CHAPTER XII. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. ” Michelle extracted another cigarette from her jacket and handed Lucy the lighter. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. His food lay untouched about his plate. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage.
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