His mouth curved into a wistful smile as he stepped back. “The look was a hit. Copies of the dress began appearing everywhere within days of the wedding.”
“I remember. I had no idea that the sleeves weren’t part of the original design.”
“A bit of trivia to include should this dress go to auction. My mother would love the idea of her clothing being used to raise money for one of her charities, though I will be sad to see this disappear into a private collection.”
“It’s iconic. All three of the pieces in this closet are. I’ll confirm with your father, of course, but I believe these would be better as part of an exhibit.”
“Which makes me glad that you are sorting all of these. I have enough of a sentimental streak to want to keep it all, an impracticality for which my mother would chastise me.”
He shifted slightly, then said, “I stopped by to introduce myself and to thank both you and the painting contractor for the work you’re doing. These rooms are overdue for an update, so the family is looking forward to seeing the task complete. I assume Miroslav told you to call upon him, should you need assistance?”
“He did.”
“More than once, I suspect.” The prince’s bemused tone made it plain that he found Miroslav as over the top in his thoroughness as Daniela did. “Did he also let you know where to find lunch?”
“No, though I didn’t think to ask. I packed one, just in case.”
“Miroslav is far more concerned about who is where in the palace than in ensuring everyone is fed.” Federico pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then offered it to Daniela. “My assistant made a list of nearby restaurants and noted which will deliver to the employee entrance. He marked a few of his favorites.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I shall let you continue your work. Did you meet the painting contractor?”
“Roy. Yes.”
“Ah. Good.” An odd look crossed the prince’s face, but disappeared before Daniela could ask about it. “He is working alone, so hopefully noise from his project won’t distract you. I missed seeing him on my way in. I assume he will need lunch information, as well.”
The prince promised to check in with Daniela from time to time, then departed. She didn’t miss the hitch in his step as he looked down a row of clothes on his way to the door.
Daniela returned her attention to the blue dress. Federico had loved his mother dearly.
She took photographs of the wardrobe’s interior, then closed the doors and returned to the sitting room to retrieve her notebook. She’d start with the late queen’s casual clothes, many of which would be anonymously donated to shelters and other organizations. Once those were cleared out, she’d have more space to evaluate the pieces worthy of being auctioned or prepared for exhibition.
She set Prince Federico’s restaurant list on the desk, then picked up her notebook. Not a peep came from the next room, making her wonder if the prince had missed the contractor again. She took a few steps sideways to peek out the door.
Federico and Roy stood close together, their backs to her. She couldn’t hear them, but the movement of Roy’s head indicated that the prince was speaking. Federico’s demeanor appeared more intense than when he’d spoken to Daniela a moment earlier.
Strange.
She frowned, wondering what they could be discussing, then returned to the closet.
Chapter 9
Royce stood three steps from the top of his ladder, reached into a bucket attached to the shelf on the opposite side, and retrieved the sponge clipped to its edge. He scanned the wall, then dunked the sponge into the steaming water and wrung out the excess moisture.
It was his fourth day on the job, but his arms, shoulders, and neck ached as if he’d worked the walls for weeks. A few sections of wallpaper had come away easily, primarily near the lowest parts of the room, where years of wear and tear and the humidity that came from human contact reduced the adhesion. Here, however, near the ceiling, the wallpaper clung with the force of super glue. He straightened, keeping one hand on top of the ladder for balance, and gently worked hot water into the tiny puncture holes he’d made in the wallpaper.
He’d been obliged to work in small sections as he went through the routine of score, steam, peel, repeat. Mostly repeat. And in some parts of the room, such as where he now worked near the vestibule, steaming wasn’t enough to loosen the paper. He’d needed to use hot water to soften the adhesive by hand, working slowly to ensure he saturated the paper without soaking the wall itself.
He’d seen little of Daniela since they’d started on Monday. She’d been in and out at predictable times and eaten her lunch at the desk in the sitting room around noon each day. Aside from greeting him in the morning, bidding him good night, and making a few phone calls as she worked, she’d been silent, which was as it should be.
In fact, other than the initial visit from Prince Federico and a visit that same afternoon from King Eduardo’s assistant, who’d entered the residence to pack the king’s wardrobe for a state visit to France, nothing of note had occurred. No one had entered or exited other than Miroslav, who seemed compelled to give the room a daily inspection. Even the cleaning staff stayed away, having been asked to skip their usual routine until Royce’s work was complete. King Eduardo and his eldest son, Antony, were scheduled to return to San Rimini late tonight, after dinner at the Élysée Palace with the French president and her husband. Royce didn’t expect to see the monarch the next day.
He rinsed the sponge and pressed it to the wall once more, telling himself to be grateful that he was being paid an exorbitant sum for what had amounted to a babysitting and remodeling job.
Royce had just grabbed a hand towel to blot a stray rivulet when the click of the vestibule door’s locking mechanism caught his attention. He paused, then heard the distinctive strike of high heels on hardwood. A moment later, an elegant woman with a petite build entered the great room. Her dark hair was styled in a knot at her nape. She wore a flamingo pink suit with a white blouse, pearl earrings, and a necklace of oversized pearls. Her wide brown eyes assessed him as he returned the sponge to its cradle and lowered his safety glasses.
“Good morning. You must be Royce.”
“Roy, please,” he said, conscious that Daniela had been moving about the sitting room only a few minutes earlier. He’d heard her tap on her computer, then return to the closet, but there’d been times when his scrubbing obliterated the sound of her footsteps.
After reading the dossier Federico provided at their initial meeting—and taking a moment to get over his disbelief—Royce notified the prince that he was acquainted with Daniela D’Ambrosio. He told Federico that he doubted she’d recognize him, given that they’d met only once and it’d occurred over five years earlier, and even if she did, there was no reason for her to believe he was anything other than a painter. Still, Royce offered to step back from the job if Federico preferred to hire someone with no connections to anyone in the palace. Federico told Royce he was willing to take the chance. In turn, on Royce’s first day of work, he’d told Federico he’d introduced himself to Daniela as Roy. Federico had promised to address him as such and to let his family know.
Word apparently hadn’t gotten to this woman, whom he recognized from media coverage of the royal family.
Royce descended the ladder and removed his gloves when the woman extended a hand.
“Roy, then,” she said as he accepted her handshake. “I’m Helena Masciaretti, the king’s sister-in-law.”
“A pleasure to meet you. What may I do for you?”
She patted the small beige handbag she wore looped over one forearm. It was constructed of an alligator print leather—hell, it probably was alligator—and sported a bright silver clasp. The rolled handles appeared freshly buffed. “My sister gave me a good deal of jewelry over the years. I thought I’d contribute a few of the pieces I don’t wear for the charity auction.” She looked toward the queen’s suite
. “Is Ms. D’Ambrosio working today?”
“She is.”
“Wonderful. I’ll find her and be out of your way, then.” Her eyes shifted to scan the long wall on the side of the room with King Eduardo’s study. The texture left much to be desired, particularly around the fireplace. That area turned out to have another layer of wallpaper beneath it, one that took him a day and a half to remove after the palace historian arrived to photograph it. Once he finished the area near the vestibule, he’d give the long wall another pass to remove the residue.
“A room like this always looks worse before it looks better,” he assured her.
Her expression was affable as she glanced in his direction. “I was just thinking that I should update the walls in my own apartment. They aren’t as dark as these, but they’re dated. I look forward to seeing the finished product. I’m sure King Eduardo does, as well.”
“Thank you.”
Her gaze swept the rest of the room as she walked toward the open door to Aletta’s suite. He watched her go, then resumed his spot on the ladder. However, rather than score and strip the paper he’d soaked a moment earlier, he listened to the cadence of Helena’s steps until he was certain she’d passed through the sitting room and was headed for the closet.
Federico hadn’t said anything about his aunt entering Aletta’s rooms to speak with Daniela. On the other hand, Helena Masciaretti lived in the palace and had served as Aletta’s personal assistant. She couldn’t have entered the residence without the code, which meant Eduardo trusted her at least that much.
He thought about Helena as he resumed work. He knew little about her, aside from the fact that she was older than Aletta and they had no other siblings. Helena had a brief marriage to a well-known Italian businessman whose family made their fortune in the automotive industry, and who was personally invested in several sport-focused businesses. Royce didn’t know the circumstances of their divorce, though he was aware that Helena had worked as Aletta’s assistant both before and after the marriage. He wasn’t aware of any other relationships, though it was revealed shortly before Aletta and Eduardo’s wedding that Helena dated Eduardo briefly when they were teenagers and attended the same school. When questioned, Helena told one rather persistent gossip reporter, “we attended a few class events together—dances, that type of thing—when we were young. He’s a remarkable man and I’m very happy for my sister.” Eduardo noted that their families had known each other for generations and his ties to Helena wouldn’t have risen to the level of press coverage if he hadn’t later become engaged to Aletta.
Royce had only remembered the tidbit because the last time he had dinner with his parents, his mother was in the midst of watching a documentary about Britain’s Prince Charles. They’d shown photos of him as a young man and mentioned that he’d once dated Princess Diana’s older sister, then made the comparison to Eduardo’s having dated Helena.
It didn’t seem much of a comparison to Royce. Charles had been an adult when he’d dated Diana’s sister, much older than when Eduardo had dated Helena. Even then, accompanying a classmate to a school event wasn’t exactly “dating.”
Royce removed his gloves to test the dampness of the wallpaper, then descended the ladder. If Helena only intended to drop off jewelry, her visit shouldn’t take long.
He kept his tools near the door to the queen’s suite in case he needed an excuse to eavesdrop, so he crossed the room, knelt over his box, and listened. For several minutes, he heard only muffled voices from the direction of the closet. Finally, the women entered the sitting room and he could hear them clearly. Their conversation stuck to the practical. Helena answered a question about one of the queen’s suits, then mentioned that she had photos of the queen in another outfit, should Daniela wish to have them for the auction.
Daniela thanked her for the offer, stating that photos would be of great assistance in generating interest in particular pieces, then Helena left the queen’s suite, her gaze going toward the area where Royce had been working when she’d entered. When she realized that he wasn’t on his ladder, she glanced over her shoulder, saw him squatting near his tools, and dipped her head. Royce raised his hand in response, but said nothing and returned his attention to his toolbox. He waited, ears attuned, until he heard the click of the door lock as it engaged.
He stood, stretched, then moved toward the partially stripped wall. The water needed to be replaced before he continued work. He was about to retrieve the bucket from its shelf on the ladder when he heard Daniela approach.
“Roy?”
He spun to see what she needed, then froze.
After her first day of work, she’d dialed down her outfits from a full-on suit to slacks and a blouse, presumably so she’d be more comfortable as she worked. Today she wore a pair of formfitting black pants that ended above her ankles and a crisp white top. Her hair was swept back in a simple bun and she wore no jewelry aside from a pair of small gold studs in her ears.
But her mouth. Her mouth held him motionless. He hadn’t gotten a full-on look at her face when she’d entered this morning, so he’d missed that her lips were a rich, perfect red. Usually he found lipstick off-putting, but on Daniela, today, all he could think was wow.
One of her brows lifted.
“Hello,” he managed, realizing she’d likely come to ask about her visitor. “I, ah, hope that wasn’t a problem.”
Her forehead wrinkled, then comprehension dawned. “Helena Masciaretti?”
“I wasn’t sure you were expecting her.”
“Oh.” Daniela’s hands went to her hips as she studied him. “No, I wasn’t, but it wasn’t a problem. I was wondering whether you might want lunch. Have you eaten yet?”
Caught off guard, he mumbled an awkward, “Ah, no?”
Her brow puckered at his tone. “Is that a no, you haven’t eaten, or no, you don’t want lunch?”
“No, I haven’t eaten.” They’d had no conversation other than a polite greeting as she passed through the great room each morning and evening. Then his brain registered the note of trepidation in her voice when she’d asked the question, one she tried valiantly to hide behind her composed expression.
“I usually pack one, but was distracted this morning and ran late. I’ve noticed that you usually have your lunch delivered. If you haven’t ordered yet, I’ll call for something and pick up. My treat.” She gestured behind her, toward the suite’s windows. “The weather is gorgeous. I’d love the excuse to go outside for a while.”
“If you pick up, I’ll treat,” he said, then realized he was staring at her lips again and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Only fair.”
She considered it, looked as if she wanted to argue, but let it go and asked, “There a place you like?”
He nodded. “There’s a place a few blocks away called Parioli. They do take away if you want the walk, but they’ll also make deliveries to the employee gate.”
“Prince Federico recommended it, but I haven’t tried it yet.”
“If you like Spanish ham, theirs is excellent. They make all their own bread. I’ll take one on rye with hot mustard, lettuce, and tomato.”
“I love fresh rye. I’ll call and order.”
She stepped backward, into the suite, her bright smile sending him right back to Cancun and a mental image of her walking backward into her hotel after he’d kissed her, when she’d given him a teasing warning to watch out for drunks coming off the beach.
When he heard her placing the sandwich order, he climbed the ladder to retrieve his bucket. Declining her invitation wouldn’t have been easy, not without raising questions, but his brain pinged a warning all the same.
Chapter 10
Daniela showed her pass to the guard at the employee entrance, waited for the uniformed woman to scan the embedded code, then proceeded through the gate, sandwich bag in hand. She’d grabbed two bottles of water, one fizzy, one not, having forgotten to ask Roy which he preferred.
The sandwich shop had offere
d to deliver to the gate when Daniela mentioned she was coming from the palace, but the walk was exactly what her mind and body craved. Though she’d opened the window shades in the closet to brighten the room on the first day, she’d started working from the end near the bathroom, which didn’t get as much light. After nearly four full days indoors, hunched over clothing, studying seams and brand names and sizing, she yearned for sunshine, fresh air, and the ability to move.
She’d made decent progress. All of the queen’s casual clothing, including exercise gear and the few T-shirts, informal blouses, and jeans she’d worn on her rare days out of the public eye, had been sorted. Pieces in good condition were cleaned, boxed, and moved to the sitting room. Before the auction was announced, the boxes would be anonymously donated to women’s shelters and assistance programs, along with some undergarments and pajamas that still had the price tags attached and several pairs of unworn athletic shoes in their original boxes. Miroslav arranged for his younger brother to transport the remainder of the casual clothing and intimate wear to a fabric recycling facility, taking care to ensure it could not be traced to the palace.
The growing stack of boxes gave Daniela a feeling of accomplishment.
After work each evening, she’d returned to her hotel, making a pit stop for takeaway at whichever restaurant appealed. She’d been provided a room in a luxury hotel a few blocks from the palace. Though the exterior stayed true to its eighteenth-century design, the interior had been modernized, and her room boasted a balcony that offered a beautiful view of the town center. If Daniela sat at just the right spot, she could see the San Rimini Bay and the Adriatic beyond. Once settled, she’d kick off her shoes, pour a glass of wine, and then relax in the room’s sitting area or on the balcony to enjoy her meal and read everything she could find on the designer shoes, handbags, and clothing Aletta had owned. As Daniela had guessed, the pumps she’d inspected during her initial survey of the closet were over a decade old. The designer hadn’t produced many pairs, and given that the queen had been photographed in them on several occasions, they’d likely prove valuable at auction. However, as Daniela learned more about the queen’s favorite designers, she’d also gleaned tips on identifying counterfeit products. So far, she’d found a scarf and three handbags she suspected of being fake. If so, they were good fakes, made with quality materials and secure stitching. She’d made notes to study each more carefully. Counterfeit pieces, while everywhere, didn’t make their way into royal households.
Fit for a Queen Page 9
