The Van Alen Legacy (Blue Bloods 4)

The good thing about fashion people is that they were usually oblivious to other people's reactions. So Henri never noticed Bliss's agitation as he chatted about the latest gossip back in New York. Most of the news was so gloomy: what magazines had folded, what designers were out of business.

"It's awful right now, just awful." Henri shook his head. "But you know, life goes on... and our motto is Never surrender. There's still work out there," he said with a well-meaning glance. "I mean, I know it's a lot to ask of you, and I completely understand if you're not ready... "? He peered at her over his glasses.

It was only then that Bliss realized with a start that Henri was talking about her going back to work.

Sensing her hesitation, which he took as a sign of surrender, Henri went straight into business mode, setting down his glass and picking up his BlackBerry. "It's nothing too difficult, just something easy to get back in the swing of things. You know Muffie Astor Carter's yearly fashion show for charity? She hosts it on their estate out on the East End?"

Bliss did. Her stepmother used to complain that Muffie never gave her a front row seat even though Bobi Anne always ordered a trunkload of clothes at the show.

"You'd be perfect for it. Can I tell her you'll do it?" Henri wheedled.

"I don't know..." Modeling. How precious it seemed now, how trivial. How much fun it would be to go back to that old life? go-sees, fittings, gossiping with the hairstylists and having designers fawn over you, getting your makeup done, going to parties, did this mean that life was still open to her? She had completely given up thinking about it. Had totally assumed that that life was over, given what had happened. But what had the Visitor said? No one must suspect. After all, it had been a year. No one would fault her for going back to work, would they?

And wasn't the best way to deal with grief and loss to find something to distract you? And what could be more distracting than a big, silly, frivolous fashion show? As Henri had said, look at those people who had lost a lot of other people's money and caused the crash, weren't they all going about their lives as if nothing had happened? Hosting charity benefits and shopping at Herm's while the victims of their financial recklessness cried into their crystal wineglasses?

She remembered a young widow, a teacher from Duchesne, who had gone back to teaching after her husband passed away suddenly. Going back to work, going back to her old life... it suddenly seemed... not impossible.

Get rid of him, the Visitor had ordered. Well, giving Henri what he wanted was the surest way to secure his exit. As soon as her agent was assured he had his old client back, he was certain to announce he had pressing concerns elsewhere. Asking about her welfare was probably just a pretense to see if he could book her for the show.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long exhale.

"Okay?" Henri raised an eyebrow.

"Okay." Bliss smiled.

After saying good-bye to her old taskmaster, Bliss sat alone on the couch for a moment. At some point during Henri's visit she had sensed a change in herself. The Visitor was gone. The backseat was empty, as far as she could tell. Perhaps she had passed the test. In any event, like Elvis, he had left the building. But he had left the door open. He had unwittingly given her back the key to her own body. Or had forgotten to take it back.

Like a parent who leaves the keys to the Ferrari on the table. Just like in that old movie she used to watch when she was little when it would run on the USA channel... someone's day off. The kid had crashed the Ferrari through the window. She wouldn't do anything that stupid, of course. It was her own body. She had little time and had to use it wisely. She decided to take a bath, and walked upstairs.

Each of the ten bedrooms in the house had its own spacious bathroom, and Bobi Anne had allowed Bliss to help design her own. It was a pretty space: all warm travertine marble and flattering incandescent lighting. She turned on the faucet and filled the antique claw tub, squeezing in a generous dollop of her favorite scented bath gel. Then she quickly shed her clothes and climbed in, delighting in the soapy bubbles and the slick sensation of warm water running down her bare back.

Afterward she put on one of the fluffy Turkish robes her stepmother had stocked for the house, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she asked the cook to make her lunch. She ate a cheeseburger, rare, the juices running out and mixing with the French mustard in a way that always made her happy she was a carnivore.

Only then did Bliss realize she wasn't hungry in the real sense. The vampire sense. The old bloodlust was muted. The craving was gone. What did it mean?

She pushed the empty plate away and ran her hand through her hair. She would have to make an appointment at the salon as soon as possible. The Visitor wanted her to keep up appearances, didn't he? Keeping up appearances was something that came naturally to Forsyth Llewellyn's daughter.

When your father was a senator from New York, scrutiny was impossible to avoid.

CHAPTER 17

Mimi

Kingsley's face was unreadable, and Mimi could stand it no longer.

"So? What? She's gone to a Miley Cyrus concert? She's written a cell phone novel? What does it say?"

He quieted her with a look and showed them the letter. One line, written in the same beautiful calligraphy. Phoebus ostend praeeo.

Phoebus was the name of the sun king in the old tongue, Mimi knew, and the rest was easy enough to understand.

"The sun shall show the way," she said. "What does it mean?"

In answer, Kingsley folded up the note carefully and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

He has no idea, does he, Mimi thought. "Why would the Watcher take the trouble to send us a note but then have the note be nonsense?" she asked, annoyed. "And how did she know I was coming? And bringing a stuffed toy?"

"You forget. The Watcher can see into the future. If she was being held by Silver Bloods, as she surely was, she must have felt threatened enough to allow only the most cryptic of communications."