Free While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

party in the St. Regis given by Women’s Wear Daily . In the glitter of the fashionably dressed crowd, she spotted Toni Mendell, the elegant editor in chief of Contemporary Woman , and hurried over to her.
    â€œDo you know how long Ethel will be gone?” she managed to ask over the din.
    â€œI’m surprised she isn’t here,” Toni told her. “She said she was coming, but we all know Ethel.”
    â€œWhen is her fashion article due?”
    â€œShe turned it in Thursday morning. I had to have the lawyers go over it to make sure we don’t get sued. They made us cut out a few things, but it’s still wonderful. You heard about the big contract she has with Givvons and Marks?”
    â€œNo.”
    A waiter offered canapés, smoked salmon and caviar on toast points. Neeve helped herself to one. Toni mournfully shook her head. “Now that waists are back in, I can’t afford even an olive.” Toni was a size six. “Anyhow, the article is about the great looks of the last fifty years and the designers behind them. Let’s face it, the subject has been done and done, but you know Ethel.She makes everything gossipy and fun. Then two weeks ago she got terribly mysterious. I gather the next day she charged into Jack Campbell’s office and talked him into a contract for a book on fashion with a six-figure advance. She’s probably holed up somewhere writing it.”
    â€œDarling, you look divine!” The voice came from somewhere behind Neeve.
    Toni’s smile revealed every one of her faultlessly capped teeth. “Carmen, I’ve left a dozen messages for you. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
    Neeve began to edge away, but Toni stopped her. “Neeve, Jack Campbell just came in. He’s that tall guy in the gray suit. Maybe he knows where you can reach Ethel.”
    By the time Neeve had made her way across the room, Jack Campbell was already surrounded. She waited, listening to the congratulations he was accepting. From the gist of the conversation, she gathered that he had just been made president and publisher of Givvons and Marks, that he had bought an apartment on East Fifty-second Street, and that he was sure he’d thoroughly enjoy living in New York.
    She judged him to be in his late thirties, young for the job. His hair was dark brown and cut short. She suspected that if longer, it would have been quite curly. His body had the lean, taut look of a runner. His face was thin; his eyes were the same dark brown as his hair. His smile seemed genuine. It caused small crinkles to form at the corner of his eyes. She liked the way he bent his head forward to listen to the elderly editor who was speaking to him and then turned to someone else withoutseeming abrupt.
    A real art, Neeve thought, the kind of thing politicians did naturally, but not many businessmen.
    It was possible to keep observing him without being obvious. What was there about Jack Campbell that seemed familiar? Something. She’d met him before. But where?
    A waiter passed and she accepted another glass of wine. Her second and last, but at least sipping it made her look busy.
    â€œIt’s Neeve, isn’t it?”
    In the moment she’d turned her back to him, Jack Campbell had come over to her. He introduced himself. “Chicago, six years ago. You were on your way back from skiing and I’d been on a sales trip. We started talking five minutes before the plane landed. You were all excited about opening a dress shop. How did it work out?”
    â€œFine.” Neeve vaguely remembered the exchange. She’d bolted out of the plane to make her connecting flight. Jobs. That was it. “Weren’t you just starting work for a new publisher?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œObviously, it was a good move.”
    â€œJack, there are some people I’d like you to meet.” The editor in chief of W was plucking his sleeve.
    â€œI don’t want to keep