the question is, where would you like to begin?”
“Maurice says that more than sixty-five percent of our gross income comes from the United States,” she said. “Yet I’ve never been there.”
“That’s true,” he said.
“He’s planning to go there next month and has offered to take me with him and show me around.”
Johann didn’t let surprise show in his face. It was the first time he had learned that she had even been talking to Maurice. “That’s kind of him,” he said cautiously. “How do you expect that to help you? After all, he’s not involved in any of our companies. His own is quite separate.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But he does know everybody.”
He was silent for a moment. “I don’t object to it,” he said. “And you certainly don’t need my permission to go on a trip. But don’t you think it might be a better idea to come into the office for a few months first and get some grounding? Then when you go you’ll be better equipped to relate.”
“I’d like to go,” she said. “I think I would go out of my mind sitting in the office. It reminds me too much of being in a classroom back at the Université.”
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to do your homework,” he said. “Running a business isn’t all fun and games.”
“I know that,” she said. “But isn’t that what you do? I would like to become more involved with the creative and marketing side of it. Here in France we still do things in the same old-fashioned way. America is way ahead of us in many ways. I have a feeling we can learn many things from them.”
“I would still like it if you could spend some time in the office before you go,” he said.
“Maurice isn’t planning to leave before the end of next month,” she said. “That gives me six weeks. Is that enough for you?”
“It’s better than nothing,” he said. “I just hope it’s enough for you.”
“I’m a quick study. I’ll make it enough,” she said seriously. She got to her feet. “What time would you like me to come in tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock,” he said. “I think the best place for you to start is with the controller.”
“I’ll be here.” She smiled. “Thank you, Johann.”
He came out from behind the desk. In a curious sort of way he felt good about her wanting to come into the company. Something had been missing ever since Tanya’s death. Now, perhaps, it would be whole again. “How is your sister?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Fine. Growing. I haven’t seen much of her since I came down from school. Her nanny hovers over her like a blanket.”
“It might be a good idea if you could spend some time with her,” he suggested. “So that at least she feels she has a family.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t much of a mother instinct,” she said. “To me, she seems like every other child.”
“Too bad,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “The poor can offer their children for adoption when they’re not equipped to bring them up, no matter what the reason may be. But what do the rich do?”
He was silent for a moment. “What we’re doing, I suppose. Hire nannies and hope they provide a love substitute.”
“Maurice said something about maybe we could work out an agreement and he would move ba
ck into the house. That would provide a more normal family life for her. After all, legally he is still her father.”
“And yours too,” he said.
“That’s right,” she said. “But in two more years, I’ll be legally of age, and free of him. Lauren still has a long way to go.”
He was silent.
“If something should happen to us—you and me—who would get her?” she asked.
“Maurice, I imagine,” he said. “There’s no one else.”
“Merde,” she cried. She thought for a moment. “I wonder what he has on his mind. Why do you think he’s being so nice to us all of a sudden?”
“I’m sure I don’t known,” he answered.
“I don’t trust him,” she said. “But then I never did.”
“In time we’ll find out,” he said. “Until then, be careful. Just don’t sign any papers, that’s all.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I know that much.” She started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to him. “Johann, you’re a nice man, why is it you never married?”
He looked at her without answering.
Suddenly she understood. “Mother. You were in love with her, weren’t you?”
He still didn’t answer.
“She’s dead now,” she said. “That’s over. Find yourself a good woman and marry her. Then you could give Lauren the kind of home she needs.”
He smiled suddenly. “I might surprise you.”
Impulsively she went to him and kissed his cheek. “It would be a lovely surprise,” she said, then went out the door with a wave of her hand. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp.”
He went back to his desk and sat down heavily. After a moment he reached for the telephone and dialed a number. A woman’s voice answered. He spoke in German. “Heidi? Eight o’clock all right for dinner? I’ll pick you up.”
“He’s too conservative,” Jacques said, placing the chilled glass of kir on the cocktail table in front of her. He sat down beside her, taking a small vial from his pocket. She sipped her drink, watching him as he skillfully spilled some of the white powder from the vial on the glass tabletop, then separated it carefully into four thin lines. Expertly he rolled a hundred-franc note into a straw, then sniffed one line of cocaine into each nostril. He held the bill toward her. “It’s good coke,” he said. “A friend of mine just brought it in from the States.”
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