Blood Royal by Harold Robbins Read Free Book Online

Right now there are probably fifty or sixty of the wild animals waiting to attack.”
    “I’ve faced reporters before, but never an army of them. I was considering borrowing a flight attendant’s uniform and sneaking out with the crew.”
    “Never get by our tabloid reporters, they have X-ray vision. Trent’s suggestion is that you simply smile and say absolutely nothing. Even a ‘no comment’ reply is interpreted by the press in any manner they want to use it.”
    “Fine.” Marlowe suspected Hall had been sent to make sure she didn’t give a news conference. She wasn’t the type to try her cases in the media, but she didn’t blame Trent. He didn’t know her and the case being defended truly was the shot heard around the world.
    “We’ll get your luggage and be on our way. I have a car waiting outside. Trent has called an emergency meeting of the team at his chambers. Would you mind terribly if we dropped by before I left you at the hotel? Not jet-lagged after the Concorde flight, are you? Rather sensational crossing the puddle in a couple of hours, isn’t it?”
    She had started the trip in Los Angeles on a regular jet, and no, she wasn’t jet-lagged, she was too excited to be groggy. She sensed Hall was gentlemanly enough to be uncomfortable at whisking her off to an “emergency meeting” before she even had a chance to freshen up at her hotel. “I take it Mr. Trent wants to see what sort of horror the princess has hired before I’m let off a leash in London.”
    Hall blushed with guilt and Marlowe instantly felt bad that she had exposed the truth. She took his arm. “Shall we meet the Fourth Estate?”
    As they stepped into the terminal Marlowe blinked under the assault of camera lights and a barrage of shouted questions. Security officers flanked her and Hall as they walked down a center aisle roped off from the newspeople. Being the focus of the attention of literally a mob armed with cameras, microphones, and questions was disconcerting. She had never faced a news conference of more than five or six reporters, most of whom were reasonably well mannered. These truly were hounds from news hell.
    She started to whisper to Hall about how intimidating it was but instantly shut her trap, realizing that some of the microphones might have a long range.
    Someone suddenly shot in front of her, startling her, a shabbily dressed man with long greasy hair and a scraggly three-day beard. He shoved a mike in her face.
    “You and the princess both killed husbands—will you use the tactics from your own murder trial to defend the princess?” he shouted.
    Her mouth dropped and she almost stumbled into him. Hall grabbed her arm and pulled her past the intruder as a security officer shouldered the man aside.
    They were separated from the newspeople and going down the escalator before either spoke.
    “I must apologize for that rudeness. Elliot Smithers of Burn, one of the trashiest tabloids in Britain.”
    Marlowe pushed a lock of hair off of her forehead. Her knees were wobbly, but she kept her face stoic. “I’ve heard it before.” Her voice was hard, but her insides were mush. She’d heard it before but never as a brutal attack.
    Safe behind tinted glass in the limo, Marlowe relaxed back in the car seat and scratched the tip of her nose. “I’ve been dying to do that since I stepped off the plane. What a nightmare it must be for celebrities, to constantly be in a fishbowl with every move monitored by the news media.”
    “Absolutely horrid. One would have to really be enthralled with a need for attention to appreciate such an invasion of privacy. There is some belief that the princess’s mental processes were affected by the constant hounding of the press, especially tabloid reporters like Smithers who can be very vicious about it.”
    “You mentioned going to Mr. Trent’s chambers. I take it that’s his offices? We use the word chambers in reference to a judge’s office.”
    “Quite right, chambers