outdone yourself.”
She stooped and casually dragged out a fur coat from beneath her bed. I stifled a gasp. Mink, I guessed, observing its glossy sheen, watching as the Countess, with the aplomb of a bullfighter, swept the coat like a cape around her.
“A little cah-old in here, don’t you know.” She sashayed into the common area, the fur’s hem swinging heavily at her sides. Her practiced eye swooped over me. “Now, whatever shall we do for you, Miss Lewis?”
I wanted to say, “Lend me the fur. Anyone would look like a million bucks in it!” But before I could react she zeroed in on my hair.
“Ahh, so interesting,” she said, lifting a small section. “The orange coloring shows flair and is lovely contrasted with the porcelain complexion and green eyes. The jagged cut…” Her hand cupped her chin while, squinting, she eyed me top to bottom. “Well, it is unusual and the short length is good atop your trim figure. The Untamed Look I would call it. Perhaps, when you are out of here you will consider a henna rinse to deepen this flamboyant shade into a rich auburn. More sophisticated, don’t you know?” She reached for my hands. “Your nails, hmm…” She scrutinized my self-manicure, then flipped my hands palms-up. Her eyebrows arched. “These are not the hands of a thief.”
If she was fishing for a reaction, she got one. Blood rushed to my face; I felt suddenly hot. “I tried telling you this morning. I didn’t do it. I was set up.”
Her eyes narrowed and something in her look said, I don’t believe you.
Billie hooted with delight. “Like I said before, honey, we all been set up.”
The clanking of keys and the slamming of metal signaled the return of the vinegar-faced guard. “Preacher’s here to see you, Irina. C’mon out of there.” She jimmied a key into the lock of the cellblock door. “You, too, Billie, c’mon. Your lawyer says he’s got news.”
The surprised expressions on the faces of Billie and Irina as they filed out will stay with me forever. They were out on the catwalk before the Countess could fully grasp the situation. Yanking the remains of her cigarette from its ivory holder, she flicked the butt to the floor. “This is unfair,” she said, stomping it out. “No one is permitted to visit me.”
The matron was poised at the outer door. She turned and spoke over her shoulder. “Can’t understand why you’re so upset. You requested
private accommodations
.”
The solid metal door opened and the trio tramped out.
Whatever falsehoods the Countess claimed she had seen in my palms were forgotten. She clasped her arms across her chest and began to pace. She tramped to the far end of the common area and returned, the hem of her heavy coat swaying.
“Separate housing is a necessity. I was threatened. I was fearful!” She shook a fist at the outer door. “It is not fair, I tell you! You are using my fears as a means to isolate me. You keep me from advisors, from my fiancé, and I am left with nothing. Nothing but broken promises.”
She stalked the painted gray floor like a captured lioness, crossing from one barred wall to the next. I retired to one of the tables. At last, pausing, she grasped a pair of metal bars, her body convulsing with her attempts to shake them. A dreadful sob escaped. Slumped against the grated wall, she slithered to the floor, crumpling into a furry heap.
Agent Dante had cautioned me about the Countess. Desperate, crafty, without any loyalty, she would take advantage of anyone to further her own interests. She was emotional, too, he had warned, cautioning me not to give in to her high dramatics. Yet, listening to her sobs, I could not escape a twinge of pity. Not for her impassioned performance as a wronged counterspy, but for the woman in her who believed that she’d been used and betrayed. I’d experienced my own share of heartache over broken trust. Moreover, I tended to believe there was some truth to her claim that the FBI had led
She stooped and casually dragged out a fur coat from beneath her bed. I stifled a gasp. Mink, I guessed, observing its glossy sheen, watching as the Countess, with the aplomb of a bullfighter, swept the coat like a cape around her.
“A little cah-old in here, don’t you know.” She sashayed into the common area, the fur’s hem swinging heavily at her sides. Her practiced eye swooped over me. “Now, whatever shall we do for you, Miss Lewis?”
I wanted to say, “Lend me the fur. Anyone would look like a million bucks in it!” But before I could react she zeroed in on my hair.
“Ahh, so interesting,” she said, lifting a small section. “The orange coloring shows flair and is lovely contrasted with the porcelain complexion and green eyes. The jagged cut…” Her hand cupped her chin while, squinting, she eyed me top to bottom. “Well, it is unusual and the short length is good atop your trim figure. The Untamed Look I would call it. Perhaps, when you are out of here you will consider a henna rinse to deepen this flamboyant shade into a rich auburn. More sophisticated, don’t you know?” She reached for my hands. “Your nails, hmm…” She scrutinized my self-manicure, then flipped my hands palms-up. Her eyebrows arched. “These are not the hands of a thief.”
If she was fishing for a reaction, she got one. Blood rushed to my face; I felt suddenly hot. “I tried telling you this morning. I didn’t do it. I was set up.”
Her eyes narrowed and something in her look said, I don’t believe you.
Billie hooted with delight. “Like I said before, honey, we all been set up.”
The clanking of keys and the slamming of metal signaled the return of the vinegar-faced guard. “Preacher’s here to see you, Irina. C’mon out of there.” She jimmied a key into the lock of the cellblock door. “You, too, Billie, c’mon. Your lawyer says he’s got news.”
The surprised expressions on the faces of Billie and Irina as they filed out will stay with me forever. They were out on the catwalk before the Countess could fully grasp the situation. Yanking the remains of her cigarette from its ivory holder, she flicked the butt to the floor. “This is unfair,” she said, stomping it out. “No one is permitted to visit me.”
The matron was poised at the outer door. She turned and spoke over her shoulder. “Can’t understand why you’re so upset. You requested
private accommodations
.”
The solid metal door opened and the trio tramped out.
Whatever falsehoods the Countess claimed she had seen in my palms were forgotten. She clasped her arms across her chest and began to pace. She tramped to the far end of the common area and returned, the hem of her heavy coat swaying.
“Separate housing is a necessity. I was threatened. I was fearful!” She shook a fist at the outer door. “It is not fair, I tell you! You are using my fears as a means to isolate me. You keep me from advisors, from my fiancé, and I am left with nothing. Nothing but broken promises.”
She stalked the painted gray floor like a captured lioness, crossing from one barred wall to the next. I retired to one of the tables. At last, pausing, she grasped a pair of metal bars, her body convulsing with her attempts to shake them. A dreadful sob escaped. Slumped against the grated wall, she slithered to the floor, crumpling into a furry heap.
Agent Dante had cautioned me about the Countess. Desperate, crafty, without any loyalty, she would take advantage of anyone to further her own interests. She was emotional, too, he had warned, cautioning me not to give in to her high dramatics. Yet, listening to her sobs, I could not escape a twinge of pity. Not for her impassioned performance as a wronged counterspy, but for the woman in her who believed that she’d been used and betrayed. I’d experienced my own share of heartache over broken trust. Moreover, I tended to believe there was some truth to her claim that the FBI had led
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