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Back The Shoe Queen
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. “And may I say, those shoes are adorable.”
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. ( I )
  7. ( one )
  8. ( two )
  9. ( three )
  10. ( four )
  11. ( five )
  12. ( six )
  13. ( seven )
  14. ( eight )
  15. ( nine )
  16. ( ten )
  17. ( II )
  18. ( eleven )
  19. ( twelve )
  20. ( thirteen )
  21. ( fourteen )
  22. ( fifteen )
  23. ( III )
  24. ( sixteen )
  25. ( seventeen )
  26. ( eighteen )
  27. ( nineteen )
  28. ( IV )
  29. ( twenty )
  30. ( twenty-one )
  31. ( twenty-two )
  32. ( twenty-three )
  33. ( twenty-four )
  34. ( V )
  35. ( twenty-five )
  36. ( twenty-six )
  37. ( twenty-seven )
  38. ( twenty-eight )
  39. ( twenty-nine )
  40. VI
  41. ( thirty )
  42. ( thirty-one )
  43. ( thirty-two )
  44. ( thirty-three )
  45. ( thirty-four )
  46. ( VII )
  47. ( thirty-five )
  48. ( thirty-six )
  49. ( thirty-seven )
  50. ( thirty-eight )
  51. ( thirty-nine )
  52. ( forty )
  53. ( forty-one )
  54. ( forty-two )
  55. ( VIII )
  56. ( forty-three )
  57. ( forty-four )
  58. ( forty-five )
  59. ( forty-six )
  60. ( forty-seven )
  61. ( forty-eight )
  62. ( forty-nine )
  63. ( fifty )
  64. ( fifty-one )
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. Questions for Discussion

They drew up before one of the flower beds and looked across at the palace. Classic Italian architecture for a seventeenth-century Florentine Regent.

“Do you know who that is?” Zachari indicated a statue of a formidable-looking woman.

“Who?”

“It’s Saint Genevieve.” He shaded his eyes from the sun. “Patron saint of Paris.”

She smiled. “Really? Saint Genevieve? I always knew I was meant to be here. Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

She wanted to ask something about the women, perhaps even probe into his relationship with Violet de Frémont. But she didn’t dare. Instead, she asked about something else that had been puzzling her.

“Tell me about Olga.”

Zachari looked startled. “What about her? Oh, I see. I suppose it all seems a bit odd.”

A half nod.

“She was my landlady when I first came to Paris. I needed a cheap room, and she was looking for a lodger. She was a Russian migrant. A widow with two children living hand to mouth. I moved in, she cooked for me and cleaned up after me and somehow we became friends. I’d only been here for a few months when my mother died. It was sudden and a great shock. My father was already dead by this time, and my mother had been everything to me. I thought about going home, but I knew she’d have wanted me to stay here—to have the chance of a better life. Olga felt sorry for me, took me under her wing. She loved my shoe designs—gave me a lot of encouragement. When I was trying to get the money together to set up on my own, she told me she wouldn’t take any more rent from me. She wanted my business to have the best possible chance of success.”

“That was kind of her.” Genevieve couldn’t quite keep the ice out of her voice.

“I was so full of myself, I must have been unbearable. But she saw through all the swagger. She cared for me, supported me. When I became successful, she told me she wanted to work with me—to be my assistant.”

“Is it useful having an assistant like her?”

“How could I refuse her? She used to scratch a living by taking in laundry and cleaning people’s apartments. She had no money, but still she shared the little she had with me. I owe her so much. I will always be in her debt.”

“I see.”

“I know she has her shortcomings and that people don’t take to her. You’re not the first woman to ask me about Olga, I can tell you that. But she’s an important part of my life. I can’t abandon her.”

“She will always treat your customers like dirt. She’s jealous of each and every one of them. She’s made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want me around you.”