“The Belvedere Suite is for Prince Conrad of Beloria. His stepmother and stepsister, Princess Drucille and Lady Ann, will be in the Wyndham Suite.” Gerard Von Mises ran his fingertip down the ink-stained register of the Montclair Hotel, listing the guests that concierge Lily Tilden would be in charge of. It was old-fashioned, but that’s the way Gerard, the owner of the hotel, preferred it. Computers, he said, were too impersonal.
Lily didn’t tell him that she kept the records on her laptop in the office as well, just in case there was a conflict that they didn’t notice on paper. Tradition was great, but a girl had to be practical as well.
“The prince and his entourage will be here tomorrow,” Gerard said. “And I’ve arranged to have the full staff here to greet him, as his stepmother is quite…exacting about such things.”
Lily nodded. She had already taken several calls on behalf of Princess Drucille. Requests were for pink towels and verbena-scented soap, and a particular brand of French spring water that Lily had paid hefty customs taxes to acquire.
“Mrs. Hillcrest leaves the Astor Suite tomorrow,” Gerard continued, looking over the book. “Which leaves us with just Prince Conrad, Princess Drucille, Lady Ann, Samuel Eden and, of course, Mrs. Dorbrook for you on the executive level. The rest of their party will be on the lower floors.” He sighed and turned to Lily. “It is good clientele, but business could still be better.”
“Things have been tough all over the city as far as tourism goes,” she assured him, though she knew the situation was serious. “It’ll pick up. Especially with Prince Conrad coming. The Post gossip column has been positively filled with stuff about him.”
Gerard gave a smile. “He’s popular with young ladies, that much is true.”
“Well, popular playboys tend to get a lot of photo ops. So you see? We’ll probably get lots of business from that alone,” Lily said, but she wasn’t so sure. They had hosted popular celebrities before, but it usually resulted in more autograph-seekers and paparazzi hanging around outside rather than clients checking in. Still, the fact that Prince Conrad was coming would undoubtedly raise the profile of the hotel and she knew the Montclair needed that pretty desperately.
“All right.” Gerard closed the book. “You’ve almost convinced me.” He smiled. “You’ve worked a long day. Go home.”
“You’ve got it.” Lily had been on her feet for nearly ten hours, and it wasn’t the first time this week. Since Gerard had cut the staff back, she’d had to sleep at the hotel more often than any of the guests, except for Bernice Dorbrook, who had been a resident since her oil-rich husband had died in 1983.
Now all Lily wanted to do was go home and soak in a nice hot bath, maybe with some Epsom salts thrown in. Lately there had been more long days than short ones at work, and although it was getting to her, she knew Gerard couldn’t afford to hire another concierge. Between herself and Andy, they would have to handle whatever came up. “See you in the morning.”
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 Pérignon 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 Pérignon 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.”
Lily was confused. “It was my impression that he didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“Nonsense, he’s expecting you. Take it to him now before it’s cold.” The princess made a shooing motion with her hand. “Run along.”
Lily picked up the platter with the extra plate and headed for the door. It had been her distinct impression that Prince Conrad didn’t want to be disturbed, but if the princess said he was expecting her, Lily was not in any position to argue.
But when she got to his room, she found the prince had company in the form of Brittany Oliver, a Hollywood It Girl from a couple of years back. It was obvious he was not expecting her and that, moreover, she had committed the one sin she’d so confidently told him she wouldn’t: she’d invaded his privacy.
“I didn’t order this,” Conrad said, his voice tired, as if he’d expected just this kind of infraction from Lily.
Lily might have felt stung except that he was absolutely correct, he hadn’t ordered it, his stepmother had. “I apologize for the interruption,” she said sincerely, “but your stepmother said you were waiting for this.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brittany Oliver repositioning herself on the sofa so that she was more clearly in view. “She said I was to bring it to you right away.”
“My late father’s wife says a great many things that are best ignored.” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “This is an excellent example of one.”
“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “But it’s my job to not ignore the wishes of our patrons, so when she said—”
“I told you I wished to have privacy.”
“Yes, I realize that, but when your stepmother—”
“My late father’s wife.”
“—told me you wished to have dinner…. But since that is clearly incorrect, I’ll take it away.”
For just a moment, Lily thought she saw a spark come into his eye. “If I refuse this now, you’ll have to return it to Drucille and Ann, is that right?”
Lily kept her face impassive, even though she would rather have eaten wasps than return to Princess Drucille’s room tonight. “Yes.”
He kept his eyes on her for another moment before taking the platter from her. His mouth curved into the slightest smile. “That will be all,” he said, setting it down on the foyer table. “Thank you.”
Lily nodded and was turning to leave when the actress on the sofa spoke.
“Um, excuse me? Waitress?”
Lily turned to face the woman. “What can I do for you?”
“I think there are photographers outside. Wanting to take my picture…?” She gestured airily toward the window.
Lily stood in place. “Really?”
The girl gave an exasperated sigh. “Can you look?” She gave a completely false laugh and looked at Prince Conrad. “You know how they are. Always looking for a story about me.”
Lily went to the window and looked out. There was no one there. The occasional car drifting past served as the city equivalent to crickets chirping. “I don’t see anyone,” she said.
Brittany scrambled to her feet. “You don’t?” She rushed in an unbecoming fashion to the window and looked out, her face falling when she saw no one. “But I told them…” She looked at Conrad. “I told my people to keep them away and I guess they did. That’s good.” She cleared her throat delicately and said, “Would you excuse me for a moment while I go…powder my nose?” She headed toward the bathroom, but Lily noticed she stopped for a moment to take her cell phone out of her purse.
Lily watched her go, then turned to Conrad. “Will that be all?”
He was looking in the direction of the window, and had obviously not seen Brittany take her phone. “Have there been photographers out there tonight?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“To your knowledge has anyone on the staff made it known that I arrived early?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Hmm.” Again he looked in the direction of the closed bathroom door, then back at Lily. “Please hold all of my calls this evening.”
“Certainly. Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“All right. If you need anything, touch Zero on the telephone keypad and ask for the concierge.”
“Would that be you?”
“I’m one of them.”
“Then shouldn’t I be able to ask for you by name?”
“Well…sure…but I might not be here. If I’m not, anyone else will be able to help you.”
“Conrad!” Brittany called and she stepped gingerly from the restroom.
He glanced at her, then back at Lily and said, “Thank you.”
Lily left thinking Prince Conrad looked like a man who would have better taste than to fall for a pretty but vacant starlet. On the other hand, maybe there weren’t a lot of men who would take substance over appearance.
And if Prince Conrad’s reputation was even half true, he was not a man who was out for substance.
She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes past midnight. She had to be back here in six hours. There was, once again, no point in going home. Especially with several staffers out with the flu.
It was to be another night in the back office. She sighed. Fortunately, the office was as comfortable, if not more so, than the rooms at the Montclair. Gerard wanted only the best, and it didn’t matter if it was the best bed for a guest room, the best sofa for the office, or the best garbage can for the alley. He wanted the best, and that was what he got.
Lily stopped at a supply cabinet and took out a light blanket, then went to the office and lay heavily on the sofa. It felt good to get off her feet. Really good.
She didn’t know how long she’d laid there—it felt like seconds but it might have been an hour or two—when the telephone rang. She roused herself from the sofa and went to the desk. It was an in-house call, relayed by the switchboard to the front desk. She picked it up and tried to sound as if she were awake.
“It seems there has been a security breach,” said a voice she recognized as Prince Conrad’s.
Lily was on alert immediately. A security breach? Had someone broken into his room? Threatened him? Her mind raced from one horrible possibility to another. “What is it?” she asked, as calmly as she could. “Should I call the police?”
“No. It’s reporters. They’re outside.”
“Huh?” She quickly put on her professional voice. “I’ll have security get rid of them.”
“I don’t care so much about that. What I really need is for you to find a way to get my guest out of your hotel undetected. As quickly as possible.”
Lily tried to put the pieces together but was still too fuzzy-headed to manage. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
“My guest, Ms. Oliver,” he said pointedly. “She needs to leave. And you need to make it happen without anyone seeing her go. Contrary to your previous assertion, there are photographers outside and I don’t want pictures of her leaving my hotel in the papers tomorrow.”
