Roxy’s Story (25 page)

“But,” she continued, “I do not like being dependent on the discretion of too many . . .
underlings. We’re risking too much by parading you around on the outside.”

“I don’t need anything else, and I can wait to see shows or go to more museums.”

Again, I looked to Mrs. Pratt, hoping to see her nod, but she was stone-faced.

“That’s not going to solve our problem,” Mrs. Brittany said.

“So you want me to leave?” I asked, dreading the answer. I held my breath.

“Yes,” she said.

I felt a cold chill come over me. It was like being thrown out of my home and driven
from my family again. I didn’t know whom to blame more, myself, my father, or Mrs.
Brittany. I think what hurt me most was the feeling that my father was going to win
after all. All this training, this education I had been enjoying, the hope and the
new self-confidence I had developed, would be snatched away. The vision
of myself on the streets again actually turned my stomach.

“I would never say you kidnapped me or anything stupid,” I told her. I looked at Mrs.
Pratt, too, so she could see how sincere and determined I was. “And no matter what,
I wouldn’t reveal anything about your company or the other girls or . . . anything.”

“We know that, but more often than not, things happen, good intentions are lost.”

I could feel the tears come quickly into my eyes. They came more quickly than I could
remember happening before. When Mr. Bob first brought me here, I was a much harder,
more tightly wrapped person, I thought. Rarely was my father or even my mother able
to bring me to tears. I hated the idea of revealing what I really felt inside. Besides
making me feel weaker and more vulnerable, something I detested, it gave whoever was
criticizing me or chastising me a sense of superiority. It got so I could keep from
changing expression when a teacher or the dean at school bawled me out. My expressionless
face invariably drove them back and forced them to get me out of their sight. I always
left a confrontation feeling victorious even if the results were bad grades, behavior
demerits, suspensions, detentions, or being sent to my room.

Once, my father was so frustrated with my indifference he screamed, “She’s like the
devil. You can defeat him in a battle but never destroy him.”

Then stop battling me,
I thought.
Leave me alone
.

He couldn’t. I couldn’t be his perfect daughter. Or even his daughter, for that matter,
and so I was here,
sitting in front of Mrs. Brittany’s desk, feeling as if I were back in school, where
I had been called to face the dean so he could discipline me for some rule I had broken,
some fight I had been in, or some nasty remark I had made to a teacher.

“What do you want to do with me?” I asked.

“I’m sending you out of the country. You’ll be flown to Nice in my private jet today,
and you will stay at my home in Beaulieu-sur-Mer. It’s a beautiful villa overlooking
the sea. There are servants to care for everything, and since you speak French so
well, you won’t be uncomfortable.”

“For how long?” I asked, now feeling some hope. This wasn’t a dishonorable discharge.
She was planning something strategically.

“I don’t know for sure. We’ll have to wait until this all dies down and see how long
your parents, probably your mother, continue to appeal to the media. It might not
be a matter of only a few weeks, Roxy. If you don’t want to go through this, we’ll
understand. I’ll double your kill fee, and we’ll arrange for you to return home. Maybe
things will be different for you now that they’ve shown a desire to get you back.
Who knows?”

“No, they’ll never be any different. He’ll only hate me more for having put them through
this,” I said.

“Well, the choice is yours.”

“I prefer to keep hoping I can join your organization,” I said. “I’m willing to do
what you want.”

She nodded slowly. “Good. As you see, I’m not exactly giving up on you. I’ll visit
you as soon as I can and as often as I can, as will Mrs. Pratt.”

“What about Sheena?” I asked.

“What about her?”

“Can she visit, too?”

“We’ll see. I think for now, it’s better that you don’t tell her about this and . . .”

“And give her any false hope,” I muttered.

“I’ll explain things to her. I’ll tell her I have you overseas for some necessary
training and education. And you will have some important and beneficial experiences.
I have a trusted associate in Monte Carlo who will look after you, Norbert Davies,
a distant relative of Daphne du Maurier.”

“The author of
Rebecca
?”

“Yes. He’s very interesting, but he can exhaust you with stories of the family, the
famous actors and writers. He handles some of the Principality of Monaco’s business
affairs. He’ll do a good job watching over you. I trust him with you completely for
many reasons.

“I’m going to ask Professor Marx to draw up a list of reading for you and have the
books and materials sent over. The villa has a small exercise room and an infinity
pool, so you’ll continue to follow your physical regimen. You have enough information
to know how to develop your own program. Norbert will arrange for your beauty needs.
There’s a limousine and a driver to service you, although you won’t be going around
anywhere on your own. When I can’t respond to anything you need quickly enough, Mrs.
Pratt will arrange for it,” she added. Mrs. Pratt nodded.

“So, do I go pack or . . .”

“Everything’s been packed that you’re taking, Roxy. You’ll have the opportunity to
get whatever else you need there.”

“Been packed?”

“We’ve been working on this all morning,” Mrs. Pratt said.

I nodded. “So I leave . . .”

“Immediately, if you choose to do what I’m asking,” Mrs. Brittany replied.

I looked from her to Mrs. Pratt. Neither broke into a smile or even changed expression.

“Just like that? Just get up and walk out of here, dressed the way I am?”

Mrs. Brittany finally smiled. “You came with nothing and easily left whatever you
had,” she said.

“I had nothing, but can’t I at least say good-bye to Sheena?”

“I told you I’d rather you not,” she said. “Let me handle that.”

She rose.

“The car’s waiting,” Mrs. Pratt told her.

What a strange feeling it was to know that you could go off and take nothing with
you and that you could literally disappear from anyone you cared about or who cared
about you. It made me feel light, airy, invisible. I stood, looked at Mrs. Pratt,
and started out.

“Head up,” Mrs. Pratt snapped.

“Don’t dare feel sorry for yourself, Roxy Wilcox,” Mrs. Brittany said. “You’re not
being shipped to San Quentin. You’re going to be in the lap of luxury at the height
of the season on the Riviera.”

She walked along with me.

“Norbert will see to it that you attend some wonderful concerts and events in Monte
Carlo. I have a friend who will be sailing his yacht into Villefranche-sur-Mer in
about a month. We might join him for a luxurious weekend.”

I looked from side to side and into rooms as we headed for the front entrance. With
both of them on either side of me now, I felt as if I was being escorted off the premises,
and they were making sure that I could speak to no one and no one could speak to me.
The stretch limousine was right outside. Jeffries had completed whatever packing needed
to be done. He closed the trunk, and the chauffeur got out quickly to open the door
for me.

For one frightening moment, I wondered if this was all a ruse and I wasn’t going off
to the French Riviera but being carried off to some other form of disposal so I would
never be a threat to Mrs. Brittany and her powerful, rich organization again. Maybe
she could see the thought pass across my eyes. She took hold of me at both elbows
and turned me around.

“This is more of a test than I had envisioned for you, Roxy, but if you can come through
this and continue to grow and develop, I am sure you will be one of my top Brittany
girls. You know I don’t say such things lightly.”

“Yes,” I said.

For a second, I thought she would actually kiss me on the cheek, but she let me go
and stood back.

“Please tell Sheena I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye, at least.”

“I said I’d handle it. Don’t worry.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Mrs. Pratt added. “Remember, keep a very low profile. We don’t
expect anyone to connect the dots over there, but American tourists will be there.
Don’t speak to any strangers, ever.”

I felt like saying, “Yes, Mommy,” but kept my lips sealed.

“Since you will be in France, you might have the temptation to contact your mother’s
family. That would be very, very foolish,” she added. I looked at Mrs. Brittany to
see if she had the same thought.

“I definitely won’t do that, Mrs. Brittany. You have my word.”

“I expect you to keep it. I am hoping that you have what it takes to be on your own
like this, Roxy. Don’t disappoint us. Don’t disappoint yourself,” Mrs. Brittany told
me just before the door was closed.

I looked out at the two of them. Neither waved as we pulled away. They wore identical
looks of concern and skepticism. I had the feeling they had debated doing this, with
Mrs. Pratt probably taking the view that it would much easier just to turn me loose
and forget me.
I’ll prove her wrong,
I thought.

As we turned down the long driveway, I looked toward the east side of the mansion
and Sheena’s room. I imagined that she was going through some of her clothing, planning
what she would wear on our next night out together, which, I realized, was supposed
to be tonight. How would Mrs. Brittany explain this, and
would she make it clear how much I hated leaving her? I hoped Mrs. Brittany realized
that Sheena might see this as another betrayal.

I felt a real tear on my cheek. It shocked me until I realized that I was crying inside
for Sheena as much as for myself.

We drove on. I sat back. The description Mrs. Brittany had given me of her villa and
what awaited me should make me happy, I thought. After all, she was continuing her
investment and faith in me.

But when I analyzed what this was about, I realized that I was still running away
from my father.

Would that ever end?

Everyone, from the chauffeur to the pilots and the flight attendant on Mrs. Brittany’s
private jet, was overly solicitous. I had the sense that anyone who represented Mrs.
Brittany would be treated as if she were Mrs. Brittany. My comfort was foremost. I
learned that the food that had been brought onto the plane had been prepared by Gordon
Leceister. Even my silk pajamas and robe were there for me when I wanted to sleep.
The plane had every amenity someone would enjoy in the first-class cabins of the best
airlines. I doubted that anyone involved, however, knew anything more about me than
that I was Mrs. Brittany’s guest. In minutes, it seemed, we were on our way, and I
hadn’t had to show anyone a passport or go through any security check. I began to
wonder who had more power in this world, the president of the United States or Mrs.
Brittany. She snapped her fingers, and I was being whisked off to southern France.

Because of the time difference, I arrived at midday. Her friend Norbert Davies was
waiting at the airport to rush me away to Mrs. Brittany’s villa the moment
the plane landed. My luggage was quickly transferred to the limousine, which had been
brought right up to the airplane.

“
Bienvenue
,” Norbert said as soon as I stepped off. He was a tall, dark-complexioned man with
ebony hair but surprisingly blue eyes. I didn’t think he was more than thirty or maybe
thirty-five. He wore a light, silver gray Armani suit with gold cuff links and one
of the more expensive Rolex watches. He looked as if he had just done a
GQ
cover.

“
Enchanté
,” I said.

“Please.” He indicated the inside of the limousine. “We are having some unusually
warm weather,” he told me as an explanation for why he wanted me in the air-conditioned
vehicle as quickly as possible. “The whole Côte d’Azur is smoldering, with temperatures
in the forties.”

“Forties? That’s not hot.”

“Celsius,” he said, smiling. “You’re here now, and when in Rome . . .”

“
Exactement
,” I said, realizing that, of course, Europe was on Celsius, not Fahrenheit. “
D’accord
.”

He got in beside me. He was a George Clooney–handsome man but with an aristocratic
air about him that made him seem untouchable. He was immaculately dressed, with hair
so accurately cut I doubted there was a strand too long or too short.

“How is my godmother?” he asked.

“Mrs. Brittany is your godmother?”

“
Mais oui
. My mother and her late husband were cousins, but even if not, she would have been
my
godmother. When she lived in Europe, they were all very close. She was there for me
after my mother passed away. I owe her a great deal. She was instrumental in my getting
a good education and the position I hold now in the Principality of Monaco. I can
never do enough to repay her, but I can’t say this assignment is any burden. I look
forward to making you comfortable and looking after any of your needs.”