Page 44 of The Stolen Queen

Charlotte’s mind raced as she strapped on her high heels.

Tomorrow, she’d meet with Tenny to discuss next steps. She had to find out how Leon escaped from the sinking boat. Tenny said he had an associate in Egypt who could possibly help. The provenance of the loaned broad collar was her way into the truth of what happened that night, she was certain. The stories were linked, and she had to know more.

Out in the foyer, Mark held Charlotte’s cashmere coat over his arm. “Who was that?”

“Someone from work. A technician needing advice on moving something.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s all hands on deck for Tut the golden boy.”

She hated to lie, but she needed time to process what Tenny had told her. That Leon was still alive, had survived the shipwreck, and was now a guide at Luxor. There were two tiers of guides at the Valley of the Kings: those who were affiliated with well-established companies and made a steady income and those who hovered around the entrance, offering their dubious services to unsuspecting tourists. According to Tenny, Leon was one of the latter, no longer able to work as an archaeologist after being caught selling antiquities on the black market.

He must be in his mid-sixties, she figured. What had happened to him between that night on the ship and now? And if hehadsurvived, what about Henry?

What about—

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Mark. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

As he slipped the coat over her shoulders, a wail rose from Charlotte’s office. Lori stomped out not long after, holding some typed pages in her hand. “I need help.”

“What is it?” asked Mark.

“I can’t remember any of the lines for my audition, it’s like they just fly out of my head.” She looked like she was about to cry.

Earlier that day, Lori’s new agent had called to say that she’d finagled her an audition for one of the popular soap operas. Charlotte had made a point of bringing home cupcakes to celebrate, but Lori had refused to take one, saying she had to watch her weight from now on.

“Can we work on it tomorrow morning, before I teach class?” offered Mark.

“The audition is at eleven in the morning. I won’t be able to learn it that fast. Please, it’s my big chance.”

Never mind the fact that Charlotte and Mark were dressed to the nines, obviously about to go out. Mark looked over at Charlotte. She knew that expression; it meant that he was going to ask her something he knew she wouldn’t like.

She gave a subtle shake of her head. It was bad enough having to watch as the partygoers oohed and aahed over a bunch of clothes, but she was also required to sit at Frederick’s table and help woo the big donors, a talent she’d never quite mastered. She tended to get overwhelmed by the noise and the crowds, shrinking into herself as Frederick regaled and dazzled. Mark somehow always managed to make a personal connection with whoever was seated next to him and then wrangle Charlotte into the conversation with an easy grace.

He nodded and turned back to Lori. “You’ll figure it out, sweetheart. I’ll work with you when I’m back.”

“No! You’ve always said that you only have one chance to make a good first impression. If I take a nosedive on this audition, word will get around that I suck and I’ll never get another chance again.”

The drama of the young, thought Charlotte. Yet not all of them. Annie Jenkins didn’t seem to have any diva-like tendencies. She was innocent and doe-eyed, but possessed a seriousness that came from having been knocked down a few times. Although it really wasn’t fair to compare.

She checked her watch and looked over at Mark. “We should go.”

At which point Lori burst into tears. Mark held out his arms and pulled his daughter to him, giving Charlotte that same look.

He didn’t want to go. Which meant the table would have an empty seat, which would upset Frederick to no end. She rarely askedMark to work events, only the big openings and the Met Gala, while she went to dress rehearsals, previews, and opening nights for every show he worked on, not to mention those of his Columbia students.

“You might as well stay,” she said curtly, buttoning up her coat. If things went south during the audition, no doubt she’d get the blame, which would make home life even more difficult than it already was.

There was no point in pressing Mark further. Tonight, she was on her own.

Chapter Fourteen

Charlotte

New York City, 1938