The Third Sin (7 page)

Sonya took a few steps into the foyer, hoping Perry would soon arrive—he and his camera equipment had been sent to the freight elevator. As she opened the door more widely, the light fell on a macaw, which was perched like a sentry on the banister. Obviously startled, it squawked, “Go way go way go way.”

The harsh sound made Sonya flinch. She called up the stairs, “Hello?”

No reply.

The macaw tilted his head to the side and looked at her with knowing eyes. It was a beautiful mix of exotic colors. Its head was green, its face white and framed with small black feathers, its wings were blue, and its crest was golden. The colors, shining in the light from the open door, reminded her of the perfectly placed marks in an impressionist painting.

“Go way.” The macaw rose to its full height, surprising Sonya with its size. As she approached, it again cried, “Go way,” and began to flap its wings aggressively.

Sonya tried to reassure the creature, saying softly, “Hey there, calm down, I'm your friend.” She moved closer, hoping to stroke its neck. The bird jerked forward in a flash of color and Sonya felt a stab of pain as its beak clamped down on her index finger. She gasped.

“Cacao! Naughty!” Sonya looked up. It was Wade Bruckheimer. He spoke sharply, but looked at the bird with the proud expression of a father correcting a favorite child. The bird pulled back and Sonya looked down at her hand.

“I hope you're not hurt, Miss Iverson. His beak is strong.”

“No, no,” she said, recalling how Keith had warned her. She examined her hand. There was no blood. “Only a light nip on the finger,” she said. “I was a little startled, but it's perfectly all right.”

Sonya looked at Cacao. There was a gleam in his eyes and his quiet cooing convinced her that he was pleased with himself.

Wade wore a wide blue shirt over chino trousers and leather sandals. The shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, showing a thick roll of flesh.

“Well, I'm glad you're not hurt. It usually takes a while for Cacao to make friends, but listen to that cooing. He loves you already,” he said. Sonya was not so sure.

He continued, “I must apologize for my wife. Bella wanted to greet you, but she just had to run to an appointment.”

Sonya nodded, and then looked toward the staircase. “Kirsten lives up there?”

“Yes,” he said. “With my half-brother, Harold, and his wife, Blair. I guess you'd call Kirsten my step-niece but she's more like a daughter to me. She and my wife are friends.” He smiled. “You see, our families love each other. We are all close.”

Wade offered his arm to Cacao, and once the bird had taken his place there, man and macaw ushered Sonya into the living room. Wade deposited Cacao on a large perch near the fireplace, then pointed to the portrait over the mantelpiece. A heavy, gold frame surrounded a full-length, life-sized oil portrait of a beautiful young woman. She looked radiantly happy in a flowing white dress. Around her slender neck was the gleaming yellow Braganza, with smaller white diamonds sparkling around it.

“This is my mother, Esperanza Dias, in the white dress she wore on her eighteenth birthday,” Wade said, glowing with pride. “It's a very famous portrait and quite valuable, but I'd never sell it. You know she was killed by kidnappers when I was just a baby? I never knew her.”

“Yes, I've researched your family and am familiar with the story. It must have been hard, growing up with that history behind you.”

“My family is wonderful and supportive.”

Cacao interrupted them with a loud shriek, and a “Go way. Go way.”

Sonya turned and saw Perry. “It's my cameraman,” she said.

“Cacao warns me when a stranger arrives,” Wade said with pride.

“Come in, Perry,” Sonya called. “We'll start shooting as soon as you are ready.” She turned back to Wade. “How does your wife feel about the painting?”

“You know how women are…” He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Sonya only smiled. “The women in the family are all a little jealous. My mother was so beautiful and so saintly.”

“She is beautiful, and we'll want to get some shots of her, especially since she is wearing the Braganza.”

“Her dress is an exact copy of one worn by the queen of Brazil. I see this painting every day of my life, and never tire of it.”

“Where would you like to do the interview?” Perry asked Sonya.

It was Wade who answered, pointing toward the easy chair. “I could sit there with Cacao behind me. He'll be upset if he's not on TV.”

Perry said calmly, “Having Cacao in the background will cause problems with editing. But we can get some shots of you and Cacao and cut them into the piece.”

“All right,” Wade said. “Kirsten told me it might be a problem. But Cacao must be in the story. I promised him.” He simpered a bit, saying, “Kirsten told me you are the network's best cameraman and said that you'd make me look so handsome all my friends will be envious.”

Perry grunted and started to set up the lights.

“I want to make sure that people know I'm so happy about the sale. The auction house told me they've already had inquiries about my beautiful diamond. When I told the family, they were thrilled.”

Sonya said nothing.

Wade lifted the bird's perch to move it out of the room. The macaw flapped his wings and squawked angrily. Wade said, “Calm down, Cacao. You'll be on television later.”

“That's some crazy guy,” Perry said. “And the bird too.” He and Sonya finished arranging the chairs and lights.

Wade came back, brushing off his hands. Sonya wondered how often the perch was cleaned.

It was immediately apparent that something had changed in the few moments that Wade had been out of the room. Gone was the affable host. Wade was shaking as he sat while Perry adjusted the lights.

He put his hand up to shield his eyes and snapped, “The lights are blinding me. They're making me feel sick.”

Sonya looked at him. “I promise this won't take long.”

“You know I'm only doing this to raise the price of the diamond. I hate being interviewed.”

Perspiration was beading on his forehead. Sonya decided to keep her questions short and to the point. Perry gave her the signal that they were rolling.

“Why are you auctioning the diamond?”

“When my father died, I decided to change my life. I now have a beautiful bride. And to make her happy I want to sell my Braganza. It will set us up so we can enjoy the rest of our lives together.”

“Your mother, Esperanza, was the first member of the Dias family to wear the diamond, wasn't she?”

“Yes, my grandfather gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday and she wore it when she married my father.”

“By all accounts, that was quite a wedding.”

“Well, of course, I wasn't there, but I've seen all the pictures. It was the wedding of the decade in Brazil—possibly the wedding of the century. The ceremony was held in the cathedral and Mother had twenty-four bridesmaids, all of them dressed in flowing white. It was spectacular. Pictures of it appeared in magazines and newspapers all over the world.” Sonya could see that Wade was relaxing as he told the familiar story of his family history.

“Where did she meet your father?”

“It was love at first sight, you know. Mother came to East Hampton for the July parties, then went to Manhattan for the celebration of Brazil's National Day in August. My father, who was going to Rio for the Mardi Gras that year, came to the party and met her.”

“And the Braganza diamond? She brought it with her to New York?”

“Yes of course,” he answered with a hint of impatience. “My grandfather, Fernando, had given it to her.”

“Your family from Brazil visited often?”

“Yes, they did,” he replied. “They bought the two apartments below my father's penthouse. This apartment was for me and my nanny. The apartment next door was for my Brazilian family when they visited—which was very often. All three apartments are connected—we are one big happy family.”

Sonya paused. “I heard that some members of your family object to the sale of the diamond.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

She ignored the question and pressed him, “Was the agreement that the diamond was to go back to Brazil?”

“That's not so,” he said, impatience beginning to give way to anger.

“Do you really have the authority to sell the Braganza? Who does it belong to? Your Brazilian family? Your stepmother?”

“Look, if this is going to be one of those ‘gotcha' interviews, I'm stopping now.” Sweat was gathering in a ring at his hairline. Sonya leaned forward and handed him a tissue. He took it and roughly wiped his face.

Sonya asked, “Has your uncle Jorge spoken to you about the sale?”

Wade flushed. “No.”

Sonya waited for him to go on. The silence increased his uncertainty.

“I mean, yes, but not about the sale. He is visiting me and staying in the apartment next door. He entirely approves of the auction. Why shouldn't he? It belonged to my mother, not to him.”

“I'd like to interview him, too, to get the Brazilian point of view of the sale.”

“My god, leave him alone.”

“How about your brother, Harold? How does he feel about your selling the diamond?”

“Why are you asking all this?” Wade started to knead the side of his neck with one hand. “They're just jealous. They're greedy and jealous and they hate me.”

Sensing that he was ready to tell the truth about the family reaction to the sale of the Braganza, Sonya leaned in and said, “Why do you say that?”

Before he could answer, the macaw squawked in the background, “Bad girl, bad girl.” Wade's eyes lit up and he shouted in relief, “Kirsten's here!”

He ripped the microphone off his shirt as he struggled to get out of the chair. “Kirsten, come here. I need you.”

Sonya was furious. Two hours ago she had told Kirsten not to come, and now she had interrupted the interview at the crucial time. She turned and spotted her intern in the doorway with Cacao on her shoulder. Beside her was a man in his forties, tall, handsome, and stylishly dressed.

“Hi there, Uncle Wade,” Kirsten said, walking into the room. “How'd it go?” she asked as she placed the bird on his shoulder.

“Oh, Giorgio,” cried Wade as he ran to the man. “This has been hell.”

Sonya interrupted to introduce herself. “Excuse me, I am Sonya Iverson. And you are?”

A smiling Kirsten said, “This is my dad, Giorgio Sacco.” Giorgio broke away from Wade's embrace to shake Sonya's hand.

As nicely as she could, Sonya asked Kirsten, “What are you doing here? And why did you interrupt me?”

“Sorry. I didn't realize you were still taping.” Sonya could tell from the look in her eyes that Kirsten was lying. For how long had she been listening? What was she afraid that Wade was going to say? Why had she stepped in and stopped him?

“Pack up your equipment and let's go,” Sonya said to Perry. “There's nothing more for us here … at least for now.”

 

Chapter
9

T
HURSDAY, 3:00 P.M.

Franklin fashion show, front row

Sonya looked down at her practical slingback shoes showing under her neatly pressed pants and felt an immediate wave of insecurity. The last thing they could be called was fashionable, let alone glamorous. She'd initially chosen them for their practicality, found they fit perfectly, and had gone back to the store for a second pair. In polished black leather, they had a two-inch stacked heel that increased her height to a commanding five foot eight. The comfortable round toes would, she hoped, decrease the likelihood that she would suffer from painful bunions, which had afflicted her mother for years.

The two fashionistas who stood chatting in shrill voices beside her wore minidresses, bare legs, and sandals with four-inch heels. They looked like Manolos to Sonya's discerning eye and probably cost as much as her mother's budget for a month.

But no matter how ridiculous those women were, they had the power to make her feel insecure about her looks and even her life. At thirty-nine, that feeling was something she didn't relish. She looked across the runway to the line of faux blondes established in the front row and pulled herself together. From their long, bleached hair to the deep red polish on their nails, these women were pathetic copycats who relied on glossy magazines for direction. They hadn't the confidence to express their own tastes or senses of style—assuming they had either. She laughed to herself. They were as insecure about fashion as she was.

“Don't those girls look great in their minis?” bubbled Kirsten in the seat next to her. “I wish my legs were as good. My dream is to own a pair of Manolos, they would make my legs look sexy.” She gave a giggle of happiness. “I'm so lucky to see all this.”

Yes, you are lucky, Sonya thought and you had better realize it. Donna had no right to insist that I bring you and give you one of these precious front seats. You should be sitting in the back. Your seat belongs to an important buyer or editor.

“Enjoy it while you can,” she snapped. “Nothing lasts long in this business.”

To hide her irritation, she flipped open her program. Then she caught the uncertain look on the intern's face and realized she had touched a sore point. Kirsten wanted desperately to get a job at the network. And she was pulling every string to make sure she did. Sonya softened her tone. “What I meant was that it will be a short show. Just thirty-five numbers and with fast-paced models legging it down the runway it'll be over in less than fifteen minutes.”

She needn't have said anything; Kirsten's attention had already been diverted by the latest arrivals.

“That blonde in the red dress is the actress, Jayne Anne Haliday, isn't it?” she said. “She had an abortion and pretended it was a miscarriage. She didn't know a photographer had gotten a shot of her coming out of a clinic.” She laughed. “Bad luck, eh?”