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Authors: Kitty Pilgrim
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being above reproach in major international circles. Consequently the real estate was more desirable than it had ever been. Monaco was now seen as a glittering backdrop for corporations and new entrepreneurs, as well as for its more traditional reputation as a playground for the fabulously wealthy, famous, and beautiful.
Nevertheless, Sinclair would hazard there were still crooks, money launderers, and oligarchs mixed in with the superrich in this sunny tax haven. People like that were always drawn to extreme wealth, like flies to a picnic, and they continued to be a scourge, from Dubai to Dubrovnik. Monaco was no exception.
Sinclair draped his jacket over the wall, and something clanked against the stone. He picked up the jacket again and felt in his side pocket. A lady’s purse. He looked down at it in his hand, a small jeweled oval. How did that get there? He searched his fuzzy mind for an explanation. The last drink didn’t help him much. Then it struck him. He had taken it from Cordelia Stapleton as they had posed for photos. He had a quick flashback of offering to hold it for her. She had fled the stage soon after. The bag was small enough not to notice for the rest of the evening. He held it in his hand as he leaned on the wall and considered what to do. He would return it tomorrow. Charles would know where she was staying.
Pretty girl. He had a mental picture of her walking up to the podium in the spotlight. Why did she leave so fast? He didn’t see her after giving her the award. Why did she leave without saying good-bye?
The Udachny caught his attention again. The oval windows of the Benetti looked sinister, like eyes watching the night. Very flashy, that Jacuzzi on deck, and a bar on the sundeck, a thirty-six-foot Hinckley speedboat, two Yamaha Jet Skis, a trampoline, two kayaks, and a fourteen-foot Novurania tender. A bloom of satellite gear, three domes, sat on theupper structure. Not too many people on board from the look of it, just the light on in the master cabin. Sinclair picked up his jacket and headed back to his hotel.
Cordelia slipped off her shoes as soon as she stepped inside the hotel room and closed the door. The room was neat, cool, silent, the air conditioner whirring. Had it been only a few hours since she had left for the gala? It felt like her entire life had changed, not in a dramatic way but in an organic shift—the way the introduction of a nonindigenous species into a natural setting will ultimately alter every living organism in that environment.
She laughed at herself. That was a bit complicated for this time of night. She stepped out onto the hotel balcony. The cool tile floor was soothing to her bare feet. They absolutely ached from the unaccustomed high heels.
The view was stunning. A couple of hundred meters away, in Monte Carlo’s avant-port, she could see the Queen Victoria . The dark gray hull was easily recognizable, as was the black-and-red smokestack. Cordelia admired the lines. It was much more elegant than the white cardboard-box cruise ships. The berth was a semifloating mole attached to the shore on the southern end. The northern end was held in place with eight very large anchor chains, probably about sixty meters deep to the bottom.
She would board the day after tomorrow. Cordelia stepped back off the balcony into the cool stillness of the hotel room. Her laptop was open on the writing desk. She pulled up the chair and started a new message.
Susan. I’m here in Monaco. Do me a quick favor. Send me anything you can find on John Sinclair—Chairman Herodotus Foundation. Thanks a million. Delia.
There was an unopened e-mail in her in-box. She clicked on it.
Dear Ms. Stapleton,
We are writing to you to inquire about a possible sale of land rights in Svalbard that have passed into your ownership as a result of your recent inheritance. We would like to know if you would consider selling or donating this land to our nonprofit organization, Bio-Diversity Trust,
Nevertheless, Sinclair would hazard there were still crooks, money launderers, and oligarchs mixed in with the superrich in this sunny tax haven. People like that were always drawn to extreme wealth, like flies to a picnic, and they continued to be a scourge, from Dubai to Dubrovnik. Monaco was no exception.
Sinclair draped his jacket over the wall, and something clanked against the stone. He picked up the jacket again and felt in his side pocket. A lady’s purse. He looked down at it in his hand, a small jeweled oval. How did that get there? He searched his fuzzy mind for an explanation. The last drink didn’t help him much. Then it struck him. He had taken it from Cordelia Stapleton as they had posed for photos. He had a quick flashback of offering to hold it for her. She had fled the stage soon after. The bag was small enough not to notice for the rest of the evening. He held it in his hand as he leaned on the wall and considered what to do. He would return it tomorrow. Charles would know where she was staying.
Pretty girl. He had a mental picture of her walking up to the podium in the spotlight. Why did she leave so fast? He didn’t see her after giving her the award. Why did she leave without saying good-bye?
The Udachny caught his attention again. The oval windows of the Benetti looked sinister, like eyes watching the night. Very flashy, that Jacuzzi on deck, and a bar on the sundeck, a thirty-six-foot Hinckley speedboat, two Yamaha Jet Skis, a trampoline, two kayaks, and a fourteen-foot Novurania tender. A bloom of satellite gear, three domes, sat on theupper structure. Not too many people on board from the look of it, just the light on in the master cabin. Sinclair picked up his jacket and headed back to his hotel.
Cordelia slipped off her shoes as soon as she stepped inside the hotel room and closed the door. The room was neat, cool, silent, the air conditioner whirring. Had it been only a few hours since she had left for the gala? It felt like her entire life had changed, not in a dramatic way but in an organic shift—the way the introduction of a nonindigenous species into a natural setting will ultimately alter every living organism in that environment.
She laughed at herself. That was a bit complicated for this time of night. She stepped out onto the hotel balcony. The cool tile floor was soothing to her bare feet. They absolutely ached from the unaccustomed high heels.
The view was stunning. A couple of hundred meters away, in Monte Carlo’s avant-port, she could see the Queen Victoria . The dark gray hull was easily recognizable, as was the black-and-red smokestack. Cordelia admired the lines. It was much more elegant than the white cardboard-box cruise ships. The berth was a semifloating mole attached to the shore on the southern end. The northern end was held in place with eight very large anchor chains, probably about sixty meters deep to the bottom.
She would board the day after tomorrow. Cordelia stepped back off the balcony into the cool stillness of the hotel room. Her laptop was open on the writing desk. She pulled up the chair and started a new message.
Susan. I’m here in Monaco. Do me a quick favor. Send me anything you can find on John Sinclair—Chairman Herodotus Foundation. Thanks a million. Delia.
There was an unopened e-mail in her in-box. She clicked on it.
Dear Ms. Stapleton,
We are writing to you to inquire about a possible sale of land rights in Svalbard that have passed into your ownership as a result of your recent inheritance. We would like to know if you would consider selling or donating this land to our nonprofit organization, Bio-Diversity Trust,
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