“You are so sweet to visit your poor, sick friend…” Csilla exclaimed, standing in the doorway in her bathrobe. Her hair was a mess and she looked sleepy, but she was pretty and bright–eyed all the same. “That damn air–conditioner on the plane,” she exclaimed, as she showed Niki in. “I always catch cold on the way home. One of my psychologist friends says that I get sick because I don’t really want to come home. She thinks my subconscious wants to live in some exotic country.”
“Or maybe you get sick because you travel in a tank top,” Niki answered skeptically.
All journalists who wrote for glossy magazines had experts on hand, so it was completely natural for Csilla to consider several experts to be “her own.” She had any number of these professionals at her beck and call to help her with
