The Secret Heiress
Page 29
Angelo, barely able to hear Sugar’s whisper above the surrounding noise, kept Ariadne, Matt, and himself on the move toward an area where he saw fewer people. “What is it?” he asked, smiling all the while.
Sugar explained the problem.
“I see.” Angelo’s face became grim, but just as quickly his smile returned. He put his cell phone away.
“What now?” Ariadne asked.
“Oh, just a small snag,” he lied. “Nothing of major consequence.”
She gave him a challenging look. She had gotten to know him well enough in the last few weeks that she knew he was not being truthful. “Why don’t I believe that?”
“You don’t have to. All you have to do is keep smiling. You, too, Marchese,” he added to Matt.
Matt smiled, but his eyes were scanning the enormous space, ever on the alert for anything amiss.
A half hour had passed, and Nikoletta finally decided on an alternate outfit. Sugar, grateful that she’d been allowed to use Nikoletta’s bathroom, was helping her into the black, tan, and white embroidered tank top paired with a full tan silk ball skirt, both from Carolina Herrera. Nikoletta posed in front of a three-sided mirror in her dressing room, moving from left to right, silk rustling, and frowned at herself.
“I’m not sure this is exactly appropriate,” she said.
“You look marvelous,” Sugar assured her. “It’s fabulous with your tan.”
Nikoletta pulled a face. “It’s not half as dramatic as the Cavalli snakeskin.”
Sugar knew it was pointless to argue. How could she, when the other person was always right no matter what the issue? Besides, time was fleeting, and the guests were surely wondering what had happened to their hostess.
Finally Nikoletta let out a sigh. “All right,” she said. “We might as well get going. Otherwise, the party will be over before we ever arrive.”
The volume of hundreds of voices in the lobby and on the mezzanines dropped to a hush, and the string quartet abruptly segued into appropriately grandiose music, like that used for the triumphant entry of royalty. All attention turned to a glass-sided escalator descending to the main lobby floor. With two ex-Secret Service agents in the lead, followed in turn by Adrian, Honor, and Sugar, Nikoletta Papadaki made her sweeping grand entrance, with Frans following closely behind her. Behind him a contingent of four more security guards, outfitted with discreet earphones and lapel microphones, brought up the rear.
Ariadne set eyes on her twin sister for the first time in her life. She found herself filled with conflicting emotions that she couldn’t begin to sort out. A knot formed in her stomach, and gooseflesh joined the tremble that ran up and down her body.
Matt felt her quiver and gave her hand a squeeze. Ariadne squeezed his in return. Thank God he’s here, she thought.
Concealing her mouth with a gloved hand, Ariadne whispered, “Is that Honor Hurlstone, Angelo? The one in blue?”
“That,” Angelo confided in a whisper, “is indeed Honor Hurlstone. Adrian’s sister.”
Ariadne felt her knees weaken, but she held on to Matt’s arm tightly. She could hardly process what she was seeing. She had been curious about her real family. She had wished for this moment—or something like it—for as long as she could remember, but now that it had come, there could be no tearful embrace, no comfort from the arms of her sister being thrown about her in a hug. No words uttered in love, no getting to know each other, making up for all of the years that had gone by. They must remain strangers, for the time being, at least.
“Nikoletta’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Ariadne murmured at last.
“Oh, yes,” Angelo said. “One of the great beauties of this age”—he gave Ariadne an appraising look—“as you are, Ariadne.”
She hardly paid his words any mind because her gaze was fixed on the young woman who was her twin.
Nikoletta was greeted and congratulated effusively by throngs of friends and acquaintances and introduced to countless friends of friends. She never grew tired of the compliments and praise lavished on her, especially from the highest and mightiest, including the important architecture critics whose admiration for the building was universal. Any of those among their ranks who had dared make negative remarks about the structure hadn’t been invited, so she was assured of nothing but praise. This didn’t diminish the glittering success of the night. She allowed herself to be photographed by select members of the press, making certain that Frans was always at her side. He made the perfect accessory, she thought, especially for photographs, since the camera loved him.
As the evening wore on, Frans became increasingly bored, discontent, and withdrawn, eventually refusing to cooperate with Nikoletta, disengaging his hand from hers. He felt as if he’d been in the grip of a tigress and couldn’t bear keeping up the pretense of the happy consort. Her harangue about the dress had been more than he could bear. Nikoletta, he decided, had finally shown her true colors. At one point, when she was engrossed in conversation with a contingent of friends from London, Frans slipped away without her noticing and made for the private elevator that took him upstairs to her apartment. He knew the security code that opened the elevator, but had trouble remembering it at first. The bourbon, mixed with champagne at the party, had taken its toll, but then he recalled that he’d written it down. He took his wallet out and found the code on the back of a limousine service’s card. He pressed the number in, and the doors opened.
Thank God, he thought. I’ll have some peace at last.
Honor and Adrian had mingled amiably with the guests and, like Nikoletta, had listened to a constant stream of compliments regarding the new headquarters and the wonderful party. Graciously responding to the praise heaped on Nikoletta, Honor had worn a smile that be-lied her state of mind all evening.
If only they knew, she thought. But she was well trained for her role. She had played it for many years.
She and Adrian had tried several times to speak to Angelo and the beautiful woman and handsome man with him, but every time they’d approached, Angelo had swept away with the couple.
“I wonder who they are,” Honor asked Adrian.
“I don’t know, but I hope they’re someone special to him. God knows, he needs close friends.” He hated lying to her, but for the time being there was no choice. “I think I heard they’re Italian friends,” Adrian added.
“I’m certain I haven’t met them before,” Honor said, “and I’ve met a lot of his friends in Italy.”
“I don’t recall whether I’ve met them or not,” Adrian said, “but Angelo has a whole different life there, Honor.”
“I get the distinct impression that he’s avoiding us,” she said.
“I doubt it. He’s so busy introducing them to people. He’ll get to us eventually.” Adrian stifled a yawn. He was quickly wearying of the party and its artificial atmosphere. He had always endured Nikoletta’s parties more than enjoyed them, and tonight was no exception.
“You’re bored to death, aren’t you?” Honor chided him. “You’ve been such a good sport to put up with all this.” She felt a tap on her back and turned around. “Oh, Despina!” she cried.
She greeted her old friends from Greece, Despina and David. “You know Adrian, of course.”
“Yes, yes.”
“It’s wonderful to see you,” Adrian said. He saw the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “Honor, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “I just have to run upstairs for a bit.”
“Of course,” she said. “Take your time.”
“Lovely to see you again,” he said to David and Despina.
He left knowing that Honor was in good hands. She genuinely liked Despina and David and wouldn’t mind being left with them for a while. He headed straight for the elevator to Nikoletta’s apartment, intent on reaching it without having to engage in conversation with anyone else. When he got upstairs, he would take his shoes off, make himself a drink, and relax for a while, away from the forced gaiety of the party.
If Frans hadn’t moved, he wouldn’t have noticed him, but the movement out on the terrace caught Adrian’s attention. He peered out the window and nearly dropped the glass he’d picked up. Setting it down, he raced to the nearest door to the terrace. Stepping outside, he spoke very calmly, so as not to frighten the young man.
“Frans,” he said. “Please get down from there. You might fall.”
From atop the parapet that separated the terrace from the sidewalk sixty-eight floors below, Frans turned and looked at him quizzically. A violent gust of wind blew his hair into his face, and he brushed it aside.
“Please, Frans,” Adrian said softly. “Please. Get down from there now. You could fall.”
“I don’t care,” Frans said.
“But, Frans, we care,” Adrian said. “We care about you.”
“Nobody cares,” Frans cried. “Nobody in the world.”
Slowly Adrian came closer to him, trying not to make any sudden movements that would startle Frans. The parapet couldn’t be more than eight inches wide, he thought, and even the slightest misstep on Frans’s part could send him over the edge.
“Frans, that’s not true,” Adrian said. “Maybe Nikoletta was nasty because she was angry, but we all love you, Frans.” He cringed at the anguished look in the young man’s eyes. What can I do? he wondered desperately. What can I say?
“I know you miss Bianca terribly,” he said, trying a slightly different tack. “But she wouldn’t have wanted you to do this, Frans. Think of her. Think of Bianca. If something happened to you, she would be heartbroken.”
“Bianca’s dead!” Frans cried. “Dead!”
“I know, Frans, but she would want you to go on living. Don’t you realize that?”
Adrian edged another two steps closer to the wall, hoping he wouldn’t alarm Frans.
“She would want you to live to honor her memory,” Adrian said. “I loved Bianca, too, and I know she would have wanted that.”
Frans emitted a heart-wrenching cry, then began choking. Tears streamed down his face. Lifting both hands, he sobbed into them. Then his body jerked as he began tearing at his hair.
As Adrian hurried another couple of steps toward Frans, his breath caught in his throat. Frans was wobbling on the parapet, losing all control, sobbing so hysterically that he’d apparently forgotten where he was. Or he didn’t care.
Just another couple of steps, Adrian thought, and I can grab—
Frans suddenly lurched forward and lost his footing. His body started to swing off the parapet into oblivion. Adrian launched forward, thrusting himself toward Frans’s legs. He felt his hands on Frans’s ankles, and he grasped at them and hung on with every ounce of strength he had.
Frans let out a cry, then fell off the parapet, landing atop Adrian.
Pain jolted through Adrian’s shoulder, but he refused to let go. Frans lay inert on top of him, crying but less hysterically. Adrian gradually worked himself out from under, keeping a hold on him all the time, until Frans lay directly on the terrace.
Adrian twisted his head to shake off the pain in his neck and shoulders. “Come on, Frans,” he said. “Let’s go inside. You and me.”
Frans sniffled, then sat up. He threw his arms around Adrian and held on to him tightly, still crying, his chest heaving against Adrian’s. Adrian returned the hug, holding him in his arms, and let him cry. Jesus, he thought. This boy really needs help. And he needs to get away from Nikoletta for sure. She must be the worst possible influence on him.
After the crying had subsided, Adrian patted Frans’s back. “Come on,” he encouraged him. “Let’s go inside now.”
Frans nodded, then let Adrian help him to his feet. As an added precaution, Adrian still held on to his arm tightly, not certain that he wouldn’t jerk away and try to jump again. But he let himself be guided through the terrace doors and into the living room, where he collapsed on a couch.
Relieved, Adrian walked to the drinks table and poured two scotches. He returned to the couch and offered one to Frans. “Here,” he said. “Drink this. It won’t solve any of your problems, but it might take the edge off at least.”
“Thank you,” Frans murmured, taking the drink. He took a sip, then quickly downed the remainder of the drink. The tension in his body was quickly melting, and the wild look in his eyes was rapidly being replaced by a glazed expression, as if he was tuning out reality.
“Want another?” Adrian asked, thinking that at this point another drink would do Frans no harm. In fact, he thought, it was perhaps a way to temporarily sedate him.
“Yes, please,” Frans replied.
“Coming up.” Adrian replenished the drink, then gave it to him.
“Thank you,” Frans repeated, taking the glass. He took a quick sip, then another and another. Setting the drink down on the coffee table, he yanked his tie loose and pulled off his shoes. Heaving a great sigh, he spread out on the couch, listless and silent.
That problem seemed solved, Adrian judged. “I’ve got to make a quick phone call,” he said. “Then I want to talk to you about this. Okay?”
Frans nodded slightly.
Adrian went out to the terrace, where he could watch Frans while he took out his cell phone. He pressed the speed-dial button for Sugar’s cell phone. She knew Frans better than anyone here, with the exception of Nikoletta, so he thought he should consult with her about what to do.
Sugar answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Adrian. I’m upstairs in Niki’s apartment. Frans tried to commit suicide, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do with him. Tonight of all nights.”
“How?” Sugar said. “What did he do?”
“I saw him out on the terrace walking on the parapet.”
“Jesus!” Sugar exclaimed. “Is he okay now?”
“He’s spread out on a couch in the living room. I gave him a couple of drinks to try to help calm him down. I thought you might be able to talk to him.”
“Of course,” Sugar said. “Keep him occupied, and I’ll be up in a jiffy.”
“Thanks, Sugar,” Adrian said.
“No problem,” she responded, thinking that an ideal opportunity had just presented itself. She was surprised that Adrian didn’t realize it himself, but reminded herself he had his hands full with Frans.
Adrian flipped his phone shut and went back into the living room. Frans still lay on the couch, his face turned toward the back of it. He could hear him quietly breathing. Adrian sat sipping his scotch, waiting for Sugar. I’ll let him rest, he thought. At least for the time being. But we’re going to have to get him out of here soon. Frans couldn’t be around when they carried out their plan.
H. Richard Pipe stood on one of the mezzanines surveying the throng of people in the lobby. Sitting ducks, all of them, he thought. For all their celebrity, their money, and power, I could blast any of them away in an instant. All of their silks and satins, their fancy jewels and hairdos, and their superior attitudes—they’ve got no protection from me. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many of the powerful—and the polluting—assembled in one place before. He discreetly felt the revolver in its shoulder harness beneath his Brooks Brothers suit. He was getting anxious, but opportunities had been nonexistent so far. She’d come down to the party late, then had been constantly surrounded by a sea of sycophants. Really sickening, he thought, the way they suck up to the bitch.
He couldn’t be more than thirty feet away from her, but there was no way he could safely get a shot in now. Not unless he was asking for immediate capture and life behind bars. He didn’t want it to go down that way. He was sure the right opportunity would arise. She would eventually
have to go to the head, where he could get her by herself or with only a few other chicks around. Or she’d be positioned somewhere near an exit, so he could make a quick getaway. It would happen tonight. He was sure of it. One quick pop would do it. Nikoletta Papadaki’s polluted brains would decorate the new PPHL headquarters, just like her toxic waste that seeped into the ground all over the planet.
Sugar had to restrain her excitement. If everything worked out as she hoped it would, their problems were over. First, she decided, she would tell Nikoletta what had happened. She scanned the lobby and mezzanines, and Nikoletta wasn’t difficult to spot. A group of rich young Greek scions was gathered in a clump around her.
When Sugar reached the crowd that surrounded Nikoletta, she stretched a hand into the air and waggled it to catch Nikoletta’s eye. When she did, Nikoletta immediately snaked her way past her friends to Sugar.
“What’s so important?” she asked, knowing that Sugar wouldn’t be interrupting her otherwise.
Her hand to Nikoletta’s ear, Sugar told her in a hushed voice, “I think you’d better get up to your apartment right away. Frans tried to commit suicide.”
“What!”
Sugar nodded. “Yes. Adrian is with him now, but I think it would be helpful if you got up there.”
“The selfish bastard!” Nikoletta said. “On a night that’s so important to me! First he ruins my dress, and now this! I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
No one attempts suicide unless they’re in extreme distress, Sugar thought, but for Niki it’s an inconvenience. “I think he’s in pretty bad shape, Niki,” Sugar said, “so you might want to go easy on him.”
Nikoletta pouted her lips. “I’ll go see about him,” she said, “but I’ll have to hurry back down to the party. Maybe you should come up and . . . oh, I don’t know . . . call the doctor or something.”
“I’ll be there in just a few minutes,” Sugar said.