Ivy Secrets (7 page)

Marina shook her head. “I have a cosmetics business to run, Father. We are coming into our first Christmas season. If we do not make it now, there will not be enough money to keep the plant operating.”

“I know how important that business is to you.”

“Do you, Father? Do you really?” Did he know that,
like the pink plastic penis, Marina had counted on the business to offer a distraction from her loneliness, from her dangerous attempts at love? Had he guessed that, at some point over these past months, her values had shifted, that she had grown to really care about her people?

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and ran a hand through her thick, short-cropped hair. “The two hundred people we employ would be on the streets if it were not for Princess Cosmetics,” she said. “I owe it to them to see this through.
We
owe it to their families.”

“Perhaps Jorge can take over for a while. You can communicate by phone.”

“That is not possible. Jorge is busy investigating the addition of a fragrance line to our products. Besides, the workers look to me for answers. In their eyes, I am the princess. They see Jorge, even though he is my partner, as merely one of them.”

“You see? Power is alluring even to the poor.”

Marina turned and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” the king called after her.

“I am going to the factory,” she said. “If Viktor wants me so badly, he can damn well come there and get me.”

    She looked out the glass window of her office, down onto the factory floor below. It had taken Marina two years to build this into a viable business. This Christmas, they would introduce their first full line, and with it, they would make a statement: The name Princess Cosmetics would become world renowned for its quality, superiority, and its legacy. Hopefully, a fragrance line would soon follow. Marina’s people would be assured of employment, and the tiny, economically depressed principality of Novokia would prosper once more. Then, if need be, they would have the financial strength, as well as the loyalty of the people, to fend off Viktor Coe.

Now, with this rumbling threat, the importance of their success had escalated another notch. The meeting she had called for this morning would define the company’s new priorities: Production must be stepped up; they must be ready to ship within six weeks, or they would be out of business. And marketing must be warned: Increase advance sales now
or get out. Viktor Coe was not going to take away everything she had worked so hard for. He was not going to take it away from her people, and he was not going to take it away from her. The son of a bitch was not going to screw Marina again.

She watched the huge vats roll and turn with the resins; she studied the intensity of the hair-netted workers, knowing full well that she depended on their positive energy and their unfailing enthusiasm to keep herself going. Optimism, she thought, is infectious. Through their optimism, Marina had keyed into their pride: they needed work so desperately, they cared about what they were doing, they cared about the company. In turn, Marina had grown to care about them. It was a feeling she hadn’t quite adjusted to yet.

She heard her office door open but she did not turn around.

“Watching over the flock?” came the unaccented, Americanized voice of her sister, Alexis DuValle. Although Alexis had visited the States only a few times, she’d made a point of affecting the language. She thought it sounded more sophisticated.

“My workers do not need watching over,” Marina answered without enthusiasm, for she’d long ago realized that it was the most effective way of dealing with Alexis and her perpetual sarcasm. “What brings you to the lower side of town?” Marina slowly turned and faced her sister.

Alexis, as usual, was impeccably dressed—this morning in a daffodil-yellow sheath. She wore the pearl choker with the huge, emerald-cut, canary diamond clasp at her throat. The value of the necklace, Marina knew, equaled the annual wages of at least a dozen of her workers. Marina knew, because Marina had an identical one. Their father had given them the matching necklaces when they turned twenty-one. Marina now kept hers in the vault at the palace and wore it only at official dinners or formal functions—certainly not in the middle of the morning in the middle of the week, and certainly not in front of the workers. She was no longer interested in flaunting her birthright. Her lessons had been learned, and each day as she watched her hard-working employees, Marina was reminded that if she had been born to anyone else, she’d be out on the factory floor herself, grateful to have a decent-paying job.

Alexis, however, remained in the royal wings, using her title to buy the respect she hadn’t earned, and most likely hoping that Marina would slide back into her jet-setting life, so she could look at their father and say with a smirk, “I told you so. I told you I’m better than she is.” There were times when it was easy to forget that her sister’s behavior was rooted in insecurity, just as there were times when it was difficult to believe that Marina and Alexis were not only sisters, but twins. This was one of those times.

“The king has decided that Jonathan and I should bring the boys and move into the palace,” Alexis said. Marina winced, hating the way Alexis referred to their father as “the king,” as though he were high-and-mighty, as though he were better, even, than his own daughters. “There’s trouble with that slimeball Viktor Coe apparently.”

“I know.”

Alexis clicked her long fingernails together and examined an acrylic tip. “I suppose moving into the palace is sensible. After all, it’s time my boys got the feel of living there.”

The comment, Marina knew, was intended to intimidate her, to remind her that because she had not produced an heir to the throne, Alexis’s children would be next in line.

“Well, dear sister, what time shall we expect you home? We would not want you scouring the streets with danger nipping at your boot heels.”

Marina wanted to comment that at least her “boot heels” could outrun Alexis’s spike heels, but decided to let it go.

“I will be working late,” she replied. She stared at her blond-haired, fair-skinned sister, a replica of their mother in every aspect but sweetness. She wondered what Alexis’s agenda really was today. “Why did you come down here, Alexis? If you were only concerned with my safety, you could have called.”

Alexis waved a long-fingernailed finger at her sister and pouted like a little girl caught telling a fib. “Well, big sister, you’ve found me out.”

Marina drew in a tight breath and wondered why she had been cursed with such an ass of a sister.

“Actually I have run out of that yummy moisturizer you let me try. If the king insists on cooping us up in that palace until this Viktor Coe crisis has passed, I might as well use the
time to improve my skin. I hate to admit it but it’s pretty good stuff. Your workers are to be commended,” she said with a toss of her head.

“I am sure they will be honored to have your approval. Is there anything else, Alexis?” Marina was sure that Alexis had come here neither to ask her plans nor to acquire more moisturizer. “I am about to go into a meeting.”

“No. I’ll pick up a jar from Yvonne at the desk.” She started toward the door then stopped and turned. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

Marina waited.

“You had a call this morning. From the States.”

The States? Marina frowned. Anything important would have come directly to the plant.

“It was one of your Smith buddies.”

A lump clutched Marina’s throat. “Charlie?”

Alexis pretended to think a moment. Then she shook her head. “No, no, that wasn’t the name.”

“Tess?” she asked quickly. “Was it Tess?”

“Tess? Oh, God, I remember Tess. She was that short, plump one with …”

Marina stepped forward. “Was it Tess?”

“Hmm, Tess. No.” She opened her eyes wider as though she’d suddenly remembered. “Nadine said it sounded like an older woman. Her name was Dell. Dell something, I cannot remember.”

Dell? Dell Brooks?
A knot twisted in Marina’s stomach. “Was it Dell Brooks?” she asked slowly, in a voice that suddenly sounded shaky.

“Yes. I believe that was the name. Nadine wrote down the number.”

“Did you bring it?”

Her sister smiled. “No, I didn’t think of it until I saw you.”

Marina wished she could believe her.

“Well, you will get the message when you return to the palace.” Alexis headed for the door, then looked back. “Oh, something else. Apparently, the woman said it was urgent.”

The temperature in the office seemed to plummet. “Why didn’t you have Nadine tell her to call me here?”

Alexis shrugged. “I know how busy you are. I know you hate being interrupted.”

Just then, Jorge poked his head in the doorway. “Marina?” he asked. “We’re ready for you in the conference room.”

“You see?” Alexis smiled. “You are too busy.” She gave a light wave, then disappeared down the hall.

    Marina stared at the doorway where Alexis had been.
Dell Brooks?
Why was Dell Brooks trying to reach her?

“Marina?” Jorge asked. “Is everything all right?”

Marina blinked, then looked at Jorge. “Yes, yes. Everything’s fine.” She had to get in touch with Dell. She had to know what was going on. “Start the meeting without me. I need to make a call.”

Jorge held up his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m not starting anything. Not until you tell me what this is all about.”

She hesitated a moment. She would have liked to share her concerns with Jorge. He seemed to understand her so well, without judgment, without pressure. But she reminded herself, their relationship was business, strictly business. He had made that quite clear when they first met.

“My phone call,” she said, “does not concern you.”

His green eyes cooled. “If it involves Princess Cosmetics it does.”

“Well, it does not. I do have a life beyond this factory, you know.”

Jorge turned back toward the door. “No,” he said simply. “I didn’t know.”

Marina cringed at his frank manner, and at his ability to tap into those parts of her that she chose to ignore.

He stopped and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “What about the new production schedule? I thought you were hot to present it.”

“It can wait,” Marina said hurriedly. No matter how much pressure was on Princess Cosmetics, trying to reach Dell Brooks had become her priority. She had to know what Dell wanted, and she had to know now.

Jorge nodded and left her office. Marina dismissed his parting stare, then slowly moved across the room and closed the door. She returned to her desk and felt every muscle in her body tighten, every nerve ending sharpen, every pulse point quicken.

She put in a call to the palace. Vanessa, the switchboard operator, answered. She reported that Nadine was out doing errands. Marina twisted in her chair. “She took a call for me today from the States,” she said. “Get me the message. I need the phone number.”

“I’ll try to track it down,” Vanessa said.

While Marina waited, she thought about Dell, the woman she hadn’t seen—or heard from—in years. Why was she calling now? Had something happened to Tess? Marina assumed that Tess still lived in Northampton, though she hadn’t heard from her since Marina’s last divorce. Their conversation hadn’t been pleasant.

“I am going to do something worthwhile,” she’d said to Tess. “I am going to start a business for my people.”

Tess had chuckled.

“I am serious,” Marina had said.

“The last picture I saw of you in the
Insider
hardly resembled a serious businesswoman,” Tess had replied through her laughter. She was referring, Marina knew, to the topless photo of Marina dancing on the sands of a Caribbean beach, a margarita in hand, the arms of another woman’s husband wrapped indiscreetly around her. “Not to mention that working for a living is hard,” Tess said, then added, “You always hated the thought of it.”

Marina once again felt the same shiver crawl through her that she’d felt then. She hated that Tess—and Charlie—knew her true self. But she was different now. She had changed.

Hadn’t she?

And now Dell was trying to find Marina. It must have something to do with Tess. Maybe she was dead. Maybe this time she’d succeeded in performing the ultimate act in self-pity. Maybe work had become too hard for
her.

Or maybe there was another reason Dell had called. Marina closed her eyes and tried not to think about it.

“I can’t find the message,” the voice of Vanessa said.

“Damn,” Marina said aloud. She opened her eyes and checked her watch. Too much time was passing. She had to get to that meeting or she’d have Jorge to answer to: Jorge, a failed business, and a faltering country. Not to mention a sister who would savor her downfall. “When will Nadine return?”

“She’ll be out most of the day.”

Marina rung off and stared out the window into the factory below, at the tops of hair-netted heads that busily moved about.

Maybe Dell still owned the bookstore. Maybe she should try to call there. She reached the international operator, and got two numbers: The Old Book Shoppe and Dell’s home. Because of the seven-hour time difference between Northampton and Novokia, Marina had the operator try the house.

The phone rang. Marina could tell by the emptiness of the ring, and the chill in her bones, that no one would answer.

“I’m sorry, there’s no response,” the operator said. “Would you like to try later?”

Marina hung up the phone. The hell with Dell Brooks. If she wanted Marina badly enough, she’d call back. For now, Marina had a meeting to attend, a business to run, and asses to kick into shape. There was nothing she could do about whatever was wrong in the States.

But as she raced down the hall toward the conference room, another thought flashed into her mind: maybe the call from Dell Brooks had something to do with Viktor Coe.

    It was after two when Marina turned the handle of the door to her palace bedroom. The palace was dark and quiet: Her father’s study was empty; Alexis and her family must be safely tucked in for the night. Viktor Coe had apparently not yet made his move.