Now the crowd truly roared, for inside sat Aunt Josephine and, across from her, veiled in white lace, the bride everyone had turned out to see. Zandra turned from left to right, waving at the crowds on both sides.
When she emerged from the coach in front of the cathedral, the crowd went wild. The photographers pushed and shoved, and it was all the phalanx of policemen could do to keep the spectators back.
Baroness Frolichhasen, who had been rushed to the cathedral ahead of time, came hurrying down the stone steps.
"Oh, danke Gott!" she prattled nervously. "We are late! The guests are all seated and the cardinal is waiting! As you already know, tradition dictates that the bride must remain hidden in the choir loft until the Mass is over."
She hustled Zandra and Aunt Josephine up the front steps and through the arched portals.
Inside the cathedral, the mighty pipe organ drifted ecclesiastic chords over the swell of murmurs and the rustling of guests.
As soon as the bride and her party were settled, the chords segued into a hymn and the boys' choir rose in unearthly song.
Kenzie, seated on Zandra's left, glanced around.
Lady Josephine, on Zandra's right, sat erect as an old-fashioned headmistress; next to her, Lady Cressida was smiling into the distance.
And Lady Alexandra, bless her octogenarian heart, beamed happily throughout—aided, no doubt, by the silver flask from which she took occasional swigs.
Eight decades of family weddings, each preceded by a lengthy Mass, had obviously taught her to come prepared.
After the wedding ceremony, the eight hundred guests were shuttled to Lake Engelwiesen by a fleet of limousines and chartered tour buses. There, a flotilla of speedboats ferried them out to the island castle.
In the Hall of Mirrors—Schloss Engelwiesen, like so many palaces built in its day was a direct, if somewhat smaller, imitation of Versailles— the newlyweds received their guests, each of whom was formally announced by a footman.
Becky, on the arm of Lord Rosenkrantz, swept from one ornate room to another, admiring the painted ceilings here, giving a critique of the ceramics there.
The children of Zandra's cousins Emily, Elodene, Francesca, Adrian, Timothy, and Christopher, a veritable army of pretty little girls and miniature gentlemen, happily forgot their manners and played tag, screaming and racing around the guests until they switched to less strenuous, and far more suspenseful, games of hide-and-seek.
Princess Sofia, dressed in black mourning, marched around dourly, her stinging glares and rebuking frowns expressing disapproval of this invasion.
Erwein, wisely, had made himself scarce.
Dina floated around in a state of enchantment, wondering how best to approach Robert about buying her a castle, preferably in France, and not too far from Paris. Lady Alexandra fell asleep in a chair, which two footmen lifted and carried upstairs, where they laid her in bed. Kenzie met Zandra's dashing, newly divorced cousin, Adrian, who plied her with champagne in hopes of taking her to bed, efforts she easily resisted.
The receiving line continued for nearly an hour and a half, and Karl- Heinz's hand was sore from congratulatory handshakes. Zandra, as radiant as ever, wondered how much more hand-kissing she would have to endure from the men; how many more women would kiss her flushed cheeks.
At last, the guests were shepherded to the sit-down dinner, for which one hundred round tables, each seating eight, were set up in an enfilade of ten adjoining rooms, each of which had its own string quartet and one footman for every four guests.
Finally, the twelve-tier, fourteen-foot-high fantasy of a wedding cake, decorated with lacy spun sugar and one thousand white sugar roses, was wheeled into the Hall of Mirrors.
The bride and groom cut the first slice, and more magnums of champagne were popped. A dance orchestra played waltzes and fox-trots.
Kenzie, watching the newlyweds dance the first waltz beneath the candlelit chandeliers, tried to discern Zandra's true feelings. Whether her friend was still haunted by doubts, or whether she truly was the happy bride she outwardly appeared to be, was impossible to tell.
Later, a million-dollar fireworks extravaganza drew the guests to the windows, after which the newlyweds made their getaway in a waiting executive helicopter.
All in all, the fairy-tale wedding had done Grafin Fuchswalder and Baroness Frohlichhasen proud. The majority of the guests lingered and drank too much. The children dropped from exhaustion. Sofia stalked the premises in search of Erwein.
And Kenzie, who had caught the bridal bouquet of miniature white roses and lilies of the valley, sat in a window seat in one of the empty rooms, dreamily wondering who would walk her down the aisle— —and when.
Chapter 46
Kenzie flew back to New York the following day. The magic of Zandra's wedding was behind her, and she felt curiously out of sorts. It wasn't at all the way it had been during the flight over to Europe.
She and Zandra had flown together, and they'd made it into a midair party, gulping glassfuls of champagne and vowing eternal friendship, no matter what. They'd reminisced and laughed and cried.
Now, returning by herself, Kenzie was hit by an aching loneliness which was intensified when she let herself into her apartment.
It seemed eerily quiet.
I miss Zandra, dammit! she thought, walking around and opening the windows to air out the stuffy rooms. She was the sister I never had, the best friend I could tell anything. And now she's up and married.
There would be no more late-night gab fests. No more waiting turns to use the bathroom. No more sharing of makeup and secrets or of rushing off to work together.
Living by herself again would take getting used to.
She unpacked her suitcase and hung away her maid of honor gown.
"The reason I chose this particular one," Zandra had confided, "is because it's absolutely appropriate for just about any formal occasion. I mean, why just wear it the once?"
The words echoed in Kenzie's head, brought home just how empty and purposeless and devoid of meaning her life really was.
I'm twenty-eight years old and still single. I've devoted seven years to musty old paintings and foxed drawings. And what do I have to show for it? Two boy toys, neither of whom is ready for a real relationship.
She sighed to herself. What it came down to was that she had nobody.
Might as well face it, Kenz, she told herself. There's no house with a picket fence in your future.
She finished unpacking, put her suitcase away, and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of Earl Grey tea, another legacy from Zandra. While it steeped, she checked her answering machine.
The LED display indicated six messages. She punched the playback button.
Charley: "Hey-a you hot-a mama! It's-a me—" Fast-forward.
Hannes: "Kenzie, it is me. I was wondering—" Fast-forward.
Mr. Spotts: "Hello, Kenzie. This is A. Dietrich Spotts. I'm soaking up the rays down here in the Sunshine State, and just got through talking to somebody who talked to somebody ... well, to make a long story short, I heard there's an opening in the department. I know of a young woman named Annalisa Barabino who trained under Fiorentino at the Ambrosiana, and then worked at the Uffizi. I told her to contact you." Beep.
Woman with a thick accent: "Hello? Ms. Turner? This is Annalisa Barabino. I'm sorry to call you at home. Mr. Spotts said he would contact you—" I'll listen later. Fast-forward.
Voice from home: "Hi, sweetheart. It's Dad. How's my little girl? Just calling to wish you a happy birthday—"
Kenzie punched the pause button and frowned. What's with this happy birthday—?
And then she suddenly remembered. He was right.
Today was her birthday. She'd turned twenty-nine.
"The answerin' machine. The fuckin' telephone answerin' machine!" Charley steamed, angrily returning from the pay phone at Live Bait, on East Twenty-third Street. "All I get's the fuckin' telephone answerin' machine!"
He threw himself into his chair, took a swig from his beer, slammed the mug down, and glared broodingly at the gaggle of leggy young models clustered in front of the bar.
"You know what I'd like?"
"No," Hannes said, in an attempt to humor him. "What?"
"To go back in time." Charley nodded. "That's right. Just like in The Time Machine. Or Back to the Future."
"But why should you want do do that?" Hannes sipped his own beer slowly.
"Because that way I could get my hands on the dipshit who invented that infernal machine! I'd be able to strangle the livin' daylights out of him before he can invent it!"
Charley gulped beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"Come to think of it, same goes for the inventor of the car alarm. Yeah. How many times has their racket kept you awake? Huh?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Justifiable homicide," he growled, "that's what it would be. Isn't a jury in the country wouldn't acquit me!"
He finished off his beer and signaled the waitress for another.
"Why don't we leave," Hannes suggested. "It's late, and we've both had enough to drink."
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, don't start naggin'. I want another one for the road." Charley looked up at the waitress. "Two more. One for my buddy and one for me. With two chasers of—" He looked at Hannes. "What's that stuff you drink in Finland? Acquavit? Or is that Sweden?"
"Charley, we don't need—"
"Neh, neh, neh! Shit," Charley brooded. "You're startin' to whine like a goddamn wife!" His eyes narrowed. "Didn't you have a phone call to make?"
"Yes." Hannes got up. "Just a beer for me," he told the waitress.
"Two peppermint schnapps," Charley ordered. "Two."
Hannes threaded his way past the tables to the phone. He could feel Charley watching him and ignored the appraising eyes from several extraordinarily beautiful young women and at least two exceedingly handsome young men. He dug in his pocket for a quarter and dropped it into the phone and punched.
There was an explosion of breath behind him, and then a strong hand came around and depressed the cradle. The coin clinked and fell into the return slot.
Hannes turned around in surprise, receiver in hand.
Charley glared angrily. "You fuckin' bastard," he said tightly.
Hannes looked at him blankly. "What's the matter?"
"You wanna step outside?"
Hannes hung up the phone. "Why?"
"Why?" Charley's face twisted with rage. "You know very well why, you fuckin' son of a bitch!"
Hannes stared at him. "Actually, I don't," he said calmly. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me?"
"You were calling her!" The words tore from Charley's lips.
"Yes?"
"Who the fuck you think I called?" Charley shouted.
All around, conversation in the room suddenly fell silent. Two sturdily built men came slowly from the bar where they had been chatting with some girls.
Hannes could feel the momentary suspension of time as all eyes fixed upon him and Charley.
Not that Charley was aware of the audience. He was raging. His fiery Italian temper and chauvinistic possessiveness had him in its grip.
"Why the hell can't you find your own woman! Unless you get a special charge out of stealin' someone else's? That it? Guess it makes you feel more like a man?"
Hannes stared at him for a moment as everything suddenly fell into place. Then some of the tension went out of him. "Is that who this is about? Kenzie? You have been seeing her also?"
"Yeah," Charley snarled belligerently. "As if you didn't know!"
"I didn't," Hannes said quietly. "I thought it was over between the two of you. Why didn't you say something?" And with that, he turned and began to walk away.
But Charley wasn't finished with him quite yet. He spun him around and slammed him up against the wall.
"Listen, you cocksuckin' douche bag!" He had Hannes by the shirt. "You think I'm gonna let you get away with this?"
Hannes stared at him coldly. "I think you'd better get your hands off me."
Charley's right arm arced and his fist blurred, but Hannes intercepted it, grabbing Charley's wrist with his left hand and bringing it to a complete standstill in midair.
Only the quivering of both their arms showed the effort it took to still the blow.
"As you can see," Hannes said softly, "we are not evenly matched. Now, I suggest you settle down and I'll help you sober up. Afterwards, we can discuss this like gentlemen."
"Gentlemen!" Charley spat, eyes ablaze. "What would you know about bein' a gentleman?"
"Don't do it," Hannes warned, sensing that Charley was doubling up his knee to kick upwards. "I do not want you to get hurt."
"Me get hurt? By you? Don't make me laugh!"
The anger abruptly left Charley, and he let go of Hannes and stepped back.
"I'm goin'. But believe me—" He pointed a trembling forefinger at Hannes "—You haven't heard the last of me!"
Then he turned and stomped out. The crowd at the bar parted silently and let him pass.
There was a communal sigh when he was gone, and the patrons began to murmur. The two bouncers made their way back to the bar. Then somebody laughed, and conversations continued where they'd left off.
Hannes decided to leave also. He stopped at the table, tossed several bills down, then he made his way past the bar.
"Yo. Buddy." It was one of the bouncers.
Hannes looked at him.
"Nice work, blocking that fist. How'd you do it?"
"You don't want to know." Hannes turned away.
"Whoa, there."
Hannes looked back. "Yes?"
"Where's the fire? Whyn't ya give it a minute? You know." The bouncer nodded toward the front door. "Let him cool his heels out there some more?"
"I'll be fine," Hannes said.
But he wasn't fine. His nose was bloody and he had an ugly gash on his forehead when he staggered, doubled-over with pain, up the front steps of Kenzie's building.
He leaned on her doorbell.
"Who is it?" she squawked over the intercom.
"Hans."
"Can't it wait? I just flew in from Europe."
"Please. Something's ... happened."
There was a pause, and Kenzie buzzed him in. She was upstairs, leaning over the landing, barefoot and in her nightgown, when he stumbled in. The moment she saw the way he was staggering, she ran down to help him.
"My God!" She draped one of his arms over her shoulder and let him lean his weight on her. "What happened?"
"Just ... get me ... upstairs," he gasped.
She did as she was told, got him inside, and bolted all the locks. Then she looked at him. "Who did this?"
"You really don—"
"Cut the shit, Hans." She stared at him, gingerly touching his puffy eye. He was going to have quite a mouse. "It was Charley," she said quietly, "wasn't it?"
"Forget it," he muttered thickly.
"Come on. Let me get you into the bathroom and clean you up. You look like shit."
She gave him a level look.
"And then you've got some major explaining to do."
It was seven-thirty in the morning when Kenzie's alarm went off. She groaned and rolled over. She wasn't nearly ready to get up. Her head throbbed, and she was bleary and depressed from being up half the night playing Florence Nightingale.
That on top of jet lag.
I'm getting too old for this shit, she thought.
She was tempted to call in sick, but decided against it. Having taken Thursday and Friday off to attend Zandra's wedding meant that work would be piled up. And, with Zandra gone, the department was short- staffed. Arnold had been holding down the fort alone. It's not fair to expect him to carry the entire burden.
Sighing, she crawled reluctantly out from under the covers, took a quick shower, and somehow made it in on time.
Arnold swiveled around on his chair. "Ah so," he greeted. "Insider has finarry arrived with the s
coop! I want to hear arr about oh-so honorabbe wedding!" He dropped his routine and said: "And that means dishing the dirt!"
"How about over lunch?" Kenzie begged weakly. "I'm only half alive, and there's tons I've got to catch up on."
"Lunch is fine, and I'll even buy, so long as you promise not to leave anything out!"
"I promise," Kenzie smiled. She washed two aspirin down with her coffee and got busy.
At ten-fifteen, Bambi popped her head into Old Masters.
"Hi guys!"
"Hi," Arnold mumbled, not deigning to look up.
Kenzie turned around. "Hi."
"I'm glad you're back," Bambi told her. "Personnel ran an ad in yesterday's Times to find a replacement for Zandra. The applicants are waiting out in reception. I'd interview them myself if I had the time, but I've simply got to get my hair cut. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not." Kenzie smiled brightly, which wasn't easy. Time had only intensified her loathing for Bambi.
"Great. I knew I could count on you."
Couldn't you just, Kenzie thought.
"Oh. And one more thing."
Kenzie waited.
"One girl out there looks like a dog," Bambi warned. "Definitely not Burghley's material, if you get my drift?" She cast Kenzie a significant look.
Kenzie nodded and smiled until it hurt.
"It's all in your hands," Bambi said severely. "You may use my office."
And she breezed back out.
"It's all in your hands," Arnold mimicked archly as soon as she was gone. "I've simply got to get my hair cut."
Kenzie cracked up. "Arnold, will you stop," she pleaded. "I've got to be serious for this."
"All right, just so long as you don't hire any dogs," he guffawed. "We want Burghley's material!"
Kenzie dug through a stack of color photos and selected a handful.
"Arnold, where did you put the sample canvases?"
"They're down in the vault. I'll go get them."
Kenzie went to Bambi's office, waited until Arnold had brought the canvases, and then called reception. "How many job applicants are there for the Old Masters position?"
Too Damn Rich Page 50
