School of Fortune (34 page)

I'll bet it did, you horny bastard.
“Kerry and signora just trashed the Duesenberg.” Pippa provided a few terse details. “Can you fetch them?” “I'd love to, but Moss is my primary responsibility.” “I understand.” Furious, Pippa hung up. “I'll be back in a bit, Rudi. Do not answer the phone.”

Like Pippa, Cole had gotten very little sleep the previous evening. First he had to chauffeur Moss, Leigh, and four Lurex salesmen to a number of revues on the Strip. At midnight, after shoving Leigh upstairs, Moss had asked to be driven to the Las Vegas Country Club, where he was meeting some guy named Harlan to discuss croquet lessons. They stayed there until the bar closed. After dropping Moss back at Casa Bowes, Cole proceeded to an all-night cybercafe because Moss wanted an immediate background check on Cosmo. Leigh had hired him in a rush and something about the guy just didn't add up.

Cole's investigation began with an old school chum, now a police chief in Texas. He learned that Cosmo's blue Maserati with LOTOPO plates was registered to a Vernon Pierce care of Sheldon Adelstein, the Dallas lawyer who had sent the mustache kit. That sounded a bit convoluted so Cole had his friend run the serial number through a number of insurance databases. He discovered that the car replaced a Maserati previously owned by Lance Henderson. The Cowboys quarterback? Was he the “previous employer” Chippa had gotten over a hump in exchange for that dazzling diamond necklace? Seething, Cole Googled “Lance Henderson.”

Eighty million links appeared. Few of them related to football. Cole was shocked to see a picture of Lance and . . . that woman . . . the bride ... he zoomed in . . . Chippa? She was ravishing! Blond. No glasses. Those diamonds circled her delicious neck. What a dress! Her name was Pippa Walker. Big oil family. Wedding of the century. Mesmerized, Cole read until four in the morning. He learned that Pippa had disappeared after jilting Lance at the altar. Grandfather shocked stiff. . . mother berserk . . . father AWOL . . . mother-in-law rabid . . . media circus . . . who could blame her for evaporating? Apparently she had dumped the quarterback for someone else: that was weird, considering how hard she had hit on Cole in Phoenix. Granted, it had been a brief, bizarre conversation at the Ritz-Carlton but he would swear that the ditzy blonde drinking rusty nails was unattached. On the other hand she had offered him ten grand to have it off with Marla. Were they some kind of gender-bending psychopaths? That was an unpleasant concept.

At breakfast Cole reported back to Moss. First and foremost, he said, Cosmo was totally on the level. The employment agency, the references, everything checked out. The boy looked bizarre but he got the job done. Moss should quit worrying about him.

Moss looked up from his soft-boiled egg. “I still say there's something off about the guy.”

“I'll stay on his tail, sir.”

Cole had been parked outside Fine Feather, Inc., when Pippa phoned with the Duesenberg problem. To his regret Cole couldn't assist: he'd be fired on the spot, and Moss was his priority. When Pippa hung up on him, he felt impaled. The ice in her voice wasn't just about the car. Sighing, he returned his attention to the conversation transmitting through his earbuds. Reception inside Fine Feather headquarters was loud and clear.

“Account 8020347-2,” he heard Moss say into the tiny microphone hidden in his lapel. “Bangkok General. You'll have it tonight.”

Cole entered the numbers in his BlackBerry. “Gotcha.”

When Cole and Moss finally returned to Casa Bowes, the Duesenberg was parked with its smashed fender facing the wall of the garage. The Maserati was gone along with Cosmo, Leigh, and Kerry. Rudi was in the kitchen whipping through piles of old cookbooks. He looked like a smallpox boil about to explode. “Rudi says the ladies went for a joyride,” Cole reported to Moss. “May it be a long one.”

While Moss settled into the Jacuzzi, Cole inspected the damage to the Duesenberg's fender. He drove the car to the body shop, then called Cosmo's cell. “Where are you?”

“Delivering invitations to the masquerade ball.”

That was the first Cole had heard of it. “Here?”

“A week from now. Four hundred guests.”

No wonder she sounded frazzled. “How can I help?”

“Fix the car.”

“Way ahead of you, Cosmo. I'm calling from the body shop. Tell me about the ball.”

“Not now. We have six more invitations to deliver. Under no circumstances ask Rudi to make dinner.” She hung up.

Cole got Thai food on his way back to Casa Bowes in a courtesy vehicle. He was serving Moss on the patio when the ladies finally returned. “Do you two have something against postage stamps?” Moss asked.

Leigh dug into a carton of pad Thai. “You obviously know nothing about style.”

“Nor do you, or you would have taken the Duesenberg instead of that wopmobile.”

“My Maserati gets excellent mileage,” Pippa objected. “We're on a strict budget, if you recall.” Mere mention of the word “budget” tied her stomach in knots: extra sous chefs, the refrigerated truck, bonuses for Kerry and Rudi, not to mention whelks and periwinkles, had already shot everything
thirty-four grand
overboard, and that was just day one. “Have a pleasant evening,” she said, leaving. “Be careful of the new windows, signora.”

Cole caught up with Pippa as she was knocking, to no effect, on Kerry's door. “Where'd she go? She was supposed to start polishing silver after driving the car back this afternoon.”

“Maybe she ran away. It's not an insignificant repair.”

He stood only inches away. Overcoming a violent urge to close the gap, Pippa took a step backward. “When will it be fixed?”

“I'll pick it up at six tomorrow morning. Moss won't see a thing. Don't worry about the bill. I'm in charge of a small discretionary fund.”

She went into her room and shut the door. Cole put his nose to the wood. “Cosmo? Did I say something wrong?”

“I'm just tired,” came her weary voice. “Please leave me alone.”

Cole went to the kitchen. Nearly beside himself, Rudi was still ripping pages out of cookbooks. He didn't even notice Cole putting together a supper tray. Outside on the patio, Leigh and Moss were mired in another fracas. She hadn't located Titian at any obedience school and Moss wasn't about to reveal the dog's location until his ribs healed. “You hired a hit man, you bastard!” she cried. “You never liked him!”

“Why pay someone to wipe out a dog when I could just drown it?” Not the best reply.

Cole smiled: Casa Bowes was paradise. He knocked on Pippa's door. “I brought supper, Cosmo.” He waited. “Come on, be a sport.” He had to chew on his fists not to break down the door. “Are you sure you're not mad at me?”

“No. I mean yes.” Nevertheless she opened the door. “Come in.”

“Sorry I couldn't help this afternoon,” he said, sitting on the corner of her bed. “Moss has been running me ragged lately. I was up until five doing a security check for him.”

Pippa slowly blinked: so he hadn't been with a woman. Ten tons of mud lifted from her psyche. “I'm sorry I was so short with you.”

“You have a lot on your mind. Here. Eat.” He handed her a plate of roasted peppers. “Smell that garlic. Yum yum.” When she only wrinkled her nose, he offered her a crock of pickles. “My favorite food group.”

“So I notice.” She took the Waldorf salad instead. “May I ask you a personal question?” “Shoot.”

“What are you doing here?” “In your room?” That was obvious, wasn't it? “No, here at Casa Bowes. You seem overqualified to be a chauffeur.”

He didn't answer at once. “The pay's good and the work's easy. Plus I like Vegas.”

“You seem the sort of man who prefers a more challenging job.”

“Believe me, this one's a challenge.” Especially now that you've arrived. “Why are
you
here? You're obviously not a run-of-the-mill majordomo.”

Pippa blushed. Her fingers flew to her lip, checking that the mustache was still on. “I know my uniform is strange.”

“I love the uniform. I was referring to you. Personally.”

After a brief internal debate, she decided not to add more lies to the pile between them. “Can you keep a secret? I'm interning. In a week, if all goes well, I'll get a diploma from the Mountbatten-Savoy School of Household Management.”

“Congratulations. Then what?”

I can start repairing the damage I've done.
“I can raise my rates.” That seemed to amuse him. “You think I'm kidding?” “Sorry, Cosmo, I didn't realize you were that hard up.” “What about you? Do you plan to stay here?” “Maybe.”

The silences were becoming long and dangerous.
Get the damn diploma, Cosmo.
Pippa slid off the bed. “Do you mind if I take a bath? It's been a long day.”

“Go right ahead.” As he lay in bed listening to the water swishing on the other side of the wall, imagining her without clothes and especially without a mustache, Cole composed the huge thank-you note he was going to send Lance Henderson someday.

The next day, as Leigh fretted about her missing dog, Pippa engaged forty waiters with harlequin costumes. She got a deal on flowers from the very people Thayne had used for her nonnuptials. However, every gondola and festive tent in Nevada was spoken for. In the middle of another erotic dream involving Cole and a bearskin rug, Pippa had a brainstorm. First thing in the morning she called a number she had sworn never to call again.

“Henderson residence,” a familiar voice answered on the first ring. “This is Harry.”

Pippa affected a French accent. “Alio. I am Cosmo du Piche, majordomo at Casa Bowes in Las Vegas. In ze near future we will bee having a party for four hundred guests. It has come to my attention zat you have recently purchased four tents representing ze four seasons plus bandstands, two gondolas, clouds, bocce equipment, fountains, and cages of birds. I would like to rent zem from you.”

Harry was too stunned to reply. Following the wedding debacle, he had stashed all that junk at a remote ranch, where it would stay until Lance's little sister got married off.

“Five zouzand dollars.” Pippa waited a moment. “I do not see zat you need to inform anyone about zis private matter between majordo-mos. I am happy to send cash vizzin ze hour.”

“Could you make it seven, Monsieur du Piche? I'd like to retire soon.”

Pippa was tempted to pay the long-suffering man ten. As they settled the details, she heard Cole singing in the shower. He was sweet to have brought supper last night. And he was sweet to be picking up the Duesenberg this morning. He was trying very hard to be kind to her. Him. Whatever. Pippa shut her eyes as the water stopped gushing. She imagined Cole walking to the sink. Picking up his gold razor. Those long legs . . . that butt. . .

Get the damn diploma, Cosmo.

Pippa was surprised to see Kerry stumble into the office at nine o'clock. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” “Off. It's in my contract.”

“I paid you two thousand bucks to stick around 24/7.” “Well, here I am.”

Fresh from her soft shoe lesson, Leigh came in. No sparkly eyeshadow. Another new Armani pantsuit. “You look beautiful, Signora Bowes.”

“I'm learning, Cosmo.”

The doorbell rang. A case of Pol Roger arrived with a note for Leigh: “Thinking of you. Love, Bekka.” “Word's gotten out,” Pippa said. “Every social X-ray in Vegas is going to be chewing her fingernails hoping you'll drop by today.” The bell rang again. “Maybe I should just leave the front door open.”

Leigh's cell phone rang. “Hello, dear!” She listened at length. “Absolutely no problem, Dusi. Right away.” She handed the phone to Pippa.

“What now, Madam Damon?” Pippa asked, barely masking her irritation.

“I just wanted to say hello from Normandy,” Dusi burbled.

“Hello. Now goodbye.” Pippa hung up. “What did she want?”

“She forgot to pack her false eyelashes. I said I'd pick them up at Castilio Damonia and bring them to the airport. Her jet will take them to France in time for a photo session with the new suit of armor.”

“Come on! Why can't Horatio bring them to the airport?” Kerry demanded.

“He's with Dusi.”

“They don't sell false eyelashes in France?”

“Kerry, once you get a pair that fits, you stick with them.”

“You're far too understanding, Signora Bowes. This little favor is going to put you hours behind schedule.” Dusi knew that, of course. “Please be more careful with the car today, Kerry.”

“Would you like to drive, Mo?”

Pippa signed for a delivery of four dozen roses. “Leigh—just celebrating YOU. Love, Nicoline.” “I'll be here if you need me.”

For the remaining daylight hours Pippa attended to an avalanche of details. The doorbell never stopped ringing. Rudi kept savaging cookbooks. Dusi called twice, to request that jugged hare be added to the menu, then to dictate the opening lines of her Frequent Bentley Society ceremony. Cole called once, asking if Pippa needed anything. Leigh and Kerry returned from their postal deliveries after midnight and went directly to bed. Despite her exhaustion, Pippa dozed but couldn't sleep: Cole hadn't brought a midnight-snack tray to her room. Around two o'clock she went to the kitchen to put together a tray of milk and cookies. Maybe he was waiting for her to bring food to
his
room for a change.

Rudi looked up from a mountain of whelk recipes. “Vere you go vit all ziss food?”

“Cole and I are hungry.”

“He iss not home. He visits a voman.”

“Cole has a girlfriend?” Pippa choked. “Are you sure?”

“Ja,
I ask him vere he goes tonight. ‘My boss lady,' he tells me. Big secret.”

“Thanks for keeping your mouth shut,” Pippa muttered. She went to his room and knocked. “Cole?” Silence.