The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1)

by Banks, Evie

  They were led to a black front door, which opened as they approached. It had a simple brass number 10 on it. The night was cold and Renee drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. At the end of the street, a flock of reporters were kept back by a removable metal fence and several guards. They shouted questions and took pictures, but fortunately, they were too far away for Renee to hear them. She smiled once in their direction—setting off a flurry of camera flashes—and then stepped inside where she was engulfed by light and warmth. The Prime Minister’s house. She was in a large foyer with a checkerboard floor. They were greeted by a pretty young lady.

  “Right this way,” she said with a small bob of her head towards Renee. Clearly, the protocols for addressing her—an as yet unnamed heiress—were still uncertain. They followed her up a grand staircase that was lined with paintings of dour men and then photographs of more dour men and one woman. For Renee’s and Cassandra’s benefit the lady informed them that these were all the prime ministers that had lived in the house. They continued down a hallway and through several doors into a large, tall ceilinged room that was more elaborate than any she had ever seen. Antique tables and gilt chairs with velvet upholstery were in every corner of the room. But what caused Renee to suddenly lose her voice were the twenty or so individuals who were facing her as she entered. The ones who weren’t already standing, rose to their feet.

  Chase whispered into her ear. “They’re just customers you haven’t met yet. Annoying, needy customers.” Her lips twitched into a smile.

  “Mr. Prime Minister,” said the young lady, “may I present Mrs. Georgina Krebs.”

  A short man with shrewd eyes and a salt-and-pepper mustache walked forward. He was built like a prize-fighter gone to seed. He, too, bobbed his head just as the pretty woman had earlier. “Mrs. Krebs, we are delighted to meet you.”

  “It’s Renee,” she said and walked forward to pump his hand. Perhaps she had been too enthusiastic because to her embarrassment he did not return the gesture, but stared at her hand in his uncomprehendingly.

  “Of course. You are not a queen yet.” He smiled and gave her hand a tiny shake. When his lips parted, she saw that his teeth were yellow around the gums. It made her double think her own nicotine craving. His hands were rough and his knuckles scarred as if he had been a boxer in his youth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…Renee. You can call me Sir Rufus.”

  Renee heard Roberts cough quietly behind her and Renee smiled inwardly. She had the sense that Rufus was demonstrating his superiority over her. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had tried that. That thought gave her courage.

  “Were you born a Sir?” she asked. Innocently, of course.

  “I was knighted three years ago by the former queen,” explained Rufus. “Her passing has left us all in shock. She was peerless, you know.”

  “From everything I’ve heard she was very impressive. I only ever saw her on television, though. In fact, I was watching on the day of the Reunion,” said Renee. She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it happened.”

  Rufus narrowed his eyes. “And you really had no idea of your family’s roots?”

  “None,” said Renee.

  “Many people would kill to be in your place.”

  His tone left something unsaid, something implicit and hanging in the air. She could sense Chase shift uncomfortably even though she couldn’t see him and it seemed the whole room was holding its collective breath.

  “That’s insane, which a person would have to be to actually want this position,” said Renee.

  Rufus cracked a smile. He stood back to look at her. “So you were a waitress? A real working class girl, then. You would have been a Labour voter.”

  “I’m independent,” said Renee.

  “And very diplomatic, too!” said a rotund little man who came forward to pump Renee’s hand. Renee liked him immediately. His skin was pink, whether from the warmth of the room or too much to drink from the wine glass in his hand she couldn’t tell, but it gave him a jolly appearance. His tufted hair was combed over. “I’m Alan Britchford, head of the Conservative Party. It is a delight to meet you, Ma’am.” He gallantly kissed her hand. “What can I get you to drink?” He steered her towards a table covered with bottles of liquor and glasses.

  She had never been a wine drinker as it always gave her a headache and beer, somehow, didn’t seem appropriate here even if it was a fancy European brand. She eyed the champagne. The last time she’d tasted it was when Bryan, her boss, had gone on vacation to Lake Mead. After Bryan had wheeled his suitcase to his minivan and left, she, Brenda and Antonio had closed the restaurant an hour early and toasted his departure with a bottle obtained from the corner convenience store. They had each chipped in a $1.50 each. That was three years ago.

  “I’ll have champagne, please,” she said and Britchford poured her out a glass. She paused to admire the rising bubbles and took a sip. It blew the convenience store bottle away. After Renee was set up, he poured sparkling cider for Cassandra who meekly mumbled, “Thanks.”

  “So,” he boomed, “how are you finding England? Do you, uh, like it?” he tacked on at the end as if worried that the country wouldn’t be up to scratch. “It’s not even as big as your home state of Texas, not to mention the United States.”

  “It’s an amazing place, but I haven’t seen too much of it yet; it’s been raining,” she admitted. “The weather here is terrible.”

  This caused a round of nervous laughter and some head-shaking and she had the sense that she had committed a faux pas.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of honest, English rain,” said Rufus as if the nation’s honor depended on it.

  Britchford said loudly, “Tories and Labour don’t often see eye to eye, but if there’s one thing we can all agree on, it’s that we all despise typical English weather. Forget cricket, our true national pastime is complaining about the clouds and the rain.” Everyone nodded. “It’s not unpatriotic to take a vacation in Spain, is it? In France, perhaps, but not in Spain.”

  Renee felt grateful for Britchford’s intervention. “I haven’t been to those places, but if it’s sun you’re looking for, Texas has an abundance. Nothing beats walking the beach at Galveston with the Gulf of Mexico washing around your feet.” She closed her eyes for a second and imagined she was there. When she opened them again Britchford was looking at her sympathetically. Renee hid her embarrassment at her little speech with a sip of champagne. “America is beautiful, there’s so much to see.” She felt like a travel agent.

  Britchford did his best to keep the conversation going. “We’ll all have to take a jolly trip there. I did travel to California once—I have a cousin who got into making wind chimes and moved out there to raise goats and now he sells organic soaps and goat cheese—anyhow, when I visited him I made sure to detour to Hollywood and visit the Chinese Theatre. My feet are the exact same size as Tom Cruise’s. The exact size! It was wonderful to be able to walk down the street without a jumper and umbrella. Wouldn’t mind going back, to be honest.” Britchford stared down at his wine glass. “Now that I think of it, the wine is pretty good in California, too.” He sighed.

  Renee had an image of him strolling down Hollywood Boulevard wearing sunglasses with a salmon colored sport coat slung over his shoulder.

  The Prime Minister slapped Britchford on the back. “We’d be happy to make that retirement dream come true for you.”

  “That won’t be happening anytime soon,” Britchford replied icily.

  “Too bad. You could do with a spot of sun. Yes, yes, America is a great place and we’re reminded of that every time the President comes knocking for support on one thing or another,” said Rufus.

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly, Neville,” said Britchford. “We’ve got a special relationship to keep up and now with, you know…” he tipped his head in Renee’s direction, “I would say that connection is even more special than ever.”

  “I wasn’t implying anything,�
� said Rufus. Rufus suddenly seemed to notice Chase who had dutifully shadowed Renee a few feet back as she moved about the room. “Philip, my good man, excellent work. You carried out your mission perfectly. You must be relieved to have a change of assignment soon.”

  Renee whirled around and stared, wide-eyed. Change of assignment? He couldn’t leave! She didn’t know why that was important, but that’s what she felt.

  Chase stammered as he answered. “I thought we should hold off on that a bit, at least until she’s settled into the royal residence and is acquainted with her new security personnel. We’ve already had a slight mishap with security and I’d like to stay and make sure everything is in place and functioning perfectly.”

  Rufus nodded. “That’s probably wise.”

  Renee relaxed and continued to be introduced to the people in the room, including a general and an admiral. Although these were the top people in government and tended to swallow their vowels and speak without moving their lips, she found most of them to be genuinely interesting and eager to make her feel welcomed. Everyone enjoyed her accent and asked her to say certain words such as “howdy,” a word she had rarely said in her life, but she had no problem obliging them. Soon the room buzzed with conversation and music and Cassandra even got a ride on the general’s back. Even Chase lost his solemn demeanor and laughed over a watered-down whiskey with Roberts. Renee excused herself to find a powder room. She found one down a hall tucked under a staircase. The laughter of the party seemed far away. She had just finished washing and drying her hands and opened the door to leave when she heard voices speaking low. She recognized Prime Minister Rufus’s voice. The other one sounded like his assistant. She quickly closed the door again leaving just a crack so she could hear. She frowned as she listened.

  “The optics are incredible! Attractive, working class girl like that….” said the assistant.

  “She’s got a strong will though…not likely she’d play along.”

  “But she’s already playing along. Acts like she’s a queen already.”

  “Yes, that’s the part I don’t like,” said Rufus. “Texans aren’t known for their pliability once they decide on something.”

  “Well, there’s always the other one.”

  “Yes, the other one. We’ll have to play that by ear.” Rufus sounded like he was chewing on a cigar while he spoke.

  They moved off down the hall back to the party in the grand room. Renee didn’t know what they meant by “the other one.” Other what? Renee took a final glance in the mirror and made sure to adjust her worried expression into a serene smile, and then rejoined the party. Rufus and his assistant exchanged concerned looks when they realized she had not been in the party when they were speaking together. Clearly, they were trying to figure out if she had heard anything. That was their problem. She wasn’t going to let on to anything.

  Rufus headed her way.

  “Mrs. Krebs, would you like to sit; it’s time to talk about some specifics.”

  “Of course, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  She sat on an overstuffed antique sofa and he sat opposite her on an upholstered chair with gilt legs. Britchford was called over to join the discussion and sat next to Renee. Roberts stood off to the side.

  Rufus cleared his throat.

  “Mrs. Krebs, we are delighted that you are here. You are a charming young lady and serious about your role, I can see. Beautiful too.”

  Renee smiled, but wasn’t fooled by the compliments. “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  “I don’t know if it has been explained to you, but before you can properly be declared heir to the throne, the Act of Succession must be passed by Parliament. Only then will you be the heir—heiress, I should say—and some time later there will be a coronation which makes you the queen. All right?”

  Renee nodded, she knew all this.

  “Good then. But you see, it may take some doing to pass the Act of Succession.”

  “Oh?” said Britchford. He sounded surprised.“Why is that?”

  Rufus looked at him irritably and then refocused his gaze on Renee.

  “It’s not a slam dunk, you see. There are plenty of people not keen on reinstating the monarchy. Many view it as outdated and with the economy as it is right now….Well, they figure if Canada, Australia, The United States, and just about every other country can function without a monarchy, then so can we. And the fact that you are American, that might give many pause.” Rufus shrugged his shoulders as if to say there was nothing he could do about it. “I’ll need your help to get the bill passed. Your cooperation and support. Do you see what I mean?”

  Yes, she understood perfectly.

  “I’ll help you as far as I can,” said Renee neutrally. She’d wait and see what he was about.

  Britchford spoke. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Prime Minister, but aren’t these people—the naysayers—all in your party? Are you unable to keep your own party in line? Could that be considered a show of no-confidence?”

  “I can control my party just fine,” snapped Rufus.

  “Then you will have no problem passing the bill then,” said Britchford.

  Rufus leaned over to his assistant and whispered something in his ear. The assistant nodded and got up. Rufus turned back to Renee, ignoring Britchford and Roberts. “The votes could probably be wrangled, but whose name will be on the bill?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Renee. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck as if a cold breeze had just chilled her, but the room was very warm. Something was up. She had sat in on enough rounds of poker to sense that Rufus held a card he had not yet played. “Who else is there?” She looked at Britchford, but he looked just as puzzled.

  One of the many doors, this one almost invisible as it was paneled in the same style as the wall, opened slowly and a man entered the room. Renee gasped. A striking man in a tuxedo strolled laconically towards them, one hand in his pocket. He cut a dashing figure, but she knew that smile and that scar which slashed upwards from his top lip all the way to his eye. Ammon Bretton smiled and Renee felt a shiver run up her spine.

  “Hello Renee.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHASE VAULTED OVER a sofa and drew his gun from inside his jacket.

  “Get down,” he shouted.

  His eyes and weapon were locked on Bretton. Renee grabbed Cassandra and pushed her behind one of the heavy antique tables, shielding Cassandra’s small body with her own. Cassandra tried to push her off, but Renee wouldn’t budge. Everyone else in the room seemed frozen: Alan Britchford’s eyes were wide and confused, his mouth opening and closing like a fish; the military men seemed uncertain what to do; and the rest of the politicians stood there, uncertain as to whether this was, indeed, real and trying to decide if they should run, duck, or stay put and save face if it turned out to be nothing. The only people who seemed unconcerned were Ammon Bretton who lazily put his hands up and sighed as if he was bored, and Prime Minister Rufus who strolled forward towards Chase.

  “Now, now, Philip, none of that. Put your gun away, there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve not had an incident in the Residence since the IRA jumped the shark in 1991,” said Rufus.

  Chase didn’t move a muscle. Without taking his eyes off of Bretton or lowering his weapon he said, “Mr. Prime Minister, this is a dangerous criminal. He’s killed several women and attacked Mrs. Krebs. He must be taken in now!”

  Rufus spoke again, forcefully this time. “Mr. Chase if you do not lower your weapon I shall call security and have you arrested.”

  Chase’s eyes flashed, but he slowly lowered his gun. “Mr. Prime Minister, I whole heartedly disagree. This man is dangerous. He is a killer.”

  Rufus called over his shoulder to Bretton who was still half-heartedly holding his hands up. “Ammon, you’re not dangerous, are you?”

  “As dangerous as a kitten,” he replied, silkily.

  Chases’s eyes darted back and forth between Rufus and Bretton, his jaw clenched.

/>   “Come now, Philip. Put it away and let’s have a chat,” said Rufus, his hands spread out in a conciliatory gesture. “Mrs. Krebs, let me help you up.” He walked to where Renee and Cassandra were crouched by the table and grasped her hand to pull her to her feet. Renee smoothed out her dress and held Cassandra tightly to her.

  “What’s he doing here?” said Renee, her voice almost a hiss. Her hand went involuntarily to her throat. The memory of his fingers wrapping themselves around her neck was still fresh. She hadn’t told Cassandra any of this in order not to scare her.

  “I think we’re all operating under a misunderstanding,” said Rufus.

  “Somebody is.” Chase still gripped his gun in both hands, although it was pointed at the floor.

  “Mr. Prime Minister, what is going on here?” said Britchford, his voice coming unstuck. “Who is this man and is he dangerous like Mr. Chase and Mrs. Krebs believe?”

  “Let’s sit like civilized people and talk,” said Rufus. He sat back in his overstuffed chair and Bretton lowered his hands and sat in the chair beside him. “Do sit, Mrs. Krebs.”

  Renee returned uneasily to her seat. A shaken Roberts joined her while Chase stood directly to her side, eyes focused on Bretton. He holstered his gun inside his coat, but his hands involuntarily flexed as if waiting for a sign to spring into action again. Britchford sat in the third spot on the sofa next to Roberts and Renee. Everyone else either pulled up a heavy chair or stood nearby to hear what was said.

  Rufus cleared his throat and spoke in the resonant, gruff voice that had made him an effective union organizer. “Mr. Chase and Mr. Roberts have done an excellent job in carrying out their search and finding a lovely candidate.” He nodded his head in Renee’s direction. “But it’s possible they weren’t as thorough as would have been hoped in such a critical case.”

  “I beg your pardon!” said Roberts. “We interviewed every candidate according to the work of the genealogists. It was a weeks’ long process.”

  Rufus cut him off. “Like I said, they did an excellent job, but perhaps they were prejudiced in their work?”