Heirs Book Two: American Lady (16 page)

Leigh gave Nikki a look as frosty as her icy
reputation. “Why should I wonder anything so ridiculous? Henri and
I were married on the 8th of December and Maixent was born nine
months later on the 8th of September. There is absolutely no hint
that anyone other than King Henri is his father. Whatever
suspicions you have, they are just that and nothing more. Are you
suggesting that we stop the marriage because of your overactive
imagination?”

“How many days before your marriage did you
end your affair with Jean-Luc?” Nikki persisted. “Do you remember?
Because I do. It was mere days before the wedding. What’s more
Charley was born just nine months after my night with Jean-Luc.
There’s a very real possibility these two are related. It would be
incest,” Nikki hissed the last word with a shudder.

Leigh threw her manicured hands up in the
air and rolled her sky blue eyes heavenward. “I’m confused about
whether you’re acting out cloak-and-dagger spy thriller or tragic
drama queen.”

Nikki literally spluttered. This was an
unwarranted putdown coming from the woman who had wrenched a vow of
silence from her until her dying confession!

“Nikki, you always were the most impractical
woman alive. There is no way to prevent Maix marrying Charley
without giving him a good reason and I have no intention of raking
up an affair that is nearly thirty years old. You know very well
that any hint of scandal about Maixent’s birth could topple the
Altobesque monarchy and would more than likely throw doubt on the
paternity of our other children. How would your father-in-law react
to the news that Alex hadn’t sired his first born?” Leigh narrowed
her eyes and Nikki was reminded of the evil queen in Snow White.
“We promised we would always keep it secret.”

“That was only about the shooting,” Nikki
objected.

“No, it was about everything to do with
Jean-Luc, including your affair with him and mine.” They were both
speaking so softly that the rustle of the leaves on the trellis
completely swallowed their conversation. “Besides, I always wore a
diaphragm with Jean-Luc.”

“No need to sound virtuous. That still means
there’s a twenty per cent chance you got pregnant with him,” Nikki
said scathingly.

“And for all I know he was two-timing me
with you all along.”

Nikki’s face turned scarlet. “I had one
night with Jean-Luc and it was totally unplanned!”

“Keep your voice down,” Leigh ordered. “I
suppose that’s your excuse for not taking precautions. No wonder
you’re not sure of Charley’s paternity.”

The snide remark made Nikki bite down hard
to stop the tremble in her lips. She blinked her eyes rapidly to
stop the tears from forming. Guilt rose in bile-like waves, leaving
a sour taste in her mouth because she knew that if she hadn’t slept
with Jean-Luc, Leigh would never have found them together and there
would have been no opportunity to shoot him. This whole mess was
her fault!

Leigh pulled a tissue out of her Birkin bag
and handed it over silently. “You had only one night with Jean-Luc
so the odds that he is Charley’s father are negligible.”

Was Leigh being sympathetic? Nikki sniffed
harder, dabbing at her eyes.

“I think we need something stronger than
coffee.” Leigh signaled and an invisible waiter sprang to their
table. “Two sea breezes,” she ordered, quirking an eyebrow at
Nikki. “You do still drink vodka?”

“Too much lately,” Nikki admitted, twisting
the damask napkin between her fingers. She gave a shaky smile. It
actually felt good to finally unburden herself. She had been
bouncing between guilt, remorse and blame for the past few months,
so Leigh’s hard-headed approach gave her perspective a much needed
shake up.

The waiter placed their rock glasses
carefully on the table, removed their empty coffee cups and
disappeared as unobtrusively as he had arrived. Nikki gulped the
sunset colored drink gratefully. Leigh had introduced her to vodka
at the Mary Magdalene Academy. The atomic cocktails that Leigh used
to mix in the school dormitory for their illicit parties were
potent concoctions of vodka, brandy, sherry and champagne that left
more than one girl nursing hangovers the next morning. Nikki
remembered one occasion when the nuns thought a stomach bug was
going around because the drink left so many girls violently
vomiting.

“So you think I’m overdramatizing the
situation?”

“Nikki, the odds are against Charley and
Maixent being related. I will not rake up a lot of heartache over a
past that cannot be changed. Maixent and Charley are happy and so
much in love. Don’t spoil it for them because of mistakes we made
when we were young and stupid.” Leigh sipped her sea breeze
thoughtfully. “If you’re thinking of spilling your guts, I’ll
simply deny the whole story.”

Nikki sighed. Leigh was probably right. She
usually was. But Nikki couldn’t quite shake off the damacloid cloud
she felt hanging over their heads.

* * *

Maixent looked at his watch. The numerals on
the Rolex maxi dial submariner glittered in the sunshine flooding
through his office window. He had arranged to meet Alain Verhave to
broach the matter of his marriage. It was an important matter of
protocol and traditionally the National Council had to give
permission to the Crown Prince’s marriage. Lucky Aurelie, he
thought. As the second child and daughter she had carte blanche for
her marriage partner.

Verhave was a doughty individual. He had a
hairless, bland moon face with a protruding bulbous nose, thick
lips and the yellowed crooked teeth, blackened tongue and halitosis
of a heavy smoker. His receding hairline only enhanced the full
roundness of his head. The kindest adjective Maix could apply was
“butt-ugly”.

Maixent knew he had a heavy-going morning
ahead of him. Verhave was not afraid to stand up to Henri nor was
he troubled about facing down the Council, hence he had been
elected to the position of Minister of State because of his
toughness. The man had a reputation for thriving on conflict. This
was Maixent’s first private interview with Verhave. He wished he
wasn’t so emotionally invested in the matter to hand because he
anticipated Verhave being difficult.

Tensely Maixent criss-crossed his office,
willing his knotted muscles to unclench. Yesterday he’d had his
weekly meeting with Police Commissioner Beaucopas and mentioned the
unexpected encounter with Cesare Cabrini at Ramboldis. Given that
the royal outing had been totally spontaneous and there was no
indication from the tracking transmitter the police had lodged on
his car that he had been following Maixent’s movements, they
concluded it was a bizarre coincidence. After all it wasn’t
improbable that a visiting American “businessman” would go out to
dine on his own.

Maixent rolled his shoulders before pacing
back to his desk. He was well aware that many of the state
councilors decried the fact that he showed no intention of settling
down and there was general concern because neither Henri nor his
brother Gaston had shown any inclination for early marriage either.
There had been plenty of headlines in the
Altobello Matin
speculating on whether the country would have to wait another
decade or more for its heir to marry and produce a family. Somehow
he had to turn the councilors’ worry into a positive for himself
and Charley.

Anouk tapped on the door and then ushered
Verhave into the office. Lugubriously he approached the prince and
gave him a curt nod of greeting. He remained upstanding until
Maixent invited him to sit. This was no informal conversation over
coffee in the easy chairs by the window. Maixent remained
fortressed behind his Edwardian desk, Verhave sitting exposed in
front of him.

“I need to discuss a very delicate matter,”
Maixent launched into the meat of the matter with his usual
forthrightness. Verhave had a great deal of influence with the
National Council. Maixent was wary of keeping him on side. “Of
course you’re aware that Altobello’s continuing status as an
independent nation is reliant on its rulers producing an unbroken
line of heirs to the throne. Should the male line die out then
Altobello would revert to French control according to the Treaty of
Toulouse signed by my ancestor Geatane-Auguste I.”

Verhave inclined his head. He did not look
directly at Maixent. His fingers were steepled in front of him and
his small, hooded eyes seemed to find this sight infinitely
interesting. Maixent wondered if he was craving a cigarette. He had
a no-smoking policy in his office so Verhave was unlikely to risk
lighting up.

“Although my uncle Prince Gaston has
recently married it seems unlikely that he will have children.” His
uncle was now in his fifties and had married a woman in her early
forties who showed no inclination to start a family. “So it has
always been of concern to my father, King Henri, that I, as heir to
the Dragonblood Throne, contract a suitable marriage.”

Only by the flicker of an eyelid did Verhave
betray his interest and surprise. His eyebrows flexed to such an
angle that they looked like a unibrow and Maixent wondered if he
was racking his brain for gossip about the prince’s latest
paramours.

“I want you to sound out the National
Council about the possibility of my marrying a foreigner.”
Maixent’s thoughts jostled together. There was no way he was going
to reveal Charley’s name at this stage. God, he was missing her
though. His days and evenings were busy with official engagements,
but he spoke with her by phone every day and they planned to catch
up on her trip to Cannes.

“Could you be a little more specific, your
Highness?” Verhave probed. “Given the size of Altobello’s
population, the odds were always in favor of you marrying outside
the country. But I am anxious that if I take such a vague
proposition to the Council they may suspect your Highness of
wanting to secure permission to marry someone,” he paused, the
hooded eyes squinting shrewdly at the prince, “unsuitable.”

Maixent hesitated, trying to gather his
thoughts. How much information should he give away at this early
stage?

“Really, your Highness, to sound out the
council about your marrying a foreigner is to sound them out about
nothing,” Verhave continued. “Does your Highness have anyone
specific in mind? Can you at least advise me of a nationality?” He
bared his uneven, stained teeth in a hopeful smile and released a
blast of bad breath that Maixent tried vainly not to inhale.
“Perhaps a Frenchwoman of impeccable taste and lineage, someone
similar, although much younger, than the woman your uncle has
married?”

This time it was Maixent’s turn to blink in
consternation. He realized he needed to scotch any fallacious
rumors and burst that particular bubble of hope as quickly as
possible. Better to prepare everybody in advance. “Yes, I do have
someone in mind. She is an American. Miss Charmagne Cassidy,
daughter of former President Cassidy of the United States.”

Only by the sudden collapse of his fingered
steeple did Verhave betray his dismay at the news that the future
princess was another American. “Pardon, your Highness, but it is
possible that there may be some dissent about your choice of an
American for wife.” He gave a tactful cough. “The councilors may
consider that too much American blood is diluting to the
Marchessini strain.”

Aggrievedly Maixent pushed himself back from
the desk, before stemming the abrupt surge of anger. Careful, he
cautioned himself. He needed to turn Verhave’s concerns to his
advantage not create an enemy. Deliberately he eased his facial
expression into a benign chuckle.

“You tell them, Monsieur Verhave, that it’s
better for Altobello’s prosperity to have an American Princess and
a potential line of heirs to the throne than have me remain
single.”

Verhave lowered his eyes, but whether it was
in defeat or because of chagrin Maix was unsure.

“Since you brought up the matter of the heir
to the throne, your Highness, there would have to be a medical
examination of the lady. Very discreet, of course.”

Maixent knew this already. It was important
that the health of the future mother of the heir to the throne be
as perfect as possible, with no history of insanity or other
defects, and, as far as the doctors were able to determine, that
the future princess was fertile, that her fallopian tubes were
clear and that she menstruated and ovulated regularly.

“And as well as that a background check will
have to made to ensure there are no skeletons in the cupboard. That
report of course would need to be made before your engagement was
announced to save any embarrassment in case the Council withheld
its approval.”

“Of course, let’s bring all the skeletons
out of the cupboard,” Maixent said gaily. “But pending these
formalities are completed satisfactorily, then we would expect the
Council not to withhold its approval over such a petty matter as
nationality,” Maixent continued sternly.

Verhave inclined his head slightly to
indicate he understood Maixent’s wishes. “Of course, your Highness.
At this stage we will not anticipate any impediment to your
forthcoming marriage.”

Jazz lived in one of the music-box sized Victorian
houses perched on a hillock above the town. It had two front rooms
and two backrooms separated by a corridor almost exactly through
the middle, and a basement with access only from the outside. When
she had accepted the job with Peppermint Vale Community Hospital
she had taken a year-long lease on the house. Despite it being
rundown and in dire need of repairs she had fallen in love with it.
At the end of six months she had negotiated with the owner to
purchase it and was saving up for renovations.

The sun peeped through a gap in the bedroom
blinds, crept along the carpet and snuck up and over the bed to
shine in her eyes like a policeman’s torch. She stretched
luxuriously, still only half awake.