No one but a Versace, a Gucci, or a Scarvelli could possibly have fashioned such an exquisite purse as this!" He was a banker," Monique said."You won'... tell me, then?" I did tell you, Madame Winn. My late love of my life, Richard Hunter, was a financier."Gertrude smiled. "Oh, I see," she declared. "He had the purse designed for you."Inwardly, Monique shrugged. "In a manner of speaking, I guess that's true," she admitted.Gertrude looked vindicated. "Who was the designer?" she asked. This time,. ” I had no idea what to make of this, but I had to know. What could this timid guy possibly have in mind?“Okay then...” We finished dinner mostly in silence, with the occasional small talk, then we headed home.When home, he led me to the bedroom. His nervousness rubbed off on me. I had no idea what was about to happen. I put my bag down on my dresser and began taking off my jewelry just to give my hands something to do. When nothing was left, I turned to him expectantly. His hands were flitting. Not much there either, at least not in her street. Old Mrs. Lawson was mowing her lawn five houses down across the street. Another neighbor drove by, probably on his way to work. It seemed almost everybody was at work this morning.But the sun was warm. Helen leaned against the roof support beside the stairs and relaxed. With her hands in her splayed lap she could easily fall asleep. Hearing another vehicle, the towhead opened her eyes. It was only the mail man driving form box to box in his. They had been in the lee of the recent storm and well above water level in any case. Neither Annie nor Joanne had any idea what had happened to their shelter and they were not to learn of this for some time. Without the means of lighting a fire or anything much in the way of fuel, they were both feeling very cold, and had spent most of the time clasping each other for warmth and praying for better weather.By the time things had calmed down, both of them were tired and hungry, regretfully.