A Splash of Red by Antonia Fraser Read Free Book Online

matches: 'Miaow, Mioo, we told you so.' Perhaps after all it was better to dispose of the Stovers first; undoubtedly they were waiting anxiously by the telephone to hear from her. That meant calling Isabelle Mancini to get some kind of address in the Camargue for Chloe. She only hoped she was in England and not on a Greek island or in the South of France or somewhere else whe re at this time of year in Isabe lle's opinion it was all happening.
    The telephone was answered immediately - but not by Isabelle. 'Miss Shore, Isabelle would just love to talk with you,' said a voice at the other end of the telephone warmly. Either its owner had just visited the United States, or she felt that only this kind of voice was appropriate to one who answered the telephone for the editor of Taffeta. The accent was not quite perfect but the expression of impersonal rapture at the mere sound of Jemima's name was well done - that she, Jemima Shore, should somehow have managed to get through to Isabelle Mancini's number without succumbing to the nameless perils which lay in wait for users of the telephone system! So was the sincerity of the disappointment which followed: 'But I'm afraid Isabelle is not available right now. May I take a message? T his is Laura Barrymore, Isabelle Mancini's personal assistant. As of now, I am also her house guest. I am between apartments. I should be so happy .. .'
    'She's in England?' Jemima spoke with relief. It was after all August.
    'Why no, Miss Shore, she's not in England.' For a moment the voice sounded just a little disappointed in Jemima, as though the daring act of telephoning must have slightly blunted her sensitivity. 'Isabelle has been in Paris for the Collections. I meant that she's not available to speak with anyone till noon. She's at L'Hotel, in conference with Princess Wagram, then she would be available to take your call, then she expects to lunch with—' a Japanese name followed. 'She plans to return on Sunday.'
    'Of course,' cried Jemima hastily. Then with all her television warmth, 'I should so hate to bother Isabelle personally at such a critical moment. In fact I naturally did not expect to speak to her. It's just that I'm trying to contact Chloe Fontaine rather urgently. Something to do with the autumn series—'
    'Chloe Fontaine?' The voice was suddenly raised several tones higher and much sharpened; its native South Kensington origin was audible. 'I hardly think that Isabelle would be able to help you with Miss Fontaine's address, Miss Shore.' Warmth had also fled, along with transatlantic softness.
    As sweetly and as rapidly as possible, Jemima explained her mission. The result was surprising. Coldness in the voice gave way to genuine astonishment.
    'A piece on the Camargue? Chloe Fontaine for Taffeta, Miss Shore?' The implication of the last remark was clear: have you, Jemima Shore, made the unforgiveable mistake of confusing Taffeta with Vogue or Harpers & Queen, or Cosmopolitan, or Woman's Journal or - beyond that the possibilities were too horrendous for one such as Laura Barrymore to contemplate. But Jemima knew that she had not made a mistake. She had an excellent memory for that kind of thing. She could hear Chloe's breathless voice: 'Good old Taffeta .. . commissioning me', and then: 'Taffeta Schmaffeta, but at least it never lets you down . ..' What interested her was the implication in Laura Barrymore's rapidly rising tone that the very combination in itself of Chloe and Taffeta was unthinkable.
    Jemima had to concede that a commission to Chloe Fontaine, involving both a handsome sum of money advanced and a subsequent rendezvous abroad with a leading photographer, was hardly likely to be quite unknown to Isabelle's personal assistant, one close enough to the editor to be her 'house-guest' while she was 'between apartments'. However, for the sake of the Stovers, she persevered. Laura Barrymore was adamant.
    At the end of Jemima's enquiries, however, Laura clearly felt it