Fata Morgana Read Online Free PDF Page B

water through the jungle’s green face, deep into the rain forest, to Duval’s Eldorado.
    “And when does the expedition begin?” He looked up from the map, only to find the eyes of both men cast beyond him, onto a woman in cherry red, her gown exposing the greater part of shoulders and bust, around which she’d arranged some transparent pink tarlatan, a delightfully unsuccessful conceit.
    “I haven’t seen that much breast since I was weaned,” remarked Bonnat.
    “And she is... ?” Picard reached for a cream tart.
    “Madame Lazare, of course,” said Duval.
    Picard followed her with his eyes as she circulated among her guests. Her naked arms were something you could squeeze a bit, the sort he liked, and he imagined her thighs must be the same, exquisitely plump to cushion a man’s fall.
    She stopped in the center of the room, chatting with a grey-haired officer, her bosom trembling as she laughed, as she touched her hand to the chain of velvet flowers in her hair, and Picard felt velvet petals opening in his stomach as she glanced toward him. The sensation was unbearably delicious, and he turned away. There was no point in torturing himself.
    As if in response to his move, as if she had more interest in those whose eyes were cast away from her, she made toward them, or so Duval reported, under his breath, as Picard reached for another cream tart and replaced it, uneaten. He could feel her approaching, turned slowly, into her dark eyes.
    “We are overwhelmed, madame,” said Duval, bowing to the hand she extended to him, receiving it in his own and kissing it lightly, upon her dark red gloves.
    “I’m so happy you could come. Did your fortune of yesterday ring true?”
    “Completely.”
    Madame Lazare smiled. “Ric is rarely wrong.”
    “How does he do it, madame?” asked Picard.
    “My husband is a rare being,” said Madame Lazare, slowly opening a silken fan across her lips. Again Picard felt a maddening sensation pass through his body, as if the woman had reached an invisible hand into his stomach and was toying with him there, upon the very nerve of bliss. Her eyes lingered with his for a moment, vaguely curious, before she turned to Bonnat.
    “And how is your wife, monsieur?”
    “Fine, yes, very fine. I must bring her here again. She enjoyed it immensely. But she won’t tell me what your husband’s machine said to her.”
    “There are secrets,” said Madame Lazare, bending forward to take a tiny sandwich from the buffet table. The three men leaned as she did so, like drunkards teetering on the edge of an abyss. She straightened again, still smiling, as if she had not just revealed her own secrets. Picard wanted to rip the pearl ring off his finger and hand it to her on his knees.
    He was spared by the arrival of the butler, who came up to them and bowed to Bonnat, holding out at the same time a small golden tray with Bonnat’s card on it.
    “Here I go again,” said Bonnat with a laugh, taking his card and following the butler across the room, toward a large oak door leading out of the parlor.
    “And you, monsieur—” Madame Lazare turned to Picard. “What brings you to our salon?”
    “These,” said Picard, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a midnight-blue handkerchief, which he slowly opened, revealing three large glowing pearls. Madame Lazare held out her hand and Picard put the pearl-laden handkerchief into it. “I’m hoping your husband will tell me where to find more such beauties.”
    “My husband is a collector too. Perhaps he can help you.” Her gown was against his leg, her perfume in his brain, and her fingers touched his lightly as she handed back the handkerchief.
    The sound of a slammed door made them turn. Bonnat came toward them, his face as red as his hair, his lips set in a hard scowl. Raising his hand, he laid the back of it across Duval’s cheek with a loud crack.
    Duval stood silent for a moment, then spoke in a quiet voice. “Very well.”
    “Tomorrow