Free Until the End of Time by Danielle Steel Page B

bigger designers, or brand-new ones who had money to spend to establish themselves faster. Some of the young ones she liked had come up through the ranks and were greatly respected. And they brought in their wake a group of young artists and followers who added color to the show.
    It was a scene every time Fashion Week happened. She had seven clients doing runway shows that season, two of them on the last day, and she was running like a maniac, and so were Nelson and Azaya. Everything had gone smoothly so far, and Bill came to every show and was impressed with the quality of their work, and Jenny’s, to showcase it for them and maximize their talent. He thought thatparticular season was the best she had ever done. She was three months pregnant on the day of the last runway shows. No one could tell, and she hadn’t announced it, not even to Azaya. She was thinner than ever and had had no symptoms of the pregnancy, just occasional exhaustion because she’d been working so hard for the last two months. She had told her mother about the baby, and like Bill, Helene urged Jenny not to work too hard, and take it easy, which she promised to do, right after Fashion Week was over.
    She stopped in at two parties that night, on the way home, one at a glamorous apartment on Fifth Avenue, at the home of a major designer, and the other in a loft in the East Village, given by the young Swedish designer, whose runway show had gotten rave reviews from the critics, thanks to Jenny. And when she got home, she nearly crawled into the apartment, she was so tired. Bill had gone home hours before and had skipped the parties. He was doing a six A.M . service at the men’s jail these days, and he didn’t have Jenny’s endless energy and drive, even when she was pregnant. He was already in bed when she got home. And after unwinding for a little while, she got into bed with him and cuddled up beside him. The week had been a resounding success. She always felt so lucky. For a little girl from Philadelphia, and Pittston before that, which was barely on the map, and where her life had begun in poverty, she had become the toast of the fashion industry in New York, a key player, and at the eye of the hurricane that was fashion. Where she was now had been hard earned, and she loved every minute of it.
    She went to sleep that night, thinking of the last two shows she’d done that day, and anxious to see the press on them in the morning. Bill didn’t stir when she got into bed—until he heard her moan justafter four in the morning. He thought she was having a nightmare, and still half asleep himself, he rubbed her back and started drifting back to sleep, when she moaned again, louder this time. It was a long slow, growl of pain, and then he heard her say his name in the dark, and she sounded breathless.
    “Bill … I can’t move … I’m … it’s so bad … make it stop.” He heard her crying and came awake immediately. He propped himself up on one elbow, and then turned on the light. She was curled into a ball, with her entire body tensed. She had her back to him, and he gently tried to turn her over so he could see her, but the moment he tried to do that, she let out a scream.
    “What’s happening … Jenny … talk to me.” Her face was sheet white, and her lips were gray. He pulled the covers away instinctively, so he could see her body, and there was blood everywhere in the bed. She was smeared with it, as she clutched her stomach. It looked like someone had been murdered, and Jenny looked like she was dying. He fought his own panic and tried to speak to her calmly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine.” He wasn’t even sure she knew what was happening, or that she was bleeding. She was in so much pain, she was almost incoherent, and her body was rigid as she braced herself against an avalanche of contractions. He turned away from her, picked up the phone, dialed 911, and asked for an