The Princess and the Billionaire (24 page)

But you know the truth,
a voice whispered deep inside her head.
The child is Eric’s—Eric’s son—the rightful heir to the throne.

She rose to her feet, her heart thudding painfully. Honore had made an appointment for her to see a specialist at the clinic in Geneva, but that wasn’t for another two weeks. Fourteen days suddenly seemed too long to wait. She fumbled through the leather-bound address book resting next to the desk blotter. Why on earth didn’t she have the phone number of the clinic? It was her business, after all, her future at stake.

Angrily she made her way down the hall to Honore’s office. He never locked the door. He was too much the gentleman to make such a statement about the honor of the inhabitants of the castle.

He wasn’t in his office. A sleek chrome Rolodex sat at right angles to the multiline telephone system he’d had installed a few months earlier. She flipped through the cards, names both familiar and famous leaping out at her as if illuminated by a spotlight. No clinic. She pushed aside the chair and opened the top drawer. A pair of gold pens, a sterling silver letter opener, a magnifying glass in a velvet pouch, an almost-empty pack of Player’s cigarettes and a book of matches with the Malraux International logo embossed at the upper left-hand corner. She tried the three drawers on the right—nothing. Top drawer on the left. The file drawer on the bottom. Hands shaking, she pushed past hanging folders filled with spreadsheet printouts, press clippings on different MI undertakings—

She stopped, bile rising to her throat. She lifted one thick folder from the drawer and opened it. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the chair, its casters skidding against the carpet. There, in a silver frame, was a picture of her sister. Across the bottom of the photo were the words “Love, Love, Love,” penned in a familiar, exuberant hand. Isabelle wore a white evening gown with a wide neckline that bared her shoulders. She was posed in the garden, near the privet hedges Juliana loved so well. The castle’s western turrets were plainly visible behind them. The look in her eyes was challenging, blatantly sexual, oddly cynical. Her dark hair was swept off her face into a tight chignon, and it struck Juliana that she had never seen her sister wear such a severe hairdo.

She peered more closely at the photo. The hedge barely reached Isabelle’s hips.
Impossible,
she thought. It had been years since the hedges had been that low. Not since their mother—

“My God,” she whispered. “Mama?”

“Good evening, Juliana.”

She jumped at the sound of Honore’s voice in the doorway.

“Juliana,” he repeated. “I am surprised to see you in my office.” He still wore his topcoat and a copy of
Paris-Match
was tucked beneath his arm.

She said nothing, simply clung to the photograph, her heart pounding madly inside her chest.

“Your mother was a beautiful woman,” he said as he stepped into the room, tossing
Paris-Match
onto a chair. “That is my favorite photograph of her.”

She struggled to regain her composure. “Wh-why do you have it here? Did Papa give it to you?”
Don’t tell me,
an inner voice begged.
Please don’t tell me the truth.
It was only a photograph, after all. A photograph of a woman long dead and buried. Whatever it had once meant to Honore and her mother could be of little importance now.

“My darling child,” he said, closing the door behind him. “How much you have to learn....”

* * *

Maxine settled down in the kitchen with a pot of tea and a stack of romance novels for company. Ivan had flown down to Florida for a trade show. “Come with me, Max,” he’d said. “Some sun. Some sand. Who knows what could happen?” Maxine had been tempted, but with Isabelle’s due date a month away, she had found it impossible to leave. Ivan was understanding, but Maxine knew he looked forward to the day when the baby was born and she would be free to move in with him.

The apartment was quiet except for the city sounds that floated through the open window. Isabelle and Daniel had retired for the night. It made Maxine’s heart ache with joy that her girl had finally found a man capable of loving her the way she’d always needed to be loved. Daniel was a good man. Strong, powerful, but blessed with a kind heart that made him able to stand up for himself when Isabelle grew too full of herself. Which, even Maxine had to admit, was often.

It felt right, all of it. Maxine’s only regret was that she’d been forced to choose between Juliana and Isabelle. She loved both girls, there had never been any doubt about that, but Isabelle—headstrong, impulsive, loving Isabelle—had always held a special claim upon her heart.

She sighed as she poured herself a cup of bracing tea. Why was it that the simplest things in life proved to be the most difficult? Love should be as direct and powerful a force in life as it was between the pages of the books she enjoyed. What a shame it was that a happy ending could not be guaranteed for all.

She’d dreamed of Juliana two nights ago. Juliana stood in the castle garden, near the privet hedges. She wore a long white gown that had once belonged to her mother, Sonia. There was a child at her ankles and one in her arms. Maxine had an impression of danger, of destiny, and then in a flash Juliana was gone. Maxine had awakened, startled to find herself in her own bed.

Are you happy, child?
she wondered now as she listened to the traffic sounds from the street below.
Did you make the right choice?

* * *

“I cannot bear this another second,” Isabelle declared over breakfast one morning.

“’Tis almost your time,” said Maxine, buttering a toasted English muffin.

“Just a few more weeks.” Daniel poured them all some orange juice. “You’ll be able to see your feet again soon, princess.”

She looked at them blankly for a moment. “I’m not talking about my pregnancy,” she said, laughing. “I’m talking about my baby shower.” She turned to Daniel. “I implore you, if you have any idea when it will be, please tell me! The suspense is impossible to bear.”

“I’m the last one my family would tell.”

“Look at me,” Isabelle said, moving her hands across her belly. “If they don’t hurry up and surprise me, they will have to hold their party in the hospital.” She looked at Maxine. “Do you know anything, Maxi?”

Maxine shook her head. “And you would be thinkin’ I’d have my invitation by now.”

Isabelle continued to worry the subject to death during breakfast. By the time the plates were loaded into the dishwasher, both Maxine and Daniel were happy to escape to their respective offices.

“Fine,” said Isabelle as the door closed behind them. “Desert me in my hour of need.”

She wandered through the apartment, feeling restless and vaguely annoyed. She was tired of waiting for the baby, tired of being fat, and most especially she was tired of waiting for that bloody baby shower to occur. Each time she went out she half-expected to be whisked away to one of those wonderful parties Daniel’s sister had described. Wishing wells, layettes, silly guess-the-baby’s-sex contests—the more she heard about this American custom, the more she looked forward to it.

She wanted to gather experiences into her arms like a bouquet of flowers. This was her life, the place where she would finally put down roots. She and Daniel didn’t have to be married to provide a solid foundation for their child’s future. Dreams of gold wedding bands and sacred vows had vanished with Eric and Juliana and their travesty of a marriage. What she had with Daniel was all that she wanted. To ask for more would be to tempt fate.

Now and again, when she was very tired and her guard was down, she found her thoughts drifting back toward Perreault and her old fantasies about the way life should be. She imagined returning with Daniel and their beautiful baby, and asking Father Guilbeaux to baptize the infant the way he had baptized Isabelle and her father and her father’s father before him. And she would finally meet Victoria, her beautiful niece who—

Fortunately, this foolish line of thought was broken by the ring of the telephone. Isabelle was delighted when her obstetrician’s service asked if she would mind changing her appointment to this afternoon instead of later this week. Maybe if she got out of the apartment she could take her mind off this baby shower that wasn’t.

She showered, then dressed carefully in a pair of crisp white pants, a black silk T-shirt, and a linen jacket in a beautiful shade of teal blue. High heels were temporarily eliminated from her wardrobe, at least until she regained her old center of gravity. She slipped her feet into a pair of white leather sandals, then grabbed her purse. If her baby shower turned out to be held in her obstetrician’s office, she was not going to be taken entirely by surprise.

The doorman wasn’t on duty, so she stood on the curb, debating whether to walk the six blocks to the doctor’s office or hail a cab. It was a beautiful day, with clear blue skies and lots of sunshine. She knew the walk would do her good, but pregnant princesses attracted more than their fair share of attention, and the ten-minute walk might take closer to an hour. She was about to raise her arm and flag down a taxi when a sleek black limousine rolled to a stop in front of her. An attractive older woman in a pale blue Chanel stepped out, followed by a tall gentleman dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit.

Smiling, the woman stepped forward. “Princess Isabelle?”

Isabelle nodded, hopes rising.
It’s inevitable,
Cathy Bronson-Bernier had said about baby showers.
It’ll happen when you least expect it.

“We’d like you to come with us, if you please.”

“How wonderful!”

The two well-dressed strangers met each other’s eyes. The woman’s smile widened. “I am pleased to find you so agreeable.”

“Of course I’m agreeable,” said Isabelle as they led her to the car. She looked from the woman to the man, then back again. “I had been told to expect a guerrilla-style ambush, but this is actually quite civilized.”

The man started to laugh. “You are certainly not what I expected, if I might say so.”

The woman linked her arm through Isabelle’s. “Come along then, Princess Isabelle. Your chariot awaits.”

“How wonderful,” Isabelle said as she settled comfortably in the backseat of the limousine. “I can hardly wait to see where you are taking me.”

M
axine called Daniel at the office a little after four o’clock. “Something’s wrong,” she said, her voice tight. “Isabelle is gone.”

It struck Daniel that there was nothing unusual about a grown woman being out on a beautiful day in late spring, but Maxine sounded so distraught that he packed up his briefcase, told Phyllis to forward his calls, then headed for home.

By the time he reached the apartment, Maxine had worked herself up into a state bordering on panic.

“Calm down, Maxine.” Daniel put his arm around her shoulders and led her into the living room. “I’ll pour you a whiskey, and we’ll talk.”

“The only way to calm me down is for our girl to walk through that door with her arms piled high with packages. ’Tis what I’ve been fearing,” she said, her voice shaking. “Something terrible has happened, Daniel, something terrible.”

He knew all about the Irish and their love of signs and portents. He’d grown up with talk of banshees and leprechauns and things that went bump in the night. He sat down on the sofa next to her. “Now, back up and tell me what’s going on.”

“If I knew, would I be carryin’ on like this?”

Daniel forced a laugh. “I’m not going to answer a loaded question like that, Maxine.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she twisted Ivan’s engagement ring around her finger. “Isabelle’s an impulsive girl, but she’s learned to be thoughtful. Where on earth can she be?”

While Daniel was on his way home from the office, Maxine had called Dr. McCaffree, the obstetrician, and two local hospitals and had come up empty each time. Daniel’s gut knotted tighter as his anxiety level rose.

“Would you be thinkin’ your family had the party for her today?”

“Not without asking you, Maxine.”

“I wouldn’t be family. In Perreault—”

“This isn’t Perreault. This is America. You’re family as far as we’re concerned.” They both knew Maxine would have been highly offended if she had been excluded from the baby shower. She’d made that fact known in no uncertain terms.

Maxine squeezed his hand. Her affectionate gesture took his anxiety level even higher. “She’s too trusting by half. She doesn’t know how to protect herself in the city.”

Daniel couldn’t dispute that fact. He’d seen the way the little princess met Manhattan with her arms open wide, oblivious to the dangers, both hidden and otherwise. He didn’t want to scare the hell out of Maxine, but it was time to make a few phone calls, starting with the cops.

* * *

“You must tell me,” Isabelle said as a private jet took off from Teterboro, a small airport in New Jersey. “I cannot bear the suspense.”

“Patience, Princess,” said the woman in Chanel. “Soon enough you’ll know your destination.”

As soon as the jet achieved cruising altitude, the woman excused herself to join her companion in another part of the plane. There was a surprising amount of space inside the jet, room enough for the cabin where Isabelle was seated, an office, and a sleeping compartment.

Cushy leather divans lined both sides. A video player was hidden away in a rosewood cabinet that also housed a stereo. All manner of reading material was shelved in a rosewood wall rack at the far end of the cabin, near the door that led to the bedroom.

Isabelle had grown up royal but not fabulously wealthy. She was familiar with the ways of the very rich, but still she found this whole thing quite amazing. Wouldn’t you think there were any number of wonderful places in Manhattan in which to hold this baby shower? Or why not the country inn on Long Island that Cathy had mentioned? Daniel’s entire family lived in New York. This simply didn’t make sense.

She stopped, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Florida! Connie and Matty were vacationing down there. Certainly they would never hold a family party without the matriarch of the family present. Apparently they considered it preferable to bring the entire party down there to Connie instead of bringing Connie up to the party.

“Americans,” Isabelle murmured as she leaned back in her seat and tried to get comfortable. What an amazing lot they were.

* * *

Daniel called his sister Cathy to make sure the baby shower wasn’t under way.

“I don’t want to scare you, Danny, but the party’s next week.”

“I didn’t think you’d forget Maxine.”

Cathy sounded affronted. “Of course we wouldn’t. Maxine is family.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Besides, Mom and Pop are still in Florida. How could we have a shower without Mom?”

“I don’t have any answers, Cath.”

“Have you called the police?”

“Yeah, but they won’t do anything until she’s been gone twenty-four hours.”

Cathy was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how to ask this, Danny, except to just ask it: Could she have walked out on you?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“One that has to be asked.”

“No, she wouldn’t walk out on me.”

“She’s an unmarried, pregnant princess who’s thousands of miles away from everything and everyone she knows.”

“Save the analysis for the paying customers, Cath.” He slammed the phone down.

Maxine entered the room. “What did she say?”

“You don’t want to know.”

With that, Maxine burst into tears. “Something terrible has happened, Daniel. I can feel it in my bones.”

He tried to comfort the woman, but his own nerves were stretched so taut he felt like he was ready to snap. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Did you call the Poconos?”

“Ivan’s house?” Maxine shook her head. “I wouldn’t be thinking she’d go all that way.”

“Who knows?” countered Daniel. “Anything’s possible.” She could have called for a radio car and taken a spin up to the mountains. She was crazy about the place, all those mountains and lakes. She’d said it reminded her of Perreault.

Maxine punched the number in, then handed the telephone to Daniel. He listened to it ring five times. Ten. Twenty. He handed the phone back to Maxine. “She’s not there.”

“Or she’s not answering,” said Maxine, hands trembling as she replaced the receiver in the cradle.

Another cold blast of fear iced his blood. “Or she can’t answer.” He grabbed her car keys from the sideboard. “You stay here in case Isabelle calls.”

“Where are you going?”

He met her eyes. “Ivan’s place.”

Maxine crossed herself. “Dear God, I pray she’s there.” He didn’t know which prospect scared him more: finding the house empty or finding her there alone and in trouble.

“Call as soon as you get there,” Maxine said, giving him a swift hug.

“She’ll be there,” he said. She had to be.

* * *

Connie Bronson had never mastered the art of traveling light. An overnight trip for Matty’s wife required a pullman suitcase, carry-on luggage, and a tote bag that doubled as a pocketbook. In the early years of their marriage, Matty had railed against her inability to leave home without everything she owned, but with time had come patience. Now, after almost fifty years as husband and wife, Matty was able to shrug his shoulders and chalk it up to one of the differences that made life interesting.

“Do you have the carry-on?” Connie asked as they deplaned Delta 104, Orlando to JFK.

“I’ve got the carry-on.”

“The Mickey Mouse T-shirts?”

“I’ve got the T-shirts.”

She stopped midpoint in the jetway, to the consternation of the two hundred thirty-five people behind her. “We forgot the Cinderella watch for Katie.”

He patted his breast pocket. “Got it, Connie. Now can we get the lead out?”

Frank was waiting for them at the luggage carousel. “Good to see you back, folks,” he said, pumping his boss’s hand. “Things aren’t the same without you around.”

“Frank!” Connie exclaimed, giving the man a hug. “What are you doing here? Your tonsils.”

“Piece of cake,” said Frank with a grin. “They decided not to do it. I’m on enough antibiotics to kill an elephant’s tonsillitis.”

“I’m so relieved,” said Connie. “Danny had his tonsils out when he was twenty-one. Dreadful for an adult.”

They kept up a running discussion on the pros and cons of modern medicine while they waited for the luggage to appear. Matty tapped his foot impatiently.

“Could be halfway home by now if it wasn’t for all your junk,” he said to Connie who rolled her eyes and ignored him.

Twenty minutes later, each lugging a considerable load, they made their way out to the street where the Lincoln awaited them.

“Hey, Mr. B.!”

Matty spun around. A big, burly skycap beamed at him. “Joe!” He offered his hand. “Great to see you, pal. Where you been keepin’ yourself?”

“I been everywhere, Mr. B. International, the shuttle. Even managed Teterboro for a while, real close to home, but the money’s better over here. Got my son hooked up over there, though.”

“Say hi to Ronnie, would you? Last time I saw him he was in Little League.”

“Will do.”

Matty turned to leave, but Joe had more to say. “He saw Danny’s princess out at Teterboro a little while ago. Said she was even cuter in person than on TV.”

“She’s a doll, all right. We’re all looking forward to that baby.”

“Coming soon?”

“First week in July.”

“Ronnie said she looked like it was any time. He kinda wondered what she was doing flying off someplace.”

Matty frowned. “Flying off?” He turned to Connie. “Were Danny and Isabelle going anyplace?”

Connie shook her head. “Isabelle said they’d be staying close to home until the baby comes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Look,” said Joe, “maybe I got it wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Matty, clapping him on the back. “We’ll figure it all out when we get home.”

* * *

Isabelle stared out the window at the endless blackness of the Atlantic Ocean. They had been airborne for almost four hours. She’d accepted the explanation that they were flying over the water in order to avoid heavy traffic from commercial airliners, but it seemed to her that it was more than time to see the lights of the Florida coastline twinkling below.

She unbuckled her seat belt and put the latest issue of
Vogue
down on the table in front of her. Rising slowly to her feet, she massaged the small of her back. Her muscles were cramping from sitting for so long. Even her legs hurt, whether from the inactivity or the cabin pressure she didn’t know, but she felt perfectly dreadful. A pleasant cabin steward had checked with her periodically, offering her beverages and more reading material, but he had only smiled politely when she asked questions and had neatly sidestepped answering any of them.

Carefully. Isabelle made her way toward the bifold door that separated the cabin from the rest of the plane. Gripping the handle, she made to pull it open but was met with resistance. Locked? She tugged at it, harder this time, and was rewarded with a “Just a moment” from inside.

She stepped back, her heart pounding faster. Listening carefully, she heard the faintest click of a lock, then the door folded open. The woman in the blue Chanel suit smiled at her, the same kind of pleasant smile as the cabin steward’s.

“So sorry,” said the woman. “We often have difficulty with the hinges.”

“It was locked,” said Isabelle, hands clasped over her belly.

“You’re mistaken,” said the woman, still pleasantly smiling. “Why on earth would we lock the door?”

“That is the second question I wish to ask.” She met the woman’s eyes. “I must demand to know where we are going.”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Now, you wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would you?”

“At this point, yes, I would.” She gestured toward the window. “I know we’re on the way to Florida for the baby shower. Shouldn’t we be seeing land by now?”

“Oh dear,” said the woman. “How on earth did you guess?”

“Well, it wasn’t terribly difficult.” Her royal hauteur reasserted itself. “Although I must say by the time we reach the baby shower, I shall be ready to go to bed.”

The woman patted Isabelle on the hand in an overly familiar fashion. “I’m so sorry, dear. We didn’t want to worry you, but there is some heavy weather up ahead, and we’ve been diverted temporarily.”

Isabelle frowned. “Do we have enough fuel?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’d like to make a telephone call.”

“I wish we could accommodate you, but we don’t have the equipment to do so.”

“Would you ask the pilot to relay a message? Perhaps someone on the ground would place a call for me.”

“Of course,” said the impeccably groomed older woman. She disappeared for a moment then returned with a piece of watermarked white paper and a pen. “Please write your message down, and I’ll make certain the pilot relays it.” Somewhat relieved, Isabelle jotted a note to Daniel that she was fine, even though he certainly must know she was en route to the baby shower. “Thank you,” she said, handing the note to the woman.

“Our pleasure. I only regret we’ve given you the slightest apprehension.” The pleasant smile reappeared. “Now if you would please return to your seat and buckle your lap belt. As I said, there are storms in the area, and we like to take all precautions.”