She was out of bed and rushing through to the shoe room. Here they all were, all five hundred and twenty-three pairs. Safe in their boxes. She couldn’t possibly leave her collection behind. They would all come with her to her new life—all of them. From the Zacharis, the Ferragamos and the Perugias to the Mary Janes of her girlhood, and everything in between. Every pair of court shoes, long boots, dancing slippers, pumps, spectators, lace-ups and slip-ons. High heels, low heels, Louis heels. Every buckle and button. Every square inch of leather, silk, suede, satin and velvet. The entire collection would need to be moved out of the apartment to a place of safety while Robert was off the premises. This was a delicate situation requiring careful planning. She must not allow herself to get carried away and act in haste.

The new gold Zacharis were still lying on the floor from last night. The intertwined G and P on the heels were enough to make her melt.

By the time she’d bathed and dressed, it was midmorning. Putting her head around the kitchen door, she asked Céline for a late breakfast to be laid out. A mushroom omelette would be nice. Some freshly squeezed orange juice and some coffee.

The maid stood gaping at her.

“What is it? Is it so strange to want an omelette?”

“Well, madame. I don’t know, I’m sure.” Céline’s face still wore that expression—sheer disbelief.

“What on earth is the matter?”

“It’s not my place, madame.”

“Either tell me what’s wrong or pull yourself together.”

A vague mumbling.

“Céline!”

“Well, aren’t you worried?” It was blurted out. “Doesn’t it matter to you?”

Genevieve shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not natural! Your husband hasn’t come home and you’re talking about mushroom omelettes!” Her face was flushed. “Something must have happened to him, madame. He’s not the sort of man to…He’s such a gentleman!”

“Hasn’t come home…” She repeated the words, frowning. “Don’t be silly. He’ll be at the office as usual. He often leaves me to sleep in when I’ve had a late night. You know that.”

“He didn’t come back last night.” The maid spoke more slowly. “Didn’t you notice?”

Genevieve’s lip tightened. “Make me that omelette. Right away. And the coffee. And the orange juice.”

She went straight to the telephone, queasy in the stomach.

This is your punishment, said a voice in her head. Robert’s dead or in hospital and it’s all your fault.