Too Damn Rich (10 page)

"I am Julio," he sniffed, "the majordomo.
Madame has informed me that you are to be shown every
courtesy."

Without turning his head, he raised one hand
and snapped his fingers. Instantly, and seemingly out of nowhere,
scurried a uniformed maid with downcast eyes and a flustered
manner.

Julio cocked one disapproving eyebrow at
Zandra's disreputable- looking shoulder bag and the maid instantly
jumped to and snatched it.

"If you will follow me, please?" Julio
announced loftily, "I shall show you to your guest suite."

They passed an opulent marble staircase with
an ornate wrought-iron and ormolu balustrade which swept gracefully
up to the second floor of the duplex, the curved, yellow-marbled
wall alongside it hung with a succession of eye-popping Old
Masters.

Wherever Zandra looked, she noticed that
things were totally different and far, far more luxurious than the
last time she'd visited, nearly two years previously.

Through one open doorway, she caught a
tantalizing glimpse of ancient tooled leather walls and elegant,
full-length portraits by Tissot, Boldini, and Sargent, not to
mention eighteen-foot-tall silver Regency palms reminiscent of the
Brighton Pavilion, whose curvacious fronds nearly scraped the
ceiling.

And everywhere the eye wandered, it met
priceless luxury: rich, overlapping seas of mysterious, intricate
carpets, firelit mantels. Green and scarlet silk lampshades.
Brocade banquettes, voluptuous cushions, gleaming rare woods, and
elaborate mirrors.

A completely new stage set, she thought to
herself. Dina's been at it again. "When in doubt, redecorate—that's
my motto!" her friend had once laughingly confided.

Zandra smiled at the memory. If one thing
could be said about Dina, it was that she practiced what she
preached. But unfortunately, along with the decor, she apparently
replaced the entire staff as well. Zandra saw not a single
familiar, welcoming old face.

"Madame said to inform you that she would
return as soon as possible," Julio sniffed frostily as he opened a
mahogany door and stepped aside.

Zandra entered the guest suite, and he
followed her in, going purposefully around the sitting room,
switching on all the lamps, and twitching aside the heavily lined
and interlined seventeenth-century silk brocade draperies while the
maid did likewise in the bedroom.

"If you wish to summon me or any of the
staff," Julio said, "use one of the ivory telephones. You will
notice it has the numbers of everyone from the cook to myself
listed on both sides of the push buttons."

"Like in an hotel!" Zandra said brightly.

"Yes." He was not amused. "For outside calls,
this suite has two separate private lines, but you must use one of
the brass telephones. Both numbers are listed on each telephone.
Now, if there is nothing else ..."

"Not at the moment, thank you."

After he was gone, Zandra could have sworn
the room temperature shot up by a good twenty degrees.

The maid appeared in the doorway of the
adjoining bedroom. Smiling shyly, she asked, "Would you like me to
unpack your things, madam?"

Zandra shook her head. "No," she smiled,
"thanks."

"Then is there anything I can get you?"

"If it's not too much bother, I would
appreciate a cup of tea."

"Oh, it's no bother at all, madam!" the maid
assured her. "What kind would you prefer?"

"You wouldn't, by any chance, have Lapsang
Souchong?"

"But of course we do!"

"Then that is what I'll have."

"Coming right up, madam! By the way, my
name's Lisa." The maid bobbed a little curtsey and disappeared
without a sound.

Zandra took the opportunity to investigate
the suite.

The luxurious sitting room was sheathed in
green boiserie highlighted with gilt from which hung several small
Fantin-Latour oil paintings of flowers. Four sets of French doors
led out onto a planted, wraparound terrace, and the giltwood Louis
XVI bergeres a la reine and settee were upholstered in salmon
mohair cut velvet. Tables en chiffonniere held ceramic bibelots and
vases of fresh flowers.

The adjoining bedroom was very feminine, with
a magnificent Aubusson, pale, faded rose silk damask on the walls,
marbelized green moldings, and lavish, raspberry silk brocade
curtains and bedhangings. A television was concealed in a demi-lune
Boulle commode. By any standards, a palatial suite.

Zandra tried the leftmost of two perfectly
scaled, artfully symmetrical doors. It opened into an enormous en
suite bath the size of a studio apartment: all brocatelle marble,
with mirrors reflecting everything—herself included—to
infinity.

Leaving the bathroom, Zandra shut the door
and tried the one on the right. Opening it, cove lighting and
indirect tracks automatically clicked on, illuminating a
boutique-size, walk-in closet. All empty and awaiting steamer
trunks of clothes.

There were Lucite drawers for folded
garments, slanting racks for shoes, stands for hats, angled
mirrors, and no end of clear plastic garment bags, with sachets of
cedar chips attached to every pink silk- padded hanger.

Zandra smiled sardonically and thought,
Everything I brought along could probably fit into a single
drawer.

Hearing a discreet knock, she went back out
into the sitting room. Lisa had returned, bearing a damask-draped
wooden tray. Zandra smiled and said, "It looks lovely. That will be
all, Lisa. Thank you."

Now that she was alone at long last, she
poured herself a cup, added a mere drop of cream and a single lump
of sugar, and stirred it while carrying it by the saucer into the
bedroom. Setting it down, she unpacked the meager contents of her
shoulder bag. Hung her motorcycle jacket on a padded hanger. Folded
what few rumpled belongings she'd brought along and placed them
inside a single Lucite drawer.

Done, she gloomily surveyed the king-size
closet. Her wardrobe looked—indeed was—lamentably wanting in even
the most trivial, basic essentials.

Wisely, she quickly shut the door against it,
and as she sipped her tea, reminded herself that her lack of
clothing was the very least of her problems. Thanks to Dina, she
had a roof over her head, and a splendid one at that. In fact, she
should be thankfully counting her blessings. Considering the
circumstances and haste with which she'd successfully eluded her
captors and escaped London, it was gratitude—and not
self-pity—which was warranted. Really! She must stop moping, Zandra
scolded herself, and start looking on the bright side. Things could
be worse.

Thoughts of Rudolph filled her mind.

Rudolph ... Rudolph ...

She sighed loudly, as if exhaling a buildup
of poisonous gasses. The unvarnished truth was, her brother's
uncertain fate cast a dark shadow across her own.

Eyelids twitching, she collapsed,
marionettelike, into a chair. Of course her own problems were
reduced to insignificance! She was safe, if not indefinitely, then
at least for the time being. But Rudolph ...

Tears prickled her mermaid green eyes.

Oh, God! What would those animals do to
Rudolph when ...

No! she corrected herself, and clenched her
teeth. Not when, if ... if they caught up with him?

Her hands shook, causing the cup to rattle in
its saucer. Setting it down, she got up and paced the bedroom with
restless agitation, raking a hand through her billowing haze of
hair.

Lunging to the bed, she snatched up her
ostrich-skin address book and tapped it against her hand, her
marmalade-colored brows drawn together in crooked furrows.

I have to do something, she told herself over
and over. Something ... anything ... I'll never be able to live
with myself if I don't.

Her eyes seemed lost and unfocused, but her
expression was dogged, her lips compressed in a tight thin line of
determination.

But first things first. And her first
priority must be to track Rudolph down.

By calling around and telephoning every
friend and acquaintance Rudolph had in the British Isles, and that
included Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.

Yes! she thought, galvanized into action. She
would leave messages all over the place! That way, if he was laying
low at a friend's, or happened to run into someone he knew, at
least he would receive word to get in touch with her at Dina's.

Zandra could only hope to God her stubborn
brother would do so. Because only together—united—could they sit
down and sort things out. Surely two heads could come up with a
viable solution better than one.

Feeling calmer now that she had some sort of
plan, Zandra picked up her empty cup, went out into the sitting
room, and poured herself another cupful of tea. Taking a sip, she
sat on a delicately carved chair with an oval backrest, placed the
cup and saucer on the bouilotte table beside it, and reached for
the brass telephone.

Now.

Now to get busy.

Placing the telephone on her lap, she opened
her address book to the first page. She would start with A and, if
necessary, work her way through the entire alphabet, all the way to
Z.

"Shit!" Zandra swore furiously as she slammed
down the phone. Tossing aside her address book, she flung herself
facedown on the lavishly draped bed, bounced on the raspberry silk
coverlet, and then just lay there, propped up on her elbows.

She blew a stray corkscrew of marmalade hair
out of her eyes. She was frothing mad and disgusted—hardly
surprising, considering that she had spent the last two hours on
the telephone, methodically working her way from A through C in her
address book, and had nothing to show for her efforts. No one had
seen hide nor hair of Rudolph.

And, as if that hadn't been bad enough, seven
different acquaintances of her brother's—seven!—had told her that
they were looking for him too, and would she be so kind as to pass
along a message once she found him? Seems he'd borrowed heavily,
and ... well, not to be pushy, but they'd really appreciate being
repaid ...

Two bright crimson spots burned on her
cheeks. "Blast that Rudolph to bloody hell!" she sighed, rolling
wearily over on her back.

Blankly she stared up at the shirred
underside of the swagged brocade canopy, a muscle twitch tugging at
the outside corner of her left eyelid. She knew she should pick up
the phone and continue, starting with the Ds and trying the A, B,
and Cs which hadn't answered before, but she felt too low. The
notion that her calls would only flush out scores of creditors was
too depressing to face at the moment.

"Boo!" a voice shouted, causing Zandra to
jump up as though she'd been goosed.

"Dina!" she gasped, placing a hand over her
wildly palpitating heart. "God!" She stared at her friend through
saucer-size eyes. "You gave me such a scare! I didn't hear you come
in—"

"I know I should have knocked!" Dina
squealed, abandoning her usual silky voice in her excitement, "but
we see so little of each other and—anyway!" She flung her arms
wide. "Oooooh, but it's so good to see you again, sweetie!"

Bearing down on Zandra, she gave her a fierce
hug, though not fierce enough to brush cheeks and thereby spoil
carefully applied makeup. Then she made Zandra sit on the bed, sat
down beside her, and held her at arms' length.

"You look absolutely smashing, sweetie. Yes,
simply smashing." Dina's eyes sparkled. "I don't know how you do
it; perhaps it has something to do with that moist English climate?
Yes. That must be it. Oh, but it's so wonderful to see you!"

"And you too, Dina." Zandra attempted a
semblance of cheer. "How's Robert?"

"Robert? Eh, forget Robert." Dina flapped a
hand dismissively and gave a girlish little giggle. "There's all
the time in the world to talk about him. What I want to know right
now is, how you are!" She was so bright and chipper she positively
glowed.

"Oh ... " Zandra shrugged, one hand
oscillating back and forth. "Comme-ci, comme-ca," she sighed.
"Alive, at any rate."

Dina was instantly concerned. It wasn't like
Zandra to be in low spirits; but then, it wasn't like her to
volunteer her personal problems, either—a fact which Dina had long
attributed to Zandra's repressive von Hohenburg-Willemlohe
genes.

Taking both of her friend's hands in her own,
Dina said gently, "Something's wrong, sweetie. It's written all
over you. Just remember, I have huge shoulders, a sympathetic ear,
and find nothing more delicious than keeping deep, dark
secrets."

"Well ... things could be better," Zandra
said evasively. "But there's really no need to go into all that
right now. It's such a dreadfully long and dreary story we'd still
be at it when the sun comes up tomorrow."

"Well, if you're sure it can wait," Dina said
dubiously.

"I'm positive."

"If you say so." A frown momentarily marred
Dina's features; then she brightened. "I know! Tomorrow night we'll
have one of our famous, all-night girl talk gabfests—the kind that
drive Robert up the wall!" She clasped her hands to her bosom. "Now
then, sweetie. First things first. How long can you stay?"

"Oh ..." Zandra suddenly seemed preoccupied
with inspecting her fingernails. "It ... it could well turn out to
be a rather lengthy visit."

"Wonderful! You're welcome to be our guest
for as long as you like. Days. Weeks. Months, even! You know
that."

Zandra looked at Dina, reached out, and gave
her friend's fingertips a tight squeeze. "I know," she said
huskily, "and thanks. But every little bird needs its nest. I'm
going to have to start looking around for an apartment." She
frowned. "First, though, I suppose I've got to find a job, which
means getting a green card—"

"You're planning to stay that long?" Dina was
positively delighted.