The Secret Heiress (30 page)

Ignoring Sugar, Nikoletta said, “Go to his room, and see if he’ll talk to you.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sugar said, rising to her feet. “Which room?”

“On down the hallway on the left. The closest one.”

Sugar immediately left and went to Frans’s door. She knocked on it softly and called his name. “Frans, darling. It’s Sugar. May I have a word with you, please?”

She heard no response, but waited at the door patiently. Finally, she knocked again. “Frans? Please, darling. Just a word. I won’t even come in.”

Sugar heard a soft click as he unlocked the door. He stood in the opening looking at her sheepishly. Sugar discovered that she had not grown immune to his rare physical handsomeness. He truly was a beauty to behold, troubled though he was.

“Darling, I know you’re still grieving for Bianca,” Sugar said, “so I’ll only keep you for a minute.”

Frans made a barely detectable nod of his head.

“You won’t make an appearance at this party, will you?” Sugar asked.

He shook his long, blond-streaked mane. “No,” he said in a whisper.

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll tell Nikoletta that is your final word.”

“Thanks, Sugar,” he said. “You’re . . . a . . . friend.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be leaving soon, but you’ve got my number in Manhattan.”

He nodded. “Thanks,” he repeated.

She kissed his cheek. “Take care, darling.” She had lots of advice for him—like
Get the hell out of Nikoletta’s life for your own sake
—but this was neither the time nor the place to give it.

He softly shut and locked the door, and Sugar went back to Nikoletta’s room, preparing what she would say.

“Well?” Nikoletta asked, gazing up at her.

“He’s simply not up to a party, Nikoletta,” she said. “I think he ought to consider seeing a therapist. I think he’s deeply depressed. If I were you, I wouldn’t put any pressure on him.”

“Why? Do you think he’s going to wig out on me or something?”

“I certainly think it’s possible,” Sugar replied. “And I don’t think one party is worth it. What it might do to him, I mean. If you could get him out of that room, that is.”

“Damn,” Nikoletta swore. “I don’t want him getting all mental on me. I hate that.”

“Then maybe the best policy right now is to leave him alone,” Sugar said, “because something like that might happen.”

Nikoletta sighed heavily. “I hate this. Hate it, hate it,
hate
it.”

“Maybe he’ll pull out of it soon,” Sugar offered. “Maybe with plenty of rest and no pressure.”

“All right,” Nikoletta said at last, gritting her teeth.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about if you don’t mind,” Sugar said carefully, hoping that the change in subject would not upset Nikoletta.

“What?”

“I ran into Eviana Chen from
Vogue
. You know how they have that ‘
Vogue
Index Checklist’ feature in the back pages of every issue? Using various celebrities as inspiration and then picking out what new ‘in’ things that celebrity might buy to suit her style—dresses, bags, candles, shoes, whatever?”

“I take it you’re going somewhere with this?” Nikoletta growled. “Not just testing my patience with idle chitchat?”

Sugar ignored her barbed comment. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make that ‘checklist,’ even if you’re a bona fide movie star? And you’d better be a sensational cover-girl star at that. Anyway, the instant I saw Eviana, I had a lightbulb moment. Instead of going through our publicity department, I cornered her and out-and-out volunteered you and got a verbal commitment. Can you believe it? On the spot!” She smiled triumphantly.

But if she had expected a reaction from Nikoletta, none was forthcoming. Sugar was not to be deterred.

“Best of all,” she crooned, “is that they have plenty of file photos of you, so you don’t need to do a thing. Not even pose. But they will need some display stuff. Not for actual use in taking pictures, but to get a real feeling for the Nikoletta Papadaki style. All that means is, an editor and a stylist will have to go through your closets, borrow a few items, then put together an entirely ‘new’ wardrobe based on
le style
Papadaki. What do you think?”

“I hate other people touching my clothes!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Niki. It’s not as if they’re going to
wear
them. They’re only going to hang them on a garment rack. Besides,” Sugar went on, going in for the kill, “would you rather they chose Halle Berry or Kate Hudson or Sarah Jessica Parker? Remember, it’s not only free publicity—it’s the cachet.”

Nikoletta emitted a sigh of boredom. “Okay, okay,” she conceded, but added ominously, “It better not interfere with my schedule.”

“It won’t,” Sugar promised quickly.

“They’ll have to go through my closets in the city. I only keep seasonal stuff out here. And I want you there in person when they choose things. I expect you to keep an inventory of every item taken out of the house. We are clear on that, aren’t we?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Then I suppose I’ll let Percy know,” Nikoletta said.

“You won’t regret it,” Sugar said, knowing full well that if all went according to plan, this would be one decision that Nikoletta would regret for the rest of her life. She flashed one of her biggest smiles. “I’ll let you know when
Vogue
plans to run the column.”

 

Nikoletta Papadaki is beginning to piss me off,
the PI thought. Unbelievably, he hadn’t been able to get hold of her. Clients like her were usually chewing on their fingernails waiting for his calls and were in the habit of leaving messages for him at all hours of the night and day regardless of his instructions otherwise. But this woman had him stumped.

What the hell is she up to?
he wondered. She was young and beautiful and, he suspected, the type who might disappear briefly for a little bit of off-the-record self-indulgence.
Gone on a bender? Holed up screwing her brains out?
He had no idea, but it was highly unusual for a woman in her position to suddenly make herself unavailable, especially considering the circumstances.

He’d tried every number he had for her, starting with her most private cell number, but hadn’t reached her. He’d left messages everywhere, on voice mail and with various assistants—even a couple of butlers—without getting a response from her for days. But now his caller ID indicated that the elusive Ms. Papadaki was on the other end of the line, trying to get hold of him.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said, answering his cell on the third ring.

“I’ve been busy,” Nikoletta responded petulantly. “What have you got for me?”

“It’s not easy spying on the activity at this place. I’ll tell you that,” the PI responded.

“You’re not getting paid for ‘easy,’ ” Nikoletta said.

“I’m not complaining,” he huffed. “I’m just making an observation.”

“What’s the problem?”

“They have a live-in security man at this place twenty-four hours a day,” the PI said. “He’s all over the place. Patrols the grounds. Constantly checks the house and outbuildings. Very unusual, don’t you think?”

Why would Adrian have a security man at all?
Nikoletta wondered.
Much less 24-7?
“It
is
unusual,” she agreed.

“Anyway, this guy makes it difficult to nose around, if you know what I mean.”

Nikoletta expelled an impatient breath. “You’ve been leaving messages all over the place and ringing all my numbers off the hook, and that’s all you’ve got to report to me?”

The PI chortled. “Not exactly,” he replied. “The security guy can’t be watching out for the place when he’s screwing some dame.”

Nikoletta’s ears perked up.
This might be interesting,
she thought. “You’re sure about that?”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” he said. “But that’s not all.”

“What else?” Nikoletta asked.

“The dame he’s balling?” The PI paused dramatically.

“Yes?”

“She looks just like you.”

“What?” Nikoletta cried. “Are you kidding me?”

“No way. I’ve seen her up close and personal, you might say.” He chortled lewdly again. “And believe me, she could pass for you.”

Nikoletta began anxiously brushing hair away from her face, trying to get her mind around this piece of news.
A look-alike? What in the world is Adrian up to?
she thought. “Anything else?”

“That’s it for now,” he said.

Nikoletta suddenly wanted to hurry him off the phone because she had a lot to think about. “Good work,” she conceded. “Check back in with me, tomorrow at the latest, unless you’ve got something before then.”

“If I can get hold of you.”

Nikoletta ignored the barb. “You’ll be able to get me,” she said mildly, already lost in thought.

“Okay, but—” he began, but she’d already hung up.

Nikoletta sat with her chin in her hands, staring off into space for a long time. She could understand Adrian’s having a security man at his estate in the country. After all, he had a lot of valuable paintings and antiques in the house. Plus, she thought, some of the horses in the stables had set him back a big chunk of change. Anyway, lots of people in the country had live-in help who doubled as security. But this was different, she decided. This guy patrolled the grounds. He was constantly checking out the house and outbuildings, according to the PI.
And
he was making it with some chick who looked like her.

Nikoletta swiveled around in her chair restlessly.
What the hell is Adrian up to?
She idly picked a pencil up and began tapping it against the top of her desk.

There could be only one answer, she decided. This woman had been brought in to serve as an impostor. She tapped the pencil against her desk with more force.
That’s it. He’s found somebody that he can use to replace me.
She reached for the telephone.
I’m going to give the son of a bitch a call right now and confront him with what I know.
She picked up the receiver and started to press in his number, then abruptly replaced it in its cradle.

Her lips slowly formed a smile.
I can do better than that,
she thought.
I’ll plan a surprise of my own for Adrian.

“
B
asta!
” Angelo cursed. “No, no, no! Stop.” Generally a patient man, he was at his wit’s end. For days now he had been playing Professor Higgins to Ariadne’s Eliza Doolittle.
To no avail,
he thought.

Ariadne was no actress. As hard as she struggled to imitate Nikoletta’s movements and accent from watching the videos, she had thus far failed to deliver anything approaching the real thing.

“You have to
be
Nikoletta!” Angelo beseeched her. “Don’t you see? You must
think
like Nikoletta. You must truly step into her shoes and fill them. You must
become
her.”

Ariadne collapsed wearily on a sofa. “I’m trying,” she groaned, raking her hands through her hair. “It’s just . . . she and I are so different.”

“Remember, Ariadne. You own the world! It’s yours and anything in it that you want. That’s the key to Nikoletta. The way she thinks. There’s nothing that you can’t have. Nothing that you can’t do.”

Ariadne’s eyes brightened. She knew this about her sister, of course. She had seen that in the videos. But Angelo’s words concisely summed up the attitude.

“You can see it in her strut,” Angelo went on. “The way she carries herself.”

“I think I need a pair of stiletto-heeled shoes,” Ariadne half joked.

“You’re on to something there,” Angelo agreed eagerly. “And you will have them soon. Now, then. Up you go. Let me see you walk across the room, then turn and walk back toward me. When you reach me, give me an order as if I were your secretary.”

Ariadne pushed herself up off the sofa.
Here we go again,
she thought, wondering why she had ever agreed to such a proposition.

She did better this time, but from his pursed lips she could tell she still wasn’t close. “Let’s move on,” he said brusquely.

There were many more tasks as well: conquering her sister’s signature, which required endless practice so it would not only pass muster but seem effortless; learning her speech patterns and her difficult accent, which was a mixture of American English and British, with a touch of Swiss German and Greek.

“Don’t worry so much,” Angelo told her. “We can always pretend you’re suffering from a hoarse throat for a while. It won’t work for a long period of time, but it’ll help us out temporarily.”

One morning Angelo had arrived with flash cards. On them were photographs of Nikoletta’s household staff and her “five hundred closest friends,” as Angelo cynically called them, along with acquaintances, including identities, nicknames, and their relationships to Nikoletta. Ariadne must be able to recall all of this information in an instant. She also had to recognize business friends and foes, top company managers, heads of state and government employees, even hairdressers, manicurists, masseuses, pilots, copilots, and stewards—a few of whom served more than drinks and meals aboard the Papadaki fleet of corporate jets, Ariadne was appalled to learn. In short, everyone with whom Nikoletta dealt on a regular basis had a flash card.