She wore a large-brimmed hat of red straw and a swingy summer dress of white silk, lightly splashed with irregular dots of red, royal blue, and green. The look was both saucy and sophisticated, very chic and very French, and very easy to spot in a crowd. She hesitated briefly, then turned and made her way toward the hotel’s Park Avenue entrance. Clay waited several beats, then followed at an unhurried pace. Her slim heels clicked across the floor’s patterned mosaic, then down the short flight of steps to the revolving door at street level. She pushed through it, then paused again. A doorman came into view. Clay lingered at the top of the steps and observed the exchange between the two, watching as the doorman pointed to the right, obviously giving directions. Clay smiled when he saw the city guidebook Natalie Fougere held against her narrow red clutch purse. Smiling her thanks, she moved off in the direction the doorman had indicated.
