832 FIFTH AVENUE
The elegant white letters, outlined in black, graced the creamy whipcord canopy that extended from the building to the street like a convex lozenge.
Engraved plaques, shiny as new money, repeated the three-digit number on either side of the brass and etched-glass Art Deco doors.
The Robert A. Goldsmiths occupied two full penthouse floors in this, one of the most expensive residential addresses in the world. From outside, the pristine prewar apartment house looked like a sand-blasted armory. Inside, a small army was on duty around the clock. In addition to the uniformed doorman, two armed security guards were stationed in the marble lobby, and a third guard, a state-of-the-art alarm system, and closed-circuit television protected the delivery entrance on East Eighty- first Street.
The security measures were well founded, considering that the tenants had an aggregate worth of between eighteen and twenty billion dollars.
Zandra von Hohenburg-Willemlohe, who had been the Goldsmiths' houseguest before, appreciated the Elysian edifice, and not for its white- glove service, either. For her, it was the ideal hideout. If the London goons somehow managed to tail her here, they would never be able to get past the lobby, since even known visitors were as carefully screened as guests at the gates of the White House.
"You may go on up, madam," the doorman intoned gravely after having conferred over the house phone with someone at the Goldsmiths'. "It's the fourteenth floor."
When Zandra got off the elevator, the pedimented double doors to the Goldsmith apartment were open wide and an impeccably dressed man stood waiting in the luxuriously furnished vestibule.
"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.
Zandra nodded glumly. "I'm afraid so," she sighed.
"Well, I'm not! This is only the best news since ... well, since they invented hair extensions!" bubbled Dina. "It'll be just like old times!"
She put her arm around Zandra's shoulders and gave her a sisterly, sideways hug. Then, letting go of her, she tapped her lips thoughtfully.
"Job . . . job ... jo—" Dina's eyes widened. "But of course!"
"What is it?"
"Abracadabra!" Dina clicked her fingers. "Consider yourself employed."
"Dina, really I—"
"Hush, sweetie, and listen to me a moment. Robert just bought Burghley's. Or rather, I should say, he bought controlling interest in Burghley's, which amounts to practically the same thing. Right?"
"Burghley's? You mean ... the auction house?"
"Good lord, yes," Dina said happily. "Maybe now I'll be known as something other than Mrs. GoldMart. Anyway, do you realize how huge Burghley's is? I just had the grand tour this morning, and the New York branch alone employs several hundred people!"
"Dina ..." Zandra began skeptically, but was waved to silence.
"Whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it. With a staff that large, they must have an opening you can fill. Now then, let me see. What's your greatest area of expertise?"
"You mean ... as far as a Burghley's department is concerned?"
"Sweetie! What else could I pos-sib-ly mean? Of course I'm talking department!"
"Well ... I did study art," Zandra said rather uncomfortably. "And from all those vacations spent at various relatives' castles and country houses, I suppose I'm most familiar with Old Masters."
"There you have it! Look no further, sweetie: you're now employed. Robert's lawyers can speed up all that green card nonsense so that you can start immediately, and, in the meantime, if you need money you can borrow some from me, or else get an advance on your paycheck from Burghley's, whichever you find most comfortable." The new Queen of Manhattan smiled magnanimously. "Consider it a fait accompli!"
Zandra could only stare incredulously. Everything was happening so fast it made her head spin.
"Now, then." The new Queen of Manhattan rose to her feet, took Zandra by the hand, and pulled her up. "Next, we need to take inventory. Show me the clothes you've brought along," she demanded.
Zandra blinked. "Clothes ... ?" she repeated blankly. She cast an anxious glance toward the door of the walk-in closet; from the way Dina was talking, she had an absurd mental picture of having packed formal
gowns and cocktail dresses on the run. The image was so powerful and ridiculous she didn't know whether to burst into laughter or tears.
"Sweetie?" A troubled shadow flitted across Dina's features. "Is something the matter? Did I say the wrong thing?"
"No, of course you didn't. It's just that I left so suddenly I didn't have a chance to pack a thing. In other words ..." Zandra gestured at herself. "... what you see is what you get."
"Oh, dear," Dina said, without looking in the least bit perturbed. "Well, I'm sure we can find something for you to wear." She stood back and gave Zandra a critical once-over, her skilled eyes measuring her as accurately as the most experienced, sharp-eyed couturiere. "Would you believe, we're still the same size?"
"But why the big worry about clothes? Dina, what in the world is up?"
"What's up? Ah, I'll tell you what's up. I," Dina purred, producing two thick vellum invitations seemingly out of nowhere and waving them in a manner so giddily rhapsodic that they could well have announced the Second Coming, "have just been messengered invitations for the party of the season. Yes, the season! And, would you believe, it's being thrown by none other than—guess who? Ta da!"
With a flourish, she held the invitations right under Zandra's nose.
"Yes, sweetie, your very own cousin, Prince Karl-Heinz von und zu. And, as you can see, there are two invitations. One for Robert and me, and another for you and your escort." Dina all but swooned with excitement. "Well, sweetie? Are you surprised, or what?"
"Oh, Dina," Zandra tried to beg off. "Not tonight. Please? I'm frightfully tired. I've hardly slept for the past two days and—"
"And nothing. I shall not, I repeat not, take no for an answer. Since the festivities do not begin until seven-thirty, there is plenty of time for you to take a nap and wake up totally rejuvenated."
And taking Zandra by the arm, Dina guided her gently but firmly out of the guest suite, down the grandiose hall, and up the sweeping staircase to her own sprawling suite, chattering like a happy magpie the entire way.
"Thank God my closets are bursting at the seams with clothes I could never begin to wear ... so, first we'll pick out that appropriate little something, then we'll go through my jewelry to match it with a bauble or two—no, I will not let you utter one word of protest—and after that, I'll give you one of my magic sleeping pills and tuck you in myself. You might not believe it, sweetie, but I assure you: when party time rolls around, you'll look and feel fresh as a daisy!"