Rage of Angels
She was feeling a bit better by the time the plane landed in Nice the next morning. There was a helicopter waiting to fly her to Monte Carlo. Jennifer had never ridden in a helicopter before and she had looked forward to it. But the sudden lift and the swooping motions made her ill again, and she was unable to enjoy the majestic sights of the Alps below and the Grande Corniche, with miniature automobiles winding up the steep mountainside.
The buildings of Monte Carlo appeared, and a few minutes later the helicopter was landing in front of the modern white summer casino on the beach.
Cynthia had telephoned ahead and Rick Arlen was there to meet Jennifer.
He gave her a big hug. “How was the trip?”
“A little rough.”
He took a closer look at her and said, “You don’t look so hot. I’ll take you up to my pad and you can rest up for the big do tonight.”
“What big do?”
“The gala. That’s why you’re here.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Grace asked me to invite anyone I liked. I like you.”
“Oh, Rick!”
Jennifer could cheerfully have strangled him. He had no idea how much he had disrupted her life. She was three thousand miles away from Adam, she had clients who needed her, court cases to try—and she had been lured to Monte Carlo to attend a party!
Jennifer said, “Rick, how could—?”
She looked at his beaming face and started to laugh.
Oh, well, she was here. Besides, the gala might turn out to be fun.
The gala was spectacular. It was a milk fund concert for orphans, sponsored by Their Serene Highnesses, Grace and Rainier Grimaldi, and it was held outdoors at the summer casino. It was a lovely evening. The night was balmy and the slight breeze coming off the Mediterranean stirred the tall palm trees. Jennifer wished Adam could have been here to share it with her. There were fifteen hundred seats occupied by a cheering audience.
Half a dozen international stars performed, but Rick Arlen was the headliner. He was backed up by a raucous three-piece band and flashing psychedelic lights that stained the velvet sky. When he finished, he received a standing ovation.
There was a private party afterward at the piscine, below the Hotel de Paris. Cocktails and a buffet supper were served around the enormous pool, in which dozens of lighted candles floated on lily pads.
Jennifer estimated that there were more than three hundred people there. Jennifer had not brought an evening gown, and just looking at the splendidly dressed women made her feel like the poor little match girl. Rick introduced her to dukes and duchesses and princesses. It seemed to Jennifer that half the royalty of Europe was there. She met heads of cartels and famous opera singers. There were fashion designers and heiresses and the great soccer player, Pele. Jennifer was in the midst of a conversation with two Swiss bankers when a wave of dizziness engulfed her.
“Excuse me,” Jennifer said.
She went to find Rick Arlen. “Rick, I—”
He took one look at her and said, “You’re white as a sheet, baby. Let’s split.”
Thirty minutes later, Jennifer was in bed in the villa that Rick Arlen had rented.
“A doctor’s on his way,” Rick told her.
“I don’t need a doctor. It’s just a virus or something.”
“Right. It’s the ‘or something’ he’s gonna check out.”
Dr. André Monteux was an elderly wisp of a man somewhere in his eighties. He wore a neatly trimmed full beard and carried a black medical case.
The doctor turned to Rick Arlen. “If you would leave us alone, please.”
“Sure. I’ll wait outside.”
The doctor moved closer to the bed. “Alors. What have we here?”
“If I knew that,” Jennifer said weakly, “I’d be making this house call and you’d be lying here.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve come down with the bubonic plague.”
“Put out your tongue, please.”
Jennifer put out her tongue and began to gag. Dr. Monteux checked her pulse and took her temperature.
When he had finished, Jennifer asked, “What do you think it is, Doctor?”
“It could be any one of a number of things, beautiful lady. If you are feeling well enough tomorrow, I would like you to come to my office where I can do a thorough examination.”
Jennifer felt too ill to argue. “All right,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
In the morning Rick Arlen drove Jennifer into Monte Carlo where Dr. Monteux gave her a complete examination.
“It’s a bug of some kind, isn’t it?” Jennifer asked.
“If you wish a prediction,” the elderly doctor replied, “I will send out for fortune cookies. If you wish to know what is wrong with you, we will have to be patient until the laboratory reports come back.”
“When will that be?”
“It usually takes two or three days.”
Jennifer knew there was no way she was going to stay there for two or three days. Adam might need her. She knew she needed him.
“In the meantime, I would like you to stay in bed and rest.” He handed her a bottle of pills. “These will relax you.”
“Thank you.” Jennifer scribbled something on a piece of paper. “You can call me here.”
It was not until Jennifer had gone that Dr. Monteux looked at the piece of paper. On it was written a New York telephone number.
At the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, where she changed planes, Jennifer took two of the pills Dr. Monteaux had given her and a sleeping pill. She slept fitfully during most of the trip back to New York, but when she disembarked from the plane she was feeling no better. She had not arranged for anyone to meet her and she took a taxi to her apartment.