The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (16 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IT WAS EASY to talk about fighting for her rightful place, but what did that really mean?              The first order of business was to craft a statement that Britchford’s party was officially backing Renee as the heiress presumptive.

“Rufus isn’t going to like this,” said Britchford gleefully. “It puts him in a spot. A taste of his own medicine might clarify matters for him.”

Next, they had to do some clarifying of their own and called Renee’s lawyer in America. He wasn’t actually her lawyer, he had just drawn up the divorce papers and typed the right names in the right places. She had visited him a week after Ray had left and it cost her fifty dollars for the paperwork and another hundred dollars to talk to him for half an hour regarding how to arrange custody and divide assets, which had been a quick conversation because she had no assets…back then. Now she was on the verge of inheriting one of the world’s largest fortunes. She knew Ray and knew that he could sniff out money from between the rocks. She had left him an envelope containing the divorce papers and a letter saying that she was leaving with Cassandra. All he had to do was sign the papers and he would be free; she would not ask for alimony, child support or contest anything as long as she got full custody of Cassandra and that was the agreement in the document.

She drummed her fingers on the polished desk as she waited for an operator to find the name and number for the law offices of Mr. Jay Tunney, Esq. Finally, she heard the telephone ring on the other side of the Atlantic. It was still morning there. It rang and rang until finally a gruff voice answered, “Tunney offices.”

“Hello, Mr. Tunney. You may not remember, but I’m a client of yours. I visited you two months ago to have divorce papers drawn up. I was just calling to find out if my husband signed them and returned them to you.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Krebs. Renee Krebs and my husband is Raymond Krebs.”

“Ok, give me a minute. My secretary is out sick with the flu this week.” Renee heard the sound of tapping on a keyboard and some drawers opening and closing. After a round of throat clearing and coughing he returned to the phone. “Mrs. Krebs, I found the record of our meeting and your payment, but the documents have not yet been returned. I can’t file with the court until I get something back with his signature on it.”

A nauseous feeling started in Renee’s stomach. Ray hadn’t signed the papers, she was sure of it.

“You know, your name is very similar to one that’s been in the news lately. If I remember you right, you kind of look like”—Renee thanked him and hung up. She dialed the number to her apartment. There was no answer even though it was Ray’s day off.

Damn that man! Even after walking out on her, he was still managing to make her life miserable. She must have cursed out loud because all three of them—Roberts, Britchford and Chase—looked up.

“Bad news. I’m still married. He didn’t sign the papers,” she said.

“Perhaps an annulment can be obtained?” said Britchford hopefully.

Roberts shook his head. “She’s not Catholic. Besides, the Church of England was founded upon the idea of divorce. The monarch can’t shy away from it now.”

“Is the marriage really over? There’s no hope of a reconciliation?” asked Britchford.

The muscles in Chase’s face tightened.

“It’s definitely over,” said Renee.

Chase breathed again.

“Well,” he said brightly, “we’ll just have to find a way to force the issue.”

Britchford nodded, deep in thought. “Yes. Yes, that sounds right. A beautiful, unattached heiress is far more appealing that a married matron. I’ll get somebody from the Houston consulate to knock on the door and reason with him. In the meantime, it’s important for the public to get to know you and see you. We need to counter this image put forth of you being some sort of scrounger and opportunist. What about the theatre tonight?  Put on a pretty frock and go out on the town?”

Everybody agreed that was a good plan, but Renee bit her tongue. It would take more than a dress to counter the image that Bretton had fixed in the public’s mind. The Ray situation was also a problem. She knew there would be no reasoning with Ray unless it involved substantial palimony payments from her. He was going to use those divorce papers to extort a royal fortune from her. Oh God, first her mother and now her ex-husband. There was no escaping the leeches.

There was a commotion outside and Renee was sure the paparazzi had heard her thoughts. She ran to the window just in time to see a mass of bleached blonde hair with bad roots, and a flash of cleavage and gaudy jewelry disappear into a swarm of reporters.

Leanne.

Without thinking, Renee threw up the sash of the window and stuck her head out.

“Mama! Get your hind quarters up here right now!”

A hundred cameras started flashing and Leanne, looking up to see what the cause was, appeared annoyed, the smile frozen on her face. A member of Renee’s security detail waded into the swarm to put a protective arm around her and guided her inside. Renee slammed the window shut and drew the curtains with a sharp snap.

“Grandma’s here,” she said.

Cassandra, who had been reading a book about the Middle Ages, ran to her room and locked the door. A moment later she could hear her mother’s loud trill down the hall. She braced herself and then the door flew open, her mother walked in and looked around.

“This is more like it,” she said approvingly and set down a large duffel bag to examine a vase. “That hotel you sent me to in Loo-ton was a dump. They didn’t have hot running water! You have to turn a switch and then wait an hour for the water to warm up and you know how I like a scorching hot shower before I have my coffee. And everybody is walking around in shrouds. What is this, Pakistan? Dark weather, dark clothes and no one even speaks English. I understand about the security and keeping us separated, but I’m not going back there. I like it here. This is light and bright and expensive. This is much better. So, what are we doing today?” she asked as she settled into a cream chair like she belonged there.

“We’re going to the theatre,” said Roberts, relieving Renee of the agony of having to speak. She was too busy grinding her teeth.

“If I’d known that, I would’ve brought something appropriate to wear! My stiletto boots and big hoop earrings are still at the hotel in Loo-ton.”

“This is easily remedied,” said Roberts and picked up the ornate telephone. He asked for a particular person at Harrods and gave him an account number and his requirements. “Your dresses will be here in one hour for you to try on. Also, a seamstress and a beautician.”

Renee couldn’t believe it. “Just like that? You snap your fingers and department stores bring you clothes and stylists?”

“When you’ve got the royal expense account number memorized, you can do just about anything,” said Roberts with a smile.

“Why don’t you sit next to me and tell me more about this expense account?” said Leanne and patted the seat next to her.

Within an hour, a rack of dresses had arrived along with a trunk on wheels that contained accessories, hand bags and anything else a person might need for a night out on the town. Leanne rifled through the dresses before pulling out a gold lamé gown. She bustled into a bedroom to try it on. Renee let her hand run across the various fabrics and colors. She lingered on a royal blue dress with crinoline to give the skirt a flounce. She had never wanted to wear a dress more than this one. “That would go beautifully with your hair color,” said the assistant. It didn’t take long before both Renee and Leanne were transformed. Even Leanne, with the help of a girdle and an expert makeup artist, looked ready to grace the society pages. Cassandra was enticed, with the promise of finding real Mexican food somewhere in London, to put on a velvet skirt and coat, but refused to talk to Leanne who still called her Catherine. As they put on their shawls and gloves, Renee directed Leanne not to respond to reporters’ questions except to smile and then continue inside.

“Well, where’s the fun in that, honey? The best part about show business—besides these fabulous clothes—is being in the limelight, being famous.” Leanne checked her hair in the mirror. “Not big enough,” she muttered to herself and tried to tease it up with her fingers.

“Mama, listen to me. Every single one of those reporters is waiting for me to do something wrong or say something wrong. There can’t be any mistakes tonight. Just look thrilled to be at the theatre and that’s it. Please, Mama,” Renee begged. “It’s important.”

“Fine,” said Leanne with an air of exasperation. “I will be the soul of discretion. You are such a party pooper.”

Renee prayed her mother would keep to her word and was gratified when Leanne pursed her lips in an effort not to talk to the shouting reporters as they made their way to the limousine. Of course, Leanne couldn’t resist blowing a theatrical kiss as she ducked into the vehicle.

The ride to the theatre was short—Renee was beginning to recognize some of the more travelled roads—and the theatre itself was magnificent. Renee paused on the steps to let the paparazzi get their photographs; she was becoming quite a pro at this, she thought. Perhaps she could fill this role after all.

She was just turning to walk up the theatre steps when a woman on the sidewalk yelled, “Slag!” and hurled a tomato at her. It missed, but it spattered a few drops on the hem of Leanne’s dress when it hit the ground. A couple of bobbies materialized and dragged her away by the elbows. Renee watched in shock. She had never heard the word before, but she understood what it meant. No doubt there would be more of this in the future.

“Well, I never! People sure are unfriendly in this country,” said Leanne. “When I was in Luton I ordered a ham sandwich and wine cooler and got kicked out of the restaurant.”

Cassandra was hopping mad and wanted to throw something back at the woman.

“No, honey, you can’t do that,” said Renee.

“But you always said I should defend myself if bullied or attacked.”

“That’s true, but we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard now. We have to be above everything and pretend like we don’t notice when people are being rude. If they want to be jerks, that’s on them. It has nothing to do with you or me. Just hold your head up and pretend like you don’t hear anything.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose, but agreed. After that, they went inside, which was full of colorful, shimmering spots that were evening dresses and black pools that were tuxedos.

Roberts brimmed with excitement. “I haven’t been here since opening night of
The Phantom of the Opera
. Oh, how magical that was and Her Majesty looked splendid in her champagne colored gown. She was quite the theatre buff, you know.”

“What are we seeing tonight?” whispered Renee once they were in the lobby.

“Hamlet. I’ve heard this actor is brilliant.”

Renee felt a constricted feeling in her chest, the same feeling she got when she was in high school English class taking a test on one or another of Shakespeare’s plays. She never understood what the plays were talking about—were they even written in English?—and would hurry up and fill in the test bubbles at random or write any name or scrap of verse she could remember from the class discussions. She had never gotten higher than a C minus and that was by luck. If she was going to be the queen of England, she would be expected to know about Shakespeare and discuss his plays intelligently. She started to hyperventilate. This was worse than any test. At least after a test she didn’t have to remember any of the information once the test was completed. But this she was going to have to remember for life! She might as well pack up and go home now. She looked around. Everyone looked so elegant. They looked just like the type of people who could watch Shakespeare and understand it.

“Where’s the bar?” whispered Leanne.

“Mama, not now!”

A bell sounded and everyone moved into the theatre itself. As they settled themselves into their private box, Leanne still muttering about a gin and tonic, Renee surveyed the audience. Many sets of opera glasses glinted in her direction. In the next box a man with a mane of grizzled white hair and a beard raised his glass ever so slightly in her direction. She nodded in acknowledgement and was grateful when the lights went down. Within ten minutes Leanne was yawning loudly, but to her intense surprise, Renee found that she was drawn into the story from the beginning. Seeing the play acted as opposed to reading it out loud with a bunch of teenagers as bored as she was, was a completely different experience. She, too, had unexpectedly answered a call to the crown and she, too, wondered if there was more to the passing of the former monarch than was readily apparent. She leaned forward to watch and blinked in surprise when the lights came up for the intermission. It had passed by so quickly.

“Oh good, is it time for a drink?” said her mother, cracking her joints as she stretched. Cassandra was asleep in her chair, but Renee was ready to stretch her legs and find some refreshments.

“I can stay with her, Ma’am,” offered Roberts.

Renee assented and eagerly made her way out of the box. There was a crush in front of the bar, but the crowd grew hushed and parted for her as she and Leanne approached. Leanne marched up to the bar.

“Tequila,” she said.