The Princess

by Jude Deveraux

  “Fine, one boy at Yale, the other in the air force. How’s your mother?”

  “Worried about her sons, of course.”

  The older man smiled and took out his wallet from his inside coat pocket. “I hope this is enough.”

  Bill’s eyes widened as the man handed J.T. a four-inch-thick wad of money.

  “It should be,” J.T. said, grinning, “but you know ladies.”

  “May I meet her?”

  J.T. went to the taxi door and opened it. Aria gracefully left the car.

  “Your Royal Highness, I am honored,” the older man said.

  Aria would never get used to American manners. The man was not to speak until spoken to and he was to be presented to her. But considering the way she had been treated by the odious Lieutenant Montgomery on the island, this man’s behavior was the height of protocol. She inclined her head in his direction.

  J.T. seemed about to reprimand her about something when a dark Chevrolet pulled up beside them and a thin, hawk-nosed woman got out. She was obviously angry about something.

  As every woman knows, there is no snob like a saleswoman in an exclusive dress shop. And this particular clerk had been ordered from her bed in the middle of the night.

  She looked at the men. “I don’t appreciate this,” she snapped. “I don’t care if there is a war going on. I won’t stand for this.” She turned to Aria and looked down her long nose. “This is what I’m to work with?”

  All three men opened their mouths to speak but Aria stepped in front of them. “You will open your little shop and show me your wares. If they are good enough, I will purchase an item or two.” She said it in such an autocratic way, as if she were granting the woman a favor, that the men were stunned. “Now!” Aria said in a clipped voice.

  “Yes, miss,” the woman said meekly as she fumbled at her keys.

  Aria entered the store as soon as the lights were turned on. It was the first store she had ever entered and it intrigued her. Rather than being presented with drawings of dresses and swatches of fabric, here were dresses already made. How very odd to think of wearing a dress that had not been designed for her alone.

  Behind her the saleswoman was talking to the lieutenant and Aria touched a blouse hanging from a long rack. The ivory silk crepe was rather nice. Next to it was a yellow blouse with small black dots on it. She had always wanted to see how she looked in yellow. Perhaps she could see if the blouse fit.

  She began to see possibilities in this idea of previously made clothes. She might be more inclined to be adventurous if she could see what something looked like before it was sewn.

  “Here!” the saleswoman hissed at J.T., handing him a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. “Call this and tell Mavis to get over here instantly.”

  J.T., like all men, was out of place in the female atmosphere and docilely did as he was bid.

  “Who is he?” Bill whispered as J.T. was dialing, nodding toward the older man who had managed to open the store in the middle of the night.

  “A friend of my mother’s. He owns a bank or two,” J.T. said as he dialed. “Hello, Mavis?” he said into the telephone.

  “I am waiting,” Aria said impatiently from the dressing room.

  The banker left, Mavis arrived, and Bill and J.T. sat down on little gold chairs to wait. Bill dozed while J.T. shifted on his chair impatiently.

  “This will not do at all,” Aria said, examining herself in the mirror.

  “But it’s a Mainbocher,” the woman protested. “Perhaps a tuck taken in here and one here, and with the right gloves…”

  “Perhaps. Now, about this one.”

  “The Schiaparelli?”

  “I will take it. You must pack it carefully.”

  “Yes,” the woman said hesitantly. “Does madam have her luggage here?”

  “I have no luggage. You will have to provide it.”

  “But…but, madam, we do not sell luggage in this shop.”

  Aria found the woman quite tiresome. “Then you must obtain some. And I want the clothes packed carefully, with tissue paper.” As far as Aria could tell, Americans were so odd, it was no telling what they would do with one’s clothes.

  The woman was backing from the dressing room. She whispered something to Mavis, who ran out of the shop. She turned to J.T. “This will take a while. There are alterations.”

  J.T. stood. “We don’t have time. I have to report for duty in Key West in a few hours. What size does she wear?”

  “Six. She is a perfect six but sometimes the dresses are not perfect,” the woman said diplomatically.

  “Then give her one of every size six you have in the shop.”

  Her eyes widened. “But that will cost a great deal. And the clothing coupons—”

  J.T. took the roll of money from his pocket. They were hundred-dollar bills. He began counting off bills. “Perhaps you can say that all your size sixes were damaged and they had to be discarded. Believe me, Uncle Sam won’t mind giving up a few pieces of clothing for what this lady will bring him in return.”

  The woman’s eyes were on the money. “There are shoes.”

  J.T. kept unrolling layers of bills.

  “And gloves. And hosiery. And, of course, underwear. We also carry a line of costume jewelry.”

  J.T. stopped counting. “Princess,” he yelled, startling Bill awake so that he nearly fell off the chair, “you want jewelry?”

  “I’ll need emeralds, and a few rubies, but only if they’re deep red. And of course diamonds and pearls.”

  J.T. winked at the saleswoman. “I don’t think she’ll wear glass and gold paint, do you?”

  “We do have a pair of diamond earrings.”

  J.T. unrolled a few more hundreds. “She’ll take them. Give her whatever you have in her size.”

  At that moment Mavis appeared at the door. Behind her was a sleepy-looking man with a hand truck piled high with matching blue canvas luggage trimmed in white leather. “Where you want it?” he asked sullenly.

  J.T. stepped back as the saleswoman took over.

  “Beautiful, madam,” the saleswoman said moments later to Aria in the dressing room. “You are utterly lovely.”

  Aria studied herself in the mirror. All her life she had been on display and how to look good was something she had learned at an early age. Yes, the clothes were beautiful, very little fabric used because of the war, of course, but they were cut well and they draped and clung to her body in a very pleasant way. But from her neck up she thought she looked very different from these Americans. Her long hair was scraped back and untidily wrapped into a knot and her face was pale and colorless.

  “Your handsome young man is growing impatient,” the saleswoman said, some apology in her voice.

  “He is neither mine nor do I find him particularly handsome,” Aria said, twisting to look at the seams in her stockings. “Are you sure American women wear dresses this short?” The clerk didn’t answer so Aria looked at her and saw her staring.

  “Not handsome?” the woman said at last.

  It occurred to Aria that she had never actually looked at Lieutenant Montgomery. She opened the curtain to the dressing room and peered out.

  He was sprawled across a small antique reproduction chair—and not a very good one at that—his legs stretched out across the floor so that Mavis had to walk around him, his hands deep in his pockets. He was broad-shouldered, flat-bellied, with long and surprisingly heavy legs. He had dark hair that waved back from his face, blue eyes under thick lashes, a straight thin nose, and perfectly cut lips above a slightly cleft chin.

  Aria returned to the dressing room. “I believe this hat will do.”

  “Yes, madam. He is handsome, isn’t he?”

  “And I’ll take all the hosiery. You may pack the dark green silk suit also.”

  “Yes, madam.” The woman went away without an answer to her question.

  When she was alone, Aria smiled at herself in the mirror. She had spent days alone
on an island with an exquisitely handsome man—and she hadn’t even noticed. Of course something had to be said for his despicable manner, which overrode any physical beauty. Before she had left Lanconia, her sister had teased her about spending time with the handsome American soldiers and here she had spent what would seem to be a romantic time alone on an island with a very handsome man and she had never once looked at him.

  “Princess, we got to go. That train leaves in one hour and we have to drive there yet,” J.T. said angrily from the other side of the screen.

  Aria closed her eyes for a moment, braced herself, then left the dressing room. So much for handsome, she thought. She had heard the devil was handsome and now she knew it was true.

  The man Bill gave a sort of whistle when she walked into the room that Aria found offensive, but before she could speak, it was echoed by the man who had delivered the luggage. As far as she could tell, the whistle seemed to be a type of compliment.

  Of course Lieutenant Montgomery said nothing but grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the door.

  She jerked away from him—how good she had become at that motion since she had met him—and sat down. “I am not traveling with my hair like this.”

  “You’ll do what you’re told and be grateful that—”

  The saleswoman cut him off by stepping between Aria and him and removing a comb from her dress pocket. “If I may be so bold.”

  “We don’t have time for anything fancy,” J.T. said.

  The woman combed Aria’s tangled hair then quickly braided it and wrapped it atop Aria’s head. “It looks like a crown,” she said, pleased.

  Aria looked in a hand mirror and saw the arrangement was neat but then she saw Mavis snickering at her. Mavis’s hair was shoulder length, pulled back at her temples in a becoming way, and looked cool and very modern. Aria’s hair, perfectly all right at home in Lanconia, looked old-fashioned here in America.

  J.T. took the mirror from her. “You can admire yourself on the train. Come on. We got two taxis waiting, one for us and one for all your damned luggage.” He pulled Aria from the store.

  As he was shoving her into the taxi, the saleswoman came running out carrying a bottle of perfume. “For you,” she said. “Good luck.”

  Aria held out her hand to the woman, palm downward.

  Through some basic instinct that years of American freedom had not erased, the woman took Aria’s fingertips then half curtsied. She caught herself in midbend and straightened, her face red. “I hope you enjoy your new clothes.” She backed away.

  J.T. started pushing Aria again but Bill stepped forward and placed himself between them. “Your carriage awaits, Your Royal Highness.”

  Aria gave him a dazzling smile then gracefully entered the taxi. Bill entered from the other side, J.T. next to him.

  “I sure wish my wife could hear about this,” Bill said as they sped away. “She’ll never believe I met a real princess.”

  “Perhaps you could visit Lanconia one day. My house will be open to you.”

  “House? You don’t live in a palace?” He sounded like a disappointed little boy.

  “It is made of stone, is three hundred years old, and has two hundred and six rooms.”

  “That’s a palace,” Bill said, smiling in satisfaction.

  Aria hid her own smile because she was glad she had not disappointed him. She vowed to greet his wife and him wearing the Aratone crown, the one with the ruby the size of a hen’s egg in the center.

  “If you two are finished playing old home week, we have some business to conduct,” J.T. said. “Here, Princess.” He held out a stack of green papers.

  “What is that?” she asked, looking at them in the dim light.

  “Money,” he snapped.

  Aria turned away. “I do not touch money.”

  “She is a princess,” Bill gasped, obviously impressed.

  J.T. leaned across his friend and grabbed the elegant little leather handbag from Aria’s lap. It contained a lace-edged handkerchief and nothing else. “Look, I’m putting the money in here. When you get to D.C., get a porter to carry your bags and give him this bill, the one with the ‘one’ on it. No zeroes, understand? Get him to get you a taxi that’ll take you to the Waverly Hotel. Give the driver a five. At the hotel ask for Leon Catton. If he’s not there, have them call him. Tell him you are a friend of Amanda Montgomery.”

  “I do not know such a person.”

  “You know me and she’s my mother. If you don’t mention her name, you’ll never get a room. Leon keeps a suite for emergencies, but you’ll have to mention her name to get it. It won’t hurt to show a little green either.”

  “Green?”

  “Show them a hundred-dollar bill, that’ll get their attention, and I imagine your attitude and all that luggage will make them take notice too. Oh, here.” He pulled a box from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She opened it to find a pair of earrings consisting of five small diamonds on each one. She held them up to the light of a passing car. Not very good quality at all, but she put them on.

  “Don’t you ever say ‘thank you’ for anything?”

  “I will give America the vanadium,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  “You can’t beat that, J.T.,” Bill said.

  “If she gets back to her country. If she can persuade our government that there has indeed been a switch. If she can—”

  Bill patted Aria’s hand, making her start. “Don’t you worry, honey, anybody can see you’re the real princess.”

  “Don’t touch her and don’t call her honey. She is royalty,” J.T. said sarcastically.

  “Lay off, will you?” Bill snapped.

  The rest of the journey was made in silence.

  Chapter Five

  ARIA sat very still in the suite at the Waverly Hotel. Her ears were still ringing with the laughter of the hotel personnel. Never before had she been laughed at and it was not something she wanted to experience again.

  The train had been dirty, cramped, and filled with hundreds of soldiers who kept trying to touch her. They had laughed uproariously when she had told them they were not allowed to touch her.

  Upon arrival in Washington, she had been so flustered that she had become confused about the money. The porter nearly kissed her feet at the bill she had handed him, but the taxi driver had been abusive and yelled at her because of all the luggage she had.

  There was a line at the hotel desk, and when she told the people to move out of her way, they became quite unpleasant. There were also many comments about her huge pile of luggage.

  Aria had no idea how to wait in line but she soon learned. By the time she got to the desk, she was very tired and very impatient. Unfortunately, the hotel clerk was feeling the same way. He laughed in her face when she said she wanted a suite of rooms, then to further her embarrassment, he told the people in line behind her what she wanted. They had all laughed at her.

  Remembering Lieutenant Montgomery’s advice to show her “green,” she thrust her purse at the awful little man. For some reason, this made him laugh harder.

  By that time, after a night without sleep, Aria was feeling awful. She hated America and Americans and she couldn’t remember half of what Lieutenant Montgomery had told her. Also, her command of the English language was failing. Her words became accented as she grew more tired and more confused.

  “Amanda Montgomery,” she managed to say.

  “I can’t understand you,” the clerk said. “Are you German?”

  The crowd had grown utterly silent at that and began to stare at her hostilely.

  Aria repeated the name just as another man walked from the back.

  The second man was the manager of the hotel and it seemed that the name Amanda Montgomery was magical. He berated the clerk, snapped his fingers at the bellboys, and within minutes was ushering Aria into an elevator. He apologized profusely for the clerk’s rudeness, saying that the war made it impossible to get good help. />
  Now, alone in the room, Aria was still lost. How did one draw a bath? The manager, Mr. Catton, had said to ring if she needed anything but she could find no bellpull anywhere.

  There was a knock at the door and when she did not answer it a man walked in wheeling her baggage. Once the baggage was put in the closet, the man stood there looking at her. “You may go,” she said. He gave her a little sneer and started toward the door.

  “Wait!” she called, grabbing her purse. As far as she could tell, Americans would do anything for the green bills—and it made them so happy when the bills had zeroes on them. She pulled out a bill. “I need a maid. Do you know someone who can help me dress, draw my bath, unpack for me?”

  The man’s eyes bulged as he looked at the hundred-dollar bill. “For how long? My sister might do the work but she ain’t nobody’s maid forever.”

  It was Aria’s turn to be stunned. In her country it was no disgrace to be someone’s maid. Her ladies-in-waiting were aristocrats. “For a few days,” she managed to say.

  “I’ll call her,” the man said, and went to a black telephone on a table by the window.

  Aria had used a telephone but someone else had always dialed it for her. She watched with interest as the man turned the dial. He turned away from her as he began to talk to his sister. Aria went to the bedroom.

  The woman arrived two hours later. She was sullen, angry, and made it clear to Aria that she wasn’t really a maid, that only because it was wartime was she willing to wait on anyone. She did what Aria asked but only reluctantly.

  At four P.M. Aria lay down. She had bathed and washed her hair, eaten a mediocre meal, and now planned to sleep for several hours.

  She had barely closed her eyes when the loud ringing of the telephone woke her. Groggily, she answered it. “Yes? This is Her Royal Highness.”

  “You don’t lay off it even when you’re asleep, do you?” said a familiar voice.

  “What do you want, Lieutenant Montgomery?” She sat up straighter in bed.

  “Bill wanted me to call to make sure you were all right.”

  “Of course I’m all right.”

  “No problems getting into the hotel?”