Deadly Communion Read Online Free PDF Page A

wide-brimmed hat festooned with exotic plumages, and a long sable coat.
    Kristina called out to the servant: ‘Karoline. Open the door. Slowly.’ Then she glanced at her secretary, removed an errant gold hair from the girl’s sleeve, and stood erect, assuming an expression of tranquil indifference.
    Frau Schmollinger glided through the open door.
    Kristina inclined her head and Wanda — overawed by this vision of fur and feathers — produced something closer to genuflexion than to a curtsy.
    ‘Frau Schmollinger,’ said Kristina, adopting a languorous, refined accent. ‘Welcome. We are honoured. This way, please.’
    No introductions were necessary. It was assumed that Frau Vogl herself would receive such a distinguished client.
    Kristina ushered Frau Schmollinger into the reception room, where Wanda took her hat and coat.
    ‘Would you like some tea?’ Kristina asked.
    ‘No, thank you,’ said Frau Schmollinger, looking around the room. Her expression was one of curiosity and surprise. The walls were lacquered white and decorated with mirrors, and from the ceiling lamps composed of hammered copper with glass spheres hung downon delicately wrought chains. Frau Schmollinger’s attention was captured by a smart vitrine with metal fittings. Through the tilted glass she saw jewellery displayed on a bed of blue velvet: tourmaline brooches, agate earrings and a coral bracelet made in the likeness of linked salamanders.
    ‘Please,’ said Kristina. ‘Do take a seat.’
    Frau Schmollinger lowered herself onto a wooden chair, the high back of which was made up of rectangular ‘hoops’, the smaller being nested within the larger. The oak had been stained black and flecks of chalk had been rubbed into the grain. On the table — just a cube with a square panel on top — were catalogues and magazines: La Couturière Parisienne, La Mode Illustrée and the journal of the Secessionist art movement, Ver Sacrum. Frau Schmollinger turned her grey watery eyes to Kristina. A smile made her powdered, papery skin wrinkle.
    ‘You come highly recommended, Frau Vogl. I am a close friend of Countess Oberndorf.’
    ‘The countess is one of our most valued clients.’
    ‘You made an exquisite summer dress for her last year.’
    ‘Indeed. A white and yellow smock with lace sleeves.’
    ‘Yes, that’s the one! She wore it when my husband and I were guests at Schloss Oberndorf. Sensational.’
    ‘You are too kind.’
    Frau Schmollinger raised her hand and performed an odd benediction in the air: ‘I was wondering — my husband and I will be returning to Schloss Oberndorf this summer …’
    ‘You would like something similar?’
    ‘Yes.’ She drew the syllable out. ‘Something interesting. Something new.’
    Frau Schmollinger’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t want something similar. She wanted something better.
    ‘I’m sure we will be able to find something suitable for you,’ said Kristina, ‘in this year’s summer collection.’
    Frau Schmollinger smiled.
    ‘Excellent.’
    ‘Wanda,’ said Kristina. ‘Would you fetch my red book, please?’
    The secretary crossed to a corner cupboard. She opened the doors, inlaid with sparkling tears of glass, and took out a big leather volume which she carried to her mistress. Kristina sat down beside Frau Schmollinger. The volume contained sketches and coloured lithographs gummed onto thick paper.
    Most of the designs were loose-fitting and resembled kaftans. There were no furbelows and trimmings, but Kristina explained that the materials she used were of the highest quality — peau de soie, satins and organza. Moreover, all the patterns — some geometric, others floral — had been commissioned from artists of the Secession.
    ‘The raised waist,’ Kristina said, pointing to a typical example, ‘renders the corset redundant, and affords the wearer unprecedented freedom of movement. My clients frequently describe House Vogl couture as’ — she raised an attractive plucked eyebrow