Fine things by Danielle Steel Page A

the chain. He was their man all right, and one day he would step into Berman's shoes very successfully. Paul was sure of it.

Chapter 4
    The first month was hectic for all of them, but by July they had things fairly well in control, and the autumn merchandise coming in. Bernie had several fashion shows scheduled the following month, and the big event in July was the opera show, which meant a great deal. The opening of the opera was the hottest event of the San Francisco social season, and women were going to be spending five and seven and ten thousand dollars on a single dress.
    The racks of exquisite opera gowns were already hanging in a locked room downstairs with a security guard outside at all times, to be sure that no one pirated what they had, took unauthorized photographs, or worse yet, stole the merchandise, which was worth a small fortune. And it was the opera collection he was thinking about in mid-July as he made his way upstairs. He got off the escalator at the children's floor, just to make sure that all was well there. He knew they had had a problem getting some of their back-to-school merchandise the week before and he wanted to be sure that everything was in order again. He met the buyer behind the cash register, instructing some of the saleswomen, who all smiled at him, and he glanced around casually at the racks, and then ventured further into the department on his own, until he found himself facing a rack of bright-colored bathing suits that would be going on sale the following week, and looking into the big blue eyes of a very little girl. She seemed to look at him for a long time, neither smiling nor afraid of him, just watching, as though to see what he would do next, and he smiled down at her.
    “Hi. How are you?” It seemed an odd line for a child who couldn't have been more than five years old, but he never had any idea what to say to children like that. And his best line—”How do you like school?”—seemed hopelessly out of date, particularly at this time of year. “Do you like the store?”
    “It's okay.” She shrugged. She was clearly more interested in him. “I hate beards.”
    “I'm sorry to hear that.” She was the cutest thing he had ever seen, and someone had braided her hair into two long blond braids, and she had pink hair ribbons on, and a little pink dress, with a doll she dragged along in one hand. The doll looked well loved and was obviously a serious favorite of hers.
    “Beards scratch.” She said it matter-of-factly as though it were something he should know, and he nodded seriously, stroking it. It seemed reasonably soft to him, but he was used to it, and he hadn't been testing it on five-year-olds. In fact, since coming to San Francisco, he hadn't tested it on anyone at all. And she was the best-looking girl he had seen since he'd arrived. So far the women of San Francisco weren't his type. They wore their hair long and loose, their feet bare in ugly sandals which were obviously comfortable, and they all seemed to favor T-shirts and jeans. He missed the pulled-together look of New York …the high heels …the hats …the accessories, the perfectly groomed hair, the earrings that seemed to frame a face …the furs …They were frivolous details but they made a difference to him and one saw none of it here.
    “My name is Bernie, by the way.” He was enjoying his conversation with her and he held out a hand to her, which she shook soberly as she stared at him.
    “My name is Jane. Do you work here?”
    “I do.”
    “Are they nice?”
    “Very nice.” He couldn't possibly tell her that “they” in this case was he.
    “That's good. They're not always nice to my mom where she works. Sometimes they're really mean to her.” She was extremely serious with him, and he had to fight not to smile at her, while wondering increasingly where her mother was. He wondered if the child was lost but didn't know it yet, which seemed like an excellent possibility. But he didn't want