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She held out her arms and he draped the garments across them, and turned and went to the door. She watched as he unlocked it again. He left the key in the keyway this time, and he left the door open behind him. But he did not go very far from the room. Just outside the door, Augusta could see a standing clothes rack and a straight-backed wooden chair. He carried the clothes rack into the room first, taking it to the far corner where Augusta had earlier retreated. Then he carried the chair in, and closed and locked the door, and set the chair down just inside it, and was preparing to sit when he said abruptly, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He moved the chair away from the door again, and again inserted his key into the lock. “Would you hang the clothes on the rack, please?” he said. “I won’t be a moment.” He unlocked the door, opened it, and went out. She heard him locking the door again from the other side.

The clothes rack was painted white, a simple standing rack with one vertical post to which were attached, at slanting angles and at varying heights, a series of pegs. She carried the clothes to the rack and hung them on the pegs. She noticed as she did so that at least one of the garments — the safari jacket — was in her size, and she quickly checked the others and learned that all of them were exactly her size. She wondered how he had known the size, and guessed he had got it from the suit she’d been wearing — but had he bought all this clothing after he’d taken her from the hotel room? One of the garments on the rack was a robe she had modeled for Town & Country. She took it down, and was putting it on when the door opened again.

“What are you doing?” he said. He spoke the words very softly. “Take that off.”

“I was a little chilly, I thought—”

“Take it off!” he said, his voice rising. “Take it off this instant!”

Silently, she took off the robe, put it back on the hanger, and hung it on the rack. He was standing just inside the open door now. In his left hand he was holding a paper bag with the logo of one of the city’s most expensive department stores on it.

“I did not give you permission,” he said.

“I didn’t know I needed permission,” Augusta said. “I was cold. It’s cold in here.”

“You will do only what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Is that clear?”

She did not answer.

“Is it?”

“Yes, yes,” she said.

“I don’t believe I like that note of impatience in your voice, Augusta.”

“I’m sorry.”

He locked the door behind him, put the key into his pocket, moved the chair so that its back was against the door again, and then said, “We are to have a fashion show.” He smiled and extended the small parcel he was holding. “Here,” he said. “Take it.”

She walked to where he was sitting, and took the paper bag from his hands. Inside the bag, she found a pair of pale blue bikini panties and a blue bra. The panties were a size 5, the bra was a 34B.

“How did you know my sizes?” she asked.

“They were in Vogue,” he said. “The April issue. Last year, don’t you remember? ‘All About Augusta.’ Don’t you remember?”

“Yes.”

“That was a very good article, Augusta.”

“Yes, it was.”

“It didn’t mention Detective Bert Kling, though.”

“Well…”

“In an article titled ‘All About Augusta,” it would hardly seem honest to neglect mentioning—”

“I guess the agency felt—”

“You’re interrupting, Augusta.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That is truly a vile habit. In my home, if I ever interrupted, I was severely thrashed.”

“I won’t interrupt again. I was only trying to explain why the article didn’t mention Bert.”

“Ah, is that what you call him? Bert?”

“Yes.”

“And what does he call you?”

“Augusta. Or sometimes Gus. Or Gussie.”

“I prefer Augusta.”

“Actually, I do, too.”

“Good. We are at least in agreement on something. Blue is your favorite color, the article said. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Does the blue please you?”

“Yes, it’s fine. When did you buy these clothes?”

“Last month,” he said. “When I knew what had to be done.”

“You still haven’t told me—”

“The ceremony will take place tomorrow evening,” he said.

“What ceremony?”

“You will see,” he said. “My mother was a model, you know. In Europe, of course. But she was quite well known.”

“What was her name?” Augusta said.

“You would not know it,” he said. “This was long before your time. She was murdered,” he said. “Yes. I was a small boy at the time. Someone broke into the house, a burglar, a rapist, who knows? I awakened to the sounds of my mother screaming.”

Augusta watched him. He seemed unaware of her presence now, seemed to be talking only to himself. His eyes were somewhat out of focus, as though he were drifting off to another place, a place he knew only too well — and dreaded.

“My father was a leather-goods salesman, he was away from home. I leaped out of bed, she was screaming, screaming. I ran across the parlor toward her bedroom — and the screaming stopped.” He nodded. “Yes.” He nodded again. “Yes,” he said, and fell silent for several moments, and then said, “She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. He had slit her throat.” He closed his eyes abruptly, squeezed them shut, and then opened them almost immediately. “Well, that was a long time ago,” he said. “I was just a small boy.”

“It must have been horrible for you.”

“Yes,” he said, and then shrugged, seemingly dismissing the entire matter. “I think the pants suit will suit you nicely,” he said, and grinned. “Do you understand the pun, Augusta?”

“What? I…”

“The suit. The suit will suit you,” he said, and laughed. “That’s good, don’t you think? The hardest thing to do in a second language is to make a pun.”

“What’s your first language?” she asked.

“I come from Austria,” he said.

“Where in Austria?”

“Vienna. Do you know Austria?”

“I’ve skied there.”

“Yes, of course, how stupid of me! In the article—”

“Yes.”

“—it said you skied in Zurs one time. Yes, I remember now.”

“Do you ski?”

“No. No, I have never skied. Augusta,” he said, “I wish you to take off the clothes you are now wearing and put on first the panties and brassiere, and then the suit.”

“If you’ll leave the room…”

“No,” he said, “I’ll stay here while you change. It will be more intime, n’est-ce pas? Do you speak French?”

“A little. I’ll put on the clothes only if you—”

“No, no,” he said, and laughed. “Really, Augusta, you are being quite ridiculous. I could have done to you whatever I wished while you were unconscious. You’ll be pleased to learn I took no liberties. So now, when you—”

“I would like to go to the toilet,” she said.

“What?”

“I have to move my bowels,” she said.

A look of total revulsion crossed his face. He kept staring at her in utter disbelief, and then he rose abruptly and shoved the chair aside, and unlocked the door and went out of the room. She heard the lock clicking shut again, and rather suspected the fashion show had suddenly been canceled. Smiling, she went to the wall opposite the door, and sat on the floor with her back against it. She felt a bit warmer now.