The Kaisho Read Free Page A

pad, her eyes half-closed as she felt the heat seep through her muscles into her bones. This was her favorite time of day, when she could shut the world away, relax, and let her thoughts drift free. The added responsibilities her husband had recently taken on had changed him irrevocably. She knew he was worried, definitely in over his head, and probably in trouble.
    She knew she was the only person in the world who could help him, but he was Sicilian, and she knew she would have to tread a careful path. It would do no good reminding him of the roster of show business personalities who had become his clients because of her contacts.
    Serenissima, her highly successful boutique cosmetics company, catered to many of the biggest stars of Hollywood and New York, and because she was the creator of all the products, they wanted to meet her. Because she was such a shrewd judge of character, it wasn’t difficult to pass some of them on to Tony.
    As her mind drifted, her fingertips almost unconsciously explored her body, pressing those spots that hurt, the bruises that recurred. The heat of the bath drew the pain out, like the tendrils of some sea creature, and she relaxed.
    Eventually, as they inevitably did, her thoughts turned to Francine. At fifteen, her daughter was at a difficult age, too old to be considered a child, too young for the responsibilities of adulthood. The fact that she already had the body of a woman only compounded the problem. Several times, before her brother, Dominic, had entered the WITSEC program, Margarite had been forced to go to him and ask for his help in extricating Francie from difficulties at school or with a boyfriend too old for her.
    Margarite sighed. She loved Francie more than anything else in life—and perhaps the resonances of that love were overwhelming to her. She had been torn between following a career and raising Francie virtually alone. She was all too aware that she had never spent enough time with her daughter. But what was she to do? She would shrivel and die if she were chained to the house. Tony had no time or patience for a female child—she believed he continued to resent her for not giving him the male heir he so desperately wanted. But now Margarite could no longer bring a baby to term, and there would only be Francie. No wonder Tony was angry all the time.
    The outsize tub was carved from a monstrous piece of black-and-brown onyx, an oval bowl filled now with hot water, aromatic salts, and Margarite DeCamillo’s voluptuous form. The water spigot was gold, carved in the shape of a swan’s head and artfully curved neck, the taps, also gold, its wings. The niche into which the steeping tub had been set was clad with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, which now reflected the image of Do Duc as he entered the humid room.
    Margarite DeCamillo started, simultaneously sitting up straight and clasping her hands over her naked breasts. Her amber eyes opened wide, her ample lips forming an O.
    “Who are you? What do you mean by coming—”
    “I’m here to make you an offer.” Do Duc’s deep voice was soft. Nevertheless, Margarite was compelled to silence.
    She stared at this interloper and, somewhat to Do Duc’s surprise, had the presence of mind to say, “What have you done to my husband?”
    “He’s not dead,” Do Duc said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.” He approached her slowly across the steam-sheened tiles. Her eyes watched him as a mongoose will scrutinize a cobra, with equal degrees of fascination and dread. “He’s not even badly injured. Just—sleeping.”
    Do Duc now stood at the edge of the tub, looking down at Margarite. She was an exceedingly handsome woman in her midthirties, with high cheekbones, wide-set, direct eyes, prominent nose, and a thick head of curling dark hair, wet now at the ends so strands stuck to the pearlized flesh of her shoulders and neck. It was an altogether aggressive face, yet he could see that she had learned to guard her private