The Princess and the Billionaire (22 page)

Isabelle made an impatient gesture with her hands. “I do not care about Honore and his business dealings, Maxi. I only care where it concerns my mama.”

Maxine sighed. “Your mother was an impetuous woman, lovey. You mustn’t condemn her for that.”

“I don’t condemn her, Maxi. I only find myself lying awake at night wondering how I will know what to do with a child, how I will keep from making some terrible mistake that will perpetuate itself through the generations.”

“Ah, lovey,” said Maxine, drying her eyes. “I’m thinkin’ you’ve become a woman at last. Now, if you would just tell Daniel about the child...”

* * *

“You’re a day early, princess,” said Daniel when he answered the telephone that night. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Only to me.”

“Maxine and Ivan were here today,” she said, launching headlong into meaningless conversation. “Ivan and his son-in-law cut some more wood for the fireplace.”

“Are you having a bad winter?”

“Not very bad.” She laughed. “At least not by Perreault standards. It’s hard to believe spring is only a month away.”

“I miss you, princess.”

She started. “What did you say?”

“I miss you.”

The baby moved within her womb, almost as if he or she had heard Daniel’s words. She took a deep breath. “I miss you, too.”

“I’m not just talking about sex.”

“Neither am I.”

“Maybe I could fly home for a day or two. I find myself lying awake at night trying to picture your face, your smile.”

“No!” She forced her voice down to more normal volume. “I mean, I’d never ask you to do that, what with the way you feel about flying and all.”

“I have an in with Saint Christopher.”

“You’re wearing the medal.”

“All the time.”

“And what else?”

“Use your imagination.”

She was almost afraid to. “You haven’t asked me what I’m wearing today, Bronson. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Okay,” he said, a low rumbling laugh floating through the wires and curling around her eardrum. “Let’s hear it.”

“Sweatpants, a baggy T-shirt, and floppy slippers.”

“You’re kidding.” He paused. “Aren’t you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Any diamonds?”

“Not a one.”

“I thought no princess worth her tiara goes out without diamonds.”

“I wear one piece of jewelry, Bronson, and that’s a gold bracelet a very wonderful man gave to me for Christmas.”

It was his turn to sound surprised. “I thought you hated it.”

“I never said that.”

“You looked like you wanted to throw it at my head.”

“I was dreadful that day,” she said, “and I apologize. It never occurred to me that I might have hurt your feelings.”

“It never occurred to you that I even had feelings.”

She couldn’t deny the truth. “I’m learning, Bronson, that’s all I can say. When you grow up the way I did, it’s difficult to know the boundaries.” She thought of the endless stream of servants, the fancy schools, the buffers between herself and the real world. “I wish I could explain what it was like.”

“I’m here,” he said, “if you feel like talking.”

“There is so much to say... so many things I have not thought about in so long.” She laughed. “I do not know where to begin.”

“Anywhere, princess.” His voice was warm, caressing. “I’ve got all the time you need.”

She leaned back in her rocking chair and closed her eyes. “I remember my mother sitting at her dressing table...”

* * *

They talked five days in a row. Long, intimate conversations about family, about dreams, about everything except the future. He was that rare specimen: an adult who liked his family, who understood its importance in the framework of life. And he was smart enough to know how rare a thing that was. Isabelle envied him his childhood with her entire being. But never once did he say he wanted a family of his own.

On the sixth day she took a car into Manhattan for her monthly appointment with the obstetrician Dr. McCaffree had suggested. “Right on schedule,” said the doctor. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

She rode back home in a quandary. Tell him, Maxine had said. A man should know he’s about to be a father, Ivan had scolded.
What are you waiting for?
her own conscience demanded.
Tell him!

She dialed his number as soon as she reached the cottage. If she had her time zones straight, it was four a.m. in Tokyo. “Sorry if I wake you up, Bronson,” she murmured as the operator rang his room, “but at least I know you’ll be there.”

The telephone rang ten times, twenty, twenty-five. She slammed down the receiver. It must be—what? Four in the morning? She dialed again. This time she let it ring thirty times with the same result. “Message, please?” asked the telephone operator. “None,” she growled. The Japanese were much too polite for the message she wanted to leave.

“I was in Hokkaido,” he said when they connected a few days later. “The back of beyond.”

She brushed away stupid, ridiculous tears. “I was so worried.”

“You, princess? I would’ve figured you’d throw the telephone out the window.”

“That was what I wanted to do the first four times I called. Then I started to worry.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“That I worried about you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That you cared enough.”

This is it. This is the time.
“Bronson, there’s something—”

“Could it wait until next time, princess? Hastings is at the door. We have a plane waiting to take us to Kyoto for a meeting.”

Isabelle sighed. Maybe it was a sign from the gods. “It can wait, Bronson.” It had waited almost six months already.

He was due home the middle of May. That gave her two more months to figure out how to tell Daniel he was going to be a father.

* * *

“... Hastings is doing a damn good job,” Daniel said, finishing up his second progress report for the month of April. “We’re running ahead of schedule. By the time I sign off, we’ll be well under way.”

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” said Matty, his voice loud and clear despite the miles, “this time last year I wouldn’t’ve given you a plugged nickel for your chances over there. When you’re right, you’re right, Danny. If Malraux hadn’t established a beachhead, I’d say give Perreault another shot.”

Daniel flipped closed his portfolio and stashed it back in his briefcase. “So how’s everything back home?”

“Patty’s expecting.”

“Again?”

His old man laughed. “She said she’s going to have a son this time no matter what.”

An odd twinge of pain settled itself beneath Daniel’s ribcage. It felt a hell of a lot like envy.

“Did you hear me?” Matty boomed.

“Sorry, Pop, bad connection. What did you say?”

“I thought I saw Isabelle the other day at Madison and Sixty-third.”

The twinge of pain intensified. “I don’t think so, Pop. She’s off somewhere communing with nature.”

“It sure looked like her. She was in the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car. I thought it was my car at first, then I saw this real pretty girl with a big head of hair.”

“A lot of pretty brunettes in this world.” It couldn’t be Isabelle. She was in the country somewhere. She wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.

“Yeah, there are,” said Matty, “but you know the way she tosses her head back and all that hair goes flying?”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Daniel mumbled.
Like hell.

“Just a thought,” said Matty. “Forget I said anything. I probably need new glasses.”

* * *

The doorbell rang as Maxine and Ivan were sitting down on the terrace to a fine boiled dinner of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes.

“Can’t a body enjoy a meal without being bothered?” Maxine grouched as she rose from her chair and tossed her napkin down on the table. “I’ll send whoever it is packing before he can open his mouth.”

“Faster even,” said Ivan.

It rang a second time, and she swung open the door, ready to do battle. A man stood on the welcome mat. He was of moderate height, moderate build, with a thick head of silver hair and a big smile. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite place who it was.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, extending his right hand. “You’ve gotta be Maxine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Maxine had lived in New York long enough to look at his extended hand with suspicion. “And who might you be?”

“Matty,” he said, shaking her hand firmly. “Matty Bronson.”

“Would you be Daniel’s father?”

He nodded. “I am and proud of it.”

“He’s a fine boy.”

“That he is.”

Gazes steady, they took each other’s measure.

“Would Isabelle be in?”

Maxine shook her head.

“Would she be back soon?”

Maxine again shook her head.

“Has she gone away?”

Maxine hesitated. “You might be sayin’ that.”

“And what else might you be sayin’, Miss Neesom?”

“She has a foul temper, Mr. Bronson. I can’t vouch for what she might do if I told you.”

“My son has a foul temper as well, Miss Neesom. He’d sell all of my stocks in Bran-Co if he knew I was here.”

Maxine had the heart of a romantic and the soul of a born matchmaker, and she knew an opportunity when she saw one.

“Come in, Mr. Bronson, and I’ll tell you a story if you promise to keep it a secret.”

“Call me Matty.”

She dimpled. “And you can call me Maxine.”

She proceeded to tell him everything, right down to the placemats Isabelle was using on the kitchen table.

“They are making a terrible mistake,” said Matty with a shake of his head.

“Of course they are,” said Maxine, “but they’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“My son is pigheaded.”

“And my girl is stubborn as an ox.”

“It’s about time he had himself a kid.”

“And that baby will be here before Isabelle gets ’round to tellin’ him she’s expecting.”

“We have a problem.”

Maxine nodded. “What are you going to do? This is a secret, after all.”

He looked at her and smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “I’m going to call him,” he said. “What did you think I was going to do?”

“Saint’s be praised!” She leaped up and planted a kiss on Matty Bronson’s cheek. “A man after my own heart!”

* * *

“Buckle up, Mr. Bronson.” The flight attendant flashed a bright, professional smile. “We’ll be landing at JFK shortly.”

Like he’d have unbuckled the belt while he was suspended in a flying tin can thirty-nine thousand feet above the ground. “Thanks,” he said.

“And return the tray—”

“—to the original, upright position.”

Her smile widened. “You know the drill.”

“By heart.”

She hovered a few moments. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t encourage her, either, so she moved back through the first-class cabin to chat with the other passengers.

He was beyond small talk. A part of him still couldn’t believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he’d been asleep in his Tokyo hotel room, thinking about the plumbing facilities at the work-site. Matty’s call had come out of the blue. “We’ve got us a situation brewing here, Danny,” his father had said. “I want you to catch the next plane out.”

“What the hell’s going on, Pop? Why can’t you handle it?”

“Because your mother’ll have my head on a platter if I don’t take her to Florida this weekend to see her sister Flo.”

Daniel had named three other executives, all of whom were equally qualified to handle any emergency. Matty would have none of it.

“Just get your butt on a plane,” Matty had said. “A car’ll be waiting for you.”

“This damn well better be good,” Daniel muttered as he strode from the International Arrivals building.

“Hey, Mr. Bronson!” A skycap with a familiar face hailed him near the taxi stand. “Been a long time.”

“Sure has.” Daniel scanned the street for the Bron-Co car. “How’ve you been?”

“I was workin’ over at Teterboro Airport—right near home—for a while but I got laid off.”

The guy’s name came back to him. “Glad you got your old job back, Joe. Watch out you don’t hurt your knee again.”

“Thanks for rememberin’, Mr. B.” He paused. “You still seein’ the princess?”

Daniel laughed. “Unless you know something I don’t know.”

The skycap disappeared back into the terminal.

“Hey, Danny!” Another familiar voice. “Over here!”

His father waved to him from the other side of the street.

They exchanged greetings as Daniel climbed into the Lincoln.

“I thought you and Mom were in Florida.”

“Tonight,” said Matty around his cigar. “Frank has the day off.”

“Don’t tell me he had another kid?”

“Tonsils,” said Matty.

“His kids?”

“Frank’s.”

Daniel shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it in the backseat as his father gunned the engine. “So where’s the fire?”

“Patience, Danny,” said Matty. “Patience.”

“Hey, Pop,” Daniel said ten minutes later. “Manhattan’s that way.”

“I know,” said Matty.

“And you missed the turnoff for the expressway.”

“I’m not heading out to the Island.”

“So where the hell are we going, Pop?”

“You’ll see.” He glanced over at Daniel. ‘Why don’t you grab some shut-eye? I have a feeling you won’t get a hell of a lot of sleep tonight.”

Daniel was a couple of decades past obeying his old man, but he hadn’t slept in a day and a half, and if Matty’s broad hints were any indication, he had a hell of a lot of work ahead of him.

* * *

When he opened his eyes two hours later, he was in the middle of a forest—at least it seemed like a forest. Mountains jutted up toward the sky. Big trees grew thick along a country road that hadn’t seen a repair crew in a generation or two.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Sit tight. We’re almost there.”

“Where the hell is ‘there’?”

“Isabelle.”

Maybe it was jet lag because nothing registered on him. “Isabelle?”

“You know,” said Matty around another cigar. “The princess.”

“There’s a town named after the princess?”

“Snap out of it, Danny. I’m taking you to see your girlfriend.”