Too Damn Rich (21 page)

"I assure you, I'm not." There was a peculiar
touch of exasperation, wistfulness, and irritation in Zandra's tone
which Kenzie found oddly touching. It was as if she were suddenly
privy to the reality behind a lifetime's notion of romantic fairy
tales—a rare insight she'd never before had cause to consider. "Do
you have any idea," Zandra went on, "how many times I've wished I'd
been named something normal? Something like ... oh, Jane Smith, for
example?"

"Anyway." Kenzie gestured with the blow
dryer. "With all those Hapsburg-sounding names of yours, I'm at a
loss as to what to call you."

"Oh, but I'm not a Hapsburg, even if my name
does rather sound like one," Zandra explained, keeping her
convoluted lineage to a minimum in order to avoid confusion. "I
mean, here and there I must have a sprinkling of distant Hapsburg
relations, true, but that's only because all the ancient families
of Europe are one big incestuous soup pot. But as far as my first
name is concerned, I go by Zandra. It's unique, you see, and seems
to best suit my personality."

"Zahn-drah," Kenzie repeated slowly,
pronouncing it the way Zandra had. "Mm. Yes, I do believe it rather
suits you."

Zandra gave a secretive little smile.
"Promise you won't laugh, but the real reason I like it is because
ever since childhood, I've always had the most maddening crush on
any word beginning with the letter Z. Bizarre, don't you think? But
then, what's life but a string of bizarre coincidences? I mean,
look at the way we met. Or how I landed the job I've been
offered—"

"Which," Kenzie reminded her, "you've
neglected to specify."

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to be mysterious."
She waited until the woman in red, touch-up complete, swept regally
past and went out. "It's just that during the past twenty-four
hours, my entire life's been turned topsy-turvy. Everything's
happened so fast! But as far as I can tell, I'm going to be working
at Burghley's—"

"Burghley's!" Kenzie squeaked incredulously.
"You don't mean the auction house?"

"The one and only. Yes." Zandra looked
concerned. "Why? Is something wrong there that I should know
about?"

"Wrong?" Kenzie exclaimed, grinning. "Things
couldn't be more right! Zandra, I work at Burghley's, too!"

"You don't!" Zandra's jaw dropped.

"I do!" Kenzie squealed. "Isn't this
great?"

"I'll say! We'll have a grand time!"

"The best!"

"See what I mean? This proves it. Our meeting
has to have been preordained." Zandra switched off the second
dryer. "There," she said, shelving it alongside the other. "I think
that about does you."

Kenzie felt herself with one hand. "Dry as a
bone," she announced. "And you've only got this one teensy-weensy
spot left." She diverted the blow dryer to the last damp stain on
Zandra's overskirt. "So what's your area?" she asked, glancing
up.

"My what?"

"You know—your area of expertise. Chinese
ceramics? Islamic art? Mughal paintings?"

"Oh, nothing that exotic. The only thing I'm
familiar with are gloomy old paintings. You know. Ancestral
portraits ... landscapes with ruins ... any such cracked,
varnished, gilt-framed monstrosities with impeccable
provenances—"

"You mean Old Masters?" asked Kenzie faintly,
not daring to believe her ears.

"Yes, I believe that's what they're
officially called. Why?"

"Because," Kenzie blurted in a headlong rush,
"that's my department, too! Oh, this is too much! Now I know you
were right. Our running into each other—"

"—quite literally," interjected Zandra with a
giggle.

"—must have been divine providence!" Kenzie
finished. "There! This last spot's dry now." She unbent herself and
switched off the blow dryer. The sudden silence in the powder room
was almost unearthly. Pinching the skirt of her own dress, she
lifted it up for inspection. "Well?" she asked. "What do you think?
Am I presentable?"

"Under these unflattering fluorescents,"
Zandra observed, "some faint stains are bound to show. But once
we're back outside, I guarantee you no one will be the wiser."

"Perhaps we can sit together during dinner?"
Kenzie tossed over her shoulder at Zandra, who was right behind
her.

"I'd love nothing more, but at this late
point," Zandra said delicately, remembering Karl-Heinz's invitation
to sit at his table—a spur-of-the- moment change which had, no
doubt, played havoc with the seating arrangements, "that would
probably present a social dilemma."

Kenzie shrugged philosophically. "Oh well,"
she said, pulling open the ladies' room door, "that's hardly a
tragedy. We can catch each other afterwards."

"Yes! We'll do that!"

And off they sailed, side by side, both
beaming with delight at their newly forged friendship.

But their smiles faded the instant they
returned to the Blumenthal Patio.

"What the—" Kenzie began, staring around in
disbelief.

For the huge room, which had been a veritable
beehive of social activity when they had left for the powder room,
now stood silently, accusingly empty. Only the Mozart ensemble,
busily packing up sheet music and instruments, a few waiters
sweeping up debris, and three men waiting in the center of the now
otherwise unpopulated expanse, attested to a party ever having
taken place. During their absence, everyone had evidently migrated
to the Engelhard Court for dinner, everyone, that is, except for
Prince Karl-Heinz, Mr. Spotts, and Hannes Hockert.

"I could die!" Kenzie murmured uneasily.
"Looks like we're awfully late!"

"Better late than never," Zandra quoted
blithely, and calmly taking Kenzie by the arm, propelled her
forward.

Karl-Heinz was the first to see them coming.
"There you are!" he called to Zandra, rapidly outstriding Mr.
Spotts and Hannes, both of whom followed close behind.

"I hope I didn't make us terribly late for
dinner. Heinzie—our drinks had a slight altercation!" Zandra looked
around. "Where's Lex?" she inquired, her lips turning down in a
frown.

"Lex?" Karl-Heinz repeated blankly, before
making the connection. "Ah, you must mean the gentleman with whom
you arrived?"

"Lex Bugg. Yes," she nodded.

"The last I saw of him," Karl-Heinz told her,
"was when he accompanied some older woman in to dinner."

Zandra's eyes narrowed. Why, the little shit!
she thought. He would desert me!

As if reading her mind, Karl-Heinz chased
away her momentary flash of anger with a smile. "I do believe it's
for the best," he soothed, "don't you? Now I will not have to share
you with anyone, and can have you all to myself."

And with that, he placed a proprietary hand
under one of her elbows, the other in the small of her spine, and
swooped her away, leaving Kenzie, Hannes, and Mr. Spotts
behind.

Zandra turned her head to give Kenzie a
quick, helpless glance over her shoulder. We'll talk later! she
mouthed.

Okay! Kenzie mouthed in return as she slipped
one arm through each of those profferred by the men flanking her.
"I'm sorry I disappeared like that," she apologized, the three of
them following in Zandra and Karl- Heinz's wake. "There was a
slight ... accident."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Mr. Spotts asked,
giving no hint of his inner turmoil, which was considerable.

"Not serious in the least," Kenzie assured
him lightly. "I only hope I didn't inconvenience the two of
you."

"No, no," Mr. Spotts was quick to respond.
But inwardly he groaned. He had hoped to have a moment alone with
her, in order to break the bad news about her being passed over for
promotion. Better she hears it from me instead of from somebody
else, he thought. Now, unfortunately, he'd have to wait until after
they were seated for dinner.

This is not auspicious timing, he thought
glumly as they entered the Engelhard Court. No, not auspicious in
the least ...

But Kenzie, still happily unshadowed by the
drama in which she'd featured so prominently, was too intoxicated
with the effect her dramatic entrance was having to notice that
anything was amiss in her world.

All in all, she asked herself euphorically,
basking in the knowledge that her physical presence was magnified
by two gallant gentlemen—one on each arm—was there any other way to
arrive anywhere? Because, no matter which way one looked at it, two
escorts not only doubled the pleasure, but multiplied it, and were
infinitely, irrefutably, better than one!

For the time being, reality was
suspended.

In the Engelhard Court, the flickering
tapers, the gold- dipped floral centerpieces, the necklaces of
twinkle lights strung along arched trellises, the glow and sparkle
of gold and gemstones—all conspired to gild the guests and food
alike.

Everything seemed to have been conjured up by
some magic-imbued genie. The swagged canopies with their elaborate
jabots and bursts of ostrich plumes which hovered in midair above
each round table. The army of white-gloved waiters who glided about
like so many silent ghosts. The smoothness with which everything
hummed along. Even the vibrato of buzzing conversations, punctuated
by fanciful flights of musical laughter, seemed somehow to have
been expressly orchestrated for this event by benevolent higher
beings.

It was perfection—everyone said so.

No one more so than Dina Goldsmith, who was
in the fast lane and loving every minute of it!

Now, surveying Karl-Heinz's immediate social
fiefdom—his own table at the very epicenter of the Engelhard Court
at which, thanks to Zandra, she and Robert found themselves
seated—Dina regarded her A-list dinner companions with a pleasure
so intense it nearly verged on physical pain. On her immediate left
sat Lord Rosenkrantz, then Nina Fairey, then Robert; directly
opposite her were Becky V and His Serene Highness, their host; then
Zandra; and on Dina's immediate right, an unusually reticent
Sheldon D. Fairey.

Predictably, the conversation at the prince's
table centered around him, whose birthday was being celebrated.

"You cannot be serious!" Nina Fairey was in
the midst of exclaiming. Like every woman at that table with the
exception of Zandra, she only made a pretense of eating the
appetizer of hot oysters with endives in a fragrant lemon-cream
sauce, thus ensuring her skeletal figure perpetual clothes-hanger
status. "I think it's monstrous!"

"Perhaps so," replied Karl-Heinz with a shrug
of his princely shoulders, "but it is the tradition in my family.
Also, such by-laws are not at all uncommon, you know. Many of the
titled old families of Europe still observe the custom of
primogeniture. For example, the Thurn und Taxis still do, and I
could name many, many others."

That said, he began to turn toward Zandra,
but Dina quickly picked up the conversational thread. "I've never
heard of anything so unfair," she declared.

Karl-Heinz turned to her and smiled. "My dear
Dina, as you probably well know life seldom is fair."

"Perhaps, but this virtually blackmails you
into marriage!"

"Yes," Karl-Heinz agreed calmly, "it does.
But don't forget, that was the original intention: to ensure a
continuing dynasty of the right bloodstock."

"Still, you haven't married," she pointed
out.

"No," he replied, "I haven't."

"And doesn't that worry you, now that you've
turned ... well, whatever?" Diamonds flashed as she waved away his
age.

"Of course it has crossed my mind," he said.
"No one with a shred of sanity would jeopardize a fortune of that
size."

Her voice was quiet. "But you have," she
pointed out.

"Yes," he sighed, "I have."

She held his gaze. "And if your father dies?
And you haven't produced an heir by that time? What happens
then?"

"Then," he said simply, "I lose
everything."

"Good heavens!"

"Of course, that does not mean I would be
destitute. I do have a fortune of my own, and even if I didn't, the
same family by-laws which kept me from inheriting would also ensure
that I would be well provided for."

"But the bulk of the fortune?" Dina asked.
"The power. To whom would that pass?"

"Regrettably to Prince Leopold, my sister's
eldest son." Who is a drug addict and a delinquent, he thought
grimly as he reached for his wineglass. "At any rate, let us hope
my father lives a while longer, shall we?"

"And how is
le vieil Prince?"
Becky V
inquired. "In good health,
j'espere bien?
"

"I'm afraid not," Karl-Heinz confessed. "His
health has been deteriorating quite rapidly."

Silk rustled as Becky V went rigid. "
A
dieu ne plaise!
" she exclaimed. "
Cher ami!
Surely that
must alarm you!"

Karl-Heinz lifted the wine to his nose to
assay its bouquet. "Naturally his health causes concern," he
admitted. "Just as Damocles never forgot the sword hanging over his
head, so too, I never forget the one hanging over mine. But what
can one do?" He shrugged. "Life goes on."

"How old is your father?" Dina inquired.

He sipped the wine, which went dusky and
mellow on his palate. "Nearly eighty."

Becky, quick to pat the princely hand, added:
"
Naturellement
, it goes without saying that Heinzie was a
change-of-life baby!"

There was dutiful laughter, but not from
Dina. Having tasted firsthand of the bitter cup of poverty, she
had, if nothing else, gained a healthy respect for all matters
financial.

Now she leaned across the table toward
Karl-Heinz. "Sweetie! Think of all the billions of dollars at
stake! Why not get married? Why not have an heir, secure your
inheritance, and be done with it? It can't be all that difficult .
. . can it?"

Karl-Heinz half smiled. "In some ways, my
dear Dina, yes. It can be."