The Secret Heiress

by Judith Gould

  “Wee-uuuuw!” one of them called. “Go to it, man!”

  Matt looked down at Ariadne, and they both laughed. “I didn’t realize we had an audience,” he said softly.

  “Neither did I.”

  He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. Together they walked out of the splash of light spilling from the streetlamp and on toward the parking lot.

  Chapter Eight

  Lake Como, Italy

  Angelo Coveri’s villa rose from the shoreline in ocher neoclassical splendor above the verdant growth of lovingly tended gardens. Up its walls climbed a variety of vines, and roses scented the air nearly year-round. Below was a boathouse, built along the same neoclassical architectural lines of the villa. Its roof served as a terrace overlooking the lake, and Angelo’s two boats were housed beneath.

  The stately villa had been the site for many a festive occasion, most of them centered around Bianca’s growing up. Today was an exception, however, as Adrian discovered after he drove up the well-raked pea gravel drive to the house and brought his Aston Martin sports car to a stop. He fully expected Bianca to rush out of the house and greet him, or perhaps Angelo.

  He started up the marble steps to the grand entrance hall, but the front door opened before he reached it and Giulia, the housekeeper for many years, came down the steps toward him.

  “Ciao! Mr. Single,” she exclaimed, happily smiling. “So good to see you.”

  They exchanged kisses on each cheek in the continental manner, and she held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “Still, you are the most handsome man,” she said.

  “And you, Giulia, are bellissima. The most beautiful woman in all of Italia. Maybe the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

  “Ah,” she said, “you flatter me, you naughty young man.” She shook a finger at him. “Come in, come in,” she said, waving her hand toward the door.

  Following her up the steps, he asked, “Is Angelo here?”

  “Ah, yes,” she said. “Thanks be to God.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

  They reached the door and went into the magnificent marble entrance hall. Giulia put a finger to her lips. “I say nothing. I know nothing. Understand?”

  “Yes,” he said, but he wondered why Giulia was so closemouthed. She was virtually family, and was privy to all the family secrets.

  “Follow me,” she said. “They are in the gray salon.”

  Their footsteps echoed in the marble hallway as she led him to the main reception chamber, a room built of many gray marbles, decorated with early Roman and Greek statues and busts. He could hear voices as they approached the room, and when they reached the door, he saw Bianca standing at a desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. A courier was waiting at her side.

  “Here we are,” Giulia said in a whisper. She tapped Adrian on the back. “I will leave you to her and see you later.”

  Adrian nodded and smiled.

  “I think that does it,” Bianca said. She handed the courier a padded envelope that appeared to contain a small box.

  “Grazie, signorina,” the courier replied. He sketched a salute and, nodding at Adrian and Giulia, left the room.

  “Oh, Adrian,” Bianca cried. “I’m so glad to see you.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Across the room, he heard the rattle of a newspaper and saw Angelo pushing himself up out of an armchair. “Adrian,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, Angelo,” he replied. He turned his attention back to Bianca. “Now, what’s with you?” He thought he knew the source of her woe, but he wanted to let her tell him.

  “Oh . . . ,” she began in a murmur, “I’m . . . I’m returning my engagement ring to Harry Winston.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, hugging her and stroking her back. “Don’t you think that’s premature?”

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s a lost cause.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Adrian asked.

  “Yes,” she said, pulling away from him. “Niki’s seen to that.”

  “Come,” Angelo said. “Have a seat, Adrian.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bianca said. “I’m so . . . so preoccupied that I’m afraid I’m not a very good hostess.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Adrian said to her. They crossed the room and sat with Angelo near the French doors that led out onto a terrace overlooking the lake.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Bianca asked. “Coffee, anything?”

  “No, thank you,” Adrian said. He watched as she wiped her eyes with a Kleenex. “Are you sure about this, Bianca?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” Her voice rose in volume as she became angry. “It’s that damned Niki,” she railed. “She’s nothing but a tramp. A common whore! If she wants to steal Frans from me, and he falls for her, so be it.” She glared at Adrian with a tormented but furious face. “I hate her. And I hate him,” she cried. “I hate them both!”

  Adrian was relieved to see that she was angry. He knew that she was far from recovering from the loss of Frans—if their affair was really over—but it was better to be angry than to wallow in a pit of despair over him. “You have every reason to,” he said. “What happened is terrible, but don’t you think that Frans deserves a break?”

  “A break!” She looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “He’s brokenhearted, Bianca,” Adrian said. “I really believe that. You’ve got to remember the circumstances. He didn’t—”

  “Oh, damn it!” Bianca cried. “If only we hadn’t gone to that damned birthday party together. Once we were there, I knew she had her eye on him, but I never imagined . . .” Her voice became choked, and Adrian took one of her hands in his.

  “I had a long talk with him, and Frans is . . . well, he’s really beside himself over this whole thing.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked.

  Angelo, who had remained silent during their exchange, cleared his voice. “It’s better this way,” he said quietly. “It breaks my heart to see you suffer, Bianca, but if Niki could so easily seduce this young man, then he wasn’t worthy of you.” His voice suddenly became harsh. “You would be a prize for any man, and if he chose to throw you away, then he’s stupid and—”

  “Oh, Dad,” she said, “I love you and appreciate what you have to say, but it really doesn’t help any.”

  Angelo sprang to his feet. “If that’s the way you feel, Bianca—that I’m not really any help—then I’ll go out for a walk. You and Adrian can hash this out.” He headed for one of the open French doors and exited in a huff.

  “Damn!” Bianca swore.

  “Let him cool his heels,” Adrian advised. “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “See what a mess that prick has caused? He and that bitch!”

  “Don’t you think you could at least talk to him?” Adrian asked. “He’s really going crazy not being able to see you.” While most people thought the relationship was completely inappropriate, Adrian found that he liked Frans, and he truly believed that the young man was deeply in love with Bianca.

  “Oh, no,” she retorted. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t stand the thought of him even touching me after being with that . . . that bitch.”

  “Frans didn’t know that Niki put ecstasy in his drink, Bianca. You know Frans doesn’t do drugs.”

  “I know that,” she replied, “but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

  “He hardly knew what he was doing,” Adrian said, “and I believe him when he says nothing like that would ever happen again.”

  Bianca gazed into his eyes. “Why did he let her into the cottage to begin with?” she asked.

  “She’s your boss,” Adrian replied. “She told him she wanted to talk to him about a job opportunity, and he w
as worried that he might get you into trouble if he didn’t let her in. She even brought the doctored drinks with her.”

  “Yeah, right,” Bianca said sarcastically. “That’s so lame.”

  “Come on,” Adrian went on soothingly. “Won’t you at least see him? Hear what he has to say?”

  Bianca looked away from him. She wanted nothing more than to see Frans, to talk to him, to touch him, to feel his arms about her, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready.

  The three young tourists were attractive, well dressed, and already well tanned when they drove up to the Sunset Hotel in Gustavia, the small town of several hundred inhabitants that is the capital of St. Barth’s. They climbed out of their rented Suzuki Samurai and retrieved a minimal amount of luggage from the car’s backseat and storage compartment, then registered at the hotel.

  Outdoorsy types, the man at the reception desk thought. With their lean, tanned bodies, they weren’t office drones enjoying their first foray into the sun this winter. Their reservations were in order, and he checked them in quickly, wishing them a wonderful stay on St. Barth’s.

  “Thank you. I’m certain it will be,” the young lady, Viv, as the young men called her, said in a British accent as she took the arm of one of the young men.

  Upstairs in their room, the trio unpacked the few belongings they’d brought, showered, and left the hotel.

  In their rented Samurai they drove straight to the little hospital. Viv checked to make certain the revolver she’d put in her tote bag was still there. She slipped a long bright red wig and two blond ones out of the tote, tossing a blond one to Doug in the backseat and handing the other one to Tyler. She put the long red one on, adjusting it slightly in the rearview mirror. Satisfied, she put on a pair of large-framed sunglasses.

  “All set?” she asked the young men.

  Tyler pulled his revolver out of the waistband of his trousers, where he’d placed it against his spine. “Just about,” he said, putting it in a side pocket of his sport jacket. He donned the curly blond wig and the sunglasses he had put in his sport jacket. “How’s this?”

  “Great,” she said. “We’ll all look ridiculous, but that’s beside the point. We’ll be harder to ID.”

  Doug patted his sport jacket, where his revolver was placed in the inside pocket over his heart. “I’m ready.”

  The trio went through the hospital’s front door into the deserted lobby. A lone nurse sat at the reception desk, where she did double duty, admitting patients—usually minor scrapes from moped accidents—and watching over the few patients the small hospital normally cared for.

  “Could I help you?” she asked. When she looked up at the trio, she laughed. “Party tonight?”

  Viv slipped the revolver out of her straw tote and pointed it at the nurse. “Who else is on duty tonight?” she asked, ignoring the nurse’s comment.

  “What the—?”

  “Shut up,” Viv hissed between her teeth. “Now, be a good girl and take us to Kees Vanmeerendonk’s room.”

  “But there’s—”

  “Just shut up and do it,” Viv said.

  The nurse eyed the revolver in fear, then slowly rose to her feet. “This way,” she said, indicating a single wide door that led off the lobby. They followed her through the door into a hallway that stretched right and left. “Down here,” she said nervously, walking to the right.

  Several doors down the short hallway, the trio saw a uniformed policeman slumped in a chair, sleeping soundly, his chin resting on his chest, his cap in his lap. “You take care of him,” Viv whispered, poking Tyler’s arm.

  They waited while Tyler went ahead, creeping up on the sleeping policeman. He lifted the revolver, holding it by the barrel, then brought the grip down hard on the policeman’s head. There was a loud thwack as it made contact, and the policeman slumped forward.

  The nurse started to cry out, but Viv shoved the small barrel of her revolver against her back. “Shut up.”

  Tyler grabbed the policeman before he fell out of the chair, and with Doug’s help propped him back up. They slid the chair out from the wall slightly and pulled the policeman’s legs forward in the seat so that he appeared to be merely asleep, his head back against the wall, his mouth open. Doug put the man’s cap on his head, the bill down over his eyes, resting against his nose. If someone from emergency ventured this way, nothing would look amiss.

  Viv pressed the revolver against the nurse’s back as the terrified woman opened the door to the room. Once inside, Viv turned to Doug. “Watch her.” She nodded toward the nurse. Of the four beds in the large room, only one was occupied. Kees lay asleep, one arm handcuffed to a metal bed rail and one foot cuffed to another.

  Viv turned to the nurse. “The cop have the keys?” she asked.

  The nurse nodded.

  “Get it,” Viv said to Tyler.

  He opened the door and peeked up and down the hallway. No one in sight. He went to the policeman and immediately saw the key chain dangling off his canvas web belt. He unsnapped the key chain and took it back into the room, searching as he went for a handcuff key.

  “Here we go,” he said, spotting the key at once, it being much smaller and more oddly shaped than the others.

  Kees’s eyes opened, then widened in surprise when he saw them gathered around the bed. His lips spread in a smile, but he didn’t say anything.

  Tyler unlocked the handcuff on his wrist first, and Kees rubbed it vigorously with his other hand while Tyler unlocked the cuff on his ankle. He sat up in the bed and threw off the sheet as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Here,” Viv said. She tossed him a pair of cargo pants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. “Put these on.”

  Kees untied the hospital gown he wore and tossed it onto the bed. He stood naked except for the large white bandage covering the wound on his left side.

  “Jeez, mate,” Doug said. “Looks nasty.”

  “It’s nothing,” Kees said as he quickly began to dress. Finally slipping into the flip-flops, he said, “Ready.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Viv said.

  “What about—?”

  “Shut up,” Viv hissed again. “You’re coming with us.” She held the revolver at the nurse’s back, nudging her forward with it.

  Tyler opened the door and checked the hallway. The policeman was still out, to all appearances sleeping peacefully. “All clear.”

  They rushed down the hall to the lobby door. Tyler opened it and checked out the small lobby. “Okay,” he said.

  Shoving the nurse in front of them, they went through the door leading outside. “To the parking area,” Viv said, letting the nurse lead the way. It had been mere minutes since they had first entered the building.

  In the parking area, Viv looked at her wristwatch. “It ought to be here any second.”

  “Wh-where are we going?” the nurse asked, her eyes widened in terror.

  “None of your business,” Viv replied.

  In the distance, they heard the unmistakable thwack-thwack of a helicopter’s rotors. “There we are, mates,” Doug said. “Our ride outta here.”

  The sound grew louder, and they could see the powerful lights of the approaching craft. Viv stood at the nurse’s side, the revolver still at her back, but it was concealed from any passing traffic.

  The noise of the helicopter became deafeningly loud, and they felt the downdraft from the rotors as it hovered directly overhead. “Hang on to your hats,” Viv said, referring to their wigs, as she placed her free hand atop her head.

  The helicopter bobbed in midair for a moment, then slowly descended to the parking lot. Its door slid open, and a man inside yelled, “Hurry up. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Go on,” Viv said to Tyler and Doug.

  They raced to the chopper and were virtually lifted inside by the man just inside the door. “Now, go see to your patients like a good girl,” Viv said to the nurse. She shoved her away, and the nurse stumbl
ed but didn’t fall. Viv ran to the helicopter and was lifted inside.

  The door slid shut, and the chopper began ascending into the air, already heading east, away from St. Barth’s and away from St. Maarten, where it had been commandeered from the Dutch side of the island. Twenty minutes later, in international waters, the helicopter landed on the helipad of Earth Mother, Mother Earth’s Children’s converted research vessel that the organization used to attain maximum publicity for its maritime activities.

  The ship’s doctor, a young German, examined Kees to make certain his wound was healing properly. “Ah, ja,” he said, a gleam in his eyes. “You’re almost ready for the next fight.”

  Earth Mother cruised off into the night at top speed.

  Chapter Nine

  Nikoletta tossed her leather-bound notepad on her desk and went into the private rooms that adjoined her office. The bathroom was spacious, sheathed in sparkling onyx, and the dressing room, reached through double doors, was paneled in pale Russian birch. The rooms had all the features of such spaces in the most luxuriously appointed homes, but she proudly told everyone who commented upon them that for her they were an absolute necessity. She often began work early in the morning and worked until late at night, leaving for parties or business engagements directly from her office.

  She checked her makeup in the mirror over the double sinks, applied a fresh coat of Crystal Tiger lipstick, then washed her hands. Leaving the bathroom, she went through her office and into her private dining room. The table had been set for three with starched white linen, heavy Buccellati sterling, Flora Danica china, and St. Louis crystal. A small arrangement of creamy white gardenias adorned the middle of the table, their heady scent perfuming the room. Nikoletta wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “Christian,” she called angrily.

  Her office butler immediately appeared from a jib door that hid the butler’s pantry. “Yes?” he asked imperturbably.

  “Get rid of those damned gardenias,” she said. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want flowers with heavy scent on the table? They interfere with the aroma of the food.”