Читать книгу If the Slipper Fits - Elizabeth Harbison - Страница 11

“I’ll be right there.” Lily hung up the phone and muttered an oath. She was not in the mood for this, no matter how rich, famous, or powerful the guest was. She was not in the mood for it.

Lack of sleep was really getting to her.

She stalked to the front of the building, where a group of about five photographers with large cameras stood, looking bored or tired, smoking cigarettes and eating doughnuts.

She braced herself, then went outside. “What are you doing here?”

“We got a call that Brittany Oliver’s here with Prince Conrad of La-dee-dah Land,” one of them said, stubbing out his cigarette on the entry gate. “So, what’s the story, they an item?”

“I have no idea who you’re even talking about,” Lily said. “But I do know that you’re making our guests feel rather uncomfortable.”

“Look, lady,” another said to her, “we’re just trying to do our jobs, just like you. Brittany Oliver’s old news, so maybe this was all set up by her publicist, but we know Prince Conrad is in town for some UN event, and he’s hot right now. So, forget Brittany Oliver. Is Prince Conrad here or isn’t he?”

“I’ve never even heard of him,” Lily responded, in a voice so sincere she almost fooled herself.

The photographer narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a moment before saying, “You’ve never heard of the Playboy Prince of Beloria?”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“His father died a few weeks ago, so he’s here to host some charity ball, then accept some award for his father at the UN. You’ve heard of the United Nations, haven’t you?”

She gave a tight smile. “Vaguely.”

“So the guy’s pretty important in those circles. And word is, he’s staying here because this is where his father used to stay, back in the days when this was a happening hotel.”

“Then the word is wrong.” She refused to take the bait about the hotel not being what it used to be. “But you’re welcome to back off a little bit and take all the pictures you want of the place.” She tried to smile, but it came off as more of a smirk. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

He watched her for a moment, then said to his companions, “She looks like she’s on the up-and-up.”

“I don’t know,” another one said. “If he is there, it’s her job to tell us he’s not.”

Lily sighed. “Listen—like I said, you can do what you like off the property. If you publish pictures with the hotel’s name, so much the better. But you cannot stand here and do it because you are making my guests uncomfortable.” She smiled sweetly. “Please don’t make me call the police.”

“Forget it,” said the lone woman in the pack. “I’m not waiting here all night to take pictures of Brittany Oliver, no matter who she’s with or how many silly girls are ga-ga over him.”

Several of the others began to put their equipment away.

“Thank you,” Lily said to them.

“I’m not budging,” one of them said. “A shot of His Royal holier-than-thou-ness is worth a hell of a lot more than a shot of the inside of my apartment.”

This caused a small rumble of agreement among them. Lily knew that arguing further at this point would make her look suspicious, so she shook her head and said, “Just make sure you stay back from the property, then, or I will call the police on you for loitering.”

She went back into the building trying to formulate a Plan B. By the time she got back to Prince Conrad’s room, she had decided that the best place to hide a person—especially in a case like this—was right out in the open.

“How about if you put on a hat and coat, and we simply have one of the employees pick you up in his private car and drive you back to your hotel?” she suggested to Brittany.

“Aren’t the photographers looking for me?” Brittany asked, in a way that made Lily think that a “no” would have been far more upsetting to the actress than a “yes.”

“Yes,” Lily conceded. “Which is why, when you walk right out, they won’t even look at you. They’ll be looking for you to be smuggled out with the laundry or some other such nonsense.”

Conrad smiled for the first time since Lily had been in the room. “You’re right. It’s a good idea.”

Lily was disarmed by his smile, and told herself it was because it was unexpected, not because he was so incredibly good-looking. “I think it will work.”

Brittany glanced back and forth between the two of them. “What if one of them recognizes me?”

“Then they’ll take your picture and speculate about your involvement with a man who may or may not be here,” Lily said simply.

This seemed to satisfy Brittany.

At the same time, it seemed to irritate Prince Conrad—he lowered his brow and his jaw tightened a bit, but he said nothing.

“Should I call Mike to bring the car around?” Lily asked, wishing to get this exercise over with.

“Let’s do it!” Brittany said, clapping her hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

Fun, Lily thought wearily. This “fun” was interrupting her valuable sleep time. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the lobby,” she said to Brittany. “It would probably be best if you stayed in the suite, Your Highness, so you’re not seen.”

“I’m not used to hiding.”

No, he was probably just used to hiding his dates.

“You should stay here, Conrad,” Brittany said. “If you come out and tell them we’re just friends or something, it will only fuel the fire.” It may have been a trick of the light, but Brittany looked hopeful.

He looked at her curiously for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you wish. Thank you for coming tonight. I enjoyed our meeting and I appreciate your help.”

Lily felt a little ill at this characterization of what was obviously a romantic tête-à-tête. More than that, she did not want to be here in the middle of things during their goodbye, but she was stuck.

“Me, too.” Brittany threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek, while pressing herself against him in a way that made Lily feel as if she should leave them alone.

Conrad pulled away first. “Please return and let me know when Ms. Oliver is safely on her way,” he said to Lily.

She sighed inwardly. Her time could be much better spent sleeping, but the guest was always the priority. “Very well,” she said to him. “I’m sure it will go without a hitch.”

She led Brittany down the hall and to the elevator. “We have several coats that were left behind a long time ago and never claimed,” she said. “You could use one of them to cover up.”

“I am not going to wear some stranger’s smelly old coat,” Brittany said haughtily. Suddenly her sweet and cooperative act was over. “No way. I’ve got my own coat.”

“Yes, you do,” Lily said, looking at the long, plush mink coat—probably real—that the actress was sporting. “I was just thinking that perhaps you would be less conspicuous in something else.”

The elevator arrived and Lily pulled back the metal gates and ushered the actress on board.

“At this point, if I’m recognized, I just can’t help it,” Brittany said, and the look in her eyes left no doubt that she was counting on being recognized and photographed. “Prince Conrad and I have much more…business…to do together, so we’ll just have to get used to the attention, I guess.”

Lily was fairly certain Brittany would make sure of that. “Your driver is right outside the front door,” she said, swallowing one or two sharp comments about Brittany’s intentions. Then, to ensure that the actress wouldn’t stall any longer, she added, “But I’m afraid I already see some photographers.”

“Really?” Brittany turned a delighted face to the night and Lily took the opportunity to bid her goodnight and return to the hotel.

She was down to a possible five hours of sleep, and that was if she fell asleep right now. Unfortunately, she had to go back to Prince Conrad’s suite first and assure him that his guest had gotten into the car safely.

She plodded back up to his suite, reminding herself with every step that this was helpful to Gerard and the hotel in general. The photographer had been right about one thing: once this had been a grand place, and very popular with royalty and dignitaries, yet since 2001 business had slowed down and, so far, it hadn’t really picked back up.

They had done promotions, and Romantic Weekend packages, and so on, but what they needed was something to make the hotel interesting again. Brittany Oliver wasn’t going to do that, of course, but maybe the dashing Prince Conrad could.

Lily would do everything she could to protect his privacy—she would always do her job the best she could—but that didn’t stop her from sort of hoping the photographers had gotten an interesting picture or two that could show up in celebrity magazines with a caption about the location.

She figured Gerard probably hoped the same thing, but neither one of them would ever say it out loud.

When she got to Conrad’s suite, and he opened the door at her knock, he looked nearly as tired as she felt.

“Has she gone?” he asked, without preamble.

“Yes, she left several minutes ago. I don’t think there were any photographers there.”

“Good.” He met her eyes, sending shivers down her spine with his cool blue gaze. “I appreciate your discretion.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

“What, exactly, is your job anyway?”

She was thrown by his question. “I’m the concierge.”

“Yes, you said.” He nodded. “But I’m not used to the workings of such a small hotel. Does it mean, as at larger hotels, that you are charged with doing whatever is in your power to make sure your guests are comfortable and happy?”

“Within reason,” she said cautiously, lifting an eyebrow in question. Something told her he was headed toward something she wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with.

“I believe, miss—” He raised a questioning brow.

“Tilden. Lily.”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Tildenlily?”

“No.” She smiled. His English was flawless, but hers, she was often told, was too fast. “Lily Tilden.”

“Miss Tilden,” he said, as if rolling fine wine over his tongue. His voice, the low timbre, the faint accent, was magnetic. It was the voice of a hypnotist. “I’m afraid you may be in for some trouble, Miss Tilden.”

She swallowed hard. She was embarrassed to admit, even to herself, that this man made her feel nervous. Lily never got nervous. “Oh? How so?”

“My father’s wife can be—how do I say it?—demanding. You will get little rest while she’s here, I’m afraid. I’d like to offer you my apologies up front.”

“Well,” Lily wasn’t sure how to respond, “thanks for the warning. I guess. But I can handle it.”

“Indeed.” He gave a shrug, as if to say I warned you. “Good luck, Ms. Tilden.”

She smiled. “Sounds as if you think I’ll need it.”

He smiled back, a dazzling movie-star smile. “Where my father’s wife is concerned, we all need some luck.”

Lily started to go, then stopped and turned back. “I don’t mean to be impertinent—”

He raised an eyebrow and looked so amused that she nearly lost her train of thought. “Please do.”

She went on, a little disconcerted, “Well, Princess Drucille spoke with great authority when she said you were expecting me to bring your dinner to you, but apparently she was…incorrect.”

He nodded, and continued to look amused as Lily ran the risk of hanging herself.

“My question is this—if, in the future, she should give any of the staff instructions where you’re concerned, should we assume…” She paused, unable to come up with a nice way of saying “She’s not to be taken seriously” or “She’s full of it.”

“If I require something, I’ll ask for it directly,” Conrad supplied, finally letting Lily off the hook. “Otherwise…” He shook his head. “Don’t take another’s word for it.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief at his comprehension. “Good. I’ll let the staff know.”

He nodded solemnly. “I’d appreciate it. If someone arrives at my door every time Drucille wants to use my name, I’ll never get any peace.”