The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

rehab somewhere in Austria, and his wife was home with her family, waiting for the annulment papers that would put a period at the end of her (totally un-newsworthy) ordeal. Laura elegantly implied that anyone who didn’t respect poor Jane Boyle’s privacy during this difficult time deserved to be drawn and quartered, while simultaneously exploiting Annette’s tragic childhood for all it was worth. Jane was frankly impressed by her friend’s media savvy, and even went so far as to wonder if it would be possible for them to stay in touch once the circus had calmed down.
    Or maybe we don’t have to wait that long,
she realized once she got back to her room. A silver tray was waiting conspicuously on the little table just inside her door, and resting on top of it was a thick, creamy envelope. She didn’t even need to look at the handwriting of Ella’s name to know who it was from – she felt sure she would recognize that stationery for the rest of her life – and she slid it open curiously. Instead of the personalized note she had expected, what she pulled out of the envelope was a formal, engraved message . . . an invitation, she realized after a confused moment.
    The Dorans, it seemed, would welcome her presence at an intimate gathering of friends and select members of the press intended to welcome Miss Annette Doran back to her rightful place in Manhattan society.
    The soiree was set for the following Saturday night. It would be the last day of her disguise, Jane realized, and instinctively turned towards her full-length mirror to check her appearance. Almond-shaped black eyes stared back at her from Ella’s mahogany face. In spite of her fears during the incredibly stressful previous week, the orb’s spell seemed to be going strong.
Based on when I woke up as Ella, I’d have until midnight,
she reminded herself. She pulled the closet door open, banishing her reflection and replacing it with her impressive collection of party dresses.
    Am I seriously considering this? I wonder what Anne will think, seeing me there,
Jane thought with a little restless agitation, closing the closet door again firmly. But, of course, Lynne must have told Anne about her part in their reunion already. And if Lynne was willing to forgive and forget the steep bargain Ella had driven, why should Anne hold a grudge of any kind against her? She had been a little deceptive, sure, but obviously everything was working out for the best for everyone.
And in record time,
Jane mused: getting as many invitations as she felt sure had been sent out engraved on such short notice was nearly as impressive as the media blitz Lynne had arranged to coincide with her party-planning.
    She turned the invitation over and over in her hands. It meant something to her that Lynne was willing to bury the hatchet to this extent, but it still felt wrong somehow to go and toast Anne’s arrival in New York.
I did my part,
she decided.
They can take it from here without me.

Thirty-five
    B Y WEDNESDAY, JANE was thoroughly bored with being Ella. She hadn’t been able to exchange more than a few quick text messages with Dee, who had apparently gone straight to work following her long weekend, and it wouldn’t have been smart to risk being seen with her right now, anyway. Jane felt she had imposed enough on Misty’s hospitality for the time being, and she certainly didn’t want to see André, who had started sending aggressively flirtatious notes the moment he had returned, empty-handed and presumably furious, from Alsace. So Jane spent a good deal of her time in her hotel room, alternately reading
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
and tabloids. The discovery of the missing Doran was still big news, of course, fuelled in part by speculation about what was sure to be the most elaborate coming-out party New York had ever seen.
    By the time the front desk called to let her know that a package had arrived for her, her cabin fever had got so irritating that she nearly ran down the stairs to collect the delivery herself. She remembered just in time that royalty didn’t do that sort of thing, and literally sat on her hands to avoid calling back every few seconds to ask why the bellhop hadn’t reached her door
yet.
    Her excitement only grew as she took the package – a wide, flattish box covered in brown paper – and recognized Elodie’s cheerful handwriting. The box looked fairly intact, and Jane guessed that her friend had thoughtfully repackaged the mangled box