The Princess Read online

  “None whatever. Everyone has been very kind,” she lied.

  “Did you see General Brooks yet?”

  “I will see him tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What did you do today?”

  She wanted to scream at him that she had waited in line, been laughed at, had to deal with a maid who hated her, and been accused of being the enemy. “I washed my hair and spent hours in a tub of hot water.”

  “Of course. I should have known. A princess would put luxury before everything else. I’ll call tomorrow night and see what he said.”

  “Please do not bother. I’m sure your government will rid itself of the imposter.”

  He paused a moment. “I guess you haven’t seen the papers. That princess is a dead ringer for you and she’s a hit wherever she goes. Maybe Americans will like her so much they won’t want the real princess.”

  She glared at the telephone then slammed it down. “Hideous man!” she said as she left the bed and went into the living room of the suite. They had brought a newspaper with her dinner but she had left it where it lay.

  On the second page was a photograph of a woman who looked very much like her, smiling at two men in uniform and cutting a wide ribbon. The caption told how Her Royal Highness, Princess Aria of Lanconia, was spreading peace across America. Instantly, she recognized her cousin Maude. “Were you always jealous of me, Cissy?” she asked in wonder, calling her cousin by the royal family’s pet name. As she looked closer at the photo, she saw that in the background, smiling and hovering, was Lady Emere, Cissy’s aunt. It was obvious that Lady Emere was protecting Cissy, probably keeping Aria’s other attendants at a distance, but surely, Aria thought, one of them must be suspicious.

  “Doesn’t anyone know that’s not me?” she said, blinking back tears.

  She went back to bed but she didn’t sleep very well.

  Morning brought more problems. The woman she had hired to be her maid walked out when Aria held out her leg for her hose to be put on, so it took Aria three hours to get dressed. She was very glad for the black, veiled hat that covered her attempts at hairdressing.

  When she left the hotel, she was feeling less than confident, but she kept her head high and her shoulders back. Once again she heard those low whistles from the men as she walked through the lobby, but she ignored them.

  The doorman was someone she understood. She told him she wanted to see General Brooks, he blew a whistle, and a taxi came forward. Aria pointed at a long black Cadillac with a chauffeur leaning against the hood. “I want that car.” The doorman walked across the traffic and talked to the chauffeur, who nodded.

  “He’ll take you to the Pentagon.”

  Aria had already realized that every American expected to be paid for everything he did. She handed the doorman one of the bills with the two zeroes on it, and he nodded gravely to her, then opened the door to the limousine.

  Aria leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. In the back of this luxurious car she felt at home for the first time since she had been kidnapped.

  The chauffeur opened the car door for her and later, held the door that led into the Pentagon.

  “I have been paid,” he said solemnly when she offered him one of the few bills left in her purse.

  She smiled at him, glad for any kindness from an American.

  The time in the car was only a pause before the storm. Nothing she had experienced so far prepared her for the Pentagon during war. Everywhere people rushed back and forth, machines printed, people shouted orders, radios played news.

  She stopped at a desk and asked for General Brooks.

  “Over there,” the woman said, her mouth full of pencils. “Ask over there.”

  Aria walked down the corridor and asked again.

  “I’m not his secretary,” a man snapped. “Don’t you know there’s a war going on?”

  Aria asked a total of five people and they all shuffled her to someone else. Twice she started down hallways and men drew rifles on her. Someone told her to come back next week. Someone else told her to come back when the war was over. Someone else grabbed her arm and half shoved her out the door into a parking lot.

  She straightened her suit jacket, squared her hat, and went back inside. If Americans didn’t want to listen to the truth, then she would give them a good story. She walked into the middle of the busiest room and said in a normal voice: “I am a German spy and I will give my secrets only to General Brooks.”

  One by one the people stopped what they were doing and stared at her. After one brief second of absolute silence, all hell broke loose. Soldiers with guns came from every corridor and seized her.

  “Do not touch me,” she called, the men lifting her by her arms so her feet did not touch the ground.

  “I knew she was German the minute I saw her,” Aria heard a woman say.

  She was pulled down a long corridor, people leaving their offices to have a look at her. Aria was glad her hat had slipped down to obscure half of her face. I am never leaving Lanconia again, she vowed to herself.

  After what seemed to be ages, the soldiers dropped her into a chair.

  “Let’s have a look at her,” said a voice with a great deal of anger in it.

  Aria lifted her head, and pushed back her hat to look up at General Brooks. “So good to see you again,” she said as if they were at a gala reception, and extended her hand to him.

  General Brooks’s eyes widened. “Out!” he commanded the many soldiers jammed in the room.

  “But she may be dangerous,” said a man holding an ugly black pistol aimed at Aria.

  “I will somehow manage to fight her off,” the general said sarcastically. When they were alone, he turned to Aria. “Your Royal Highness?” He took her hand, touching her fingers lightly. “The last I heard, you were in Virginia.”

  “Not me but someone who looks like me.”

  The general looked at her for a long while. “I’ll send for tea and we can talk.”

  Aria ate everything that was on the tea tray, then lunch was ordered, and still the general asked her questions. He made her repeat nearly every minute of their time together in Lanconia. He wanted to know anything that would make him sure she was the real princess.

  At two he had her taken to a small sitting room where she could rest. At three-thirty she was led into a room where four generals and two plainclothesmen sat and had to tell everything over again.

  Throughout this time she showed no impatience, no anger, no fatigue. The seriousness of the matter was coming through to her. If these men did not believe her and therefore did not help her get back to her country, she would lose everything. She would lose her identity, she would lose the people she loved, and she would lose her nationality. And Lanconia would have an imposter for queen—a woman eaten with jealousy who must want something besides the good of Lanconia.

  She sat upright and answered their questions—over and over and over again.

  At ten o’clock they sent her back to the hotel under armed guard. A WAC drew her bath and, Aria knew, searched her new clothes. Aria stayed in the tub until her skin wrinkled to give the woman plenty of time. At midnight, she was at last able to go to bed.

  * * *

  The big Pentagon room was filled with a blue haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. The mahogany table was littered with empty glasses, overflowing ashtrays, and crumbs from a meal of dried-out sandwiches. The preeminent smell was a mixture of sweat and anger.

  “I don’t like it!” General Lyons shouted as he shifted the wet cigar butt from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “I think we have more than enough evidence that she’s telling the truth,” Congressman Smith said. He was the only one of the six men to still look somewhat fresh; nevertheless, there were dark circles of sleeplessness under his eyes. “Did you see the scar on her left hand? Our records say she fell while on a hunting trip when she was twelve years old.”

  “But who knows which princess is better for America?” General