In the spacious foyer between two sets of large plateglass doors, airport-type security had been set up, and a short line had formed. Although the sharp-eyed men in the uniform of the Royal Montebellan Palace Guard were polite, even bantering with those waiting, the large pistols secured to trim waists were a grim reminder that evil in the form of senseless violence had come to the halcyon island kingdom.
A bomb had gone off in a civilian square, destroying one building completely and trapping an unknown number of people inside. The whole city was in an uproar as rescue workers rushed to save them.
Kate’s chauffeur, Arturo, a craggy, quietly imposing man in his forties, was clearly known to the guards, who, after a quiet word from him, allowed her to pass without having to wait in line.
“My family is most grateful for your kindness, Doctor,” one of the guards told her quietly as the chauffeur escorted her past the X-ray equipment.
“Paolo’s cousin Maximo is the chef at Leonardo’s, a restaurant in the building that was destroyed by the bomb,” Arturo murmured as they passed the concierge’s desk. “He has not yet been rescued.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, her chest thick with emotion. During the flight, the young steward had told her of the shock and anger that had raced through Montebello at the news of the bombing. It wasn’t just an appalling tragedy to the majority of the city’s citizens, it was also an intensely personal one, since Montebello was a land of large and interconnecting families.
As Arturo led her past a series of large marble pillars, she felt a sense of unease hanging over the opulent lobby like a pall, dulling the glittering marble-and-gilt surroundings like a thin layer of tarnish.
The curved, marble reception desk was busy. Four dark-haired, dark-eyed female clerks in trim maroon blazers and gray skirts projected an air of efficiency and calm, but most of the people lined up at the desk were clearly anxious to check out.
The chauffeur surveyed the situation with a slight frown before leading Kate to a spot next to one of the soaring marble pillars flanking the desk. “If you would be so kind as to wait here, Dr. Remson, I will facilitate your check-in.” Though he spoke perfect English, it was flavored with a charming Italian lilt that had been shared by everyone she’d met so far.
“I don’t mind waiting in line,” she assured him, even as her tired body yearned for a soft bed and cool sheets.
“Nevertheless, I will have a word with the hotel manager.” He set her bags at her feet before disappearing through a door behind the desk.
Five minutes later she found herself in an elevator with both the chauffeur and the manager himself, a Signor Francetti, who reminded her of an older, stockier Robert De Niro.
“This floor is reserved exclusively for foreign dignitaries and guests of the royal family,” he said as the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor.
Kate caught her breath as she stepped into the spacious elevator atrium to find herself in what her tired brain wanted to call museum chic. Paintings in ornate gilt frames lined walls covered with what appeared to be authentic watered silk of palest ivory. Her brand-new sandals—little more than a couple of wispy ostrich-skin straps and a thin leather sole—sank a good inch into the pile of the rich maroon carpeting. With each step she took, she expected a security guard to rush out from the shadows to warn her not to touch the priceless old masters. The very air seemed rarified, scented, she guessed by a combination of citrus and rose petals.
After they’d walked what seemed like a good quarter mile, the manager stopped in front of the second door from the end on the left. “We’ve put Dr. Hunter next door,” he said as he inserted the key card.
“Dr. Hunter is here?” she questioned as he opened the door, then stepped back to allow her to precede him.
Signor Francetti nodded. “He arrived late this afternoon and went directly to the hospital after checking in.”
“I’m surprised he got here so quickly,” she said as she walked into the room. Four steps later, she stopped dead. Instead of a room, she’d been given a suite the likes of which she’d never seen outside of Architectural Digest, which her mother subscribed to.
“This can’t all be for me,” she murmured, glancing around at the cozy living room-like setting. Through an open door to her left she saw a bedroom with a bed as large as her office in her clinic in San Francisco.
“His Majesty is most grateful for your assistance,” Signor Francetti hastened to assure her. “He insists that you want for nothing while you are our guest. We have arranged to house Arturo in the hotel as well, so that he will be at your disposal. When you require his services, you have only to call down to the front desk.”
“Oh, but I can take a cab—”
“No, Doctor,” Arturo spoke up with surprising firmness. “You are too valuable to the people of Montebello to take that kind of risk.”
Kate blinked. “Are you saying this bombing might not be an isolated incident?”
The chauffeur shrugged. “If His Majesty’s sworn enemy, Sheik Ahmed Kamal of Tamir, is behind this, he will not stop until he has embroiled us all in war. Word has it that he intends to take Montebello by force.”
Kate was dumbfounded. “War? You mean with tanks and smart bombs and scud missiles?”
The men exchanged grim looks. “It’s possible,” the manager replied, “although, of course, we have faith that His Majesty will find a way to avoid further bloodshed—at least that of our people.”
“You need not worry for your own safety, Doctor,” Arturo hastened to add. “Every measure possible has been taken to make sure you and your fellow volunteers are not injured.”
“In the meantime, whatever you require, you need only ask,” Francetti assured her.
Kate took a deep breath. She might have stepped through the looking glass, but she was here to work around the clock to save lives, not indulge herself in luxury. “At the moment all I require is a cool shower and an hour’s nap to shake some of this jet lag,” she said as she dropped her leather backpack onto the nearest chair. “After that, I, too, would like to see the hospital.”
An hour later the elaborate clock radio on the bedside table woke her from a deep sleep. Her senses still fuzzy, she slipped from the warm, lavender scented sheets and padded barefoot into the sinfully opulent bathroom, where an outrageously sexy tub fashioned of a solid block of black marble beckoned.
Feeling a lot like Cleopatra before she did the snake thing, Kate adjusted the gold taps to one notch below scalding, added a scoop of deliciously scented bath beads, then stripped out of her new underwear. Her drowsiness slowly turned to a decadent lethargy, tempting her to linger, but the images she’d seen on TV were a vivid reminder that she was here to work, not shamelessly indulge herself.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in one of her new wraparound skirts, silk camp shirt and strappy sandals, she was slipping her favorite surgical clogs into her tote bag when she heard water running next door.
A smile curved her lips at the thought of seeing Dr. Hunter again. Next to her father, her good friend Sarah’s dad was her favorite male. Kate hadn’t seen him since he and his wife Helena threw Sarah a surprise birthday party last February.
When the sound of the shower ceased, she glanced at the phone, then decided to say a quick hello in person before calling for Arturo. After running through a mental checklist of all the articles she might need at the hospital, and finding she’d forgotten nothing, she slung her tote over one shoulder and pocketed the key card Signor Francetti had left