Too Damn Rich

by Gould, Judith

  "... 'cause I love ya," he said so quietly she could barely hear.

  Dina looked at him in amazement. "I love you." He'd actually said, "I love you!" And now he was blushing and glancing shyly over at her like a schoolchild!

  Surprise, surprise! she thought. Good heavens!

  If memory served her correctly—and it had never failed her yet— this was the first time he'd ever uttered those three magic little words. And, however clumsy and inept the delivery, she couldn't help but be touched.

  She found her anger and harshness dissipate, and smiled at him slowly.

  "Well, perhaps it's quite a large step," she qualified.

  "Oh, yeah?" He perked up. "This mean you'll gimme another chance?"

  "I'll give us another chance," she emphasized.

  "Hot damn!" His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You won't regret it," he promised.

  "I certainly hope not."

  "That mean I can move back in?"

  "As long as you remember you are on probation. But don't forget, sweetie. If I so much as catch you sneaking a glance in the wrong direction ..." Her voice trailed off.

  "I won't."

  "You'd better not," she said darkly.

  He glanced at his watch. "Shit. I'm late for a meetin'."

  She sighed. "Sweetie, you are so romantic."

  He puffed away grandly. "Gotta keep my babe in moolah, right?"

  She smiled happily. "Right. And speaking of which, Mr. Mongiardino needs two million dollars to continue on the apartment. You will see that it's paid promptly, won't you, sweetie?"

  Another two mil! Robert's cigar nearly fell out of his mouth. "What's the guy do with money," he asked. "Eat it?"

  Well, what the hell, he thought. What's a few mil? Pocket change.

  A divorce could easily have set him back a quarter of a bil. Put into that context, he was getting off cheaply, and knew it.

  Bambi heard the chime of the doorbell, and her heart gave a leap. Robert ...!

  Convinced he had come to tell her it was all a mistake, she rushed to the door and flung it open.

  What ...?

  It was not Robert standing there, but the building manager. "What do you want?" she snapped.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Parker, but we have received complaints. As this is an illegal sublet, I'm afraid you're going to have to vacate the premises." She couldn't believe this! The nightmare was continuing! Will it never end? she wondered.

  "Just what sort of complaints are you talking about?" she sniffed. He cleared his throat. "As you know, here at the Towers we pride ourselves on the utmost discretion—"

  "Well, stick it up your discreet ass!" she declared, slamming the door. Then she collapsed against it and shut her eyes. Oh, God, she thought. This can't be happening! Where will I go? What will I do?

  She was stumped.

  But only temporarily. Bambi was, above all, a survivor. The following morning, she moved in with Lex Bugg.

  Chapter 56

  "I have your report in front of me," Karl-Heinz said into the telephone. "Other than ironing out a few minor details, I don't anticipate any problems."

  He glanced through the open door. Zandra was pacing restlessly along the tall windows in the next room, every so often gazing out at the rainswept Place Vendome.

  She was agitated. He could see that. And it had been building up over the past few weeks. He knew that, too. No matter what she happened to be doing—eating, dressing, shopping, conversing—before long, she would begin prowling restively. Comforting herself by clasping and unclasping her hands.

  Her attention span was down to nothing. Clearly, something was eating at her.

  But whatever it was, wild horses couldn't drag it out of her, at least not until she was ready. This too Karl-Heinz knew, for he had tried on countless occasions to do just that.

  "You can assure Mr. Yazahari that in essence we both agree to the same terms," he said into the phone. "We can discuss the minor details when we meet in Hawaii."

  As the phone conversation wound down, he kept his eye on the next room. Zandra had stopped pacing to peer out a window yet again.

  April in Paris, he thought. The trees are supposed to be in bloom, the skies should be warm and sunny, and lovers ought to be promenading along the Seine and in the Bois de Boulogne and the Jardin de Luxembourg.

  Instead, it had been raining steadily ever since they'd arrived.

  A portent?

  In the adjoining room, Zandra had resumed her pacing, and was hugging herself, her hands tucked under her armpits.

  She needs me, Karl-Heinz thought. She needs me now.

  "Please convey my best regards to Mr. Yazahari, and tell him I'm looking forward to meeting with him," he said politely, and hung up. In one elegant movement he pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and went into the next room.

  "Zandra," he said softly.

  She stopped pacing and looked at him.

  He advanced toward her and held her gently by the expensive sleeves of her unbuttoned Ungaro jacket. "Liebchen?" He looked into her eyes. "What is it?"

  "It's ..." she began, then gave a shrug of futility and hugged herself even tighter. "Oh, Heinzie, it's everything. And nothing. That, too. Do you suppose it's a phase pregnant women go through?"

  He shook his head. "There's more to it than that, Liebchen, and I think we both know it."

  She looked away suddenly, over his shoulder, her face pinched with anxiety.

  "Can't we talk about it?" he asked quietly.

  She expelled a sigh and bit her trembling lip.

  God, but it pained him to see her like this! What a different Zandra this was from the radiant bride in Augsburg Cathedral, or the carefree honeymooner who insisted upon making love at various times of the day, or the rabid shopper to whom the couture salons were like candy stores, just waiting to be raided.

  Where, he wondered, have all those other Zandras gone?

  Indeed, it was high time for a serious talk.

  Wrapping an arm around her, he led her across the room and sat her on a delicately carved settee. Then he went over to the round bouillotte table which held stemware and bottles and came back with two full shot glasses.

  "Here," he said, holding one out to her.

  She glanced at the clear fluid, then up at him. "What is it?"

  "A little schnapps," he answered. "To soothe your nerves."

  She shook her head. "No. Not while I'm pregnant."

  He set both glasses on the coffee table and then perched on the arm of the settee, stroking her hair. She rested her head against his side.

  "God," she murmured, "you must think me one hell of a self- centered bitch."

  "I don't think that at all." He planted a kiss atop her head and continued brushing her hair with his hand.

  "I wouldn't blame you if you did," she said pensively. "I mean, I've been beastly and absolutely no fun at all."

  "Zandra," he urged gently, "share your misery. Please. Nothing is so bad that something can't be done about it."

  She smiled wryly. Sweet Heinzie, she thought. He means so well. But how can he begin to understand? Men don't get pregnant. Men don't nurture a spark of life from conception until birth. How could any man understand?

  "It's about the baby, isn't it?" he asked softly.

  She twisted her head to look up at him.

  "Yes," she whispered, "it's about our baby."

  "Don't you want to have it?"

  She jerked, as though an invisible fist had slammed into her. Oh, Heinzie, Heinzie! How can you misread things so badly?

  "That isn't it at all," she said quietly. "I want this baby, Heinzie. Oh, God! If only you knew how badly I want it!"

  He slid off the arm of the settee and dropped to his knees in front of her, placing his head in her lap, the side of his face touching her belly and the child growing within.

  Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. With her hands, she pressed his head even closer.

  She took a deep breath
, and with huge reluctance, plunged ahead.

  "Oh, Heinzie," she said ruefully, "I know I'm being an absolute shit, and I can't bear to disappoint you. But I just loathe the way we're having this baby. I mean, it's not at all fair to the child."

  He raised his head from her lap and looked deep into her eyes. "What isn't?" he asked softly.

  "The mercenary way we're going about it. Don't you see? Having a child shouldn't be a sweepstakes you enter for a prize, should it? I know a male child's necessary for you to inherit, I know all that. But... darling, it's our baby I'm carrying! Our baby! Our own flesh and blood."

  "Yes." He smiled tenderly and reached up and gently touched her face. "I know," he whispered.

  "And, I already feel connected to it. I realize it's still early, but I am its mother."

  He was still smiling.

  "I know we made a deal," she said, "but suddenly I don't give a whit whether it's a boy or a girl. And, if it is a girl, what's going to happen to it? I mean, I want us to have a son, I really do, worse than anything. But now that I'm carrying, that's suddenly unimportant. Darling, I love it already—boy or girl. Whichever it is."

  The tears which had welled up in her eyes started flowing down her face.

  "I just want us to have a normal, healthy child!" she blurted. "Is that too much to ask for?"

  She paused and sniffed.

  "Darling? Won't you say something?"

  "Liebchen, don't you realize? I love the baby, too!"

  "You ... do?" Zandra's voice quavered uncertainly.

  "Of course I do. And I want what's best for all three of us."

  "Yes, but Heinzie, what I can't do ... "

  She stopped and gulped a lungful of air.

  "... I can't allow it to be prodded and poked," Zandra whispered fiercely. "I know it's only been weeks, but suppose it can already feel things? And what about the risk? Dr. Rosenbaum put the risk of villus sampling at somewhere between one and two percent, but he did say some doctors put it as high as eight. And even an amniocentesis carries some risk. There's the chance, however slight, of triggering a spontaneous abortion, injuring the fetus, or even introducing an infection!"

  She was sobbing noisily now.

  "And even if it were a hundred percent safe, which it isn't, and if we find out it's a girl, I ... I could never bring myself to abort it!"

  "No one is asking you to," he said gently.

  "I mean, I'll gladly do anything—anything at all—so long as it doesn't endanger the child."

  "Liebcheti! Haven't you listened to a word I've said?"

  She stared at him. "Then you ... you don't mind? You'll accept it even if it's a girl?"

  "How could I not? She would be our child."

  "But the inheritance—"

  "The hell with the inheritance! I'm rich enough in my own right. My personal fortune's over two hundred million."

  "That much!"

  He smiled. "Besides making money for the family, you don't think I didn't make some for myself, do you? So stop worrying."

  She smiled. "I'll try."

  "And promise me one thing, Liebcheti."

  "What?"

  "From now on, if something bothers you, don't keep it bottled up inside. For God's sake, share it. This is my baby, too, you know."

  She felt like hugging him to death.

  "Oh, Heinzie, Heinzie!"

  She flung her arms around him.

  "I'm so happy!" she cried. "You don't know how happy you've made me!"

  Then he had his arms around her, and tears streaked down both their cheeks, and it seemed they stayed that way forever, clinging to each other as though for dear life itself.

  When the telephone rang, Karl-Heinz ignored it, and then Josef discreetly cleared his throat at the door. "It's a personal call from Mr. Yazahari, Your Highness," he said in German.

  Karl-Heinz didn't even turn around.

  "Later, Josef," he said. "And shut the door, would you?"

  "But shouldn't you take it?" Zandra asked. "It might be important."

  "There are only two really important things in my life," Karl-Heinz told her softly. "I know that now. You and our baby—and that's all."

  And for some crazy reason, they both burst out into a fresh round of joyous tears.

  Chapter 57

  "Preg—!" shrieked Princess Sofia in horror.

  She clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle the devastating word in midsyllable. Her eyes bulged in shock.

  "—nant," she expelled in a gulping whisper.

  She sank down onto a severely plain Biedermeier settee, afraid that if she remained standing for a moment longer her legs would surely give out from under her.

  Outside the arched, neo-Gothic windows of the sitting room of Schloss Schweingau, the steamer that regularly plied the lake was passing by. Two little sailboats, tacking into the wind, bobbed in the steamer's wake. Storm clouds were gathering, and the snow-clad Alpine peaks to the south seemed to press closer.

  "They've been married ... what now?" Sofia whispered shakily. "Six weeks? Seven? And you tell me she is already pregnant!"

  "Z-Zandra?" piped up Erwein, whose presence Sofia had demanded when Herr August Meindl, the senior von und zu Engelwiesen solicitor, and his four solicitor sons, had come calling.

  Erwein put his teacup into the saucer he was holding, and his hands were so shaky that cup and saucer rattled.

  "It is Z-Z-Zandra you're t-talking about?" he stuttered.

  "No. The Duchess of York," Sofia snapped sarcastically. "Who else's pregnancy would affect us, you subnormal cretin? You moronic, duncical chain around my neck!"

  Erwein cringed, and his cup and saucer rattled even louder.

  "And do put your tea down!" hissed Sofia irritably. "That infernal racket is driving me up the wall!"

  Erwein immediately thrust the offending cup and saucer on a round fruitwood table.

  Wearily Sofia rubbed her face with her hands. Only then did she turn to the messenger who had delivered the unwelcome news.

  In his youth, a very, very remote youth—that is to say, sometime in the years preceding the First World War—Herr August Meindl had made a hobby of studying the classics, so the traditional fate befalling messengers of bad tidings was not lost on him. He fully expected Sofia's ax to fall, though he did not fear it.

  Herr August Meindl was too old, too cunning, and had dealt with Sofia too long to let her unsettle him. And Sofia knew it.

  His four sons, full partners in the family's Rechtsanwalt firm, were younger carbon copies of their father. Not that they were youthful by any means: the youngest, Franz, was well in his mid-fifties, while the eldest, Anton, was in his early seventies.

  Their sons, and their sons' sons, all worked for the Meindl family firm, groomed since childhood to represent but one exalted client—the von und zu Engelwiesens.

  Sofia asked, "How long, exactly, has Princess Zandra been pregnant?"

  August Meindl shrugged his narrow, bony shoulders. "His Highness did not say," he told her in his thin, warbly voice.

  Sofia took a deep, steadying breath.

  August Meindl sat there, his ancient, sticklike body jerking and trembling. "I am truly sorry, Princess Sofia. I know that this must come as a terrible blow."

  "Blow? Why should it come as a blow? Granted, I was initially surprised, gentlemen, but I am thoroughly delighted. Thanks to the news you have brought, the family's uninterrupted line of male succession shall, God willing, be assured."

  The Meindls looked as though they couldn't quite believe their ears.

  Erwein couldn't believe his, either. He had been expecting a full- scale apocalypse.

  Incredibly, Sofia seemed to gain strength and serenity right in front of their very eyes.

  "The family and its fortune," she continued, "must always take precedence over any of our individual wants, concerns, and wishes—and that goes for my own, as well."

  The five solicitors stared at her.

  "This is,"
she said, "a happy occasion. As you well know, this family has been around for nearly six hundred years, and I fully intend for it to be around for another six hundred. I expect each of you to give my brother your full cooperation and unfailing support."

  She paused and looked from one of them to the other.

  "Do I make myself clear?"

  "Very clear, Your Highness," said Franz Meindl.

  "Perfectly, Your Highness," echoed Klaus Meindl.

  "Indubitably, Your Highness," added Gerhard Meindl.

  "Pellucidly, Your Highness," summed up Anton Meindl.

  Only ancient August was silent. His cunning legal brain was such that he never rushed into anything.

  Sofia looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Herr Meindl?"

  August Meindl cleared his throat, multiple dewlaps and wattles quivering. "Am I correct in intuiting that you do not perceive this information to be bad news, Your Highness?" he asked cautiously.

  "You intuit correctly." Sofia forced a thin smile.

  All five Meindls waited.

  "And, much as I admire, love, and respect my brother," Sofia went on, "the family has, in the past, suffered its share of treachery and deception from within its ranks. The temptation of taking the helm of one of the world's mightiest fortunes can seduce even the most honest among us. We must proceed with extreme caution."

  "Indeed." August nodded sagely. "We cannot take anything for granted."

  "Also," Sofia said, "we cannot discount even the most implausible kind of plot. In 1598, Freda von und zu Engelwiesen gave birth to a girl, but attempted to secure the inheritance with a boy not of her womb."

  "Not of her womb!" exclaimed Franz Meindl, the youngest of the five.

  "She sent a servant out to buy a newborn son to pass off as her own. That is why our family law specifies three solicitors to witness the birth."

  Gerhard Meindl plucked at his protruding lower lip. "A wise stipulation."

  "Indeed," Sofia said. "Now then. Did my brother happen to mention any tests being done to determine the sex of the child?"

  Her sharp gaze met five shaking heads.

  "Have you run a check on her doctor?"

  "Not yet," said old August.