yes—quite failing to do justice to her planning and the seamstresses’ inspired sewing—but a show. Lauren dropped to her bed and lay there, a hand over her eyes, too busy planning to cry.
*****
She waited until after breakfast to tell Nella and Dani about the vicious sabotage. With the air-conditioner going all night, she had cleared out some of the reek from her bedroom, but a steward would have to be summoned to remove the sodden mess and clean up the carpet. She ordered breakfast to be served in the suite, preferring to keep the models as unflustered as possible, and well away from prying eyes that might note their reactions. While she was waiting, she dressed in the suit she had worn to Mike’s cabin the night before, let her hair fall in its natural soft waves to her shoulders—she didn’t think she could endure a single pin or clasp—and then went to rouse Nella and Dani.
Dani at once noticed the faint redolence of wine. “Had a little party last night, Ms. Rose?” she gibed.
Lauren went to the door of her bedroom, opened it, and pointed. Both girls crowded forward to look, gasped, and turned stricken faces toward her.
“Who did it?” Nella gasped.
“Someone who got a key from somewhere, or who was let in.” Lauren said slowly. “Did either of you let anyone in last night?”
“I left the door open for the doctor,” Nella wailed. “It’s all my fault.” She gulped. “But I don’t see why he would want to ruin our show,” she added wretchedly.
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Lauren told her. “But an open door was an invitation to anyone to enter.” She squared her shoulders. “Not to worry—as our English friends say, I think I can handle it.”
“What are we going to do?” demanded Dani.
Lauren felt a wave of gratitude at that partisan “we.”
“We’ve still got all the clothes the troupe are going to wear for their act. Thank God, they needed them last night to iron out some problem in their presentation. That means there’s enough costumes for us to do some sort of modified showing. The great dress is safe.” That was the way they had referred to the jewel of Lauren’s collection, the velvet, sequin, and chiffon creation that Lauren believed was the most beautiful gown she had ever designed. It was certainly the most original.
“Will you make an announcement about the sabotage?” Dani asked.
“I haven’t gotten that far,” Lauren admitted. “I’ve been awake half the night thinking what sort of presentation I can make with two-thirds of the clothes gone. We’ve got shoes and accessories, but what they’ll fit in with, I’m still trying to work out.”
Nella said surprisingly, “I think it was that Mr. Masen. He hates you, Ms. Rose.”
Lauren and Dani stared at the tall woman in surprise.
“You could be right,” Dani said. “Look at how the rat has acted. Can you pin it on him, Lauren?”
It was the first time Dani had ever called her anything but “Ms. Rose” and Lauren felt supported by the friendship. She said honestly, “I’m not sure I could prove it, and the hassle of making charges like that against a rat like Herbert might spoil our image. Let’s just go into the show looking like brave little soldiers who are facing the challenge as best they can, eh? That ought to win us some support.”
The models nodded dubiously. The saboteur’s action had been a shrewd blow against them as well as against Lauren, and they were angry and resentful.
They ate a good breakfast, which relieved Lauren of one of her fears. The models had taken it well, with a spirited resolve to beat the underhanded attacker at his rotten game. As soon as they had finished, Lauren shepherded them to the rehearsal room and briefly explained the problem to the troupe. They didn’t say much, although the little they did say was too colorful to repeat. At least Lauren had a wonderful sense that their loyalty and total support were hers.
As she was leaving to consult with the steward about the removal and boxing up of the clothes—they might conceivably be needed as evidence—Nella said hesitantly, “Remember your color sketches of all the new collection, Lauren? She looked embarrassed as they stared at her. “You know, you told us you were carrying a portfolio, in case any client asked to see some of the designs with a view to buying . . .”
“Yes, I’ve got the portfolio in my briefcase. When I found out we’d