Читать книгу The Prince Next Door - Sue Civil-Brown - Страница 12

“SHE WHAT?” Serena asked, words tumbling out of her mouth. “I can’t believe…who…why…I don’t understand.”

Darius looked at her and smiled. That smile again. “I don’t think you’d understand my mother if you lived to be a hundred. I certainly don’t. But yes, that’s what she’s done.”

“So that guy outside your apartment, he’s the kidnapper?” Ariel asked.

Darius chuckled. “He thinks so. I suspect it’s more a case of her holding them captive than vice versa. Truth is, I pity the poor man. But yes, such as it stands, he’s the kidnapper.”

“But…why?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” Darius said with a wave of his hand. “She thinks I’m a prince.”

If he’d said he had six ears, Serena couldn’t have been more floored. He said it so off-handedly, as if there were no great mystery involved in a mother staging her own kidnapping because her son was, or might be, a prince.

“Ummm…” Serena said.

“Exactly,” Darius replied. “Ummm…”

“I take it you don’t think you’re a prince?” Ariel asked.

He laughed. “No, I don’t. And what’s more, even if I were, I wouldn’t want the job. I mean, who in his right mind would want to be the crown prince of Masolimia?”

“That place in the Pyrenees, with the awful sheep?” Ariel asked. Both Serena and Darius looked at her in stunned silence. “Well, I read something about it in a science magazine.”

“Yes,” Darius said. “The place with the awful sheep. And the awful weather. And the awful…everything.”

“But that place is going to be rich!” Ariel countered.

Serena felt as if she had slipped into a reality warp. She’d never heard of Masolimia, but that was no surprise. There were probably hundreds of little places in the world she’d never heard of. The surprise was that Ariel had heard of Masolimia. And not only had heard of it, but seemed to be something of an expert on the place. That girl seemed to know entirely too much for Serena’s comfort. It was almost as if she’d been…set up.

Darius nodded to Ariel. “That’s what they tell me. Something about genetic research, I gather.”

“Yes!” Ariel said. She turned to Serena. “It’s like this. Geneticists are trying to figure out which parts of the human gene structure do what things. How much of what happens to us is inherited, how much is environmental. The old debate of nature versus nurture.”

“Right,” Serena said, nodding as if to say, I know this, dear. “I’m a doctor, remember?”

Ariel nodded excitedly. “Of course you are! So you know they’re trying to find out if there are genetic bases for diseases. Does this gene cause cancer? Does that gene cause depression? Things like that. But it’s complicated, because genes sometimes skip generations, lie dormant or some such. Plus a lot of places in the world have become so cosmopolitan, with people from all over the world adding to the local gene pool. So what you need is…”

Darius cut in. “An isolated, homogeneous population, with accurate genealogical records, so you can follow the path of genes through tens or hundreds of generations.”

“And Masolimia has that?” Serena asked.

“Yes,” Ariel replied. “It’s a mountain principality which has had little contact with its neighbors. What’s more, their traditional burial customs—going back to before the Roman Empire—use a labyrinth of catacombs, where an individual’s crypt is connected by tunnels to his or her parents, siblings and children. The catacombs are a precise genealogical history of Masolimia. So a genetic research firm wants to use them as a case study.”

“Which would, of course, involve a substantial payment to the people of Masolimia,” Serena said.

Darius nodded. “About fifty million dollars, all told. Plus loans and investments to help modernize the place. Quite lucrative, mother tells me. Except…the last prince died childless, and his bloodline died with him. So Masolimia has no official in charge who can okay the contract.”

Serena’s brow furrowed. “But surely there’s a legislature or a cabinet or something?”

“Nope,” Darius said. “You’d think so, but no. By tradition—and everything in Masolimia is about tradition—only the crown prince can approve contracts between the government and outside companies. No prince. No contract. No money.”

“Ahhhh,” Serena said, suddenly understanding. Or so she thought. “Your mother thinks you should be the next prince.”

“Not quite,” he replied. “She thinks I am the next prince. Apparently my family—her side of the family—has some connection to someone who was someone six hundred years ago. I don’t pretend to understand it. Frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want the job.”

“But what about the poor people of Masolimia?” Ariel asked.

“Yeah, what about them?” Serena echoed. He did, after all, seem awfully callous about the condition of his native land.

As if to confirm her feelings, he gave another of his patented European shrugs. “The people of Masolimia will settle on someone. It just won’t be me. Not even if my mother did get herself kidnapped.”

“Aren’t you worried about her?” Ariel asked.

“Ha! The only person who worries about my mother is God, and that’s only because she wants His job. No, I’m not worried about my mother. Not by a long shot.”

The sky had grown dark, the moon glittering on the waves. As if sensing Serena’s disapproval of his attitude, Darius glanced at his watch.

“And I’ve overstayed.” He stood, then reached out and took her hand, a purely polite, old-fashioned gesture that, nonetheless, sent a shiver down her spine. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

He actually kissed her hand. Shiver again.

Then he turned to Ariel, repeating the kiss. “And it was a pleasure to improve my acquaintance with you, young lady. It’s remarkable to meet so well-read a person.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Ariel said, her voice suddenly rich with a cultured depth which lay far beyond her years. “And your choice of dinner was delightful.”

Serena made as if to rise, but he held up a hand. “Please, stay here and enjoy the night air. I’ll let myself out.”

After the briefest of bows, he turned and strode away with a grace that was undeniably…royal.

“Wow,” Ariel said, after he had left. “Just think—a prince helped you wash the dishes!”

“Hmmm,” Serena replied.

THE MOON, which had been chasing the sun across the sky all day, now hung above the water, an argent orb with an amused face. Serena figured it was laughing at her, but what the heck. Ariel had gone inside to watch television, leaving her all alone on her balcony to watch the mesmerizing rhythm of silver-capped waves. The wind was now blowing offshore, leaving her untouched in her nook.

This vacation was certainly not going the way she had planned. Which reminded her, she needed to tell Marco to drop it before he did something outrageous that came back to haunt her.

Maybe, she thought wistfully, it was time to grow up year-round, not just when she was working. Yes, her job was mostly dull, but she met some very nice people. Some even had fascinating stories to tell. That should be enough, right?

Today—Ariel was right about this—she had slandered a man. In her haste to have a good time, she’d invented a dastardly criminal out of whole cloth. Instead he was an art dealer cum prince, who seemed to have a share of his own troubles.

For some reason the old song about a prince coming someday was whirling around in her head. However, so did the old joke about kissing a prince and finding a frog.

But darn it he was attractive. Everything about him appealed to her, even if he did dress outlandishly for the climate.

On the other hand, he did have a mother who would stage her own kidnapping to get her way. Did she want to get tangled up with that kind of family?

Yes! The thought made her laugh. He wasn’t the least interested in her, but his mother sounded like a character after her own heart. In fact, his mother was the best recommendation he had.

A prince. Living next door. Well, a prince who didn’t believe he was a prince. She felt a little disturbed by his cavalier dismissal of the genetic contract which could help Maso-whatever-it-was to prosper, but he was probably right. They’d find someone else to be their prince.

She could hardly blame him for not wanting the job. It would probably be tedious beyond belief. Meetings and papers and appearances, and people telling you what to do and how to behave every moment of the day….

Still…She closed her eyes a moment and indulged a Cinderella fantasy of being garbed in a beautiful gown, waltzing around a huge ballroom in the arms of a prince in a comic-opera uniform of blue and gold.

Hmmm.

Once again it was time to corral her thoughts. She had such a tendency to go off into flights of fancy, it was a wonder she’d ever made it through medical school. Or a day in her own practice.

“Hey,” said Ariel, rejoining her. Apparently her program was over. “You look pensive.”

“I’m facing weeks of tedium.”

“With a handsome prince next door?”

Serena cocked an eye her way. “He says he’s not. Don’t you think he would know?”

“Actually, no. Distant line and all that.”

Serena shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s determined not to be a prince. I don’t suppose they can force him. Besides, who’d want to be a prince in this day and age?”

Ariel nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Sounds like a boring job to me.” Serena took a sip of iced tea from the frosty glass on the table beside her. “Oh, well. I’ll call off Marco first thing in the morning. Can you imagine having a mother like that?”

“You mean Mr. Maxwell’s? Sure.” Ariel giggled. “I just have to look at you.”

Serena pretended to frown at her, but she couldn’t contain her own laughter. “I had the same thought.”

“So what are you going to do now? Stage a bank robbery?”

“I’m not that crazy.”

Ariel laughed again. “I hope not. I’d have to save you from yourself, and I’m not sure I could do that.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve been ruminating over possibilities, but it seems I’m going to have to be bored one way or the other.”

“What you mean is, you haven’t thought of anything that tickles your fancy yet.”

Serena sighed. “I guess I have some kind of problem. Other people don’t get bored the way I do.”

“Other people have more in their lives. Husbands. Kids. Clubs. Maybe instead of going out to run along the beach you should join the Y. You’d meet more people.”

It was lowering to admit it, but Ariel was right. Her world had started narrowing in medical school and never really broadened again, until all she had to look forward to were her vacations. That wasn’t healthy.

“But my days are so long.” And they were. No matter how she scheduled them, they wound up being ten to fourteen hours at a stretch. Supposedly minor matters for which fifteen minutes had been allotted would turn into necessary surgical procedures that took longer, and so on. Even dermatologists had emergencies. And when she was done with the patients, it was time to complete paperwork, attend to business management, make calls to discuss upsetting test results. She never asked her nurse to call with a diagnosis of malignancy or other serious skin condition.

So she came home beat. If she didn’t run in the mornings before she left for work, she wouldn’t run at all.

“Something needs to change,” she heard herself announce.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ariel said. “You absolutely, positively have got to get a life.”

THE WORDS WERE still ringing in Serena’s head the following morning. Get a life. Never had truer words been spoken, and how like Ariel to cut to the heart of the problem.

She went hunting for Marco and found him as expected beside the pool, covered in layers of olive oil, browning his already brown skin.

“You know,” she said to him, “you’re going to make me wealthy at this rate.”

He laughed. “I will come to you to cut off any trouble.”

“There’s going to be a lot of trouble. I’m surprised you haven’t already turned into one huge melanoma.”

He grinned at her, showing enviously white, although crooked, teeth. “I have good genes.”

“Apparently so.”

She pulled up a chair and sat facing him. On her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat that shaded her pretty well. “Listen, about what I said yesterday afternoon about our new neighbor?”

His face darkened. “The drug dealer. I have not yet seen him.”

“Well, forget what I said.”

“Forget it? How can I forget such a thing? My grandchildren…”

She interrupted ruthlessly. “Marco, I checked him out. He’s not a drug dealer.”

Marco fell silent, his mouth open, taking in her words. “No?”

“No.

“No.” He nodded. “What is he?”

“A perfectly legitimate businessman.” Although now that she thought about it, that prince business…had she been seriously snowed last night?

“Yes?”

“Yes.” She said it firmly, despite the sudden niggling doubt.

“Okay, then. I forget it. Pah!” He waved a hand as if tossing the thought away.

“Good. I jumped to conclusions.” And she’d jump right back to them if Darius Maxwell gave her any reason to.