Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels

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 high heels. A child playing at sophistication. Her second thought was that the young girl was probably the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A swirling cloud of vapor enveloped all of them for a second, giving Mickey the time she needed to orient herself. When she could see clearly she called to Bebe. “Chérie, over here!”

      Hearing Mickey’s voice, Bebe drew in a deep breath, then loosened the heavy fur and shrugged it back the way she’d seen some of the actresses do in her father’s films. She felt a little silly as she advanced toward her aunt. Her eyes went immediately to Reuben and Daniel, then back to Reuben. Handymen? Servants of some sort? The tall one with the black hair was handsome as the devil himself. Sol would probably cut off his right arm to get him into a film. In the blink of an eye she sized up both men. The second time she blinked she decided she wanted the dark-haired one for herself. If her friends in California could see this man, they’d drop in a faint. He was just the type they all said they were going to marry someday. Hmmm, marriage? She concentrated on the tall man, willing him to meet her gaze. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in her. Well, she thought, shrugging, time would take care of that.

      The younger and shorter of the two was mesmerized by her, she could tell, but the taller one had eyes only for Mickey, and there was something in his gaze she had never seen before. Something strange squeezed at her heart, and in that fleeting moment she wondered if she was making a mistake in choosing the party-girl role. It wasn’t too late to play Barbara Rosen. Look at me and smile a greeting, Bebe pleaded silently. He turned then, a smile on his lips—but it wasn’t for her, it was over something her aunt had said to him. Their eyes met, his bored and indifferent, hers challenging and determined. Excitement raced through her when he looked away. Bebe prided herself on her knowledge of young men. This one would never, ever want someone like the real Barbara Rosen. At once she made up her mind to have him. Bebe Rosen, party girl, rushed to her aunt, but not before she favored Reuben with a wicked grin. “Think about that,” she muttered under her breath.

      “You’re all grown-up, chérie,” Mickey cooed against Bebe’s smooth, satiny cheek. Reuben heard the last whispered word “almost,” and smiled.

      “Tante Mickey, how wonderful it is to be here. You’re as beautiful as the last time I saw you…only older,” Bebe countered in response. She glanced at Reuben. “But we’re forgetting our manners, Tante. Introduce me to these fine-looking gentlemen.”

      “But of course. chérie. You Americans are so…impatient. Bebe, this Reuben Tarz, and the other smiling young man is Daniel Bishop. My houseguests. Ah, I finally see a porter. Wait here for me, chérie, I’ll return in minutes. Entertain this young lady while I’m gone,” she said to Reuben and Daniel.

      Reuben’s eyes narrowed. Had the others picked up the tremor in Mickey’s voice, he wondered. Bebe Rosen was responsible for that tremor, and he himself was feeling strange, almost out of his depth. He felt a vague sense of fear. Not the kind he’d felt during the war—this was different, and so unexpected he couldn’t define it. His gut told him that some way, somehow, this girl was going to damage his relationship with Mickey. A troublemaker, he was sure of it. Anger at his own inability to be tolerant of the girl and at the sappy expression on Daniel’s face made him clench his jaw, afraid he would say something that would in some way hurt Mickey. He made up his mind then: he did not like Bebe Rosen’s bright eyes and creamy skin, he didn’t like her youthful figure and calculating smile. He did not like Bebe Rosen, period. Commenting snidely to Mickey about aging…The girl reminded him of a baby shark, all glittery eyes and sharp teeth. And Mickey had heard her, of that he had no doubt. The little snit should be put in her place, and at once, but the chances of that were almost nil. Mickey would handle things in her own sweet way, which meant Bebe would get away with her obnoxious behavior. And she’d ruin everything, bit by bit…day by day. He did his best to stifle the rage building inside him.

      “From the looks of your luggage you must be planning to stay for some time,” he said coolly.

      “As long as it takes,” Bebe said just as coolly.

      “Takes for what?”

      “Why, to get to know all of you. How long have you been…guests of my aunt? And for God’s sake let’s all talk English. My French is so rusty, everything I say comes out as ‘Pick up the pencil.’” Daniel threw back his head and laughed uproariously. Reuben grimaced.

      “Well?” Bebe demanded.

      “Well what?” Reuben said gruffly. It was almost impossible for him to believe that this painted doll standing before him—this mannequin in ridiculous shoes—had just turned sixteen. With some small measure of consolation he remembered Bebe wasn’t really Mickey’s niece, but a cousin. It made a difference. In France, Mickey told him, cousins, especially young ones, used the term “aunt” out of respect.

      Returning to the platform with a porter, Mickey caught the flinty look in Reuben’s eyes and felt her heart soar. So, he didn’t much care for Bebe Rosen. It was difficult for Reuben to hide his emotions; it was suddenly apparent that he also had a temper, something she’d decided they needed to improve upon but not just yet. Daniel was more open, and he seemed to be enjoying a sprightly conversation with Bebe as her bags were loaded into the car.

      “Bebe, you and Daniel will sit in the back and Reuben and I will be in the front. Reuben will drive.”

      “Does he double as chauffeur?” Bebe asked sarcastically.

      “Heck, no,” Daniel interjected. “Reuben just learned to drive, and he’s doing it for the experience. You know, the more you do something, the better you get at it.”

      “Imagine that,” Bebe said quietly.

      Sitting directly behind Reuben, cramped between Daniel and hatboxes. Bebe noticed Reuben’s stiff shoulders and how his head didn’t move an inch as he guided the big car down the roads. She listened to Mickey and Daniel prattle on about the château and their Christmas plans and all the things they were going to do. Every now and then she nodded or interjected a word; the rest of the time she tried to figure out who Reuben and Daniel were and how they fit into the picture. Guests could mean many things—working guests, guests on a temporary