скачать книгу бесплатно
She went to the back office to collect her things. She would take a cab home tonight. She just didn’t have it in her to wait for the bus and make transfers. Fortunately, Samuel Eden had given her a generous tip after she’d gotten him tickets to a sold-out Broadway show his wife had been wanting to see, so she could afford a few extra bucks to get home faster.
“Good night, Karen, Barbara,” she called to the women working the front desk. “See you tomorrow!”
Karen laughed. “It’s almost tomorrow now.”
“Don’t remind me.” Lily smiled and made her way across the rich Oriental carpet that Gerard had centered proudly on the marble lobby floor. It represented his only foray into the twenty-first century—he’d won it from an online auction after Lily had seen it there and persuaded him to bid. Even stubborn Gerard had been unable to resist the bargain.
She was about two yards from the gilded revolving door when it creaked to life and two dour-faced men walked in, wearing black suits and expressions that made her think of mobsters in old movies.
“The royal party is arriving in five minutes,” one of the men said.
“Tonight?” Lily asked, glancing quizzically back at Gerard and Karen at the front desk.
Panic had frozen Gerard’s features in something of a grimace. “But—but I was told Prince Conrad and his family were arriving tomorrow.”
“We’ve had a change of plans,” the other man said, his accent thick with guttural Germanic tones. He frowned. “Are you saying you cannot accommodate them?”
“Of course not!” Gerard burst. “It’s just that—that we wanted to greet them properly and we are short-staffed at this hour of the night.”
The men exchanged knowing glances, and Lily imagined they were both anticipating the reaction of Princess Drucille.
“I have some requests from Her Highness.” The man produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. “This is what she would like. Dinner from Le Capitan as well as some champagne and a certain kind of flower.” He looked at the paper and frowned. “Birds of Paradise.”
For Gerard, it probably couldn’t have gotten worse. Everyone knew Le Capitan was the new hot spot in Manhattan. It was so popular that even some A-list celebrities had been turned away at the door. The food was extraordinary, but the main reason people wanted to go there was to be seen. If Lily were to ask them to deliver a meal, they would laugh at her.
However, she knew a bartender there and she was pretty sure he could put together a take-out order for her to pick up.
She sighed inwardly. So much for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. “I’ll take care of this,” she said to Gerard, taking the paper from him. She looked at the paper and almost laughed. Three plain salads, no cucumbers, no dressing. Three beef filets, cooked medium, no sauce. Two triple-fudge cakes. She could have gotten this food almost anywhere for a fraction of the cost, but royalty wanted to eat—and pay—like royalty, she supposed.
She looked at an item scribbled on the bottom of the page: Dom Pеrignon 1983, four bottles. It was already 11:00 p.m. It wasn’t going to be easy to get the champagne tonight. And the flowers? If the hospital gift shop didn’t have them, she’d be out of luck.
That’s what her job was about, though. Achieving the impossible for guests. And she did have a touch for it, she had to admit. Sometimes she couldn’t even believe her own luck. Seat reservations would be canceled just as she was calling to ask for them; caterers would have last-minute availability. Once a famous Broadway actress had even come in from the rain just as an ambassador’s assistant was asking if there was any way to win an audience with her. That coincidence had seemed nearly supernatural, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Lily was about to leave when two women, clearly mother and daughter, entered with an exaggerated air of self-importance.
“I imagined that the great Montclair would have more staff than this waiting to greet royalty,” the woman said indignantly. She was almost as wide as she was tall and Lily didn’t know how she managed to affect such a regal aura, but she did.
The younger, and maybe even wider, woman with her raised her chin in haughty agreement.
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, Your Highness,” Gerard said, hurrying over to her. He gave a small, awkward bow. “Please accept my apology. I am Gerard Von Mises, the proprietor.”
Princess Drucille sniffed. “Prince Conrad will be most displeased with this reception.”
Lily could only imagine what Prince Conrad was like, given his stepmother’s attitude. She hated to see poor Gerard struggling with this woman’s insults, knowing that business had been so rough recently that he was lucky to have the staff he had.
“When will he be here?” Lily asked, hoping, for Gerard’s sake, that he might be far enough behind to get a better showing of staff members, even if it meant pulling people off of other floors.
Princess Drucille looked as if she’d heard a fly buzzing nearby but couldn’t tell exactly where it was.
“He is here now,” the younger woman, Lady Ann, responded. “So you are too late.”
“Tell me, boy,” Princess Drucille said to Gerard, “has Lady Penelope arrived yet?”
Gerard went pale.
Lily went blank. Lady Penelope? Who was that?
“Lady Penelope,” Princess Drucille said again, and, answering Lily’s unasked question, she added, “The daughter of the Duke of Acacia. My secretary made a reservation for her as well.”
Gerard snapped his fingers behind him and Karen and Barbara quickly looked in the book, but Lily knew there was no Penelope on the list, Lady or otherwise.
“She hasn’t arrived,” Lily said quickly. “But the Pampano Suite is ready for her.” There was no Pampano Suite, but once, when a Russian dignitary had checked in at the last minute, they had configured two adjoining rooms and called it the Pampano Suite, in honor of the waiter who had come up with the idea.
Gerard looked relieved. “Of course, the Pampano Suite. Yes. I remember.”
“Excellent.” Princess Drucille began walking again. “Then we will retire to our rooms now and wait for our dinner. I expect it won’t be too long,” she added pointedly.
“Not too long, no,” Gerard said. Then asked Lily quietly, “Can you do it?”
She looked at him. He was clutching his hands so tightly in front of him that his knuckles were white. His brow was drawn up as if it were being pulled by a string. “Sure,” she said to him, with a little more confidence and a lot more energy than she felt. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I don’t know how you always manage these things,” Karen whispered. “But if you can score dinner from Le Capitan, I will be amazed.”
“Me, too. Just keep your fingers crossed for me,” Lily told her.
She was about to go into the back office and start making calls when the prince himself came through the door like a cool breeze on a stagnant summer night. Lily wasn’t often impressed by fame or title, but something about the man’s energy, and the way he carried himself, was absolutely commanding. For a moment she couldn’t take her stunned eyes off him.
He was taller than she’d realized—his broadly muscled physique made him look more compact in photographs. Also, his eyes, even from a distance of several yards, were the most striking pale blue she had ever seen. She didn’t know if that was an optical illusion because of his raven-dark hair and tanned skin, or if they really were as vivid as they seemed. He slowed as he came into the lobby and his eyes locked onto hers. For one wild moment she felt as if someone had whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
All that and a royal title, too.
No wonder women fawned over him.
Not that Lily had any intention of doing so.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice clipped, and just barely accented.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, feeling a little silly using the unfamiliar formality.
“Ah, you know who I am.”
“Of course.”
His gaze was the definition of penetrating. “I’m a day early, I realize. Are my quarters ready?”
She nodded. His manners were slightly better than his stepmother’s—at least he acknowledged that they might not be prepared for him. “Yes. And I’m getting ready to call Le Capitan now.”
His driver came through the door carrying several heavy-looking dark suitcases and an expression of fatigue, his breath bursting out in short shots.
“Le Capitan?” the prince repeated quizzically.
“For dinner, darling,” Princess Drucille said, almost fawning but for the hard edge to her voice. “You remember.”
He looked at her coolly. “I have an appointment tonight.”
Her smile was false and self-conscious. “Very well.”
Lily gave her very best customer-service smile. “Is there anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable, Your Highness?”
Prince Conrad leveled his blue gaze back on her and she felt a tremor course through her. “Give me privacy,” he said.
She felt taken aback by his tone and the implication that she intended to sit around and chat with him. “Of course.”
He gave a short nod. “And I expect that when I have guests, you will be…discreet.”
He was referring to women, obviously. Guests. Plural.
Lily had to ignore a lot with this job. This was just more of the same. Yet something about Prince Conrad’s demeanor made it a little less palatable than usual. “Of course,” she said again, reminding herself that any media attention he brought to the hotel would only do Gerard’s business good. And she was all for anything that helped Gerard.
“Good.” He turned his gaze to Stephan, who was standing at the front desk with Karen, and asked him something in his native tongue.
Stephan nodded and held up the key Karen had just handed him.
Prince Conrad gave a single nod, and both Stephan and the other man jumped to attention, picking up the suitcases and carrying them toward the elevator.
Princess Drucille watched him with a sneer, then said to Lily, “I’ll be waiting for my dinner in my suite. I assume it has a dining area.”
“Yes, it does, of course,” Lily said, still watching Prince Conrad walk away, his trim shape and well-cut suit slicing through the atmosphere like an arrow, as Princess Drucille followed
“Lily…Le Capitan,” Gerard reminded her in urgent tones, drawing her attention back. “Her Highness does not look like a woman who likes to be disappointed.”
“No, she certainly doesn’t. I’m tempted to go to the nearest chain restaurant and bring her a quickie salad and steak.”
Karen chuckled until Gerard gave her a silencing look.
“Oh, don’t worry, Gerard, I’m not going to do it. I just said I’d like to.” Lily reached into a drawer and took out the hotel credit card. It was worn almost smooth from use. “I’ll be back soon.”
She stepped outside. The familiar scent of exhaust, tomato sauce and roasted chestnuts hung in the crisp November air. There was no breeze tonight, unusual in the city. It felt downright balmy. Once she started walking she found she didn’t particularly want to stop. She could have just walked straight on home. It was the nature of this job, she realized, to have to occasionally work longer hours and do more legwork than she wanted to do.
Her first stop was the hospital gift shop, which had a large and costly floral arrangement that included Birds of Paradise.
Score.
Luckily, she was able to get a cab right out front and the driver waited for her while she got both the dinner and the bottles of Dom Pеrignon from her friend behind the bar at Le Capitan in exchange for money and the promise of theater tickets he’d been unsuccessful in getting himself.
The deal in place, Lily returned to the hotel. To her surprise, Karen was busy at the front desk with another last-minute guest checking in—the infamous Baroness Kiki Von Elsbon.
The baroness had been to the hotel more than once, and she often appeared when there was a rumor of some eligible bachelor checked in. Last time it had been media mogul Breck Monohan. Before that, A-list movie star Hans Poirrou. Now it was Prince Conrad. It seemed no high-profile bachelor was safe from the spoiled ex-wife of the late Baron Hurst Von Elsbon.
On top of being a singularly hungry manhunter, the baroness was also one of the more unpleasant guests Lily had had to deal with in her tenure as concierge. So when she saw Kiki at the desk, she hurried down the hall to the elevator bank. She pushed the button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. She took it to the second-floor kitchen to find someone to deliver the princesses’ food.
“Where’s Lyle?” she asked the chef. “I need him to deliver room service.”
Chef Henri shrugged broadly. “He has gone home with flu. Elissa and Sean as well. And Miguel is still in Puerto Vallarta on vacation.” He took his coat off the rack. “For that I have been here an extra hour myself. I’m going home.”
Henri was temperamental and the recent staff shortages had made him even more so. Lily had learned a long time ago not to argue with him. In truth, she preferred it when the other chef, Miguel, was on duty.
She sighed. “Okay. Do you know where I can find a cart setup so I can take it myself?”
He gestured vaguely toward the pantry. “Elissa made some up before she left.”
“Thanks,” Lily said, carrying the bags of increasingly chilly food over to the cart. She stopped and looked back at Henri. “Look, I know it isn’t the best method, but I have three steaks here that are getting cold. Can I stick them in the microwave to heat them up?”
Henri looked horrified. “You jest, surely!”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not kidding. So, can I do it?”
He gave a dramatic sigh, then nodded. “The meat only. No more than thirty seconds.” He rolled his eyes. “But I am not taking responsibility for the end result.”
Lily smiled. “Merci, Henri. I appreciate it.”
“De rien.” He waved his hand and headed for the exit before she could ask any more potentially offensive questions. “Good luck.”
She needed it. When she got up to Princess Drucille’s room, she was ushered in by a small, mouse-faced girl with worried eyes.
Princess Drucille was leaning back on the chaise lounge, talking to her daughter and another woman. “I don’t care what he wants, he needs a wife, or else the entire monarchy will dissolve. And that would not suit me at all.”
Lady Ann nodded urgently.
“So, wait,” the other woman said, and Lily recognized her accent as south Jersey. “Is he or is he not engaged to this Lady Penelope?”
“Not yet,” the princess said crisply. “So if you know of any eligible debutantes, I would be open to meeting them. Your paper might be very interested in having you cover this in your column.”
“Search for a new princess.” The woman nodded with a gleam in her eye. “I like it.”
“And, at the end, he’ll almost certainly propose to Lady Penelope, and I promise you will be the first to know. It will be a Caroline Horton exclusive.”
Ah, Caroline Horton. The Page Seven gossip columnist for the New York Tattler.
Caroline stood and put her hand out. “You have yourself a deal, princess.”
It was obvious that Princess Drucille preferred more deference, but she accepted the woman’s hand anyway. “Remember to keep our conversation confidential.”
The girl who had let Lily in flashed her a nervous look, and Lily gave a silent nod and took a step back. When Caroline Horton started for the door, Lily moved back into the room as if she’d just arrived.
“Your dinner is here, Your Highness, along with the champagne and—” she gestured at the flower arrangement “—your flowers.”
Princess Drucille moved to the cart, and said crisply, “One of the salads and steaks is for Prince Conrad.”
