Too Damn Rich (51 page)

"I'm going downstairs," Dina said. "Perhaps
there's a phone in the kitchen. Chances are, it'll be the warmest
room in the house."

And she darted guiltily out. Glad to make her
escape, however brief it might be.

Suddenly she wished she'd never gotten
involved in this plot.

Callas was in rare form. Becky, posing
gracefully on the couch, was engaged in deep conversation with
Karl-Heinz. From the leather club chair, Lord Rosenkrantz was
conducting the La Scala orchestra with the CD remote.

The butler entered and made his way woodenly
across the room toBecky, a cordless phone on his sterling salver.
With a flourish of the makeshift baton, Lord Rosenkrantz silenced
Verdi.

The butler cleared his throat. "Excuse me,
madam."

Becky looked up. "Yes, Mumford?"

"Mrs. Goldsmith is on the telephone."

Lord Rosenkrantz glanced over at Becky,
raising his exophthalmic eyes above the level of his reading
glasses without actually lifting his head. "Sooooo," he observed
deliriously. "The plot thickens!"

"Would you like to take it, madam? Or are you
indisposed?"

"
Mais oui
," Becky said, lifting the
phone from the proffered salver. "I will take it.
Merci
,
Mumford. That shall be all."

Becky extended the telephone's plastic-coated
antenna and dabbed the talk button. "
Allo?
Dina?"

"Yes." Dina's voice was guarded.

"
Alors
. You are well,
j'espere
bien?
"

"Not ... really."

Becky's smile faded. This was hardly the kind
of reply she found encouraging. Nor did Dina's reticence bode well,
either. She said carefully, "
Chere amie
. You sound
distressed. What is the matter?"

There was a silence.

"Ah.
Je comprends
: you cannot speak
freely. Someone might overhear."

"Yes."

"I take it you are at the Faireys'." It was a
statement, not a question.

Dina's sigh spoke volumes. "Am I ever!"

"
Alors
. Let us play a little game.
Could you tell me, using one key word, what this problem relates
to? That way, I can possibly infer what it might be."

There was a moment's silence, during which
Becky could picture Dina glancing over both shoulders. Then Dina
whispered: "Cold."

"
Naturellement!"
Becky laughed
lightly. "
Cherie
, it is winter."

"Inside?"

"Oh. You mean their furnace or boiler has
broken down?"

"Worse."

"
Non!"
A look of utter amazement came
into Becky's face. "
Pas possible
. You cannot mean ... they
still have no central heating?"

"I don't believe so. No."

"
Incroyable! Ma pauvre petite
, I had
no idea. Truly. I see now that we must do something."

"I'd really appreciate it."

"It is nothing. I have plenty of spare rooms
with—I assure you— plenty of heat.
Alors
. We shall work
things out so that you will stay here. However, we must also be
cautious."

Dina waited.

"Have you unpacked your luggage and
such?"

"Barely. I can always stop—"

"
Non!
You must do no such thing. It is
imperative that neither Zandra nor the Faireys get wind of
anything. Simply carry on as usual. As if nothing was out of the
ordinary. You can do that?"

"Yes."

"Then have no fear,
chere amie
. I
shall take care of everything."

And Becky punched the off button and put the
telephone down.

"Did I hear you correctly, or have my ears
finally deceived me?" Lord Rosenkrantz asked. "You've invited them
here?"

"
Oui
."

"My dear, do you think that's wise?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps not. But what other
choice do I have?
Cher ami
, the poor thing is overwrought.
Not that I can blame her.
A vrai dire
! This compulsion the
Faireys have for authenticity really has gone too far. Aren't the
nineties plagued with enough ills? Or must one experience the
genuine
mals
of the eighteenth century as well?
Quelle
horreur!
"

"You don't imagine they do without medication
or antibiotics, do you?" Karl-Heinz asked.

"Only in the country, and only if Nina Fairey
is not having another facelift," Lord Rosenkrantz said archly.

"
Cela suffit
," Becky said, and rang
for the butler.

Mumford appeared forthwith. "Madam?"

"Mumford, could you please see to it that two
guest suites are prepared?"

"Of course, madam. Do you have any particular
ones in mind?"

"Yes. For the double, the Toile de Jouy
suite, I think. It has two bedrooms, a sitting room, and two
baths."

And is perfect for the Goldsmiths, she
thought, since it's the farthest from my own.

"As for the single," she decided, "make it
the Tree Poppy suite."

Which is perfect for Zandra, since it's close
to Karl-Heinz's, but not so close as to be obvious. Also, it's
appropriate for her, being the most English of all the rooms, with
its stately four-poster, George II furnishings, British paintings,
and Tree Poppy chintz.

Mumford said: "I shall see to it at once,
madam."

Dina's chauffeur had long since returned to
the city with her Town Car, so there was no choice but to pile into
the Faireys' station wagon for the short hop over to Becky V's.

They were all turned out as differently as
night and day.

Sheldon in a classic, single-breasted blue
blazer with brass buttons, tan flannel trousers, and black wool
turtleneck.

Nina Fairey in a high-necked black jacket,
tartan kilt, black stockings,

and black ghillies. The jacket was nipped in
at the waist and had frog closures, and the kilt had a big
decorative safety pin on the front.

Robert in one of his thousand-and-one
identically tailored business suits, this one in charcoal
pinstripe.

Zandra in loose, anthracite tweed slacks,
Fair Isle sweater with horizontal zigzags in black, white, and
gray, and short black granny boots. Wearing no jewelry and looking
great.

Dina a rhapsody in blue sapphires. The real
thing at neck, wrist, and ears; faux on the sapphire tulle
minidress she wore over sapphire velvet stretch pants. She had on a
dyed, sheared beaver cape and blue suede shoes.

The drive took all of eighteen minutes, the
night pitch black as only moonless nights out in the country can
be.

But at Becky V's, lights blazed from every
window, and Zandra had the impression of approaching a festively
lit cruise ship, with the surrounding hilly terrain its watery
troughs.

The moment Sheldon pulled up at the mansion,
Dina was out of the car. Charging up the front steps to the door.
It opened before she could reach it, and bright yellow light,
Brahms, and distant laughter tumbled out into the night.

Dina turned to look down at the car. She
waved impatiently, urging the others to hurry, and started to cross
the threshold—

—when a Secret Service agent materialized,
blocking her way.

"Oh!" Hand fluttering on her breast, Dina
took a startled step backward.

Then she heard a masculine voice boom: "For
God's sake, man! Let the poor lady in before she freezes to
death!"

And Lord Rosenkrantz welcomed her inside.

"Remember." He wagged a finger at the
bodyguard. "There's to be none of that dreadful frisking
nonsense."

Not that Dina would have objected. She was
too curious, busily craning her neck and looking around the oval,
pilastered foyer with its portrait-hung staircase and massive
tarnished Dutch chandelier directly overhead.

"Madam, can I help you with your coat?" It
was the butler.

Dina obliged by gyrating out of her cape. The
butler took it, folded it carefully, and handed it to a petite
maid.

Nina, Zandra, Sheldon, and Robert came in.
One by one, the butler helped them out of their wraps, which joined
the growing stack in the maid's arms. She hurried off to hang them
up.

"Thank you, Mumford," Lord Rosenkrantz said.
"If you don't mind, I'll personally show our guests into the
sitting room."

"Very well, m'lord."

Lord Rosenkrantz spread his arms wide,
shepherding them toward the sitting room like a benevolent
schoolteacher.

Dina walked in first, her eyes everywhere at
once, breathlessly taking inventory.

Candles, music, fires going in both grates:
props for the graciousness of rural living. So perfectly composed
was the scene, and so cozily comfortable, that Dina had the
impression she'd blundered onto a stage set, with the actors frozen
in position, waiting for the curtain to rise. Becky, perched
sideways on a couch, legs tucked under her. Prince Karl-Heinz
standing by the marble fireplace, elbow on the mantel, drink in
hand—

—and a curtain must have risen, for the
tableau suddenly sprang to life.

Karl-Heinz, looking across the room, made eye
contact with Dina, and said something to Becky.

Becky, turning around with an expression of
astonished delight, quickly uncoiled herself and rose from the
couch. Still barefoot and casual in Garbo slacks and turtleneck,
she hurried across the room, arms extended in welcome.

"
Cherie!"

She and Dina almost, but not quite, made
contact; blew kisses past each other's cheeks.

"I'm so glad you could come!" Becky said
brightly. "
Ca va?
"

But before Dina could reply, Becky looked
past her, eyes going round as saucers with surprised artifice.

"Zandra!" she exclaimed. "Don't tell me!
You're also staying with the Faireys?
Quelle surprise!
But
how wonderful!"

And Zandra found herself being pulled into
the room, where she was suddenly face-to-face with—

—him!

Dear God. Her cousin. Prince Karl-Heinz von
und zu Engelwiesen, who was looking at her so intently that a warm
flush shot from the very tips of her toes straight to the top of
her face.

"Zandra," he said softly. Then he reached out
and gave her a warm hug.

It was a chaste greeting, but nonetheless so
electric that she felt her nipples beginning to tingle and harden.
Swiftly she pulled away and drew a deep breath.

"Heinzie," she whispered, barely trusting
herself to speak.

He smiled. "We seem to keep running into each
other."

"Yes. It does seem that way. Gosh. Heinzie. I
had no idea you'd be here." She half turned to Dina, expressly to
break his gaze. "Did you, darling?"

But Dina was smiling at Karl-Heinz. "Your
Serene Highness," she purred.

With an effort, Karl-Heinz tore his eyes from
Zandra, lifted Dina's hand, bowed over it, and gave it a kiss.
"Mrs. Goldsmith."

"Why so formal? Please, call me Dina.
Everyone else does."

"Only if you," he said gallantly in return,
"stop calling me 'Your Serene Highness.' " He smiled. "You don't
know how wearisome it can get. Besides, Heinzie is much less of a
mouthful."

Dina all but swooned.

"I'll go turn down the music," Lord
Rosenkrantz was saying.

The others had come in, and the conversation
grew animated.

"Sheldon," Nina Fairey said, "look! A Stubbs.
Over there ... there—"

"Sorry, darling, artist's name's Marshall.
Ben Marshall. Did magnificent horses."

"Yes, it's awfully well done."

"Mumford?
Alors
. Why don't you find
out what everyone is drinking.
Oui?"

"Very well, madam."

Robert asked, "Aw right to light up a cigar
in here?" already in the process of doing just that.

"Sweetie, isn't it nice and warm in here?"
Dina said happily, leaving things to gestate between Zandra and
Karl-Heinz, and heading for the even toastier environs of the
nearest fireplace, where she checked herself out in the elaborate
Regence mirror over the mantel.

"There," Lord Rosenkrantz said as the Brahms
became muted background music. "That's better, eh?"

Robert rasped: "Bourbon, neat. Older the
better. An' make it a double."

"A white wine for me," said Nina, "and a
scotch rocks for my husband."

"
Alors
. And Mumford. Don't forget the
champagne. There's Veuve Clicquot on ice,
n'est-ce pas?"

"Of course, madam."

"Hmmm. Exquisite terra cotta," Sheldon said,
bending down to admire a small divinity, part of an artfully
arranged tablescape. "Syro-Hittite."

"Looks like Marty Feldman, you ask me,"
Robert guffawed, blowing rich smoke.

"Or Estelle Winwood," Nina Fairey added.

"Huh?" Robert stared at her and blinked.
"Who?"

"British actress," Lord Rosenkrantz
explained. "Did mainly stage, but a few memorable movies as well.
Character actress. You know."

"Yeah? Good-lookin' broad?"

"Only if your tastes run to Marty Feldman,"
chuckled Lord Rosenkrantz, who could run intellectual circles
around almost anybody.

There was a burst of laughter.

And all this time, Zandra and Karl-Heinz were
silent, inhabiting an isolated little world of their own.

Dammit! Zandra cursed herself silently. What
is it with me? Why am I acting like a teen on a first date?

"
Alors
. Here comes Mumford with the
drinks. Why don't we all sit down and get comfortable?" Becky
suggested, gesturing to where she'd been sitting in front of the
fire. "Jacinta shall be bringing the hors d'oeuvres shortly."

Everyone began heading to the end of the room
she'd indicated— everyone, that is, except Zandra and Karl-Heinz,
who seemed not to have heard.

"
Allons!
" Becky said, touching each of
them on the arms.