The sitting room was probably big enough to fit Joanne's entire apartment into it without touching the sides, but it still felt like a cage to her. She paced its length, one step for each tick of the obnoxiously loud grandfather clock on the east wall, reminding herself again and again that the only thing she could do right now was wait.
Because all the other plans were crazy. She couldn't go to the police; she didn't have anything even approaching the kind of proof that could get them through the door. She couldn't just search the house; Natalya Sokoloff had the kind of mansion that probably had its own zip code. It would take days to go room-by-room, assuming the household staff would let her do such a thing. And she'd already given up on trying to contact Cici directly. Her phone had gone straight to voicemail for about a week now.
No, if she wanted to talk to her friend, she needed to go through Natalya. And that meant cooling her heels in the sitting room (one of the sitting rooms, more like) and waiting. Joanne just hoped that the maid hadn't forgotten where she'd left the new guest.
Twenty minutes later--one thousand, two hundred steps back and forth across the thick red carpet--Joanne finally heard the key in the lock once more. She spun to face it as it opened to reveal the maid again. "Mistress Natalya is here to see you," she announced in a thick Russian accent before stepping aside to allow her employer to step past her into the room.
She looked exactly like her photos--chestnut brown hair done up in an elaborate French twist that accentuated the curve of her neck, eyes so dark that it was difficult to tell where the pupil ended and the deep brown irises began, slightly bronzed skin that set off her trademark pearls. She was dressed a bit more casually than on the magazine covers, just a white house dress with a long red sash, but that was the only difference. It was the kind of effortless beauty that was only attained with great effort.
Joanne struggled not to feel frumpy by contrast. She knew that her black locks were cut in a thirty dollar bob and she wore a dress she'd designed three years ago, but she liked to believe that she wore it well. Still, standing across from an honest-to-god billionaire fashion magnate made it hard not to feel insignificant. She wondered if Cici had felt the same, and if Natalya had used that against her.
"Hello, Joanne," Natalya said, striding into the room like it was a runway. "It was so good of you to come and see me like this on such short notice." Her voice sounded like plum pudding, rich and thick and more than a little overpowering. Her Russian accent was fading a little, but it remained almost as strong as the maid's.
"I didn't come here to see you," Joanne said, not caring if she sounded rude. She didn't want to make an enemy of Natalya--struggling independent designers couldn't afford to cross one of the biggest fashion houses on two continents--but she wanted to keep the other woman at arm's length from the beginning. "I came here to see Cici."
"Oh, yes, Cici," Natalya said, her face brightening into a dazzling smile. "Such a darling girl, don't you think? We've already become such fast friends." The smile faded into calculated confusion. "I'm sorry--you thought she was here?"
Joanne kept her mouth set in a firm line. "Are you going to try to pretend she's not? We both know that you were seen with her at the Marquis Club last week, and that the two of you left together. She hasn't been to her classes or back to her apartment since, and nobody's been able to reach her by phone. I spoke with her professor, and he said you'd arranged for Cici to do some 'independent study' with you. I don't know what she's studying, but I'm quite sure she's studying it here."
For just a fraction of an instant, Joanne saw the calculating look cross Natalya's face. It was gone almost before it could register as anything more than a subliminal impression, but she knew it was there. "Cici, of course," Natalya said, as though she hadn't tried to suggest anything else. "She's resting up a bit at the moment, I'm afraid we had something of a late night. She'll be joining us momentarily." She gestured to a pair of chairs set across from each other. "Shall we sit and chat while we wait?"
Warily, Joanne took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. She didn't want to make it seem like she was...doing what she was told...but she also didn't want to seem too hostile. Natalya held too many of the cards right now. "Do you know how long she'll be?" she asked, glancing at the grandfather clock.
Natalya sat down in the other chair, smiling a cat's smile and absently fiddling with one of her pearl earrings. "It could be a little while," she said. "I'm afraid the poor girl might be a bit...exhausted." The tone of her voice left no doubt in Joanne's mind as to exactly what--and who--exhausted Cici last night.
Joanne tried to respond with nothing more than a noncommittal grunt, not wanting to engage with the other woman at all. But Natalya continued talking, as though determined to draw out a response. "I will admit, I have enjoyed Cici's company far more than I expected to when we first met. Not that I expected to dislike her, but she's such an enthusiastic young thing! I can understand completely how the two of you became so close."
Natalya continued to play with her earring as she spoke, running her finger over it and setting it swaying ever so slightly. Joanne tried to look anywhere else. "Of course we both know that it was really you that I wanted to see, Joanne. Cici is a lovely girl, and I'm quite happy we've...gotten to know each other." Again the pause hinted at a very different kind of knowledge than Cici was gaining in school, or as Joanne's intern. "But you're my real interest."