The Secret Heiress

by Judith Gould

“So what else is new?” Sugar responded.

  Percy smirked and looked suspiciously around before speaking. “It’s Frans,” he whispered, a hand hiding his mouth as if someone who could read lips might be spying. “The young man. He refused to cooperate with her birthday party plans for him.”

  “Oh, I see,” Sugar said sotto voce. “No wonder she’s furious.”

  “She planned the ‘surprise’ for him anyway, but he still refused to make an appearance, so you can imagine. Invitations had gone out, guests RSVP’d, the orchestra was hired, the DJ. The caterers have been here all day—everything was set up!—and still Frans said no.”

  “Small wonder she’s throwing a fit. She must be pulling her hair out.”

  “Very good guess,” Percy intimated, rolling his eyes. “She said to send you straight up to her suite when you arrive. Shall I take you up?”

  “I can handle this,” Sugar said, flapping a hand. “I’m used to her fits.”

  “Good luck.”

  Sugar hurried up the gracefully curving stairwell and down the hallway to Nikoletta’s suite. Knocking on the door, she took a deep breath to prepare herself for the unpleasant encounter.

  The door was snapped open and thrown back, and Nikoletta in all her fury stood there prepared to screech at whoever was disturbing her. “What—?” she began, then saw that it was Sugar. “Where the hell have you been?” she said, her voice low and menacing. “I’ve had you called and called and left messages everywhere for you. Don’t you even answer your e-mail anymore?”

  Sugar, an old hand at dealing with Nikoletta, smiled. “And a good evening to you, too,” she replied calmly. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  Nikoletta sullenly stepped back to allow her into the room.

  “As for my whereabouts, I was at a spa.” She turned her face this way and that. “What do you think? Refreshed, no?”

  “If you want to know the truth, I can’t tell a bit of difference,” Nikoletta said. “At least no positive improvement.”

  Sugar shrugged, unfazed by her nasty, spoiled boss. She had developed a Teflon shield as far as the younger woman’s barbs were concerned, and even if she had been to a spa, she wouldn’t have expected a different answer.

  “Although it might become a better evening if someone like you could talk some sense into Frans,” Nikoletta added hopefully.

  “Me?” Sugar pointed a beautifully manicured nail at her chest and suppressed a laugh. “What’s the problem, darling? And why do you think I could help solve it?” She didn’t want Nikoletta to know that Percy had told her anything.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know a thing or two about men, Sugar,” Nikoletta said. “With all of your marriages and affairs, you must know something. You even have them chasing after you now. And at your age.” She said age as if it were the filthiest word in the English language.

  Sugar patted her hair in a girlish manner. She enjoyed playing with this vicious beast sometimes, although she had to be very careful. She knew she could go only so far. “Well, maybe I have picked up a thing or two along the way,” she said. “That’s one advantage of age, Niki, darling. It gives you more time to play with more men.”

  “Anyway, I’ve planned this big birthday party for Frans, and he refuses to cooperate. It’s like everything else I’ve tried to do for him. I’ve tried to introduce him to major producers and directors, but he won’t show up. He hasn’t even been modeling. And now with this party! He won’t even leave his room.”

  “So he’s here?”

  “Yes, I finally managed to coax him out from the city, but he didn’t know I was going to go ahead and have the party. When he got here and saw what was going on, he locked himself up and won’t speak to me, except to say no.”

  “Oh, dear,” Sugar said in a semblance of empathy.

  “He might listen to you,” Nikoletta said. “He’ll listen to anyone but me.”

  The reason he might listen to me, Sugar thought, is because he knows I genuinely loved Bianca and have grieved for her. Unlike you, Nikoletta.

  “And to think of all the trouble and expense I went through!” Nikoletta went on. “Jesus Christ, you’d think Bianca died only yesterday. And it’s been . . . what? Who remembers? Long enough.”

  Perhaps for Frans it seems as if it were yesterday, Sugar thought. After all, he was in love with Bianca. “We all grieve in different ways and for different lengths of time,” Sugar murmured. “I remember that when old Rosebury died it came as a real shock. It took me quite a while to get over it.”

  “Well, Frans will be grieving, all right, when he runs out of money!” Nikoletta hissed. She flopped into a chair.

  Sugar remained uncharacteristically silent, arming herself to listen to Nikoletta’s woes.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Nikoletta said. “Why don’t I just get over him? Just kick him out and be done with him.”

  “I wasn’t actually,” Sugar said, “but—”

  “Maybe you’d understand better if you saw the way he’s hung.”

  “I’m sure I can use my imagination in that department,” Sugar said with a dry laugh.

  “Like a horse!” Nikoletta said smugly.

  Sugar cleared her throat. “That’s great, Niki, but it’s not everything. Maybe it would be better if Frans pushed off. He’s making you unhappy, and he’s certainly not happy, so what’s to be gained by pursuing him?”

  “I just told you,” Nikoletta snapped.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Sugar said blithely. “Of course. That. Well, boy toys aren’t always cooperative, I guess, so you’re going to have to decide whether or not to put up with it. If I were you, I’d just find myself a gigolo that’s hung like Frans and put him on the payroll. The world’s full of them. Ask any rich woman from Palm Beach to Portofino.”

  Ignoring Sugar, Nikoletta said, “Go to his room, and see if he’ll talk to you.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Sugar said, rising to her feet. “Which room?”

  “On down the hallway on the left. The closest one.”

  Sugar immediately left and went to Frans’s door. She knocked on it softly and called his name. “Frans, darling. It’s Sugar. May I have a word with you, please?”

  She heard no response, but waited at the door patiently. Finally, she knocked again. “Frans? Please, darling. Just a word. I won’t even come in.”

  Sugar heard a soft click as he unlocked the door. He stood in the opening looking at her sheepishly. Sugar discovered that she had not grown immune to his rare physical handsomeness. He truly was a beauty to behold, troubled though he was.

  “Darling, I know you’re still grieving for Bianca,” Sugar said, “so I’ll only keep you for a minute.”

  Frans made a barely detectable nod of his head.

  “You won’t make an appearance at this party, will you?” Sugar asked.

  He shook his long, blond-streaked mane. “No,” he said in a whisper.

  “Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll tell Nikoletta that is your final word.”

  “Thanks, Sugar,” he said. “You’re . . . a . . . friend.”

  “I hope so,” she replied. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be leaving soon, but you’ve got my number in Manhattan.”

  He nodded. “Thanks,” he repeated.

  She kissed his cheek. “Take care, darling.” She had lots of advice for him—like Get the hell out of Nikoletta’s life for your own sake—but this was neither the time nor the place to give it.

  He softly shut and locked the door, and Sugar went back to Nikoletta’s room, preparing what she would say.

  “Well?” Nikoletta asked, gazing up at her.

  “He’s simply not up to a party, Nikoletta,” she said. “I think he ought to consider seeing a therapist. I think he’s deeply depressed. If I were you, I wouldn’t put any pressure on him.”

  “Why? Do you think he’s going to wig out on me or something?”

  “I certainly think it’s possible,” Sugar
replied. “And I don’t think one party is worth it. What it might do to him, I mean. If you could get him out of that room, that is.”

  “Damn,” Nikoletta swore. “I don’t want him getting all mental on me. I hate that.”

  “Then maybe the best policy right now is to leave him alone,” Sugar said, “because something like that might happen.”

  Nikoletta sighed heavily. “I hate this. Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

  “Maybe he’ll pull out of it soon,” Sugar offered. “Maybe with plenty of rest and no pressure.”

  “All right,” Nikoletta said at last, gritting her teeth.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about if you don’t mind,” Sugar said carefully, hoping that the change in subject would not upset Nikoletta.

  “What?”

  “I ran into Eviana Chen from Vogue. You know how they have that ‘Vogue Index Checklist’ feature in the back pages of every issue? Using various celebrities as inspiration and then picking out what new ‘in’ things that celebrity might buy to suit her style—dresses, bags, candles, shoes, whatever?”

  “I take it you’re going somewhere with this?” Nikoletta growled. “Not just testing my patience with idle chitchat?”

  Sugar ignored her barbed comment. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make that ‘checklist,’ even if you’re a bona fide movie star? And you’d better be a sensational cover-girl star at that. Anyway, the instant I saw Eviana, I had a lightbulb moment. Instead of going through our publicity department, I cornered her and out-and-out volunteered you and got a verbal commitment. Can you believe it? On the spot!” She smiled triumphantly.

  But if she had expected a reaction from Nikoletta, none was forthcoming. Sugar was not to be deterred.

  “Best of all,” she crooned, “is that they have plenty of file photos of you, so you don’t need to do a thing. Not even pose. But they will need some display stuff. Not for actual use in taking pictures, but to get a real feeling for the Nikoletta Papadaki style. All that means is, an editor and a stylist will have to go through your closets, borrow a few items, then put together an entirely ‘new’ wardrobe based on le style Papadaki. What do you think?”

  “I hate other people touching my clothes!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Niki. It’s not as if they’re going to wear them. They’re only going to hang them on a garment rack. Besides,” Sugar went on, going in for the kill, “would you rather they chose Halle Berry or Kate Hudson or Sarah Jessica Parker? Remember, it’s not only free publicity—it’s the cachet.”

  Nikoletta emitted a sigh of boredom. “Okay, okay,” she conceded, but added ominously, “It better not interfere with my schedule.”

  “It won’t,” Sugar promised quickly.

  “They’ll have to go through my closets in the city. I only keep seasonal stuff out here. And I want you there in person when they choose things. I expect you to keep an inventory of every item taken out of the house. We are clear on that, aren’t we?”

  “Crystal clear.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll let Percy know,” Nikoletta said.

  “You won’t regret it,” Sugar said, knowing full well that if all went according to plan, this would be one decision that Nikoletta would regret for the rest of her life. She flashed one of her biggest smiles. “I’ll let you know when Vogue plans to run the column.”

  Nikoletta Papadaki is beginning to piss me off, the PI thought. Unbelievably, he hadn’t been able to get hold of her. Clients like her were usually chewing on their fingernails waiting for his calls and were in the habit of leaving messages for him at all hours of the night and day regardless of his instructions otherwise. But this woman had him stumped.

  What the hell is she up to? he wondered. She was young and beautiful and, he suspected, the type who might disappear briefly for a little bit of off-the-record self-indulgence. Gone on a bender? Holed up screwing her brains out? He had no idea, but it was highly unusual for a woman in her position to suddenly make herself unavailable, especially considering the circumstances.

  He’d tried every number he had for her, starting with her most private cell number, but hadn’t reached her. He’d left messages everywhere, on voice mail and with various assistants—even a couple of butlers—without getting a response from her for days. But now his caller ID indicated that the elusive Ms. Papadaki was on the other end of the line, trying to get hold of him.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said, answering his cell on the third ring.

  “I’ve been busy,” Nikoletta responded petulantly. “What have you got for me?”

  “It’s not easy spying on the activity at this place. I’ll tell you that,” the PI responded.

  “You’re not getting paid for ‘easy,’ ” Nikoletta said.

  “I’m not complaining,” he huffed. “I’m just making an observation.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “They have a live-in security man at this place twenty-four hours a day,” the PI said. “He’s all over the place. Patrols the grounds. Constantly checks the house and outbuildings. Very unusual, don’t you think?”

  Why would Adrian have a security man at all? Nikoletta wondered. Much less 24-7? “It is unusual,” she agreed.

  “Anyway, this guy makes it difficult to nose around, if you know what I mean.”

  Nikoletta expelled an impatient breath. “You’ve been leaving messages all over the place and ringing all my numbers off the hook, and that’s all you’ve got to report to me?”

  The PI chortled. “Not exactly,” he replied. “The security guy can’t be watching out for the place when he’s screwing some dame.”

  Nikoletta’s ears perked up. This might be interesting, she thought. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Saw it with my own eyes,” he said. “But that’s not all.”

  “What else?” Nikoletta asked.

  “The dame he’s balling?” The PI paused dramatically.

  “Yes?”

  “She looks just like you.”

  “What?” Nikoletta cried. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No way. I’ve seen her up close and personal, you might say.” He chortled lewdly again. “And believe me, she could pass for you.”

  Nikoletta began anxiously brushing hair away from her face, trying to get her mind around this piece of news. A look-alike? What in the world is Adrian up to? she thought. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now,” he said.

  Nikoletta suddenly wanted to hurry him off the phone because she had a lot to think about. “Good work,” she conceded. “Check back in with me, tomorrow at the latest, unless you’ve got something before then.”

  “If I can get hold of you.”

  Nikoletta ignored the barb. “You’ll be able to get me,” she said mildly, already lost in thought.

  “Okay, but—” he began, but she’d already hung up.

  Nikoletta sat with her chin in her hands, staring off into space for a long time. She could understand Adrian’s having a security man at his estate in the country. After all, he had a lot of valuable paintings and antiques in the house. Plus, she thought, some of the horses in the stables had set him back a big chunk of change. Anyway, lots of people in the country had live-in help who doubled as security. But this was different, she decided. This guy patrolled the grounds. He was constantly checking out the house and outbuildings, according to the PI. And he was making it with some chick who looked like her.

  Nikoletta swiveled around in her chair restlessly. What the hell is Adrian up to? She idly picked a pencil up and began tapping it against the top of her desk.

  There could be only one answer, she decided. This woman had been brought in to serve as an impostor. She tapped the pencil against her desk with more force. That’s it. He’s found somebody that he can use to replace me. She reached for the telephone. I’m going to give the son of a bitch a call right now and confront him with what I know. She picked up the receiver and started to
press in his number, then abruptly replaced it in its cradle.

  Her lips slowly formed a smile. I can do better than that, she thought. I’ll plan a surprise of my own for Adrian.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Basta!” Angelo cursed. “No, no, no! Stop.” Generally a patient man, he was at his wit’s end. For days now he had been playing Professor Higgins to Ariadne’s Eliza Doolittle. To no avail, he thought.

  Ariadne was no actress. As hard as she struggled to imitate Nikoletta’s movements and accent from watching the videos, she had thus far failed to deliver anything approaching the real thing.

  “You have to be Nikoletta!” Angelo beseeched her. “Don’t you see? You must think like Nikoletta. You must truly step into her shoes and fill them. You must become her.”

  Ariadne collapsed wearily on a sofa. “I’m trying,” she groaned, raking her hands through her hair. “It’s just . . . she and I are so different.”

  “Remember, Ariadne. You own the world! It’s yours and anything in it that you want. That’s the key to Nikoletta. The way she thinks. There’s nothing that you can’t have. Nothing that you can’t do.”

  Ariadne’s eyes brightened. She knew this about her sister, of course. She had seen that in the videos. But Angelo’s words concisely summed up the attitude.

  “You can see it in her strut,” Angelo went on. “The way she carries herself.”

  “I think I need a pair of stiletto-heeled shoes,” Ariadne half joked.

  “You’re on to something there,” Angelo agreed eagerly. “And you will have them soon. Now, then. Up you go. Let me see you walk across the room, then turn and walk back toward me. When you reach me, give me an order as if I were your secretary.”

  Ariadne pushed herself up off the sofa. Here we go again, she thought, wondering why she had ever agreed to such a proposition.

  She did better this time, but from his pursed lips she could tell she still wasn’t close. “Let’s move on,” he said brusquely.

  There were many more tasks as well: conquering her sister’s signature, which required endless practice so it would not only pass muster but seem effortless; learning her speech patterns and her difficult accent, which was a mixture of American English and British, with a touch of Swiss German and Greek.