Free Goodbye, Janette by Harold Robbins Page A

gesturing.
    Tanya made her way to his table, nodding to several acquaintances as she moved through the room. Jacques kissed her hand politely, held the table so that she could sit on the banquette, her back to the window, facing the room while he sat down opposite her.
    “You look absolutely radiant, my dear,” he said. “You grow more beautiful every day.”
    She smiled inwardly at that. What was it they said, women never looked more beautiful than in the early days of their pregnancy? “
Merci
, Monsieur,” she said. “It does not get easier as one grows older.”
    He laughed. “Some women never grow old. You’re one of them. And how was your day?”
    She shrugged her shoulders. “
Comme ci comme ça.
” She looked up at the waiter. “A martini, please.” She turned back to Jacques. “And what did you find out?”
    He made a subtle gesture at the table next to them. She looked and saw one of the directors of Balmain’s salon seated with three other people. “Not here,” he half whispered.
    She nodded. She could understand his caution. Overtly Jacques was a fashion reporter for one of the news syndicates, but his real money came from his private occupation as a sort of fashion spy. Somehow he managed to know before anyone else what each designer would come up with for the next showing and who would make it that season or not. He had been on her payroll for the last three years and the information he had supplied had been invaluable. “We’ll have a quiet dinner,” she said.
    “Tonight at my apartment,” he said. “I have a beautiful
côte d’agneau
I can do for you, with
herbes de Provence
I just received this morning from my mother in the south.”
    She almost agreed, then remembered. Tonight was Janette’s last night before leaving for school. “I can’t tonight,” she said. The waiter placed the martini before her. “How about tomorrow night?”
    “My editor is in town tomorrow,” he said apologetically.
    She took a sip of the martini, then remembered the doctor’s instructions. No alcohol. She put down the glass. “Damn!”
    He was sympathetically silent.
    “I guess it will have to be tonight then,” she said. She looked at him. “But I can’t say late. My daughter’s leaving for school tomorrow and I want to spend some time with her.”
    “You’ll be home by ten o’clock,” he promised.
    The waiter came to the table and placed a calling card in front of her. She glanced down at the German gothic print on the card, then up at the waiter. “The gentlemen who gave you this card,” she asked, her heart suddenly beating rapidly. “Where is he?”
    Still holding the card in her hand, she got out of her seat and almost ran out the door. A taxi was just pulling away from the curb but she could not see who was in it and the street was almost empty. No one she knew was there. She looked down at the card again.
    JOHANN SCHWEBEL
FINANZEN DIREKTOR
VON BRENNER GmbH
Montevideo
Munich
Uruguay
F.W.G.
    She turned the card over. Johann’s precise handwriting never changed. “I will be at this number at 0900 tomorrow. Please call me. J.”
    Slowly she walked back into the Relais Plaza. Jacques was standing. “Is there anything wrong?” he asked in a concerned voice.
    “No,” she answered, taking her seat. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just someone I hadn’t seen for a long time and I would have liked to see him again.”
    “An old lover?” Jacques smiled.
    She shook her head. “Not really.”
    “Take my advice, my dear,” he said with typical French sagacity. “Never chase an old love. They are never like what you remember when you catch them.”
    She looked at him. Suddenly the information she sought from him wasn’t that important anymore. “Look,” she said. “I’ve thought it over. Let’s skip tonight. I think it’s really more important that I spend the evening with my daughter.”
    ***
    It was slightly after seven o’clock when she arrived home. Henri opened the door.