Читать книгу The Secret Princess - Elizabeth Harbison - Страница 12

Franz Burgess, known as Will to his friends, went outside into the damp, cold air and got into the waiting limousine. He’d hoped to feel relieved by this point, but he’d known, going into this, that he might be disappointed. With everything he knew about Amy Scott—and he knew a great deal—he should have known her intelligence would make her cynical, at least give her a cynical reaction to his story.

One thing he had not known, or prepared himself for, was his own reaction to her. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her he’d been captivated by her. He could have stayed all night, watching her eyes flash when she spoke, listening to her voice, observing her movements and the way her clothes hugged the soft contours of her body.

It wasn’t simply that she was attractive. He had plenty of access to beautiful women. At times, he was even tired of beautiful women. They all seemed so vacant. But Amy Scott was different. Her coloring was like that of many women from his country, the pale skin and faintly pink cheeks. Yet she had something different, something extra. It was an unexplainable quality of magnetism that he’d rarely encountered. It was easy to imagine himself watching her for many years to come.

If only he could persuade her that the story he’d told her was true. She was so perfect for the role. Her sharp intelligence, combined with her beauty, would make her an excellent princess. Yet she was skeptical. And despite financial difficulties that he knew about, she was strong enough to resist the temptation of being told she was a princess and would thus have no more bills and debtors to worry about.

So he was going to have to bring out documentation, to try to convince her to accompany him back to Lufthania. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that already. But he’d budgeted time for that possibility.

However, he hadn’t budgeted time, or prepared himself mentally, for the possibility that he couldn’t convince her. That would be a disaster for him. Yet it was looking entirely possible that he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t come back to Lufthania with him.

His entire life depended on it.

The first thing Amy did after Franz Burgess left was call her parents. They both got on the line and for half an hour they discussed the situation. Amy was surprised that her parents didn’t immediately dismiss the idea that she might be a princess.

To the contrary, her mother was ready to believe it. “I’ve always thought you were more regal than most people,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you were never too fond of doing the dishes, and it was darn near impossible to get you to clean your room.” She laughed. “I always thought it was a queen complex, but princess will do.”

Amy was glad for the levity. In the end, they agreed that Amy would see Franz Burgess’s evidence in the morning and make a judgment based on that. If he was on the up-and-up, they reasoned, he must have some pretty compelling evidence. She could hear him out and call them back with the additional facts.

Meanwhile, her father would call the Lufthania embassy and see if he could verify the existence of Franz Burgess.

After that, they would decide together what Amy should do.

This plan made Amy feel a lot better, and she spent the rest of the night looking for any information she could find on Lufthania.

First, she checked her stock for any books that might make even slight mention of Lufthania. Since it was a very small country and didn’t hold the international cachet of, say, Monaco, no books were devoted to it entirely, but she recalled several references to it in some of the books on Germany and Switzerland. It was little more than a footnote, but when she looked through an out-of-print volume on the region, she was able to find a slender chapter devoted to the country and its history.

The book was written in the late 1940s and had no reference to the coup d’état Franz Burgess had told her about. However, it did go into a bit of detail on the royal family, Prince Josef, Princess Lily and their daughter, Princess Amelia. The young princess was pictured playing in the snow with a St. Bernard puppy.

It was difficult to distinguish the girl’s facial features, so when Amy imagined she looked familiar—perhaps similar to the image mirrors had held of Amy some twenty years ago—she chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

Still, she read and reread the pages, scouring for every mention of Lufthania, and she kept returning to the picture of the little girl.

Then she tried the Internet. The story of the coup was there, but no pictures. She also found some official government documents that appeared to be written in a Germanic language, and a couple of personal travel diaries written by people who had happened through a corner of Lufthania on their way to someplace more famous, but that was all. There was nothing solid to persuade Amy to believe Franz Burgess’s story.

Yet as difficult as it was to believe it could be true, it managed to touch Amy’s heartstrings. What could be better for the girl who had spent a lifetime wondering who she really was and where—if anywhere—she’d truly fit in, than to find her family history and home all in one shot? To find a long, documented family tree? One with golden apples, no less.

She read through the night and far into the wee hours of the morning, stopping occasionally to refill her coffee mug, or gaze at the snow in the hazy glow of the street lamp. She’d always enjoyed the cold weather more than the heat. Did that mean anything? Was it significant somehow? Did it prove the fantastic story?

The questions swirled around in her mind like snow on the wind until her eyelids grew heavy and the words began to blur before her.

She fell asleep without even realizing it until the sunny white glare of morning cut through the store windows and woke her just in time to see the long black limo pull up outside.

He was back.

Amy stood up quickly, raked her hand through her hair and threw open her desk drawer to look for a piece of gum to make up for not having time to brush her teeth.

He tapped on the door just as she was tossing the wrapper into the trash.

She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself before walking, as regally as she could, to the door and letting him in.

“Good morning,” he said, a smile in his eyes. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

She feigned surprise. “Wake me? Of course not. I’ve been here for at least an hour.”

“At least.” He did smile then, and reached out and touched her very briefly on the cheek. “You appear to have the imprint of your computer keyboard on your face.”

“What?” She lifted her hand to her cheek.

“And you haven’t changed your clothes since last night. Did you fall asleep here reading about Lufthania?”

An objection lodged in her throat, but she swallowed it. Why bother pretending she wasn’t curious? “Weren’t you expecting me to check up on your story?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” He held up a valise. “Which is why I brought you all of the documentation I had that led me to you.” He dropped the valise on the desk and pulled off his expensive-looking leather driving gloves, one by one, stuffing them into the pockets of his camel-colored overcoat.

“That’s for me to look through?”

“Please.” He made an expansive gesture. “Be my guest.”

“Why didn’t you bring all of this with you in the first place?”

He gave a brief smile. “I first had to be convinced you were the one. Then I could set about convincing you, although, to tell you the truth, I didn’t think you would need much persuasion.” For just a moment, he looked grim. “I hope what I have here will convince you.”

“We’ll see.” She gave a dry laugh. “I don’t know what kind of women you know, but I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t approach this with caution.”

She took the valise and sat down with it on the other side of the desk. As she unzipped it, she had half a thought that it might not be safe to open anything brought by a man she didn’t know and who—if his story was false, as it must be—might well be nuts.

But it was already open before she could stop herself, and her curiosity was rewarded with a large, neat stack of papers and photographs.

He walked around behind her and bent over her. “If I may explain,” he said. “This is the route Princess Lily and her husband, Georg, along with you, took out of Lufthania. As you can see, they were not yet hiding their identities, so this is unrefuted documentation.”

Amy looked at what could have been a travel itinerary for any of her bookstore customers who were planning a vacation. It was hard to believe it was the escape route of a princess and her family.

“Next you have the affidavit of Ambassador Whisle, and his wife, who took Princess Lily, Georg and Amé into their Washington, D.C., home.”

Determined to be thorough, Amy took the pages in hand and read carefully as he explained each and every piece of paper. Every once in a while, she found herself distracted by his proximity, and the clean, spicy scent of his after-shave—a unique and alluring scent, unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. But each time her mind wandered, she forced it back to the papers before her. After all, this could be—

She couldn’t even finish the thought. Of course it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be anything to do with her. Still, it made for an interesting and romantic story. Perhaps she could put it on her Web site along with recommendations for the books she’d found on Lufthania.

“Amelia?”

“Yes?” she answered absently, then immediately realized her mistake. “Are you talking to me?”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “There is only one Amelia here.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Maybe not even that many.”

He raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod, the traditional expression of touché. “I was going to ask you if you wanted some breakfast. I can send my driver to the shop, if you like.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She thought of the coffee and gum, which were all she’d had for twelve hours. “Unless you’re sending him, anyway?”

He flashed a brilliant smile and held up his index finger. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She watched him go out the front door, apparently heedless of the cold, and bend down to the passenger window of the limo. It opened and he said something to the driver inside, then stood back up, gave two flat-handed pats on the roof of the car and came back in while the limo edged out of sight. He came back over to her, the crisp scent of cold and snow clinging to him.

“If you’ve finished reading the affidavit, you can see here the receipt for a car purchased on the afternoon that they left the ambassador’s mansion. That car fits the description of the one that was in the accident.”

Amy listened to his story, following along with his visual aids, eyewitness accounts, maps and various other pieces of evidence that made his story seem plausible. She believed he might have accurately traced the movements of the princess and her family to a point, and then moved onto her own history.

“Like your mother, you excelled in literature in college. This course on comparative literature looks quite challenging.”

“Wait a minute—”

He turned a page and raised an eyebrow at her. “But I see you did have some trouble with mathematics.”

“I did not!” She was immediately defensive. “First of all, Professor Tanner lost an assignment that accounted for thirty-three percent of my grade, then penalized me for it, and second of all, that is none of your business.”

“Professor Tanner claims that you never turned the work in.”

Outrage rose in Amy. “You talked to him? You actually contacted my former teachers before you ever even met—” She stopped when she saw the amusement in his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked soberly.

“Right.” He smiled. “My apologies.” He didn’t look sorry at all. He flipped through some more pages. “I see you were also engaged after college to a…Ben Singer.”

“Do you also see that he dumped me for another woman, claiming I was ‘emotionally inaccessible’?” she asked sharply.

He leveled a blue gaze on her. “No. Are you?”

“No.” She didn’t mention that she hadn’t had a relationship last longer than a month since, or that her friends joked that they wouldn’t take one of her boyfriends seriously unless he made it to day thirty-two. “I’m in full possession of my emotions,” she contended.

He laughed. “You seem uncomfortable with personal questions.”

She was. “Only because I don’t think my private life has anything to do with this.”

“On the contrary, I believe your private life has everything to do with your heritage. To say nothing of your royal duties.”

She shook her head. “I think it’s a bit early still to be talking about my royal duties. I am in no way convinced that my parents are who you say they are. I mean, it’s very difficult to believe they came so far off the royal course as to end up in Dentytown.”

“Keep looking” was all he said, indicating the papers she held.

As he must have predicted, her skepticism was in for a shock when she got to the end of the pile. With only a couple of papers left, he pulled out a stiff piece of paper with “Princess Lily, Lufthan Palace” scrawled across the back in spidery script.

“Here,” he said gravely, “is the last known picture taken of Princess Lily. Your mother.”

Amy took the faded color photo from him slowly. Her first reaction was that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Her second reaction was to think this was a dream. This had to be a dream.

Because there, in her trembling hand, was a glossy photograph of a woman with long wavy auburn hair, pale blue eyes and a small cleft in her chin. A woman who, if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn was herself.

“Okay, whoa, you’re going where? With whom?” Mara’s face registered all of the incredulity and skepticism that had been churning in Amy’s stomach since Franz Burgess had first walked through her door and told his story.

It wasn’t as if she’d just magically gotten over her doubts, but when she’d seen that photograph of Princess Lily, it was as if someone had punched her in the gut. She decided to ignore the lure of logic and take a chance, for once in her life, by getting to the bottom of the story.

“What do your parents think about this?”

“We spent the entire night talking about it,” Amy said. “And they’re with me—this warrants investigation.”

“You’ve all lost your minds.”

“Maybe, but we’re not complete fools. My father did call the embassy and confirm that Franz Burgess is the private secretary to Prince Wilhelm.

“That’s a relief. I guess.”

“Look,” Amy said, sticking the last of her instruction Post-its on the wall next to the desk, “I figure this will make a great story, if nothing else. Think of the publicity we could get for Blue Yonder—maybe I could do an editorial piece for Coastal Life or some other magazine. ‘I Was a Princess for a Day,’ that kind of thing.” That wasn’t the real reason she was going, but she could barely admit to herself how much she wanted to find her roots, much less share that with someone else.

Mara screwed up her eyebrows. “And you’re not going to be devastated if this all turns out to be a hoax?”

“Absolutely not,” Amy answered vehemently. “Although I get the feeling this isn’t a hoax. A mistake, probably, but I don’t think anyone is setting this up as a cruel joke to make me look stupid.”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d want to do that to you,” Mara agreed, then pressed her lips together for a moment before asking, “Have you thought about what you’ll do if it turns out to be true?”

Amy stopped shuffling papers for a moment. “What, that I’m a princess?” She dropped the papers into a file folder.

Mara nodded excitedly. “Can you imagine?”

Amy paused and tried to imagine. Princess Amy of Lufthania. It was ridiculous enough to make her laugh. “No, I can’t imagine. I’d like to, but I just can’t.” She sat heavily in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Mara, do you think this is crazy? Am I insane to even think about going through with this?”

Mara sat on the edge of the desk and patted Amy’s shoulder reassuringly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not so sure this is all that far-fetched.”

Amy raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m serious,” Mara said. “You don’t know what your life was before the accident when you were three. The dates fit. The physical description fits. Maybe it would be crazy not to investigate further.”

Those were the very thoughts that had made Amy decide to go. “Thanks,” she said, putting her hand on Mara’s. “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. Now, don’t you worry about a thing while you’re gone. I can handle the store and the orders and anything that might come down the pike. You just go and have some fun, okay? If you don’t bring back a crown, you can at least bring back an outrageous tale, huh? And maybe a souvenir or two.”

Amy gave a laugh. “Yeah, an ‘I went to Lufthania to be a princess but all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ T-shirt.” She opened the desk drawer to retrieve her cell phone. She dropped it into her purse and said, “I hope this works in Lufthania, just in case I need to call and have you come rescue me.”

“There are always local police,” Mara said seriously.

“Oh, Mara, I was kidding. Please don’t start worrying about me.”

“I’m not worrying about you. I’m worrying about me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, if it turns out you’re really a princess and you move off to another country, will I still have a job? Can I be a lady-in-waiting?”

“And waiting and waiting.” Amy smiled. “You bet.”

The bells on the door chimed, and they both looked up as Franz Burgess walked in.

If possible, he looked even more achingly handsome than he had the night before last, when he’d first come into the shop. He wore a dark sweater, about the color of his hair. It made the green of his eyes seem that much brighter.

“Good morning,” he said with a slight bow of the head.

If nothing else, he was extremely well mannered.

“I’m almost ready,” Amy said, collecting her bags and trying to remember if there were any last-minute things she had to tell Mara about pending orders.

As she looked around, Mara caught her eye and mouthed “He’s gorgeous.”

A warm flush, which felt suspiciously like pride, washed over Amy. Yes, he was gorgeous, there was no debating that. But what did that have to do with her? Why should that set her heart pounding?

“Okay.” She hoisted her carry-on bag over her shoulder, and her purse on top of that. Then she took a large hardshell suitcase—which, according to old television advertisements, even a gorilla couldn’t destroy—in each hand and said, “I’m ready.”

“Is that your luggage?”

She glanced at the suitcases, then back at him. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

He laughed and took the heavy cases from her effortlessly. “You really needn’t bother bringing anything. All of your needs will be tended to there.”

“All of them?” Mara asked.

Amy shot her a silencing look.

“Of course. You don’t need to bring clothing or—” He smiled. “—accessories. The prince is prepared to give you whatever your heart desires.”

“That’s very nice of him, but I’m not prepared to be beholden to a prince I’ve never met.” She thought about that for a nanosecond before amending, “I’m not prepared to be beholden to anyone, whether I know them or not.”

“Very well,” he said with a light sigh. “It’s my job to see to your comfort.”

“In that case, stock the plane with angel food cake,” Mara chirped. “It’s her favorite.”

“Goodbye, Mara,” Amy said pointedly. “I’ll call you when I arrive.”

He opened the door for her, then, as soon as she’d passed him, he turned back to Mara and asked, “What is angel food cake?”

“It’s like a big, sweet sponge,” she answered with a shrug. “I think it’s made with a lot of egg whites. I just buy it at the grocery store.”

He nodded, as if taking mental notes. “Angel food cake. It sounds perfect for such a beautiful woman.”

Mara giggled. She was clearly under the man’s spell. As soon as he turned his back, Mara kissed her fingertips and gave Amy the thumbs-up.

Amy rolled her eyes, but inside she knew exactly what Mara meant. Franz Burgess had magnetism on about six different levels. Every time she looked at him he seemed to be better-looking. Just when she got used to the cool green of his eyes, she noticed the sensual curve of his mouth. One smile and she was knocked out by how it transformed his face, taking it from serious and darkly handsome to relaxed and open.

Then there was his voice. Smooth and rich, like warm cocoa, with just a hint of an accent that made him seem exotic. Romantic.

As if that wasn’t enough, he had that sly, intelligent humor that Amy had always found irresistible. He seemed to be able to read the truth no matter what she said.

Now, that could be dangerous, she thought.

She hoped she’d be able to keep some comfortable distance from him on the plane. Perhaps with a little luck she could find an empty seat next to a chatty businessman.

And with a little willpower, she would take it.

She should have known it would be a private jet and that they would be the only two traveling. He was working for a prince, ostensibly bringing a long-lost princess back to her homeland. It stood to reason that such important business as that would be conducted on a plush Lear jet, with soft music piped over the speaker system and champagne chilling in a silver bucket of ice.

“Are you a fearful flyer?” he asked as Amy sat down and put her seat belt on.

“No, why?”

“You look nervous.”

Oh, great. Why did he have to be the first really perceptive man she’d met? “It’s probably just the coffee I had this morning.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Then I assume you won’t be wanting any of the cappuccino Annabelle made.”

“Annabelle?”

He nodded in the direction of a door to the back. “She’s the chef on board.”

Amy smiled, hugely relieved. There was someone else on board besides the captain! “Well, let’s invite her to join us.”

He looked surprised. “Here?”

“Well, sure.” She pointed toward two more plush leather seats like the ones they were sitting in. “There’s plenty of room.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe she’d be comfortable with such an arrangement.”

“Why not?”

“Because, for one thing, she is working. It is not part of her job description to sit with the passengers and chat. You wouldn’t join your customers on a trip to Nepal because you sold them the guidebook, would you?”

“Oh, come on, it’s hardly the same thing!”

He studied her for a moment. “Do I make you nervous, Amelia?”

Nervous was hardly the word. He made every nerve in her body tingle with giddy awareness. She felt like a junior-high schoolgirl with a crush. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

He gave a nod of concession. “I apologize. Amy. Perhaps you would like some champagne to combat your agitation.”

The plane began to taxi down the runway. A nervous buzz rushed through Amy’s chest. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she wasn’t completely comfortable with it, either.

She eyed the champagne bottle in the silver bucket. “No, thank you. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”