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"Mrs. Broadfield, why didn't you close my door when you started this?" I demanded.

"That's the least of my concerns."

"Well, it's not the least of mine. I do have some modesty left, you know. Tony is a man."

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"I know what Mr. Tatterton is, thank you. I'm sorry," she relented after a moment. "I'll be sure to close the door next time."

"Please do."

Even after she rubbed on the soothing cream and I put on my fresh nightgown, my skin tingled from the heat of that hot bath. It wasn't until I awoke from a brief nap that I felt any relief. Mrs. Broadfield brought me some juice and a little while later returned to tell me the hairdresser had arrived. She helped me back into my wheelchair just as Tony brought up the beautician, a tall, thin man with curly blond hair and eyebrows so light, they were practically invisible. He had very fair skin, but bright pink lips. I thought any woman would sell her soul for his soft green eyes.

Tony introduced him just as Renee and immediately added he was French. However, I had the impression he was of French background but born here in America. His accent seemed somewhat artificial, deliberate, something he might be affecting for his customers. After work he probably spoke like any other native American.

"Ah, mademoiselle." He stepped back and tilted his head first to the right and then to the left, nodding as he considered what had to be done with my hair. He reached forward and touched the strands, bouncing them in his palm and shaking his head. "Rich and tres thick," he said, "but alas, neglected, n'est-ce pas?" He turned to Tony for confirmation. Tony nodded. "Do not worry, mademoiselle, Renece will work his magic. In a short time I shall make miracles, eh?"

"I just want it washed and set," I said.

"Pardonnez-moi?" He looked at Tony. "But I thought . . . the color."

"Renee's an expert, Annie. Get his opinion first."

"You would brighten your face beaucoup, mademoiselle," he said, stepping back to consider me again. "Not difficult." He nodded, convincing himself. "Just put yourself in my hands, mademoiselle." He held out his palms as if I could see something unusual in his soft, thin fingers.

I glanced at myself in the wall mirror on the right. Maybe I should turn myself over to this socalled beauty expert, I thought.

"Very well, do what you think has to be done." "Tres bien." He rubbed his hands together. Tony was beaming. I closed my eyes and lay back in the chair as he wheeled me to the sink and his beauty expert began his work.

Looking into the mirror, I saw Mommy's face instead of my own. The change in hair color had done something magical, turned me into the face that gazed up at me from all those old pictures. It was as if the beautician had been some kind of conjurer, sending me back in time, doing what I knew Tony wished would happen--roll back years to the days when he was the happiest here at Farthy. There was a new look in my face. Renee had turned my hair silvery blond and had trimmed and set it so i looked just like Mommy had in that picture of her at the stables. In fact, Tony had given him the picture to work from before he left us.

I wondered how Luke would react. He had seen the old pictures of Mommy and he always told me he thought she was a dazzling beauty. Would he feel the same way when he first set eyes on me? Afterward, when we were alone, would he take my hand into his and whisper his true feelings. In my warm and loving imagination, I heard his words.

"Annie, when I first set eyes on you with your hair your mother's color, I knew that no matter how forbidden it was, I had to tell you my true feelings, let you know about my deep love for you. Oh, Annie, I can't deny it. I can't!"

I played those wished-for words over and over in my mind and then opened my eyes and gazed at myself in the mirror again. If changing my hair color could only do all that . .

"Annie, is that you?" Drake came into the bedroom carrying two suitcases filled with my clothing and shoes. He put them down at the Coot of the bed and stared at me, a half smile on his face. I put down the hand mirror and studied his face closely for his truthful reaction.

"Do I look silly?"

"No, not silly, just . . . different. You remind me of someone."

"My mother. When she first fetched you," I prompted.

"Yes." His eyes lit up with the realization. "Yes," he repeated excitedly. "Exactly. Hey, you look very good." As if he finally convinced himself I was still me, he jerked forward and came over to kiss me hello. "Really. I like it."

"I don't know. I feel . . . so different. Yet I can't believe Mommy was all that comfortable in this hair color. It's as if I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. Surely, she must have felt the same way."

Drake shrugged.

"She changed back soon after she and Logan returned to Winnerrow and bought Hasbrouck House. Maybe you're right."

"Tony has me convinced feel more like a young

woman again. I was getting depressed about myself. But enough about me. Tell me about your trip to Winnerrow. Who did you meet? What did the servants say? How was the house and Aunt Fanny?"

"Whoa . . . slow down." He laughed. I bit down on my lip to keep myself quiet and sat back impatiently. "Now, let's see . . . Winnerrow." He pretended he was trying to remember.