Chapter Thirty-One: Hot Stuff
"Daphne Dumont! How lovely to see you again." Mary Tudor smiled in spite of her headache, forgetting her hangover as the famous French scientist strolled into the crowded lobby of the luxurious tropical resort. The two women kissed as cameras greedily snapped away, capturing the glamorous image. Curious gawkers and wealthy tourists who yearned to compete with the professionals held cell phones high above their heads.
"Yes, it is lovely to see you as well." Daphne Dumont pulled back from the kiss, but her hands rested on Mary's arms for a moment as she studied the pale English royal. Daphne's dark-brown eyes missed nothing, taking in both the bright smile on Mary's face and the faint blue shadows of fatigue beneath her rather puffy eyes. She also noted the slim, stylish blonde who hovered behind Mary like a shadow. "If we could speak alone for a few minutes?"
"I'll order fruit juice and croissants for the two of you." Sally Weeks was crisp and completely professional, but when she looked at the Frenchwoman her crystal blue eyes were noticeably chilly. Sally didn't like competition. Her slim hands lingered almost possessively on Mary's shoulders as she helped the Tudor princess find a seat in a secluded conference room nearby.
"Such a lovely girl," Daphne Dumont remarked, as she was buttering a steaming hot flaky croissant. "A friend of yours, Mary?"
"Sally is my personal assistant," Mary replied, the blood rushing to her cheeks. The stuffy conference room suddenly felt very warm. "We're here to help all we can in the fight against climate change."
"Yes, of course. The press has called you the most environmentally conscious member of the royal family. You are so very brave, Mary. You are respected and admired by young people all over the world. That is why I need your help!"
"Daphne, you are a great scientist. You've changed the world with your underwater videos. I'll gladly give you anything you desire!"
Mary and Daphne were totally committed to saving the environment. The two women leaned towards each other, their heads bent so close they were almost touching. Their hands were on the table, their fingers lightly touching while they talked. Nobody from the press was able to capture any of these images. But Sally Weeks saw the whole thing. And she was not happy.
"That French woman thinks she's hot stuff," Mary's assistant muttered to herself, stepping into the hallway so she could make a phone call without being seen. "I'll show her who's hot stuff!"
And meanwhile, at a posh day spa somewhere in London . . .
The queen was not amused. Jane's cell phone woke her from a sound sleep after a strenuous workout at the spa. But by the time the sleepy royal stepmother had rolled over, groped around, and put the cell phone to her ear the call had rolled over to voicemail. All she got was a garbled message about Mary or somebody going "out of control" and "getting in with the wrong crowd."
Jane sat up on the overstuffed cushions of the massage table, frowning as she dressed herself in the cool semi-darkness of the luxurious London spa. Mary wasn't the type to get into trouble. She rarely drank and never chased after good-looking boys. Even at boring and stuffy family dinners her nose was usually in a book.
Somewhere nearby a woman gave out a long, satisfied groan, moaning with pleasure as a male masseur worked her over from head to toe. The spa was secluded, but the walls were very thin. Jane chuckled ruefully as she stepped into her stiletto heels. Her own weekly massage had become rather an expensive habit. But it was worth it. Marco, her masseur, really knew how to make a woman relax. Jane needed that. Only now she was running late!
"Ah, there you are!" King Henry had already started on lunch when Jane came rushing into the great banquet hall at Windsor. "My love, allow me to introduce Mr. John Travis Monroe of Texas."
"Ma'am." The tall Texan stood up at once, his white teeth flashing and his dark blue eyes glittering as he drank in the thoroughly flustered and sleep-tousled young queen from head to toe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Monroe." Jane held out her hand, assuming the American would want to give it a firm, hearty shake.
"I'm just a simple oil driller, ma'am. My friends call me J.T." Jane had to smile. Tall, broad-shouldered J.T. Monroe looked as though he stepped right out of the Old West. He was probably as fast with a six-shooter as a smile. But no sooner had he told her he was just a simple oil man than he bent to kiss her hand, displaying the polished manners of a gentleman. Jane flushed like a schoolgirl, feeling just a tiny bit weak in the knees.
"J.T. wants to drill for offshore oil in the Caribbean," the King of England explained. Henry was eating steak and talking with his mouth full, more interested in filling his belly than anything else. He didn't notice Jane's blush or the Texan's smile. He totally missed the spark of attraction between the oil man and his wife.
"Mary is in the Caribbean!" Jane smoothed her skirts and sat down at the table, grateful that lunch had already been served. Toying with her tiny salad fork gave her something to do. "Actually, Henry, I'm a bit worried about your daughter. You see, I've just gotten a message, a voice mail really, and it said . . ."
"Right, the two of you can stop off and see her," Henry declared. "There's an awful lot of money in offshore drilling. The British crown needs money, Jane. Right now we need it very badly. Only we've got to silence those damned climate change people first!"
"Silence them?" Jane didn't know how Mary would feel about that. But maybe the best thing would be to fly down and see her right away. It seemed J.T. Monroe had his own private jet. Jane asked him to tell her about it while they ate, and he was happy to oblige. The Texan had loads of money, and a very big ego.
He really thought he was hot stuff!