Too Damn Rich

by Gould, Judith

  Nina and Sheldon, still dressed in tennis whites, had just returned from the indoor courts, towels around their necks. High on endorphins, sipping San Pellegrino, and asking about Robert.

  "He's upstairs, sweetie," Dina sighed, rolling her eyes. "Using his computer to make money."

  In a wing chair in the far corner, surrounded on three sides by fragrant orange trees laden with fruit, sat Karl-Heinz. He was flipping through a priceless folio of botanical watercolors by Redoute which he'd found in Becky's library. But he wasn't concentrating on the exquisite renderings. In truth, he was feeling too agitated to concentrate on anything.

  He raised his eyes without lifting his head.

  Across the room, half-hidden behind Dina, the reason for this rare emotion reclined on a chaise. Zandra, arms raised, was dangling by its stem a huge orange-and-black parrot tulip, so that the ragged, waxy petals brushed lightly against her face.

  The glimpse of her, so tantalizingly near, clogged his throat. Right now I should be over there beside her, he thought. Making my moves. Dazzling her with charm.

  One small obstacle. When it came to Zandra, his famous charm deserted him.

  Gott im Himmel! he thought. I'm behaving like a child harboring a secret crush!

  And there was no reason for him to feel that way. No reason at all.

  I'm rich, titled, and self-assured. I'm the man who supposedly has it all.

  Right.

  Then why were butterflies fluttering around inside him, thrumming against the lining of his stomach as though seeking escape?

  Zandra was feeling decidedly antsy, this despite the morning walk she'd taken, and the grueling laps she'd swum in the indoor pool before lunch. Trouble was, just lying around doing nothing was an entirely new experience. Ever since she'd arrived in the Big Apple, her every waking minute had been chock-full of frenzied activity. She'd never once taken a moment to decompress.

  Now that the opportunity to do so presented itself, what should happen?

  Why, irony of ironies! She already missed the never-ending urban fireworks, that constant, energetic rumpus and tumultuous multiring circus she'd grown used to, and come to love.

  Next to that, the quiet out here was positively unsettling.

  Turning her head sideways, she caught sight of a magnificent fox loping slowly past outside. It stopped, looked in through the glass wall at her, then turned its head and trotted casually on its way.

  She stared out at the paw prints it left behind in the snow. I've got to get out of the house, she decided.

  Yes. Perhaps a horseback ride would perk up her spirits.

  Anything's better than just lying around.

  Lord Rosenkrantz was saying, "So she bequeathed her entire fortune to this foundation he'd set up, but there wasn't any foundation, don't you see? It—"

  "Shhhhh." Becky, silencing him, possessed an early warning system that would have done the Pentagon proud. Sitting straight and tall, she glanced out through the octagonal panes.

  It was just as she had thought. Zandra, who had left the garden room some minutes earlier, was striding purposefully across the yard to the stables.

  Thanking God that the Faireys had auspiciously gone upstairs to shower and change, Becky said, "Excusez-moi, mon cher. Duty calls."

  "Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, eh?" said Lord Rosenkrantz.

  Ignoring him, she rose from the chaise and crossed over to where Karl-Heinz, still in the wing chair, pretended to be engrossed in an elegant study of Metrosyderos Lophanta.

  Becky leaned down, her voice almost a whisper. "Heinzie," she said.

  Karl-Heinz looked up at her. She gestured toward the wall of glass.

  He followed her hand to where Zandra, in borrowed riding togs— boots, jodhpurs, and a thick brown drover coat with a partial cape— proved that it was not a case of the clothes making the lady, but the lady making the clothes.

  "Our fair maiden is going for a ride. Alors. It is time to get to work."

  He nodded, knowing he should already have given chase. So what was keeping him glued to this chair, hesitant and immobile? Scruples? Morals?

  A hint of a frown crossed Becky's face. "What are you waiting for? Mon Dieu! This is your chance. Heinzie, follow her! Go!"

  When he still didn't move, she reached down, lifted the folio off his lap, closed it, and set it aside. Then, taking both his hands in hers, she helped pull him to his feet.

  He sighed to himself. Becky was nothing if not determined.

  Whoever coined that phrase about women being the weaker sex, he thought, obviously never ran across Becky V.

  "Now off with you," she said. "And try to remember what's at stake. If all those billions should end up with Sofia and Egbert—"

  "Erwein," he corrected her automatically.

  "Whichever," she said, without the least concern. "Now go. And bonne chance!" And with that, she gave him a little prod and sent him on his way.

  When he reached the door, he turned around and looked back into the garden room.

  Becky, one hand on the wing chair, was staring at him. She stood tall and sure of herself, and there was something about her quiet strength which reminded him of newly minted steel.

  Then, his expression pained but resigned, he went upstairs to change into his riding habit.

  "Horse she took's Amethyst Dream," the stable lad informed Karl-Heinz. "A chestnut mare. All you gotta do is follow them tracks. Alidad here'll catch up with her—" he snapped his fingers "—like that."

  He was referring to the glossy black stallion he was holding by the leading rein. A magnificent, high-strung Arabian, Alidad literally danced in place, neighing and snorting plumes of vapor as he tossed his head and tail.

  The stable lad squinted at Karl-Heinz. "You sure you're up to rid- in' him?"

  "Quite sure," Karl-Heinz smiled. "But thank you for the concern."

  "Mrs. V. don't like it, a guest a hers gettin' injured."

  "I'll take full responsibility," Karl-Heinz assured him. He took the leading rein, held it tight, and spent a minute stroking the horse's muzzle and talking to him in calm, reassuring tones.

  Perhaps it was a case of one thoroughbred recognizing another. Or maybe it was that telepathy peculiar to horses. Whatever the reason, Alidad instantly calmed down and put his muzzle against Karl-Heinz's neck, his nostrils making whiffling movements.

  "You sure seem to have a way with him," the stable lad said admiringly. "I'll give you that."

  Karl-Heinz smiled and swung himself expertly up into the saddle. One shake of the reins and they were off.

  Alidad was in his element. No stable horse, he. His long straight hocks proved themselves with lengthy strides.

  Nor did fences stand in his way. He sailed over them superbly, with plenty of room to, spare.

  It was a perfect day for riding. The sky cloudless, the air frigid but windless, the sun warm. Snowy meadows and fenced paddocks undulated gently toward distant forests.

  Cresting a hill, Karl-Heinz abruptly reined Alidad in. There she was, one furlong ahead. Zandra on Amethyst Dream, moving at a sedate trot.

  Karl-Heinz stood up on the stirrups. "Zandra!" he called out.

  Hearing her name, she turned Amethyst Dream around and halted, shielding her eyes with an arm as she faced into the sun.

  Karl-Heinz waved at her. Then, jerking on the reins, he bent low over Alidad's neck and sent him flying.

  The distance between himself and Zandra closed rapidly, and he galloped up beside her, stopping in a spray of snow.

  She lowered her arm. "Gosh, Heinzie. What an absolutely magnificent horse!"

  The cold, he noticed, had turned her face rosy, the sun brought out the highlights of red in her orange marmalade hair, and she literally glowed with a healthy vitality.

  He thought, She looks, if that's possible, more splendid than ever.

  "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

  "Oh, not at all. I mean, why should I?" She smiled ravishingly. "But I'm only
out for a short ride," she warned. "Temperature's dropping rapidly. Another hour or so, and it'll start getting dark."

  She moved the reins and Amethyst Dream obediently began walking at a sedate pace. Karl-Heinz fell in beside her, keeping Alidad, who itched to accelerate, tightly reined in.

  "Haven't ridden in eons," she told him. "That's why they gave me Amethyst here. Tamest of the bunch, I gather. But I mean, there is something to be said for being too tame, isn't there?"

  "Definitely," he smiled.

  They were climbing up a slight incline through virgin snow. In the stillness, they could hear the crunch as the crusty surface broke under the weight of the hooves. Up ahead, the snow-laden trees thickened into dark, bluish-black pines.

  When they reached the edge of the forest, they turned around and looked back the way they had come.

  "Oh, Heinzie!" Zandra exclaimed. "Look! Isn't it Christmas-card perfect? And so unspoiled."

  "Then why don't we stretch our legs, give the horses a rest, and enjoy the view?" he suggested.

  "Splendid!" She dismounted, tethered Amethyst to a branch, and tramped happily through a snowdrift.

  "You'll get your feet wet," he warned, tethering Alidad.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. "So?"

  "You might get pneumonia."

  "Like going outside with wet hair?" she scoffed, laughing. "That old wives' tale! Long as I change when we get back, I'll be fine."

  She bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and made a snowball. Then she half turned. "Heinzie?"

  "Yes?"

  And she flung it at him.

  It hit him squarely in the chest. "What the—!" he began angrily, looking down at himself.

  She laughed gaily and quickly scooped up more snow.

  "Zandra!" he called. "Now stop that!"

  "Oh, Heinzie. Must you be such an old fart?"

  She pitched the second ball at him, which he deflected with his arm. Nevertheless, sprays of snow flew all over him.

  "Zandra, I'm warning you ... "

  She laughed with delight and quickly made another. Started to toss it when—

  —a ball hit her hard on the shoulder.

  "Shit!" she cried. "Now you're really going to get it!"

  She flung back her arm and launched her snowy missile. He saw it coming and ducked, and it sailed harmlessly on.

  Then another one came hurtling toward hei; connecting with her thigh.

  "Goddammit! Now stop it, Heinzie. That hurt!"

  Seeing him scoop up more snow, she screamed happily and began to run.

  Grinning, he flung his ball, but it went wide of its mark. Then he merrily gave chase.

  Zandra, glancing over her shoulder, saw him coming, and quickly launched another snowball. It hit, but did not deter.

  Pretending terror, she scrambled through the calf-high snow, but he tackled her from behind and down they both went, rolling over and over. Giggling and screeching like five-year-olds.

  When they stopped rolling, she found herself pinned underneath him. Staring up into his face, which was but inches from hers.

  She caught her breath. Her heart was skipping and her head felt light. And still she stared, unable to take her eyes off him.

  Even as she stared at him, so, too, did he stare at her, and with no less intensity. A great heat seemed to engulf him, and he could feel his heart pounding thickly in his chest.

  The moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

  She was acutely aware of his long, leanly muscled physique, the impertinent azure of his eyes, and above all, his unpardonably alluring and seductive mouth, the lips of which seemed to have been sculpted for one purpose, to invite kisses.

  He was acutely aware of the warmth of her body, the crystals of snow, like fragile moist jewels, sparkling on her lashes, the triangle of freckles on her nose, the glowing mermaid green of her irises, and the pre- Raphaelite haze of her bright marmalade hair.

  And still the moment stretched elastically, seemingly without beginning or end.

  But it did end, for Karl-Heinz gave a start and abruptly came to. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he rolled off her, realizing he still had a snowball clenched in his fist. He tossed it absently backward, into the trees.

  It flushed out a brace of birds, which burst, screeching, from between the branches behind them.

  They both looked up and watched, as overhead, the winged creatures chased each other, flew elaborate loops, fluttered momentarily in place, and then made a dash downhill, where they did an aerial ballet before streaking off.

  "Aren't they darling?" Zandra mused. "I do believe those birds are in love."

  Smiling enchantingly, she turned to Karl-Heinz, her elbow in deep snow, her head resting on the palm of her hand.

  "What do you think, Heinzie?"

  He thought it the perfect opening. "I think I'm in love with you," he said quietly.

  It came as such a shock that she couldn't contain herself: she burst out in giggles. How preposterous! she thought. He, who she'd known since early childhood, he was professing his love for her?

  Of course, she thought, he's only joking.

  But if so, why were his eyes so smolderingly intense? And why had his voice turned so husky with sincerity?

  Holy Mother of God! she thought. He's not joking! He is serious!

  All she could do was stare stupidly at him, like some tongue-tied idiot.

  He was saying, "I know this must come as something of a shock to you, but you do things to me, Zandra. You really do. Around you, life seems so ... different. Rosy and innocent."

  Fun and exciting. Worth living. He could have named dozens of such things.

  "You're positively certifiable," she said fondly, "you do know that, don't you?"

  "Zandra," he said softly, hesitantly. "Darling, I'm serious."

  This is crazy! she thought. We might be distantly related, and I have known him since God only knows when, but in some ways, we really know nothing about each other!

  She wondered if, somewhere along the way, she hadn't somehow led him on? Perhaps given him the wrong impression? She didn't think so ...

  She was startled when he took her hand in both of his and lifted it to his lips.

  Her throat was suddenly dry. "Heinzie," she protested, but his name seemed to stick in her gullet; came out as a garbled croak. She had to clear her throat.

  "Heinzie," she said again, louder, clearer, more assertively.

  "Zandra."

  He kissed her fingertips, his eyes reaching out and drowning in hers.

  "Sweet, sweet Zandra. Don't you know what you are to me?"

  "Oh, Heinzie, course I do. I'm your cousin."

  "No." He shook his head and kissed her fingertips again. "You're much, much more than that."

  She stared at him.

  "I want to marry you," he said. "I want you to be my wife."

  "You ... marry ... me?" She burst into a fresh round of giggles. "But, darling, honestly! I can't even sew on a button, let alone cook without burning down an entire house."

  His eyes never wavered. "Zandra, sweet Zandra, will you take me in holy matrimony? Will you let me love and cherish and honor you until the day that I die?"

  Oh, shit! she thought. He's serious! He's really dead serious!

  "I ... I'm sorry, Heinzie," she said shakily, and withdrew her hand from his. "It ... it just wouldn't ... I mean, I don't ... What I'm trying to say is ... "

  She was so flustered that she had to take a deep breath.

  "I'm just not ready for marriage," she said. "Not to you. Not to anybody."

  "Then you don't love me?"

  "God, of course I love you. That goes without saying. But I mean, it's beside the point, isn't it? Doesn't mean we have to take the plunge and get married."

  "Why not? Because we're cousins?"

  "Yes. No. Oh, hell, I don't know." She made fluttering motions with her fingers. "Honestly, you caught me totally off guard."

  "If i
t's genetics you're worried about, I had a scientist look over our genealogy. He says there shouldn't be any problem."

  She sighed. "Heinzie, even if that's the case" —Zandra, having had the unexpected popped upon her, had to think carefully before she spoke— "I need to be certain of my emotions and not make a mistake we might both end up regretting."

  "I know I wouldn't regret it."

  Her face underwent a subtle change, as though a shadow had slipped under her skin. "But I might, Heinzie," she said as gently as possible, praying the words wouldn't wound. "I'm not sure I love you enough."

  He did not speak.

  She compressed her lips and forced herself to go full steam ahead. "You do understand, don't you, darling? I love you as a cousin, and for absolutely ever. You're a perfect marvel, and you'll make some very lucky girl a super husband and very, very happy. But I'm just not sure whether I can love you that way—"

  His eyes had dimmed and gone flat, and he was looking at her with a freeze-dried kind of smile.

  She winced inwardly, thinking: Oh, God. Now I have wounded him! I really didn't mean to.

  "I ... I think we'd better start heading back," she said, getting to her feet and starting to brush snow off her coat.

  He rose also, feeling awkward, standing there like a supplicant, hands at his sides.

  "And if love's got nothing to do with it?" he whispered hoarsely, unable to look at her, his thumbs twitching against his thighs.

  The hand brushing at her coat sleeve froze, and her eyes slowly came up. "Heinzie," she said. "Whatever are you trying to say?"

  He exhaled a strangled breath, an arid, raspy sound like the scraping of rusty metal. "I'm asking if—even though you say you don't love me— whether you could ... could find it in your heart to marry me anyway?"

  "Heinzie, but what utter nonsense! Whatever would we be marrying for?"

  "Convenience's sake?" He loathed himself for the taut desperation in his voice.

  "But, darling, I don't understand."

  He gave a sickly sort of smile. "Surely you know about the von und zu Engelwiesen criteria for inheritance?"

  Everything inside Zandra suddenly ground to a dead stop. "My God," she exclaimed softly. "I don't believe this."