Masquerade Read Free Page A

seems, is it, mam'selle?"
    "What about me?" she asked, suddenly intense. "What do I seem like to you?" As he hesitated in answering, she suddenly realized she had no idea what she looked like. She was trapped in the body of a person she knew absolutely nothing about. "Is there a mirror somewhere so I can see myself?"
    After taking a moment to consider her request, he nodded. "I will find one for you." He left the room and returned within minutes with a small hand mirror.
    A tension threaded her nerves as she took it from him, then slowly raised it to look at the reflection her face made. Her eye was first caught by the swathe of gauze around her head and the purpling near her mouth, which swelled part of her lip. She touched a lock of her shoulder-length hair, the tawny color of cognac, then noticed the paleness of her face. She wondered whether it was caused by the absence of makeup, the harshness of the light, or the drabness of the hospital gown.
    Not that it mattered, she decided, and instead directed her attention to the strong refinement in her features—the good cheekbones, smooth jaw-line, and solid angle to her forehead and chin. Her eyebrows were a sandy shade of brown, thick at the inner corners and arching naturally in a graceful sweep. Amber flecks shimmered in her hazel eyes, and her dark-brown lashes were long and thick, tipped with gold at the ends. Her lips were well shaped, with a full curve to the lower one and a bowing arch to the upper. With the slightest lift of their corners, attractive dimples appeared in her cheeks. Except for a faintly troubled darkness in her eyes, the image in the mirror looked dauntless and proud, a hint of daring about it that seemed to eagerly seek challenge.
    Was that her? In frustration she lowered the mirror. It was no use. She didn't remember that face. She didn't remember anything.
    "Who am I?" she said with impatience. "Where do I live? What do I do? Don't I have family, friends? I've been in this hospital for almost two days. Why hasn't anyone missed me? Could I have come to Nice alone? The gown—" She remembered the designer label it had carried. "It was by St. Laurent. Does that mean I'm wealthy?"
    "It is possible," the inspector conceded. "Though it is also possible the gown and the jewelry were gifts from a generous lover. The Cote d'Azur attracts many with income in rarefied brackets. And they, in turn, attract beautiful women to the area."
    "And you think I'm one of those women."
    "Perhaps." He shrugged noncommitally. "However, most—even today—are poor Bardot imitations, with tumbling blond hair, voluptuous curves, and pink, pouting lips. Few have the appearance of class you possess."
    "I think that's a compliment. Thank you," she murmured with a trace of dryness.
    "It was." His mouth curved with the same droll amusement she had shown. "In any case, beautiful women may arrive in Nice alone, but they seldom remain alone very long."
    "Then you think I knew the man I was seen struggling with?"
    "The two of you could have been engaged in a lovers' quarrel. Or—he wished to make your acquaintance, and you rejected his advances."
    "But why would I go to the Espace Masséna at night, during Carnival, without an escort, and without a purse?" she argued. "Or was the man a thief who stole my purse? That could have been the cause of the struggle—and it would explain why he ran."
    "But why would he take your purse and not your jewelry?"
    "I don't know." She sighed wearily, confused and frustrated by the constant blankness, the absence of any answers to the questions. "There has to be some way to find out who I am. Somewhere there has to be a room with my clothes in it, my makeup, my jewelry."
    "Inquiries are being made at all the hotels and pensions in the city," he told her. "But you must remember, during Carnival people frequently stay out all night. Therefore, the absence of a guest from his or her room for one night normally would not be worthy