This got Denis’ attention. “Why? What happened?”
Sydney’s smile became smirky. “Apparently she posted pictures of Aston’s body on her Kidspace page. Angela, that’s the new babysitter, caught her in the computer room. She told me. I don’t know what she thought I would do about it. I’m not the child’s mother, as she so often reminds me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Denis said. “What am I going to do with her?”
“Boarding school,” Sydney suggested.
“I think he meant that rhetorically,” I said.
“Holly, do you need a ride back?” Sydney offered. “Our jet’s at the airport.”
“She can’t leave,” Denis said. He turned to me. “I have to take care of Annie. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, mustering my special brave face. Just abandon me for your daughter, I thought. But, of course, I couldn’t say that without sounding cold and selfish like Sydney, which I suppose I was because that’s how I felt.
Sydney flashed a triumphant smile my way.
“Annie needs you. It’s all right,” I said. “But first, hear me out. I did come on board to convince you to make a donation to the museum. It was business. You, who agreed to marry Sydney to create a real estate empire, should be the first person to understand that. I never planned to fall in love with you.”
“Yes,” he whispered, “but at least Sydney was honest about why she was with me.”
“I didn’t lie to you about how I felt. Everything that happened between us was real,” I implored.
Denis shook his head in confusion. He reached in his wallet and pulled out a wad of euros. “Here’s some cash in case you run short. The hotel is yours until the ship docks on Sunday. I’ll have my people make the arrangements, okay?”
“Sure, why not,” I said, waving him away. “You guys go on to the airport. I’ll stay and have another drink.” Maybe dance by myself, I thought glumly.
“Ciao, ciao,” Sydney said, grabbing her pink weights, heading off with Denis and her two henchwomen, Tanya and Sammie. As I watched them disappear, I knew Denis was lost to me. He was a good son who honored his family duty. That’s why he chose fancy Harvard over blue-collar baseball. When it came to a marriage, no matter how well he had treated me, he would choose the heiress over the nobody.
Love and Marriage
WHEN I OPENED MY eyes the next morning, my hand reached over to the other side of the bed. The sheets were tucked in perfectly and they were cold. Then I remembered the tragic ending to my affair—Denis had gone back with Sydney and the Satan Twins. I sighed. It was the story of my life. I rolled over, pulled the covers over my head, and wept until I’d left a fat black mascara stain on the crisp white linen. Wasn’t it Coco Chanel who said that great love must be endured? Yes, I believe it was.
Well, I wasn’t going to feel sorry for myself, I decided. I was getting the Hepburn gown repaired and then delivering it to the Istituto in time for the exhibit. So Tanya fired me. There are other fashion museums out there that would be lucky to have me.
Hmmm, I thought, maybe I could convince Lucille to make a million-dollar donation to the Metropolitan Museum’s Fashion Institute as a sort of consolation prize since I didn’t come between Denis and the marriage she so desperately wanted for him. Carleen could write a big check too. She was trying to spend all her money. What better way than to help me? I could show up at the Met with two huge donations that are theirs if they make me curator. My gloom started to lift. I could still end up with a good job and a way to take care of Pops, I told myself.
I noticed my message light on the other side of the bed blinking. Was it Denis? It had to be. He was the only person who knew where I was. Oh, happy day. He does care! I leaped over to the phone. But no, it wasn’t Denis. It was one of his people, a Miss McCardle, calling to say that there would be a car and driver at my disposal until Sunday when the ship docked in Rome. She assured me I could charge all my expenses to the room, including clothes, which Denis told her I would need. I sighed. It’s good to have people.
After breakfast, I called the Prada boutique and arranged for a saleswoman to bring me several choices. I might as well enjoy the perks of the rich, since I was unlikely to experience them again. After choosing a new skirt, top, shoes, and some clean Prada underwear (yes, Prada makes underwear and it’s small!). I was ready to take on the world, or at least Magda to get the Roman Holiday gown back. The car and driver were waiting for me outside the hotel. I thought it best to attend the wedding just to protect my interest in the dress.
On my way out, I stopped at the front desk. “Has Nigel Calderwood arrived?”
The desk clerk checked his computer. “Not yet, but we are expecting him.”
“When he gets here, will you tell him not to leave the hotel, but to wait for me in my suite?” We would need every minute to repair that gown.
THE FUNERAL HOME WAS teeming with mourners wearing various outfits in every imaginable shade of black. I snuck a peek in the chapel and saw an open casket with a shrunken old lady fast asleep—er, dead—inside.
“Where is Magda?” I asked Mario’s father, who was escorting the bereaved to their seats.
“Ah, she is in the embalming room,” he said. “But she is not in a good way. Mario is trying calm her.”
I went looking for Magda, praying she wouldn’t get embalming fluid on Audrey’s dress. That stuff had better be
