Crowned: The Palace Nanny

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEIR apartments were stunning-two apartments with an adjoining door. Rooms almost big enough to house a tennis court.

‘They’re built for the Crown Prince and Crown Princess,’ Stefanos told them while Zoe and Elsa stared in incredulity.

‘This is something out of a museum,’ Elsa murmured. ‘You know the ones I mean? This is the bed where Charles the First spent the night before the Great Wiggery Foppery of Seventeen Sixty-Two.’

‘The Great Wiggery Foppery?’ Stefanos asked, bemused.

‘Or maybe it was the Great Gunfire Pirouette with Catherine Wheels,’ she told him, desperately striving for humour in the face of splendour that was just plain intimidating. ‘I’m Australian so my knowledge of royalty is distinctly hazy, but my grandma had a book on Bedrooms of the World. I read it when I was seven and I had chickenpox. They all had descriptions like Queen Anne had dropsy in this very bed and threw up on this very pillow. And no, don’t ask me what dropsy is.’

‘Are we really going to sleep in here?’ While Elsa was covering her nerves with nonsense, Zoe was awed into hushed delight.

‘They’ve changed the sheets since the great dropsy plague,’ Stefanos said gravely. ‘I think it might be safe to sleep in them again.’

Zoe giggled.

Which was the whole point of the exercise, Elsa reminded herself. If she could keep Zoe giggling…

But for how long?

‘We’ll sleep in this one,’ Zoe said, and proceeded to clamber up onto what was surely intended as the Crown Prince’s bed. It was vast, with four golden posts, a golden canopy and rich burgundy curtains drawn back with gold tassels.

‘Then Elsa will sleep in the other one,’ Stefanos said, motioning through the open door to a bedroom almost as large and a bed almost as luxurious.

The giggling stopped. Zoe’s bottom lip trembled.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is too big by myself. We sleep in the same room at home. Why can’t we sleep in the same room here?’

‘We can,’ Elsa said. ‘There’s no need to worry Prince Stefanos, though. We’ll fix it.’

‘You’ve been sharing a room with Zoe?’ Stefanos asked.

‘I have.’ She met his gaze with open defiance.

‘So you had only one bedroom in that little cottage?’

‘Zoe has nightmares,’ she said. ‘Even if we had ten bedrooms we wouldn’t use them.’

‘I’m not sure the staff will approve of a trundle bed in here. They’re wanting Zoe to be real royalty.’

‘So Zoe gets the four-poster and I get a trundle.’

‘There needs to be some delineation.’

‘I’m her friend and her guardian.’

‘Yes, and her nanny.’

‘So I am,’ she said, figuring that here was a line in the sand-her first test. Zoe would not be made to suffer from the demands of royalty. ‘So it’s back to the trundle. Zoe will not sleep alone.’

‘I don’t like alone,’ Zoe said, relaxing now she was sure Elsa was on her side.

‘We’ll sort it out,’ Stefanos went on in a voice that said this issue wouldn’t go away.

‘If you think…’

‘Leave it,’ he said, and she met his gaze head-on. ‘Zoe, take a look at the beach.’

Zoe looked-while Elsa met Stefanos’s gaze and held. He smiled at her and she thought, Don’t you dare. You smile at me and you think you can get away with murder.

The scary thing was that she suspected he could.

‘Look at the beach, Elsa,’ he said gently, and she tore her gaze away from his and looked.

The palace gardens led down to a wide stretch of golden sand, a cove of shallow water and low, rolling waves.

‘Wow,’ Zoe breathed. ‘Can we swim?’

‘As soon as you’re settled.’ He hesitated, watching Elsa. Who forced her thoughts back to beds.

If he thought he could get his own way simply by smiling…She took a deep breath and started to form a cogent argument about trundle beds, but he’d moved on.

‘Lunch is in half an hour,’ he told them. ‘We’ll organise the beds later. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you to get settled. The butler will let you know when lunch is ready, and he’ll show you the way.’

‘Can’t we just come down in half an hour?’ Elsa asked.

‘You’d get lost,’ he told her and there was that smile again. ‘And now we have you both here we don’t intend to lose you. Make yourselves at home and I’ll see you at lunch.’

He went out. Elsa was left with confusion, an unaccountable fear and the knowledge that the room was bleaker for his going.

What was it about the man? In his presence she felt about the same age as Zoe.

This was crazy. It was just his uniform, she told herself. The fairy tale bit. He looked so…royal.

‘Stefanos said we’re getting our photos taken after lunch,’ Zoe ventured, looking worried. ‘Should I wear something pretty?’

‘You look very pretty right now,’ she said and gave the little girl a swift hug. A hug she needed just as much as Zoe. ‘But maybe we can find you something even prettier. What about your new dress?’

They came down to lunch looking nervous. Zoe was wide-eyed with wonder, clutching Elsa’s hand as if it were a lifeline-but she wasn’t subdued, Stefanos thought, as he watched them walk down the stairs towards him. She looked like a little girl about to go to a birthday party where she didn’t know anyone. It was a bit scary, but it might turn out to be fun.

Elsa, on the other hand, looked nervous in a different way. It was as if she was nervous of her royal surroundings. More. She was nervous of him?

She was still wearing jeans and sweatshirt. Zoe was in the most extravagant of the clothes he’d bought for her-her beautiful party dress. Beside her, Elsa looked subdued. She looked even more subdued when she saw him waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. It was this uniform, he thought regretfully. It was enough to scare him. After the media call he could take it off, but until then he had to be a prince.

So. He was a prince. Zoe was a princess. Elsa looked as if she didn’t want to be here at all.

And she was still limping. He hadn’t noticed when she’d arrived, but watching her coming down the stairs he saw it again. She was holding the balustrade with her spare hand and doing her best to disguise it, but she was being careful. The way she swung her left leg forward…There wasn’t full movement in her hip and it looked as if coming downstairs hurt.

Last time he’d seen her he’d seen the faintest trace of a limp. She’d brushed it aside when he’d enquired, and he’d had so much on his mind then that to assume it was a temporary sprain had been the easiest option. Now, though…There was a lot he had to find out about this woman.

Like what was the damage with her leg.

Like why she was coming to lunch and a media call in faded jeans and sweatshirt. Looking scared. Up until now he would have described her as spirited and feisty. What was it about this place that was sucking the spirited and feisty out of her?

He glanced up at the massive chandelier above his head-two thousand crystals, the housekeeper had told him, and he didn’t doubt it for a minute-and he thought, What’s oppressive about this?

He smiled at them and Zoe let go of Elsa’s hand and bounced down the last few steps to greet him. She gazed up at the chandelier and breathed deeply in small girl satisfaction.

‘It’s really, really beautiful,’ she said.

‘So are you,’ he told her and she giggled.

He glanced at Elsa-and caught her unawares. There was a wash of pure, unmitigated pain on her face. It was gone as soon as it had come, quickly turned into a smile, but he knew he wasn’t mistaken.

‘We’re hungry,’ she said, a trifle too fast, and he thought she was still in defence mode.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘In fact, more than excellent when you see what’s in front of us.’

He led the way into the dining room and paused at the door, smiling down to Zoe again. ‘This is a welcome lunch for you,’ he said gently. ‘Specially made by everyone who works here.’

And it was-a feast that promised a small girl’s heaven. The delicate finger food looked as if it had been designed to tempt and tantalise a little girl’s appetite. There were tiny cheesy biscuits in the shape of animals. Finger-sized sausage rolls. Chicken wings with tiny chef-hat wrappers around their tips so a small hand wouldn’t get greasy. Strawberries and grapes and slivers of watermelon. Tiny chocolate cakes with a dusting of sugar. Miniature sponge cakes with the tops turned into wings and fixed in place with a mix of red jelly and cream. Petite eclairs with creamy custard filling.

Around them the room was a mass of fresh cut flowers, a wondrous fantasy feast of beauty and pure delight.

Zoe sat down and gazed at the table in awe. ‘Elsa won’t have to tell me to eat here,’ she breathed.

‘That’s what we hoped,’ he said and glanced at Elsa again-and got that look again. Raw pain.

‘You don’t approve?’ he asked and she caught herself and managed to smile. But her smile was strained. She was having trouble disguising how hard it was to summon it at all.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she said.

‘So why do you look unhappy?’ he asked gently.

‘Elsa’s a bit sad ’cause she hasn’t got any pretty clothes,’ Zoe said and popped a strawberry into her mouth-and then looked mortified. She swallowed it manfully and looked even more guilty. ‘Is…is it okay to start?’

‘Absolutely it’s okay to start,’ Stefanos said and handed over the sausage rolls. Zoe took two-and then looked at how small they were and took another.

‘Thank you very much,’ she breathed, and Stefanos glanced at the door. He knew at least six members of staff were behind there, holding their breath that she’d like their offering, that she’d be a kind child, that she could be a princess to be proud of.

She was all of those things, he thought. And it was thanks to Elsa.

Elsa, who didn’t have pretty things to wear.

‘So you don’t have any dresses?’ he probed and she cast him a glance that was almost resentful.

‘I didn’t bring any. And I’m not sad because of that. It’s just…I’m just a bit overwhelmed.’

‘You mean yesterday there was just you loving Zoe,’ he said gently. ‘And now there’s me and a palace full of staff and an island ready to love her.’

‘It’s crazy to think like that,’ she said, but she did.

‘So back to the clothes,’ he said gently. ‘Can I ask why there’s nothing but jeans?’

‘I’m a marine biologist. Why would I need dresses?’

There was a loaded silence. Zoe ate two sausage rolls and a strawberry and then thought about what Elsa had said. And decided she might add her pennyworth.

‘Elsa did have pretty clothes,’ the child told him, considering an eclair. ‘Only she got too skinny and they looked funny on her. We kept them for ages but then she said, “You know what, Zoe, I’m never going to be this size again; they might as well make someone else happy.” So we packed them up and took them to a church fair. And Mrs Henniker bought Elsa’s prettiest yellow dress and she looked awful in it and Elsa cried.’

‘I did not,’ Elsa said, fighting for dignity. ‘I had hay fever.’

‘You only get hay fever when you cry,’ Zoe said wisely. ‘Giving your clothes away made you really sad.’

The bond between these two was amazing. Up until now he’d thought it was Elsa who did all the giving. Suddenly a new view was opening up.

Zoe was eight going on thirty.

Elsa was…sometimes ninety. Sometimes a kid.

She was trying for indignant here but it wasn’t coming off. Zoe had exposed her and she knew she was exposed.

‘Why did you lose weight?’

‘I stopped eating for a while,’ she told him in a voice that said no more questions were welcome. ‘I’ve started again.’

‘We might need to buy you some clothes,’ he said, and watched as vulnerability disappeared, to be replaced by indignation.

‘You don’t need to buy me anything. I like my jeans.’

‘I like your jeans too,’ he said-and he did. They were exceedingly cute. Mind, she could do with a bit more flesh on her frame. She was almost elfin. And that limp…

‘What happened to your leg?’ he asked, and got another scared look.

‘Please…just leave it. I’m here to be with Zoe while she gets to know the country her papa came from. I intend to stay in the background. Can we leave it at that?’

He considered her gravely and shook his head. ‘Zoe, what’s wrong with Elsa’s leg?’

He heard her gasp. He didn’t look at her.

This woman had cared for Zoe for four years. If he’d known of Christos’s death he would have been there for his little cousin. The responsibility was his, but he hadn’t even known of Zoe’s existence.

That hurt on all sorts of levels, and one of those levels was the fact that this woman seemed to have put her life on hold for Zoe-and it might be worse than that.

He’d watched her come down the stairs and realised this was no twisted ankle. She was protecting her hip-as she’d been protecting her hip two weeks ago on the beach but he’d been too preoccupied to see it.

‘She hurt it when my mama and papa died,’ Zoe said, not picking up on the undercurrents. She was back considering food. This meal was a huge success. He could practically hear the chef’s sigh of happiness from here.

‘Are you going to tell me how badly?’ he asked Elsa.

‘I broke my hip,’ she said discouragingly.

‘You were in the car accident with Zoe’s parents?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your husband…’He hadn’t put two and two together, but he did now, and he didn’t like it.

‘Elsa’s Matty was killed too,’ Zoe said, and she was suddenly grave and mature and factual. ‘My mama and papa were in the front seat and Matty and Elsa and me were in the back. A great big truck came round the corner on the wrong side of the road and hit our camper van and our camper van started to burn. Elsa pulled me out but she couldn’t pull anyone else out. We were both really, really sad. I was in hospital for a long time-I can hardly remember-but I do remember Elsa coming in a wheelchair to see me. She says my grandma came to see me too, but I can’t remember that. I remember being in a bath a lot and crying, but Elsa was always there. And then my grandma got sick so Elsa took me home with her-and now we’re living happily ever after.’

She was suddenly back to being a little girl again. Happy and optimistic. ‘Only this is a better place for happy ever after, isn’t it, Elsa?’

‘There was nothing wrong with my beach,’ Elsa said, making an unsuccessful attempt to glower, and Zoe giggled as if she’d said something silly.

‘No, but our beach doesn’t have cream puffs. These are really good. Can I have another one, please?’

‘Be my guest,’ Stefanos said and he handed her the plate-but his eyes were on Elsa. ‘So why are you still limping?’

And once again it was Zoe who answered. ‘Mr Roberts says she should have another operation. Mr Roberts came to see Elsa last time I was in hospital and he said, “When are we going to fix that hip, young lady?” And Elsa said, “When I have the time and the money, and like that’s going to happen soon.” And Mr Roberts said she had to get her pi…her priorities right and she said she did.’

‘Zoe, don’t,’ Elsa said, looking desperate. ‘Please, sweetheart, this is nothing to do with Prince Stefanos.’

‘No, but he’s nice,’ Zoe said, as if that excused everything. ‘Can I have one of those cakey things with wings, please?’

What would happen if she just got up from the table, walked right out of here, straight to the ferry, then on a plane back to Australia?

She had a return ticket. That was one of her stipulations about coming.

It was a first class ticket. If she traded it for economy she’d have enough to live on until she could start back to work.

Zoe didn’t need her.

Only of course Zoe did. She looked happy and contented but she’d been here for less than a day. She was still clutching her. She was happy because this was exciting and Stefanos was kind. And the rest. Big and too good-looking for his own good-and did he know how sexy he looked in that uniform?

He was doing her head in and her head had to stay intact. She had to stay practical. She needed to find a role for herself here that wasn’t tied to Zoe or Stefanos or the palace.

She could do this, she thought. She just had to stay detached from Stefanos and his dangerous charm.

This man was important to her only in his relationship to Zoe. He was good to Zoe. He made the little girl laugh. But he hadn’t gained so much trust that Elsa could walk away.

She didn’t ever want to walk away. Not from Zoe. The thought hurt on so many levels that the pain in her hip didn’t even register in comparison.

‘What are you thinking?’ Stefanos asked, watching her quizzically from the head of the table. ‘To make you look like that?’

‘I…nothing.’

‘I don’t think I’ve been appropriately sympathetic.’

‘I don’t know what appropriate sympathy is.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said softly. ‘But if it helped I’d find it for you.’

See, there was the whole problem. She had so much going on in her head-how to fit in here-what she was going to do with herself while Zoe settled-how she was going to make a life for herself after Zoe stopped needing her, as stop she surely would-and across it all was Stefanos’s gorgeous smile, the way his dark eyes creased at the corners, the way he seemed to read her mind…

He left them for a while as she drank coffee. Urgent royal business, he said and that made her even more nervous. By the time he returned she was climbing the walls.

‘You don’t need me for this,’ she said and pushed her chair back. ‘Zoe, are you okay to do this photo thing with…with your cousin? I’ll go up to the bedroom and unpack.’

‘No!’ Zoe was out of her chair in a flash, darting round the table to grab her hand. ‘You have to come with me.’

Not so settled, then. Neither would she be, she thought, if someone told her she had to meet the press.

‘I’ve arranged for Elsa to come with us,’ Stefanos told Zoe, and her heart hit her boots.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve promised the press they can meet Zoe and you.’

‘And me?’

‘You’re the woman who’s been caring for our Crown Princess for the past four years,’ he said steadily. ‘The islanders would have taken Zoe to them in a heartbeat. All of us owe you a debt that touches our honour.’

He rose and held out a hand to Zoe, and the little girl hesitated for a moment and then gave him hers. It was that sort of gesture. Strong, sure, commanding. Royal.

‘If Zoe’s brave enough to have her photograph taken, surely you can,’ he told her.

‘Yes, but Zoe’s a princess,’ she said on a wail. ‘Look at me. I’m not even a proper nanny.’

‘You’re not,’ he agreed. ‘You’re our friend. And, as our friend…’ He hesitated. ‘Elsa, giving Zoe clothes seemed appropriate. For you, however, it seems almost insulting and I ask you to accept that it’s not my intention to insult you. Nevertheless, I’ve made some fast phone calls and the owners of our two main dress shops are here already, setting out a selection of clothes. For Zoe’s coronation you’ll need evening wear and we can’t get that here, but for now…it would please me if you could choose something more suitable than jeans and sweatshirt for your introduction to our island.’

She stared at him in stupefaction. ‘You want me to buy clothes?’

‘I want you to take the clothes that I will buy for you,’ he said. ‘This will be my pleasure.’

‘To dress me?’

His eyes creased involuntarily into laughter. ‘I don’t think we’re quite there yet.’

She stared at him, feeling a tide of colour sweep upward. ‘Ex…excuse me?’

‘Levity,’ he murmured, obviously fighting to get back to being serious. ‘You need to excuse me. But this is clothes, Elsa. No big deal.’

‘I wear jeans.’

‘Zoe says you don’t. Not before the accident.’

‘I’m a whole new me since the accident.’

‘Then is it possible,’ he said gently, ‘that you can be a whole new you again?’

‘I…’

‘Please, Elsa.’

She stared down at her battered sneakers, her worn jeans. They were like her skin, she thought, yet another skin she was being asked to change.

Poverty-stricken single mother to royal childminder.

Single woman to wife. Eager student to earnest professional. Married woman to grieving widow.

Skins, skins, skins. She hardly knew who she was any more. What harm could one more change do?

‘Fine,’ she said.

‘Your gratitude is overwhelming,’ he murmured, and there it was again-that hint of laughter.

‘Did you like it when they told you that you had to wear a sword?’ she demanded.

‘I…no.’

‘Then pay me the compliment of allowing that I feel the same,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you very much for providing clothes. I accept and I’m grateful. It’s just…I’ve learned from past experience that it hurts to change direction. I’m doing my best to smile while it happens but you’ll need to excuse me when my smile falters.’

She chose a simple green sundress. Zoe and Stefanos chose a whole lot more. Presumably the photographers and journalists had been told to wait, for Stefanos refused to hurry and was only satisfied when he-and Zoe-had decided she had enough clothes to make her…pretty.

Pretty was a strange concept. She’d stopped worrying about her appearance four years ago. Now, dressed in a lovely light sundress, with shoestring straps and a skirt that twirled and swished as she walked, she decided there were definite upsides to shedding skins.

She felt…nice. Free. It was a novel experience, but it didn’t stop her hanging back as she finally followed Stefanos and Zoe to the palace media centre.

At the door Stefanos stepped back and motioned for Elsa to precede him.

No way.

She shook her head and dropped deliberately further back, and there was no time for him to react. The door was open. Cameras were flashing and questions were flying.

Zoe cast her a panicked backward glance, but Stefanos lifted her up and held her in his arms.

It was the best thing he could do, Elsa thought. Holding her in his arms. Zoe would feel totally protected.

The press was absolutely riveted on Zoe-their princess coming home. Which left her mind free to wander where it willed.

She kind of liked the way she looked in this sundress. And her new sandals were pretty.

Clothes maketh the woman? The man?

Her eyes flew back to Stefanos. She could see why he’d decided to wear his uniform, but it was more than clothes, she thought. He looked confident, sure, in charge. He was assuming the mantle of control of this country.

He had a job to do and he’d do it.

And he held Zoe as if she was his own. His body language was totally protective, and in his arms Zoe felt brave enough to venture shy answers of her own, responses the media loved-responses Elsa knew would go straight to the heart of any islander.

The Prince and his little Princess. She watched them pose together, she watched Stefanos tease Zoe into laughter, and the weird sensations she’d been feeling since the first time she’d seen him standing on her beach were consolidating to something firm and definite and true. Her vision of Matty was fading still further-not disappearing entirely; she knew it could never do that-but fading to a place where he could be mourned without the constant piercing pain that had been with her for years.

She could be pretty. She could change her skin yet again with no betrayal of Matty.

What on earth was she thinking? Crazy, crazy, crazy.

A latecoming journalist jostled past her, nudging her out of her introspection. Hauling her back to reality.

Get back to earth fast, she told herself harshly. This is one of Zoe’s fairy tales.

And maybe she ought to listen.

‘And may I introduce Dr Elsa Murdoch?’ Stefanos was saying, and she was suddenly being looked at by everyone in the room.

Doctor? She hadn’t used that title since…

‘It’s Mrs…’ she started but he wasn’t allowing her to get a word in.

‘Elsa-Dr Murdoch-was in the car crash that claimed Prince Christos’s life,’ Stefanos said, and his voice was gentle and full of compassion. ‘Also killed were Zoe’s mother, Amy, and Elsa’s husband, Mathew. Zoe still bears the scars, physically as well as mentally, and so does Elsa. Elsa is a world expert on…what did you call starfish, Zoe?’

‘Echinoderms,’ Zoe volunteered. Stefanos was still holding her tightly and she obviously felt confident enough to answer. ‘Or asteroidea,’ she added with aplomb.

‘That’s the one,’ Stefanos said encouragingly. ‘So, for the last four years, Dr Murdoch and Zoe have been conducting echinoderm-or asteroidea-research while they’ve gradually healed from their injuries. Dr Murdoch has cared for Zoe with total love and commitment, and for that this country owes her an enormous debt of gratitude.’

‘Hey,’ she said, startled enough to forget nerves and reply with spirit. ‘That sounds like you’re about to give me a gold watch and a pension.’

‘You deserve much, much more than that,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m hoping Dr Murdoch can stay here,’ he told the reporters. ‘I’m hoping she’ll be a constant presence in Zoe’s life. I need to be away from the island for a few weeks between now and Christmas-there are ends I need to tie off before I can stay here permanently-but Zoe and, I hope, Elsa, will be happy here for ever.’

And her tingle of humour and enjoyment disappeared, just like that.

Whoa. What was he saying? That she and Zoe would be staying, but he was leaving?

I need to be away from the island…

He was planning on coming and going at will? While…what had he said?…Zoe and, I hope, Elsa will be happy here for ever.

She stayed rooted to the spot while more questions were aimed at Stefanos. Was his work still important to him? How committed to the island could he be if he was returning to the States? Exactly how much time would he stay here and would he still play a ceremonial role?

‘You know I’m a neurosurgeon,’ he was explaining to the press, ‘but of course there’s work for me to do here now, medical as well as political. However, there are commitments to be honoured in the States before I can take on a permanent role.’

This was never in the contract, she thought wildly. He was leaving?

Stefanos was fielding the final questions. He was saying he’d be here until the coronation, and then he’d return by Christmas. He was intending to get the council sorted within the week…

She was no longer listening.

He was leaving.

He’d organised her to wear a sundress, while he wore a sword. The way she was suddenly feeling…

Maybe she needed a sword as well.