Page 30 of The Bride Wore White

Her crimson lips curved in a cryptic smile. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

He grimaced. Shit. He really was out of practice when it came to talking to women. “Sorry, that didn’t come out well. I’ll try again. I’m impressed with your acting skills. This afternoon you looked like a serious academic. This evening you appear to be at home in the hottest nightclub in Burning Cove. I admit I find the ability to make the switch... interesting.”

She picked up her sidecar and looked at him over the rim of the glass. “You’re wondering which is the real me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think either version provides a complete picture of the real you, but each gives me a glimpse. I do have a question, though.”

“Just one?”

“Why the glamorous look for Madame Ariadne? It’s not the classic costume of a professional psychic. I expected turbans and scarves.”

“I learned the trade from my grandmother. She had a talent for marketing. She felt it was important to establish a distinctive image in order to stand out in the field. There’s a great deal of competition in the psychic business.”

“Makes sense. Why all the black?” A thought struck him. “Are you a widow?”

“That’s two more questions. I thought you had only one.”

“Can’t help myself. Asking questions is what I do.”

Her mysterious smile came and went again. “No. I’m not awidow. The black outfit and veil allowed me to add an element of mystery to my performance.”

“Are you saying it was an act?”

“People who pay a psychic to read their dreams expect a performance. I did well in the business because I delivered one. The black gowns and veils also sent the message that I was not an ingenue. It told clients that I was a sophisticated woman with some experience of the world and, therefore, was qualified to read the dreams of other sophisticated people. The costume ensured that clients viewed me as a professional rather than as a cheap carnival act. And last but definitely not least, wearing black put some distance between me and my clients. It indicated that I was not interested in establishing a personal relationship.”

“A personal relationship,” he repeated, examining the words with great care. “In other words, you did not want customers to get the impression that you might be available for a romantic liaison.”

“Clients.”

“What?”

“My grandmother taught me to always refer to customers asclients.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a very wise businesswoman.”

“She was. My turn, Mr.Wingate. How did you settle on your professional image?”

That stopped him for a beat. He gave the question some thought and then shook his head. “I don’t have a professional image, unless you count a suit and tie as a uniform.”

She looked amused. “Oh, you have an image, Mr.Wingate. It is very polished and very impressive and very effective.”

He was not sure he liked the direction in which the conversation was going. He felt as if he was sitting in the front car of a roller coaster poised at the high point of the track, gazing down at the steep drop. He probably should not have bought the ticket in the first place, but it was too late now.

“How would you describe my professional image?” he asked.

“Enigmatic, aloof, cerebral, and detached. You are obviously trying to project a Sherlock Holmes persona, but I regret to inform you that you are not entirely successful.”

“No?”

“Sherlock Holmes is a man with no secrets of his own, so he obsesses over other people’s secrets,” she said. “You, however, possess some real secrets. They are what motivate you to do the work you do.”

“Does that sort of psychic talk work well with clients?”

“Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“Everyone has secrets,” Jack said. “Everyone wants answers. It doesn’t take any psychic talent to come up with that analysis.”

She smiled a very knowing smile. “But not every consultant would convince a stranger to move into his home so that he could study her at close quarters in order to get answers.”

---