Too Damn Rich (66 page)

Saturday, March 9, the day of the princely
wedding, dawned stormy and gray. Princess Sofia awoke to flashing
lightning and booming thunder. A fierce rain lashed Schloss
Engelwiesen's hundreds of tall windows, and the waters of the lake
seemed aboil with malevolent fury.

"
Wach auf!
" Sofia elbowed her husband
awake.

"Ow!" Erwein, tasseled bedcap harking back to
an earlier century, let out a startled yelp and sat up
straight.

For a moment he didn't know where he was. And
then he remembered. They were in the bedroom of a two-room suite on
the second floor, to which Karl-Heinz had relegated them, and about
which Sofia had complained bitterly.

He looked at her. "
Was gebt's?
" he
mumbled sourly.

Her eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark.
"Oh, Erwein, listen! Just listen—" She gestured to the window.

As if on cue, an ear-shattering crack of
thunder shook the Schloss, accompanied by particularly impressive
flashes of lightning.

Sofia smirked. "You see? What did I tell you,
Erwein? It is just as I said. The big day," she announced
triumphantly, "is going to be a disaster!"

"Ja,
Liebling
," Erwein sighed,
thankful that the storm had put her in a good mood. "You were
right, as always."

Yes, Sofia thought smugly, I was.

Erwein lay back down and fell fast
asleep.

But on this day, Sofia's disposition was
dependent upon the vagaries of the weather, and it seemed the
weather was out to taunt her.

By nine o'clock, she was back on the
warpath.

The thunderstorm had long passed, and the
prevailing easterly had swept away every last vestige of cloud. The
sun shone brilliantly, the deep blue lake was mirror-smooth, and
the distant snowy Alps looked like jagged mounds of whipped cream,
the view so razor sharp that she felt she could almost reach out
and touch them.

Erwein was in the bathroom shaving when he
heard her calling.

"Errrrrweiiiiin ..." she cooed.

His hand jerked, and the pearl-handled
straight razor slipped and cut a gash in his cheek.

"Errrrrweiiiiin ..."

He looked around wildly, desperately seeking
escape. Unfortunately, this particular bathroom had only the one
door and a small window.

Scheisse!
He was trapped.

"Errrrrweiiiiin ..."

Shoulders slumping, he dropped the razor in
the sink. Might as well get it over with, he thought miserably.

"
Ja, ja
," he said, weary resignation
in his voice, "
lch komme schon
..."

The wedding ceremony, with typical Germanic
punctuality, had been scheduled for exactly two-thirty in the
afternoon.

At one forty-five Zandra was still upstairs
in the
Brautkammer
of Das Trauungshaus, the von und zu
Engelwiesens' bride-to-be's residence in Augsburg, turning a deaf
ear to the anguished duckings of Grafin Fuchswalder and Baroness
Frohlichhasen, both of whom insisted it was time to head to the
cathedral, and—
Gott im Himmel!
—the bride wasn't even dressed
yet! As if they could leave without the limousines having arrived,
or the trio of aunts—Lady Josephine, Lady Cressida, and Lady
Alexandra—part of Zandra's English contingent, still dawdling in
their respective guest rooms, presumably powdering themselves or
doing whatever it was old ladies did.

Kenzie, who had also stayed the night in
this, the finest Renaissance house on the Maximilianstrasse, the
finest Renaissance street in all Germany, doubted that those grand
old ladies would permit themselves to be rushed.

She herself, however, was pacing the front
parlor, the uniquely chic, Empire-waisted violet silk mousseline
gown with its one gold-embroidered sleeve and a single long
matching gold glove, at odds with her bourgeois agitation.

Weddings always made her uneasy, but this—a
princely wedding in a cathedral, with a guest list culled from the
oldest, the noblest, and the grandest of all European noble
families, as well as a veritable Who's Who of international cafe
society—only added to her disquiet.

The doorbells chimed, and from upstairs, the
voices of Grafin Fuchswalder and Baroness Frohlichhasen rose in
feverish pitch.

Not that Kenzie could fault them. The two
noblewomen, who made their living by arranging proper comings out,
weddings, and funerals, had been put in charge of the wedding—a
major feather in their hats if it came off well, the certain road
to bankruptcy if it didn't.

A uniformed maid showed two identically
dressed arrivals, who wore humongous round yellow hats pinned back
at the front, into the paneled parlor.

"So where's the bride?" Dina inquired,
swirling out of her yellow boucle coat and turning around in a
diaphanous cloud of pale lemon yellow silk.

Kenzie pointed upstairs.

From the sounds drifting down the stairwell,
it was obvious that the well-bred composure of the wedding planners
was being severely tested.

Becky said: "
Mon Dieu!
Who is making
that wretched noise?"

"The Grafin and the Baroness," Kenzie sighed.
"They're worried that Zandra is going to be late."

"How utterly Germanic," Becky pronounced,
discarding her coat on a low-backed chair with stretcher-joined
legs and gold-fringed velvet. "In my experience, it is the
prerogative of a bride to be late to her own wedding.
Alors
."

She looked around.

"A glass of champagne would be exceedingly
welcome,
n'est-ce pas?
Especially in view of the fact that a
High Mass precedes the ceremony." Dina beckoned imperiously at the
maid who was picking up their coats. "Bring us two champagnes,
please."

As an afterthought, she glanced at
Kenzie.

"Oh. Would you like one, sweetie?"

"That would be nice. Please."

"Three." Dina held up three fingers and spoke
as to a child. "
Drei
. Champagne. Chilled. Er ...
kalt.
Kalt!
"

"Chilled champagne, yes," the maid replied in
perfect English. "Would you prefer Dom Perignon or Cristal?"

"Cristal," Dina said, adding, under her
breath: "Show off!"

Becky drifted, slapping long yellow gloves in
the palm of her hand as she gazed around.

"Wonderful woodwork!" Dina effused.

"
Oui.
" Becky shrugged. "If you like
Renaissance
mit
Hun."

Dina frowned. Then, as if truly registering
Kenzie, she glided forward for a closer inspection.

"So," she said, pretending to have to search
her memory cells. "Ms.... Turner! Is that right?"

"That's-a-me!" Kenzie said, trying for
humor.

It was lost on Dina, who seemed momentarily
at a loss for words.

But no matter—just then the three aunts,
slowly descending the staircase, drew their attention. All three
wore flower-heavy hats, and Kenzie calculated, correctly, that the
slim, haughty one in the lead, Lady Josephine, was the most
formidable.

Lady Alexandra, at near eighty the eldest and
frailest, was a sweet- faced, gin-scented darling with yellow
seed-pearl teeth and a perpetually startled expression, as if
surprised to find herself still alive.

Lady Cressida, moon-faced and largish, had an
unsettling mongoloid look, with eerie, wide-set pale, pale eyes,
each of which went in a different direction, and a tiny horizontal
sliver of a lipless mouth.

All three wore outdated, flower-patterned
garden party dresses, strands of exceedingly good and very, very
large real pearls, and positively reeked of Old Money.

"Z-Z-Zandra?" Lady Alexandra tottered across
the room and peered nearsightedly up at Becky, then Dina, and
finally Kenzie.

"Zandra's not here, Alex," Lady Cressida
half-shouted.

"What?" Lady Alexandra cupped an arthritic
hand to her ear. "I can't hear you!" she shouted. "Why don't you
speak up?"

Lady Cressida took her by the arm. "Looks
like Zandra's still upstairs," she said, having to raise her voice.
"Where's your hearing aid, dear?"

The ancient lady's chin went up. "I refuse to
be seen with it," she shouted with dignity.

"Where is it, Alex?"

Lady Alexandra smiled triumphantly. "I
flushed it!"

Cressida rolled her eyes. An unsettling
sight.

The maid came with the champagne.

"Ah, gin!" Lady Alexandra clasped her hands
to her flowery bosom. "Lovely."

"No, Alex, it's champagne."

"Oh."

Cressida patted her on the arm. "Don't worry.
We'll get you a gin, dear."

Lady Alexandra looked around. "Where's
Rudolph?"

"In hospital, dear. Remember?"

"Hospital?" Lady Alexandra blink-blinked her
eyes. "But someone must give the bride away! Oh, dear. Who will
give Zandra away?"

"I imagine I shall," Aunt Josephine intoned
regally.

"Oh," Lady Alexandra fretted. "Oh oh oh! If
only poor Stefan were—"

" 'Poor' Stefan drank himself to death," Lady
Josephine said ominously. "Thank God he's not here. And as for
Rudolph—" She pronounced his name with rolling R's, as if it were a
two-syllable song "—he'd probably be passed out by now."

"Josie!" cried Cressida, scandalized.

"Well, he would do. Takes after his father,"
Josephine sniffed.

Suddenly the sound of horses' hooves could be
heard outside the window, and a car horn hooted, followed by a
rapid-fire stream of urgent German coming from directly above.

Then Baroness Frohlichhasen leaned over the
landing of the staircase, one hand clutching the banister, the
other holding onto her big turquoise picture hat.

"The vehicles are here!" she called down.
"Help us, somebody! The bride refuses to come out of the bathroom!
She has locked herself inside!"

The aunts looked at one another serenely, as
if this were common behavior in the family, and was to be
expected.

"Please ... anybody!"

Becky looked at Dina.

Dina looked at Kenzie.

Becky looked at her, too.

Guess I'm elected, Kenzie thought, and
hurried upstairs.

Zandra, wearing her white slip and white lace
stockings, was doubled over the sink.

She didn't know what had come over her. She
had barely picked up her bridal outfit when a rush of intense heat
had engulfed her. Dropping the dress, she'd rushed into the
bathroom and locked herself inside.

She barely made it in time.

When there was nothing more to throw up,
Zandra ran cold water and splashed handfuls of it up into her face
and thought, Some bride I am.

She stared at her pallid reflection in the
mirror.

It must be my nerves. Just a case of the
last-minute jitters.

Suddenly a convulsive sob rose from her
chest. The reality of the wedding was more than she had bargained
for.

It's too much. It's all too damn much. She
felt as if her life had spun crazily out of control. And it
has.

Zandra remembered the poem, "The Road Not
Taken," by Robert Frost. But when, she wondered, did two roads
diverge for me? When had she taken that first fateful step which
eventually led her here, to this particular spot, at this very
moment?

Knuckles rapped an urgent staccato on the
bathroom door.

"Zandra?" The concerned voice was Kenzie's.
"You okay, kiddo?"

No. I'm not okay. What did W. C. Fields say?
"I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

"Zandra? Will you let me in?"

"One sec."

Swiftly Zandra rinsed out her mouth with
handfuls of water and patted her lips dry on a towel. Then she
unlocked the door, opened it just wide enough for Kenzie to slip
through, and quickly bolted it again.

Kenzie took one look at Zandra and shook her
head. "Lord have mercy."

"Is everything all right in there?" Baroness
Frohlichhasen called from right outside.

"It will be, if you'll leave us alone,"
Kenzie called back. "This is Zandra's wedding. If she's a little
late, it won't make the trains not run on time."

Despite herself, Zandra had to giggle. "Gosh,
Kenzie. You darling, darling fool. Mussolini. He's the one who made
the trains run on time, Mussolini, Kenzie. Not Adolf."

"Who cares? They both wore weird pants."

"Awfully baggy, weird pants," Zandra agreed,
giggling some more.

Then her composure abruptly faltered.

"Oh, darling," she gasped. And holding out
her arms, she began to weep.

Kenzie engulfed her in a warm embrace.
"That's right. C'mon ... let it all out ..."

Zandra buried her face in Kenzie's shoulder.
"It's as though—" She was racked with sobs "—as though everything's
suddenly so ... real."

"Shush."

"And I'm frightfully scared and—"

"There's nothing to be scared of." Kenzie
patted the stooped, heaving bare back.

"But there is."

"Why? Because you can't go through with the
wedding? Is that it?"

"It ... it's not a matter of can't. Darling,
I-I've got to."

"You do not! You have a God-given right to
pursue your own happiness."

Zandra choked back a sob. "I told you. I made
a deal."

"So?"

Kenzie pulled away and held Zandra at arm's
length. "You know Heinzie won't hold you to it."

Zandra bit her lower lip.

"Don't you?"

"Yes. That's why it's up to me not to put him
in a compromising position."

"Is that the famous von Hohenburg-Willemlohe
pride speaking?"

"Oh, bugger pride! I believe in paying debts
of honor."

"Zandra, listen to me! Paying one's debts is
one thing. But slavery's been outlawed."

Zandra sniffled and wiped her eyes.

"Now, be honest with me," Kenzie said softly.
"This is just between the two of us. Okay?"