Fit for a Queen

by Nicole Burnham

  Daniela heard the queen’s intake of breath as the monarchs paused to admire the windows. “It’s stunning, Eduardo,” she told San Rimini’s king before turning to grace the bishop with a winning smile. “The panel depicting Christ and the leper has always been a favorite of mine. With the original color restored, it’s even more intriguing.”

  The bishop, who’d greeted them at the door and now led the tour, returned her smile. “That it is, Your Highness. Many details were hidden beneath the layers of soot and dust. The lamb in the background, for instance, was completely obscured. We thought it a discolored part of the hillside until it was uncovered last year.”

  The bishop’s deferential stance and soft gaze betrayed his adoration of the foreign queen. Little wonder, that. Daniela always suspected that Fabrizia would attract attention without her title or wealth. Though in her sixties, the queen carried herself with the energy of a much younger woman. Her golden hair was kept in a sleek, modern cut, and today she wore an emerald green dress tailored to highlight her figure, which years of early morning treadmill and weightlifting workouts kept lean and fit. Her shoulders were set back and relaxed. Regal, yet at the same time, approachable. It always impressed Daniela to witness the ease with which the queen conversed with everyone from preschoolers to heads of state. She appeared as comfortable inside a village pub in Ireland as in a Michelin-starred restaurant in the heart of Paris.

  Fabrizia had worked hard to cultivate that trait, particularly in the early days of her marriage to Carlo when her every move garnered world headlines and she was categorized by many in the press as too controlled and cold. Years later, in the months following Aletta Masciaretti’s engagement to Eduardo diTalora, the handsome crown prince of San Rimini, Fabrizia made a point of getting to know the younger woman and sharing her hard-won knowledge. By the time Eduardo ascended the throne, Aletta was more than ready to be queen.

  Over the years, the women’s bond deepened to an abiding friendship. Though Daniela started working for Fabrizia shortly after Aletta’s death and hadn’t witnessed their interactions, she’d come to know Fabrizia well enough to know the depth of her feeling where the late queen was concerned.

  “The restoration work is exquisite,” Fabrizia told the bishop. “The windows not only draw the eye to their artistry, but invite one to consider the stories they depict. I imagine you’ll have a hard time holding the congregation’s attention during mass in the coming weeks.”

  “Interesting you should say that. This week’s teaching goes directly to the lessons told in the panels. If necks are craned while I speak, I shall assume it’s because my words are being considered.”

  That drew an appreciative laugh from the queen before the bishop moved to King Carlo, leading him toward the side chamber that was to be the next stop on their tour. A beat later, Fabrizia and King Eduardo followed the pair.

  Daniela followed the party at a distance. When they entered the chamber, she moved to one wall, inconspicuously keeping watch. King Eduardo’s assistant and two bodyguards did the same, disappearing against the stone wall on the opposite side of the room.

  Priests used this space for meetings or private reflection, the bishop told King Carlo, though in earlier times it served as the bishop’s living quarters. The room was roughly the size of Daniela’s flat in Sarcaccia, though the high ceilings and arched windows gave the space a larger feel.

  King Carlo continued to converse with the bishop, moving toward the far side of the room to admire a sculpture of the Virgin Mary. King Eduardo moved within earshot of Daniela, then pointed out a white marble plaque to Queen Fabrizia. It appeared new.

  Daniela tucked her chin slightly, giving the pair at least the illusion of privacy.

  “I remember the day well,” Queen Fabrizia said, her features softening. “The ceremony was beautiful. Romantic and personal, even though you stood before millions. I didn’t learn until recently that Aletta used this room to prepare.”

  Eduardo’s gaze remained on the plaque. The pads of his fingers caressed the letters on the bottom row before he stepped away. “She decided to come here the night before and stay in one of the antechambers. Her gown and personal effects were kept here, and a mirror was set in that corner so she could do her own hair and makeup.” He gestured toward an area not far from where Daniela stood. “She didn’t want a carriage or limousine to bring her to the Duomo beforehand for all the onlookers and television cameras. Said it would make her feel like an item on auction, being presented for inspection and comment before the opening bid.”

  “That’s horrible.” Fabrizia laughed. “It also sounds exactly like Aletta.”’

  “She was fine from here to the palace after we exchanged vows,” Eduardo said, alluding to the long ride the newlyweds had taken through the streets of San Rimini following the ceremony. Daniela had seen footage of the wedding—the solemn ceremony in front of the Duomo’s altar, the jammed streets outside as the newlyweds waved from a horse-drawn carriage—and the numbers blew away today’s crowd. For a woman who didn’t wish to be presented for inspection, as the king described it, Aletta must have been mortified.

  He added, “She told me later that dressing for the ceremony in this room gave her the opportunity to clear her thoughts before she became a member of the royal family. I thought it an appropriate location to commemorate both our wedding and her work toward the restoration.”

  “She was a wonderful queen. San Rimini lost much with her passing.” Fabrizia paused. “I miss her.”

  Daniela’s throat tightened at Fabrizia’s tone. Aletta had been a friend, one who died far too young. The sentiment was heartfelt.

  “As do I.” The king folded his hands behind him, allowing them to rest at the base of his spine. He glanced toward King Carlo, who was deep in conversation with the bishop, then back to Fabrizia. In a low voice, he said, “I appreciate that you and Carlo are here for the Duomo reopening. But perhaps I can prevail upon you in regard to a personal issue?”

  Daniela remained as still as the stone wall at her back. She was used to overhearing snippets of private conversation between Fabrizia and Carlo, and occasionally bits from their children. She never violated the royal family’s trust, but hearing the phrase ‘personal issue’ made her feel like an intruder, all the same. Particularly when the phrase was uttered by King Eduardo, who didn’t know her at all.

  She consciously slowed her breathing. Should the bishop look across the room to Eduardo and Fabrizia, he wouldn’t know the conversation had taken a turn. They both stood as they were, their spines erect, their shoulders relaxed and expressions mild, appearing as they always did when in public. But Daniela felt the change in mood even before Fabrizia said, “Of course, Eduardo. Anything you ask.”

  Eduardo’s eyes lit upon another plaque as if he were about to describe it. Instead, he said, “It’s been five years since Aletta passed away. The country still mourns her—we all mourn her—but the time has come to address the matter of her personal effects. She arranged for several sentimental items to go to those who knew her best. Her children, her older sister, her friends.”

  Fabrizia’s fingers brushed the bumblebee brooch on her lapel. The king smiled, indicating that he’d noticed it earlier. Fabrizia had received it from Aletta with a long, handwritten note about a month before the younger woman’s death. Though Daniela hadn’t read the note, she’d catalogued the brooch while completing an inventory of Queen Fabrizia’s jewelry collection. Today was the first time Fabrizia had worn the piece.

  “I imagine it will be quite a task.”

  The king nodded. “There are gowns, shoes, handbags, hats, casual jewelry…you know how much a queen owns. She didn’t have time to sort it herself. I was thinking of a charity auction, though some of the more memorable items might be held back for exhibition. They should benefit the organizations of which Aletta was a patron.”

  “That’s a lovely idea.” She glanced at him, and Daniela recognized the quick flash of concern in her eyes
. “Yet you hesitate.”

  “I need the right person to manage it. I’d prefer to go outside the palace. Outside the country, if possible. As I said, there is a personal issue involved.”

  “The personal issue you mentioned the day of Aletta’s memorial service?” At his nod of confirmation, she said, “You need someone without a stake in your family’s affairs, but in whom you can place your trust.”

  “Precisely.” His voice dropped even lower, though the pair stood so close to Daniela she could still hear them. “The day after Aletta died, Isabella was in the apartment with me to discuss plans for the service. Before returning to her own rooms, she went to Aletta’s closet to find a handbag of her mother’s that she’d hoped to carry at the funeral. She couldn’t find it. Neither could I. We assumed it had been misplaced. It wasn’t particularly valuable—aside from the fact that it was owned by Aletta—and Isabella opted to carry a different handbag, so I didn’t think much of it. However, by the date of the funeral, I discovered other items were missing.”

  “You told me at the time that there had been private violations, but not what those were.”

  “At the time, I had too much on my mind to be confident in saying more. However, none of the items I sought resurfaced. Nor did I find evidence they were donated.”

  Fabrizia’s lips formed a thin line. She didn’t need to say anything for Daniela to realize the truth: Eduardo feared members of his staff were involved. She knew how Fabrizia would feel in the same situation. Not only violated, but heartbroken. Palace employees were subject to a rigorous hiring process and expected to behave with integrity at all times. In exchange, Fabrizia treated her staff well and gave them her trust. Daniela expected Eduardo was much the same.

  “No one but family and a few staff members have access to my private apartment,” the king continued. “To my knowledge, nothing disappeared after the service, but I had Aletta’s rooms locked and a keypad installed. Only I have access.” On a long exhale, he said, “Having that area remain as it was when she passed away feels as if I’m refusing to let her go. I do not wish to be seen as crass or heartless, parting with well-known items, but they can have a greater purpose. It’s time.”

  It was well known that Eduardo and Aletta had shared a deep, abiding love. With Aletta’s untimely death, he’d become a romantic icon. Documentaries about San Rimini regularly highlighted their relationship, and more than one television movie told their story. The attention meant items tied to Aletta were even more coveted now than at the time of her death. The funds raised would be substantial.

  “I would be more than happy to lend my support to the project. Publicly, of course, in regard to the auction, and privately, as I promised the day of her memorial service.” The queen smiled, then shocked Daniela by aiming a look in her direction before returning her attention to King Eduardo. “In fact, I have the perfect person for the job. You met my personal assistant, Daniela D’Ambrosio, this morning. Once the rededication ceremony is over and we have returned to the private rooms of the palace, perhaps she could join us for tea? Your family could get to know her.”

  “Consider the invitation extended.” His chin lifted as he scanned the small row of windows above his wife’s plaque. His voice still low, he said, “You’ve mentioned on more than one occasion how indispensable she is. Dedicated to you and your family. And, of course, she’s a resident of Sarcaccia. No ties to San Rimini?”

  “None, nor does she have a partner or children who depend on her to be home at night. I have other staff who can manage her duties temporarily, so she’d be happy to assist you for the time necessary to prepare the queen’s items for auction.”

  Daniela felt her face heat. Thankfully, neither Fabrizia nor Eduardo looked her way.

  When the king spoke once more, his voice was so low Daniela could barely hear him. “Tell me, how long has Daniela D’Ambrosio been in your employ?”

  “Nearly five years, as it so happens.”

  Daniela didn’t miss the smile that reached all the way to Eduardo’s eyes. “Truly, Fabrizia, you astound me.”

  Fabrizia tucked her hand into the crook of Eduardo’s arm. “Come. Let’s join Carlo and the bishop. Today’s ceremony was thoughtfully planned. I want to see it roll out as you envisioned.”

  “I’m sure it will.” The pair strode away from Daniela, but not before she heard Eduardo add, “Though no one plans as thoughtfully as you.”

  Chapter 7

  For the third time since Royce signed the paperwork in the security office in La Rocca di Zaffiro—or La Rocca, as San Rimini’s royal palace was known to the locals—the uniformed security guard reminded him that he was to wear his building pass in a visible location at all times while on the property. He wasn’t to leave King Eduardo’s private apartment by any route other than the one they now walked from the employee parking lot, nor was he to smoke, use tobacco or electronic cigarettes, or chew gum while on palace grounds. He was to remove as many of his work supplies from the king’s apartment as possible each night and to do so in a discreet manner. He was to display the proper certificate on the dash of his work van and keep it locked while parked in its assigned spot. And, the guard added, it wouldn’t hurt for Royce to keep a clean pair of shoes in his van in case his were soiled during the course of his work. Or—and this was delivered with a narrow-eyed glare—in the event that Royce discovered upon his arrival that his shoes were already dirty.

  Royce listened politely while they moved through a service corridor and up a flight of stairs that led to King Eduardo’s private residence.

  The guard was second-in-command of palace security. Though he’d introduced himself in a barely intelligible grumble, Royce knew his name was Miroslav Vulin. A Serb with a demeanor as formidable as his mountainous shoulders, Miroslav wasn’t someone Royce wanted to cross. So, for the third time, in the most respectful voice he could muster, Royce assured Miroslav that he’d read the protocol for palace contractors and would follow it to the letter. He also pointed out that he had shoe covers and would use them at all times. The towering guard looked dubious, as if he knew when he was being placated, but he refrained from issuing a fourth round of warnings.

  Royce took that as a good sign.

  Miroslav demonstrated the use of the touch pad outside the king’s private residence, then asked Royce to step forward and key in the code that would give him access for the duration of his job.

  Royce set down his equipment box and did as he was told. As he tapped the screen, Miroslav mentioned that codes were unique to each individual and would only work on the specific doors to which he’d been granted access.

  Royce took the hint. He would be tracked. He played dumb and said, “It’s amazing what they can do with these high-tech gadgets. Must be fun to be the guy who tests it for a living.”

  The guard ignored the comment, as Royce would have in his position, were he to admit a painting contractor to a highly secure area.

  They proceeded through a vestibule and into the king’s great room. Despite its high ceiling, the dark walls and antique furniture gave it the burdened feel of a crypt. It had only two windows, and those were located near the vestibule. Beyond the great room, with large windows that overlooked the rear of the palace, were the master bedroom, the king’s dressing area, and his private bathroom. The doors to the bedroom stood open, allowing the light from those windows to enter the great room.

  It was like adding a drop of water to a pint of Guinness. It changed the composition, but not in a way most people would discern.

  A study was located off the great room to Royce’s left, through a set of French doors. Near the entrance to the study stood a sizable fireplace topped by a tall mirror. The guard gestured to indicate which rooms were which, emphasizing that the study was a quiet space where the king liked to read, answer correspondence, and take phone calls. The king planned to stay elsewhere in the palace while Royce worked. However, if the monarch ever entered the residence while Royce was present, he�
��d likely retreat to the study. Any activities that disturbed the king’s peace should be kept to a minimum and Royce must leave immediately if asked to do so.

  Rather than glare at the insult to his intelligence, Royce mustered another polite nod. As if he’d stay put when the man who’d hired him—a king—asked for a moment alone.

  On the opposite side of the great room from King Eduardo’s study, locked double doors with their own keypad led to the late queen’s rooms.

  The guard didn’t provide that particular bit of information. Instead, he strode past the doors as if they didn’t exist and pointed to a corner where Royce could store the ladders and other materials too heavy to carry back and forth to his van. Royce had spent enough time studying the layout and photographs to know the space cold. If he entered those double doors, he’d be in the queen’s sitting room. Turning left, toward the rear of the apartment, he’d find her closet and private bathroom. The closet and bathroom also connected to the master bedroom, but when Queen Aletta passed away, the king ensured that door was also secured.

  Once he was finally, blissfully left alone, Royce made a slow study of the great room.

  When he’d landed the short-term job for King Eduardo, he’d mentally pumped his fist in excitement. Not only was working for a king the job of a lifetime, undercover work was his strength, and going undercover at La Rocca was far more comfortable than many of his past gigs. No freezing rain while he pretended to work as a lineman so he could watch an office building. No numb backside or stale coffee while he monitored a house or apartment from the front seat of his car while parked in a seedy neighborhood. No snapping photos of people who lingered around embassies, hoping to match their faces to known foreign agents. The fact he’d spend the next few weeks stripping wallpaper and painting hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. He’d done renovation work and painted his own flat after leaving the military, and found the task meditative. So much so, he’d established the painting business in anticipation of using it as cover for freelance security jobs. It had been a wise decision. Not only had it provided perfect cover in similar situations, where he needed an excuse to work indoors, he’d been able to take on regular painting jobs from time to time to smooth out his income between security contracts.