Forget to Remember

mentally undress women, but they were usually less obvious about it. She spoke to try to relieve her tension.
    “She looked something like me—the missing girl, I mean.” Why was she so flustered?
    “Take off your mackintosh for me, would you, sweetheart?”
    Now he was trying to undress her for real. For a moment, she didn’t know what a mackintosh was. Then it came to her from somewhere. It was a word Brits used for a raincoat. She told herself she had no reason to be afraid of him. She took it off and laid it on the table. She was wearing a sweater underneath against the chill—plus jeans, so she was still well covered.
    He looked at her some more. She decided to ignore him and sipped her tea. She apparently wasn’t going to learn anything here. That was frustrating, because it was her only lead for Cynthia.
    Before she could think of a question to ask him to try to gain more information, he spoke. “Have you ever done any modeling?”
    Modeling? She was about to say no when she remembered she might have done swimsuit modeling. She temporized. “Not recently.”
    “You would be perfect for a project I have.”
    “Look, I’m here to find out what happened to Cynthia. I don’t have time—”
    “The job pays well. In cash—pound notes with our good queen’s likeness.”
    That stopped her. This might be a chance to cover some of her expenses. “What do I have to do?”
    “Pose for me each morning for three hours. I’d say it will take six or seven days.”
    “Wearing what?”
    “Your birthday suit. My client likes his women the way God created them.”
    “No way.”
    “I see we have an uptight Yank. Descended from the Puritans, no doubt. I’m glad we got rid of them. Although you do have a wee bit of an oriental cast to you. That’s what makes you exciting—the combination of ingredients.”
    Flattery would get him nowhere. Although the accusation that she was uptight rankled her it was more than that. It was the thought of being alone with him while naked. Didn’t artists always sleep with their models?
    “It’s cold in here.”
    “I have a space heater. I’d be glad to turn it up to roast to keep you toasty.”
    “My left arm was injured. It’s getting better, but I’m still wearing a bandage on it.”
    “We’ll pose you so that arm is out of sight.”
    She had one more thought. “I’m pretty skinny. I was…sick for a while and lost some weight.”
    “Although I’m a great admirer of Renoir’s nudes, I like my women less zaftig than he did. So does my client. You’ll be fine.”
    She was running out of excuses. Maybe she should be running out of here . Sean walked over to a desk piled high with papers and extracted something from the mess. He came back and handed her a business card.
    “Here’s my number. Call me when you decide to take the job.”
    The arrogance. She had a retort on the tip of her tongue when he spoke again.
    “About the girl who disappeared. Go and talk to Lord Binghamton. He lives just ten minutes from here. He owns the lease on this building. He’ll have a record of who lived here when. I’ll write down his address for you.”
    He took the card and wrote on the back.
    “A Lord? What do I do, just knock on his door?”
    Sean smiled. “He’s very approachable. I’ll ring him up and tell him you’re coming.”
    Sure he would. Did he think she was born yesterday? Now he was trying to get rid of her . He gave her explicit instructions on how to find the Lord’s house. She half listened.

    CHAPTER 26
    Carol wished she had listened more attentively to Sean’s directions. She had to use her map to navigate. The address wasn’t far from the Sloane Square tube station, and that helped. When she reached the correct block after a couple of wrong turns, she saw that the homes were attached—what she would call row houses. Even Lords lived in row houses.
    She stood in front of the brick, three-story structure, wondering whether she actually had the nerve to knock on the door. It didn’t look as foreboding in reality as it had in her imagination. She wondered what her previous self would have done. This was the only lead she had. If she didn’t pursue it, she had nothing left.
    The houses were almost right on the street, so she only had to take a few steps to reach the front door. There was even a doorbell. She pressed it and heard a satisfying musical chime coming from inside. Now she was committed. Except that she had an urge to run.
    Before she