Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

CHAPTER TEN

HE MANAGED a few short words with her that night as he passed the supper room. It was all he had, as he moved from the evening’s meetings to his briefing for tomorrow. To his surprise, Jenny seemed relaxed, even happy.

‘I’m sorry about today,’ he said. ‘It seemed you handled things very well.’

‘I talked too much,’ she said, smiling. ‘I need to work on my serenity.’

‘Your serenity?’

‘I’m not very good at it.’ Her smile widened. ‘But I showed promise today. Dr Matheson would be proud of me. By the way, I hope it’s okay that Gordon and I are staying here tonight. The boat’s up on the hard, and who wants to sleep on a boat in dry dock? Besides, staying in a palace is kind of fun.’

Kind of fun… He gazed into the opulent supper room, at the impassive staff, and he thought…kind of fun?

‘So I can stay tonight?’ she prompted.

He raked his hair. ‘I should have had Señor Rodriguez organise airline tickets.’

‘Señor Rodriguez has better things to do than organise my airline tickets. I’ll organise them when I’m ready. Meanwhile, can I stay tonight?’

‘Of course, but Jenny, I don’t have time…’

‘I know you don’t,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Señor Rodriguez says these first days are crazy. It’ll get better, he says, but I’ll not add to your burdens tonight. I hope I never will.’

Then, before he could figure how to respond, a servant appeared to remind him he was late for his next briefing. He was forced to leave Jenny, who didn’t seem the least put out. She’d started chatting cheerfully to the maid who was clearing supper.

To his surprise, the maid was responding with friendliness and animation. Well, why wouldn’t she, he told himself as he immersed himself again into royal business. Jenny had no baggage of centuries of oppression. She wasn’t royal.

She never could be royal. He could never ask that of her, he thought grimly. But, as the interminable briefing wore on, he thought of Jenny-not being royal. He thought of her thinking of the palace as fun, and he almost told the suits he was talking to where to go.

But he didn’t. He was sensible. He had a country to run, and when he was finally free Jenny had long gone to bed.

And there was no way he was knocking on her door tonight.

He missed her at breakfast, maybe because he ate before six before commencing the first of three meetings scheduled before ten. He moved through each meeting with efficiency and speed, desperate to find time to see her, but the meetings went overtime. He had no time left. His ten o’clock diary entry was immovable.

This appointment he’d made three months ago. Four hours every Wednesday. Even Jenny would have to wait on this.

Swiftly he changed out of his formal wear into jeans, grabbed his swimmers and made his way to the palace garages. He strode round the rows of espaliered fruit trees marking the end of the palace gardens-and Jenny was sitting patiently on a garden bench.

She was wearing smart new jeans, a casual cord jacket in a pale washed apricot over a creamy lace camisole and creamy leather ballet flats. Her curls were brushed until they shone. She looked rested and refreshed and cheerful.

She looked beautiful.

She rose and stretched and smiled a welcome. Gianetta.

Jenny, he told himself fiercely. This was Jenny, his guest before she left for ever.

A very lovely Jenny. Smiling and smiling.

‘Do you like it?’ she demanded and spun so she could be admired from all angles. ‘This is the new smart me.’

‘Where on earth…?’

‘I went shopping,’ she said proudly. ‘Yesterday, when we finally escaped from that mob. Your security guys kindly escorted me to some great shops and then stood guard while I tried stuff on. Neat, yes?’

‘Neat,’ he said faintly and her face fell and he amended his statement fast. ‘Gorgeous.’

‘No, that won’t do either,’ she said reprovingly. ‘My borrowed ball-gown was gorgeous. But this feels good. I thought yesterday I haven’t had new clothes for years and the owner of the boutique gave me a huge discount.’

‘I’ll bet she did,’ he said faintly.

She grinned. ‘I know, it was cheeky, but I thought if I’m to be photographed by every cameraman in the known universe there has to be some way I can take advantage. She was practically begging me to take clothes.’

‘Gordon said you were upset.’

‘Gordon was upset.’

‘I should have been there.’

‘Then the cameramen would have been even more persistent,’ she said gently. ‘But I have clothes to face them now, and they’re not so scary. So…I pinned Señor Rodriguez down this morning and he says you’re going to see Philippe. So I was wondering…’ Her tone became more diffident. ‘Would it upset you if I came along? Would it upset Philippe?’

‘No, but I can’t ask you…’

‘You’re not asking,’ she said and came forward to slip her hands into his. ‘You’re looking trapped. I don’t want you to feel that way. Not by me.’

‘You’d never make me feel trapped,’ he said. ‘But Jenny, I can’t expect…’

‘Then don’t expect,’ she said. ‘Señor Rodriguez told me all about Philippe. No, don’t look like that. The poor man never had a chance; I practically sat on him to make him explain things in detail. Philippe’s your cousin’s son. Everyone thought he stood to inherit, only when his parents died it turned out they weren’t actually married. According to royal rules, he’s illegitimate. Now he has nothing.’

‘He’s well cared for. He has lovely foster parents.’

‘Sofía says you’ve been visiting him every week since you got here.’

‘It’s the least I can do when he’s lost his home as well as his parents.’

‘He can’t stay here?’

‘No,’ he said bleakly. ‘If he’s here he’ll be in the middle of servants who’ll either treat him like royalty-and this country hates royalty-or they’ll treat him as an illegitimate nothing.’

‘Yet you still think he should be here,’ Jenny said softly.

‘No.’

‘Because this is where you were when your father died?’

‘What the…?’

‘Sofía,’ she said simply. ‘I asked, she told me. Ramón, I’m so sorry. It must have been dreadful. But that was then. Now is now. Can I meet him?’

‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said, feeling totally winded. ‘And he’s the same age your little boy would have been…’

‘Ramón, can we take this one step at a time?’ she asked. ‘Let’s just go visit this little boy-who’s not Matty. Let’s just leave it at that.’

So they went and for the first five miles or so they didn’t speak. Ramón didn’t know where to take this.

There were so many things in this country that needed his attention but over and over his thoughts kept turning to one little boy. Consuela and Ernesto were lovely but they were in their sixties. To expect them to take Philippe long-term…

He glanced across at Jenny and found she was watching him. He had the top down on his Boxster coupe. The warm breeze was blowing Jenny’s curls around her face. She looked young and beautiful and free. He remembered the trapped woman he’d met over three months ago and the change seemed extraordinary.

How could he trap her again? He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. He didn’t intend to.

Yet-she’d asked to come. Was she really opening herself up to be hurt again?

‘I can’t believe this country,’ she said, smiling, and he knew she was making an attempt to keep the conversation neutral. Steering away from undertones that were everywhere. ‘It’s like something on a calendar.’

‘There’s a deep description.’

‘It’s true. There’s a calendar in the bathroom of Seaport Coffee ’n’ Cakes and it has a fairy tale palace on it. All white turrets and battlements and moats, surrounded by little stone houses with ancient tiled roofs, and mountains in the background, and just a hint of snow.’

‘There’s no snow here,’ he said, forced to smile back. ‘We’re on the Mediterranean.’

‘Please,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You’re messing with my calendar. So, as I was saying…’

But then, as he turned the car onto a dirt track leading to a farmhouse, she stopped with the imagery and simply stared. ‘Where are we?’

‘This is where Philippe lives.’

‘But it’s lovely,’ she whispered, gazing out over grassy meadows where a flock of alpacas grazed placidly in the morning sun. ‘It’s the perfect place for a child to live.’

‘He’s not happy.’

‘I imagine that might well be because his parents are dead,’ she said, suddenly sharp. ‘It’ll take him for ever to adjust to their loss. If ever.’

‘I don’t think his parents were exactly hands-on,’ Ramón told her. ‘My uncle and my cousin liked to gamble, and so did Maria Therese. They spent three-quarters of their lives in Monaco and they never took Philippe. They were on their way there when their plane crashed.’

‘So who took care of Philippe?’

‘He’s had a series of nannies. The palace hasn’t exactly been a happy place to work. Neither my uncle nor my cousin thought paying servants was a priority, and I gather as a mother Maria Therese was…difficult. Nannies have come and gone.’

‘So Philippe’s only security has been the palace itself,’ Jenny ventured.

‘He’s getting used to these foster parents,’ Ramón said, but he wasn’t convincing himself. ‘They’re great.’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’

‘I’ll be interested to hear your judgement.’ Then he paused.

‘Gianetta, are you sure you want to do this? Philippe’s distressed and there’s little I can do about it. It won’t help to make you distressed as well. Would you like to turn back?’

‘Well, that’d be stupid,’ Jenny said. ‘Philippe will already know you’re on your way. To turn back now would be cruel.’

‘But what about you?’

‘This isn’t about me,’ she said, gently but inexorably. ‘Let’s go meet Philippe.’

He was the quietest little boy Jenny had ever met. He looked just like Ramón.

The family resemblance was amazing, she thought. Same dark hair. Same amazing eyes. Same sense of trouble, kept under wraps.

His foster parents, Consuela and Ernesto, were voluble and friendly. They seemed honoured to have Ramón visit, but not so overawed that it kept them silent. That was just as well, as their happy small talk covered up the deathly silence emanating from Philippe.

They sat at the farmhouse table eating Consuela’s amazing strawberry cake. Consuela and Ernesto chatted, Ramón answered as best he could, and Jenny watched Philippe.

He was clutching a little ginger cat as if his life depended on it. He was too thin. His eyes were too big for his face.

He was watching his big cousin as if he was hungry.

I feel like that, she thought, and recognized what she’d thought and intensified her scrutiny. She had the time and the space to do it. Consuela and Ernesto were friendly but they were totally focused on Ramón. Philippe had greeted Jenny with courtesy but now he, too, was totally focused on Ramón.

Of course. Ramón was the Crown Prince.

Only Ramón’s title didn’t explain things completely, Jenny decided. Ramón was here in his casual clothes. He didn’t look spectacular-or any more spectacular than he usually did-and a child wouldn’t respond to an adult this way unless there was a fair bit of hero worship going on.

‘Does Prince Ramón really come every week?’ she asked Consuela as she helped clear the table.

‘Every week since he’s been back in the country,’ the woman said. ‘We’re so grateful. Ernesto and I have had many foster children-some from very troubled homes-but Philippe’s so quiet we don’t seem to get through to him. He never says a thing unless he must. He hardly eats unless he’s forced, and he certainly doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. But once a week Ramón…I mean Crown Prince Ramón…comes and takes him out in his car and it’s as if he lights up. He comes home happy, he eats, he tells us what he’s done and he goes to bed and sleeps all night. Then he wakes and Ramón’s not here, and his parents aren’t here, and it all starts again. His Highness brought him his cat from the palace and that’s made things better but now…we’re starting to wonder if it’s His Highness himself the child pines for.’

‘He can’t have become attached to Ramón so fast,’ Jenny said, startled, and Consuela looked at her with eyes that had seen a lot in her lifetime, and she smiled.

‘Caro, are you telling me that’s impossible?’

Oh, help, was she so obvious? She glanced back to where Ernesto and Ramón were engaged in a deep conversation about some obscure football match, with Philippe listening to every word as if it was the meaning of life-and she found herself blushing from the toes up.

‘We’re hearing rumours,’ Consuela said, seemingly satisfied with Jenny’s reaction. ‘How lovely.’

‘I…there’s nothing.’ How fast did rumours spread?

‘There’s everything,’ Consuela said. ‘All our prince needs is a woman to love him.’

‘I’m not his class.’

‘Class? Pah!’ Consuela waved an airy hand at invisible class barriers. ‘Three months ago Philippe was Prince Royal. Now he’s the illegitimate son of the dead Prince’s mistress. If you worry about class then you worry about nothing. You make him happy. That’s all anyone can ask.’ Her shrewd gaze grew intent. ‘You know that Prince Ramón is kind, intelligent, honourable. Our country needs him so much. But for a man to take on such a role…there must be someone filling his heart as well.’

‘I can’t…’

‘I can see a brave young woman before me, and I’m very sure you can.’

All of this was thoroughly disconcerting. She should just shut up, she thought. She should stick with her new found serenity. But, as she wiped as Consuela washed, she pushed just a little more. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘You and Ernesto… You obviously love Philippe and you’re doing the best you can for him. But if Philippe wants to be at the palace… Why doesn’t Ramón…why doesn’t His Highness simply employ you to be there for him?’

The woman turned and looked at Jenny as if she were crazy. ‘Us? Go to the palace?’

‘Why not?’

‘We’re just farmers.’

‘Um…excuse me. Didn’t you just say…?’

‘That’s for you,’ Consuela said, and then she sighed and dried her hands and turned to Jenny. ‘I think that for you, you’re young enough and strong enough to fight it, but for us…and for Philippe…the lines of class at the palace are immovable.’

‘Would you try it, though?’ she asked. ‘Would you stay in the palace if Ramón asked it of you?’

‘Maybe, but he won’t. He won’t risk it, and why should he?’ She sighed, as if the worries of the world were too much for her, but then she pinned on cheerfulness, smiled determinedly at Jenny and turned back to the men. Moving on. ‘Philippe. His Highness, Prince Ramón, asked if you could have your swimming costume prepared. He tells me he wishes to take you to the beach.’

Football was abandoned in an instant. ‘In your car?’ Philippe demanded of Ramón, round-eyed.

‘In my car,’ Ramón said. ‘With Señorina Bertin. If it’s okay with you.’

The little boy turned his attention to Jenny and surveyed her with grave attention. Whatever he saw there, it seemed to be enough.

‘That will be nice,’ he said stiffly.

‘Get your costume, poppet,’ Consuela said, but Philippe was already gone.

So they headed to the beach, about five minutes’ drive from the farmhouse. Philippe sat between Jenny and Ramón, absolutely silent, his eyes straight ahead. But Jenny watched his body language. He could have sat ramrod still and not touched either of them, but instead he slid slightly to Ramón’s side so his small body was just touching his big cousin.

Ramón was forging something huge here, Jenny thought. Did he know?

Maybe he did. Maybe he couldn’t help but know. As he drove he kept up a stream of light-hearted banter, speaking to Jenny, but most of what he said was aimed at Philippe.

Did Gianetta know this little car was the most wonderful car in the world? Did she know he thought this was the only one of its kind that had ever been fitted with bench seats-designed so two people could have a picnic in the car if it was raining? Why, only two weeks ago he and Philippe had eaten a picnic while watching a storm over the sea, and they’d seen dolphins. And now the bench seat meant there was room for the three of them. How about that for perfect? And it was red. Didn’t Jenny think red was great?

‘I like pink,’ Jenny said, and Ramón looked as if she’d just committed blasphemy.

‘You’d have me buy a pink car?’

‘No, that’d be a waste. You could spray paint this one,’ she retorted, and chuckled at their combined manly horror.

Philippe didn’t contribute a word but she saw him gradually relax, responding to their banter, realizing that nothing was expected of him but that he relax and enjoy himself.

And he did enjoy himself. They arrived at the beach and Ramón had him in the water in minutes.

Jenny was slower. Señor Rodriguez had told her they often went swimming so she’d worn her bikini under her jeans, but for now she was content to paddle and watch.

The beach was glorious, a tiny cove with sun-bleached sand, gentle waves and shallow turquoise water. There were no buildings, no people and the mountains rose straight from the sea like sentinels guarding their privacy.

There’d be bodyguards. She’d been vaguely aware of cars ahead and behind them all day and shadowy figures at the farmhouse, but as they’d arrived at the beach the security presence was nowhere to be seen. The guards must be under orders to give the illusion of total privacy, she thought, and that was what they had.

Ramón had set this time up for Philippe. For a little cousin he was not beholden to in any way. A little boy who’d be miserable at the palace?

She paddled on, casually kicking water out in front of her, pretending she wasn’t watching.

She was definitely watching.

Ramón was teaching Philippe to float. The little boy was listening with all the seriousness in the world. He was aching to do what his big cousin was asking of him. His body language said he’d almost die for his big cousin.

‘If you float with your face in the water and count to ten, then I’ll lift you out of the water,’ Ramón was saying. ‘My hand will be under your tummy until we reach ten and I’ll count aloud. Then I’ll lift you high. Do you trust me to do that?’

He received a solemn nod.

‘Right,’ Ramón said and Philippe leaned forward, leaned further so he was floating on Ramón’s hand. And put his face in the water.

‘One, two three…ten!’ and the little boy was lifted high and hugged.

‘Did you feel my hand fall away before I lifted you up? You floated? Hey, Gianetta, Philippe floated!’ Ramón was spinning Philippe around and around until he squealed. His squeal was almost the first natural sound she’d heard from him. It was a squeal of delight, of joy, of life.

Philippe was just a little bit older than Matty would be right now. Ramón had worried about it. She’d dismissed his worry but now, suddenly, the knowledge hit her so hard that she flinched. She was watching a little boy learn to swim, and her Matty never would. Everything inside her seemed to shrink. Pain surged back, as it had surged over and over since she’d lost her little son.

But something about this time made it different. Something told her it must be different. So for once, somehow, she let the pain envelop her, not trying to deflect it, simply riding it out, letting it take her where it would. Trying to see, if she allowed it to take its course, whether it would destroy her or whether finally she could come out on the other side.

She was looking at a man holding a little boy who wasn’t Matty-a little boy who against all the odds, she was starting to care about.

The heart swells to fit all comers.

It was a cliché. She’d never believed it. Back at the hospital, watching Matty fade, she’d looked at other children who’d come in ill, recovered then gone out again to face the world and she’d felt…nothing. It had been as if other children were on some parallel universe to the one she inhabited. There was no point of contact.

But suddenly, unbidden, those universes seemed to have collided. For a moment she thought the pain could make her head explode-and then she knew it wouldn’t.

Matty. Philippe. Two little boys. Did loving Matty stop her feeling Philippe’s pain?

Did loss preclude loving?

How could it?

She gazed out over the water, at this big man with the responsibilities of the world on his shoulders, and at this little boy whose world had been taken away from him.

She knew how many cares were pressing in on Ramón right now. He’d taken this day out, not for himself, but because he’d made a promise to Philippe. Every week, he’d come. Affairs of State were vital, but this, he’d decreed, was more so.

She thought fleetingly of the man who’d fathered Matty, who’d sailed away and missed his whole short life.

Philippe wasn’t Ramón’s son. He was the illegitimate child of a cousin he’d barely known and yet…and yet…

She was blinking back tears, struggling to take in the surge of emotions flooding through her, but slowly the knot of pain within was easing its grip, letting her see what lay past its vicious hold.

Ramón had lost his family and he’d been a loner ever since, but now he was being asked to take on the cares of this country and the care of this little boy. This country depended on him. Philippe depended on him. But for him to do it alone…

Class barriers were just that, she thought. Grief was another barrier-and barriers could be smashed.

Could she face them all down?

Would Ramón want her to?

And if she did face them down for Ramón’s sake, and for hers, she thought, for her thoughts were flowing in all sorts of tangents that hardly made sense, could she love Philippe as well? Could the knot of pain she’d held within since Matty’s death be untied, maybe used to embrace instead of to exclude?

Her vision was blurred with tears and it was growing more blurred by the second. Ramón looked across at her and waved, as if to say, what’s keeping you; come in and join us. She waved back and turned her back on them, supposedly to walk up the beach and strip off her outer clothes. In reality it was to get her face in order-and to figure if she had the courage to put it to the test.

Maybe they didn’t want her. Maybe her instinctive feelings for Philippe were wrong, and maybe what Ramón was feeling for her stemmed from nothing more than a casual affair. Her heart told her it was much more, but then her heart was a fickle thing.

No matter. If she was mistaken she could walk away-but first she could try.

And Matty…

Surely loving again could never be a betrayal.

This was crazy, she told herself as she slipped off her clothes and tried to get her thoughts in order. She was thinking way ahead of what was really happening. She was imagining things that could never be.

Should she back off?

But then she glanced back at the two males in the shallows and she felt so proprietorial that it threatened to overwhelm her. My two men, she thought mistily, or they could be. Maybe they could be.

The country can have what it needs from Ramón but I’m lining up for my share, she told herself fiercely. If I have the courage. And maybe the shadows of Matty can be settled, warmed, even honoured by another love.

She sniffed and sniffed again, found a tissue in her bag, blew her nose and decided her face was in order as much as she could make it. She wriggled her bare toes in the sand and wriggled them again. If she dived straight into the waves and swam a bit to start with, she might even look respectable before she reached them.

And if she didn’t…

Warts and all, she thought. That was what she was offering.

For they all had baggage, she decided, as she headed for the water. Her grief for Matty was still raw and real. This must inevitably still hurt.

And Ramón? He was an unknown, he was Crown Prince of Cepheus to her Jenny.

She was risking rejection, and everything that went with it.

Consuela said she had courage. Maybe Consuela was wrong.

‘Maybe I’m just pig-headed stubborn,’ she muttered to herself, heading into the shallows. ‘Maybe I’m reading this all wrong and he doesn’t want me and Philippe doesn’t need me and today is all I have left of the pair of them.’

‘So get in the water and get on with it,’ she told herself.

‘And if I’m right?’

‘Then maybe serenity’s not the way to go,’ she muttered. ‘Maybe the opposite’s what’s needed. Oh, but to fight for a prince…’

Maybe she would. For a prince’s happiness.

And for the happiness of one small boy who wasn’t Matty.

They swam, they ate a palace-prepared picnic on the sand and then they took a sleepy Philippe back to the farmhouse. Once again they drove in silence. What was between them seemed too complicated for words.

Dared she?

By the time they reached the farm, Philippe was asleep but, as Ramón lifted him from the car, he jerked awake, then sobbed and clung. Shaken, Ramón carried him into the house, while Jenny stared straight ahead and wondered whether she could be brave enough.

It was like staring into the night sky, overwhelmed by what she couldn’t see as much as what she could see. The concept of serenity seemed ridiculous now. This was facing her demons, fighting for what she believed in, fighting for what she knew was right.

Dared she?

Two minutes later Ramón was back. He slid behind the wheel, still without a word, and sat, grim-faced and silent.

Now or never. Jenny took a deep breath, reached over and put her hand over his.

‘He loves you,’ she whispered.

He stared down at their linked hands and his mouth tightened into a grim line of denial. ‘He can’t. If it’s going to upset him then I should stop coming.’

‘Do you want to stop?’

‘No.’

‘Then why not take him back to the palace? Why not take him home?’

There was a moment’s silence. Then, ‘What, take him back to the palace and wedge him into a few moments a day between my appointments? And the rest of the time?’

‘Leave him with people who love him.’

‘Like…’

‘Like Consuela and Ernesto.’ Then, at the look on his face, she pressed his hand tighter. ‘Ramón, you’re taking all of this on as it is. Why not take it as it could be?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Just try,’ she said, figuring it out as she went. ‘Try for change. You say the palace is a dreadful place to live. So it is, but the servants are terrified of your title. They won’t let you close because they’re afraid. The place isn’t a home, it’s a mausoleum. Oh, it’s a gorgeous mausoleum but it’s a mausoleum for all that. But it could change. People like Consuela and Ernesto could change it.’

‘Or be swallowed by it.’

‘There’s no need to be melodramatic. You could just invite them to stay for a couple of days to start with. Tell Philippe that his home is here-make that clear so he won’t get distraught if…when he has to return. You can see how it goes. You won’t be throwing him back anywhere.’

‘I won’t make him sleep in those rooms.’

And there it was, out in the open, raw and dreadful as it had been all those years ago. And, even worse, Jenny was looking at him as if she understood.

And maybe she did.

‘You were alone,’ she whispered. ‘ Your father brought you to the palace and he was killed and you were alone.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s everything. Of course it is. But this is now, Ramón. This is Philippe. As it’s not Matty, it’s also not you. Philippe won’t be alone.’

‘This is nonsense,’ he said roughly, trying to recover some sort of footing. ‘It’s impossible. Sofía saw that even before I arrived. Philippe’s illegitimate. The country would shun him.’

‘They’d love him, given half a chance.’

‘How do you know?’ he snapped. ‘He was there for over four years and no one cared.’

‘Maybe no one had a chance. The maid I talked to this morning said no one was permitted near except the nursery staff, and Philippe’s mother was constantly changing the people who worked with him. He’s better off here if no one loves him at the palace, of course he is. But you could change that.’ She hesitated. ‘Ramón, I’m thinking you already have.’

He shook his head, shaking off demons. ‘This is nonsense. I won’t risk this.’

‘This?’

‘You know what I mean.’ His face grew even more strained. ‘Gianetta…’

‘Yes?’

‘I hate it,’ he said explosively. ‘The paparazzi almost mobbed you yesterday. The threat from Carlos… How can anyone live in that sort of environment? How could you?’

Her world stilled. Her heart seemed to forget to beat. How could you? They were no longer talking about Philippe, then. ‘Am I…am I being invited?’ she managed.

‘No!’ There was a long silence, loaded with so many undercurrents she couldn’t begin to figure them out. Through the silence Ramón held the steering wheel, his knuckles clenched white. Fighting demons she could hardly fathom.

‘We need to get back,’ he said at last.

‘Of course we do,’ she said softly, but she knew this man now. Maybe two weeks of living together was too soon to judge someone-or maybe not. Maybe she’d judged him the first time she’d seen him. Okay, she hardly understood his demons, but demons there were and, prince or not, maybe the leap had to be hers.

‘You know that I love you,’ she said gently into the warm breeze, but his expression became even more grim.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t say what I feel?’

‘You don’t want this life.’

‘I like tiaras,’ she ventured, trying desperately for lightness. ‘And caviar and French champagne. At least,’ she added honestly, ‘I haven’t tasted caviar yet, but I’m sure I’ll like it. And if I don’t, I’m very good at faking.’

‘Jenny, don’t make this any harder than it has to be,’ he snapped, refusing to be deflected by humour. ‘I was a fool to bring you to Cepheus. I will not drag you into this royal life.’

‘You don’t have to drag me anywhere. I choose where to go. All you need to do is ask.’

‘Just leave it. You don’t know… The paparazzi yesterday was just a taste. Right now you’re seeing the romance, the fairy tale. You’ll wake in a year’s time and find nothing but a cage.’

‘You don’t think you might be overreacting?’ she ventured. ‘Not everyone at the Coronation ball looked like they’ve been locked up all their lives. Surely caviar can’t be that bad.’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘You’re my beautiful Jenny,’ he said. ‘You’re wild and free, and I won’t mess with who you are. You’ll always be my Jenny, and I’ll hold you in my heart for ever. From a distance.’

‘From how big a distance? From a photo in a frame?’ she demanded, indignant. ‘That sounds appalling. Or, better still, do you mean as your mistress on your island?’

He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. ‘What the…?’

‘That’s what Sofía said we should do.’

‘I do not want you as my mistress,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘So you don’t want me?’ His anger was building, and she thought good. An angry Ramón might just lose control, and control had gone on long enough. She wanted him to take her into his arms. In truth she wanted him to take her any way he wanted, but he was fighting his anger, hauling himself back from the brink.

‘I want you more than life itself, but I will not take you.’ He took a deep ragged breath. ‘I could never keep you safe.’

‘Well, that’s nonsense. I know karate,’ she retorted. ‘I can duck and I can run and I can even punch and scratch and yell if I need to. Not that I’ll need to. Perpetua says Carlos is all bluster.’

‘Perpetua…’

‘Is a very nice lady with an oaf for a husband and with very old-fashioned ideas about royal wives shutting up. Ideas that I don’t believe for one minute. You’ll never see me shutting up.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I want you free.’

‘Free?’ She was fighting on all fronts now, knowing only that she was fully exposed and she had no defence. All she had was her love for this man. ‘Like our whale?’ she demanded. ‘That’s just perspective. Our whale’s free now to swim to Antarctica, but she has to stop there and turn around. A minnow can feel free in an aquarium if it’s a beautiful aquarium.’

She hesitated then, seeing the tension on his face stretched almost to breaking point. She’d gone far enough. ‘Ramón, let’s not take this further,’ she said gently. ‘What’s between us…let’s leave it for now. Let’s just think of Philippe. Is his room still as it was at the palace?’

‘No one’s touched the nursery.’

‘So you could go in right now and say, Philippe, what about coming back to the palace for a night or two? Tell him maybe if it works out he could come for two nights every week. See how it goes.’

‘Jenny…’

‘Okay, maybe it is impossible,’ she said. ‘This is not my life and it’s not my little cousin. But you know him now, Ramón, and maybe things have changed. All I know is that Philippe’s breaking his heart in there, and if he returned to the palace there’s no way he’d be alone. Consuela is looking out the window and I wouldn’t mind betting she knows exactly what we’re talking about. She’s bursting to visit the palace, even if she’s scared, and if you raise one finger to beckon she’ll have bags packed and Bebe in his cat crate and you can still reach your three o’clock appointment. And, before you start raising quibbles like who’ll look after their alpacas, you’re the prince, surely you can employ half this district to look after this farm. So decide,’ she said bluntly. ‘You’ve been making life and death decisions about this country. Now it’s time to make one about your family.’

‘Philippe’s not my family.’

‘Is he not? It might have started with sympathy, Ramón Cavellero, but it’s not sympathy that’s tugging him to you now. Is it?’

‘I don’t do…love.’

‘You already have. Just take the next step. All it needs is courage.’ She hesitated. ‘Ramón, I know how it hurts to love and to lose. You’ve loved and you’ve lost, but Philippe is going right on loving.’

‘He can’t,’ he said but he was looking at the window where Consuela was indeed peeping through a chink in the curtains.

And then he was looking at Jenny-Gianetta-who knew which?-and she was looking back at him with faith. Faith that he could take this new step.

‘You can,’ she said.

‘Gianetta,’ he said and would have taken her into his arms right then, part in exasperation, part in anger-and there were a whole lot more parts in there besides, but she held up her hands in a gesture of defence.

‘Not me. Not now. This is you and Philippe. Do you want him or not?’

He looked at her for a long moment. He glanced back at the farmhouse, and Philippe was at the window now, as well as Consuela.

And there was only one answer to give.

So, half an hour later-Ramón would be late for his meeting but not much-his little red Boxster finally left the farmhouse, with Philippe once again snuggled between Ramón and Jenny. There was a cat crate at Jenny’s feet. The Boxster was definitely crowded.

Behind them, Consuela and Ernesto drove their farm truck, packed with enough luggage to last them for two days.

Or more, Jenny thought with satisfaction. There were four big suitcases on the back. For all she talked of class differences, Consuela seemed more than prepared to take a leap into the unknown.

If only Ramón could join her.