Princess Dottie

Chapter Six

Within hours the press conference had beamed around the world. Television channels showed it again and again, always focusing on the wonderful moment when Dottie had lifted little Elsa in her arms.

The Ellurian newspapers hailed her as Our Laughing Princess. Some played up the family resemblance. Others claimed she'd already showed how she would be “A true mother to her people. ”

“On the basis of one incident?” Dottie demanded over breakfast two days later. ”

“But it was great, Dot,” Mike said. He'd dropped in to tell her he'd be out sailing all day. “Just fancy, your grandpa being right all along!”

“Did he bend your ear with those stories, too?”

“Only the once. He took me to the pub. We got real plastered, and he came out with all this stuff about Duke Egghead.”

“Egbert. What did he say about him?”

“Well that's it, after I'd sobered up I couldn't remember, and I never have. When I get tiddly again it starts coming back to me, but it goes again.”

Those who'd feared, or hoped, that Dottie's unorthodox ways might bring her down were confounded. She was a darling. That was official. Her oddities were no more than charming eccentricity, only to be expected in one who'd been reared “with wider horizons than royalty normally enjoys.”

Even Randolph raised a smile at that. He was delighted at the way people were determined to see the best in her, even though the facts behind the headlines sometimes made him tear his hair.

He hadn't, for instance, been amused when Dottie vanished again, and turned up in the kitchen, chatting happily with the cooks and eating ice cream “like a greedy child,” as he caustically put it.

“Well, I tucked in because I was sure you were going to arrive any minute and spoil the party,” Dottie told him, adding gloomily, “And you did.”

She didn't mention the fun she'd had reducing Fritz, the head chef, to jelly. But Fritz invented a new ice cream which became known as The Dottie Special, despite horrified attempts by the palace old guard to quell the name.

Dottie fell on it with delight, even ordering it for breakfast one morning, and sending down a note with the empty dishes saying. Dear Fritz, terrific as always. How about doing one with peaches? Ever yours, HRH, Dottie.

Somehow the story got into the papers and vastly increased her popularity, which might, or might not, have been the intention of the person who leaked it.

Messages of congratulations began to flood in from governments and royal houses, including one from Prince Harold of Korburg, that made Randolph snort with disgust.

He had an air of tension these days, the reason for which everybody guessed, although it was spoken only in whispers. Dottie's acceptance as the true heir had finally broken the patience of the Bekendorf family. Sophie's father had stormed in to see Randolph and finally broken the engagement. The Bekendorfs did not marry nobodies.

Hearing the story, Dottie winced, imagining what that cruel barb must have done to a man of Randolph's pride.

“Don't believe the lurid tales,” Aunt Liz advised. “Randolph's valet is married to my maid, and I can tell you that Randolph did not knock the man to the floor, nor did he make a noble speech about true love conquering all, which is the other version doing the rounds. He merely observed that he had already freed Sophie from all obligation to him, and asked Bekendorf to leave.”

“Poor Randolph,” Dottie murmured. “How terrible he must feel.”

Aunt Liz shrugged. “I suppose he must, but he'll never tell anybody.”

Dottie nodded, thinking of the magical evening they'd spent together, when she'd seen only what he wanted her to see, the smiling charm, the pleasure in a shared joke. And all the time…

She tried to remember his eyes, and could recall only their warmth. Even his remoteness had been hidden that night, while he'd encouraged her to open her mind as she'd done to nobody else. And she felt again the little flame of resentment against him.

The days began to merge into each other, and slip away, each one too packed with activity for Dottie to think. When she wasn't being fitted for new clothes and wearing the triumphant results at receptions, she was discovering Elluria on horseback. Now it was Randolph who escorted her through the countryside, full of spring blossoms. He often smiled at her eager pleasure in her surroundings.

“Anyone would think you'd never seen the countryside before,” he said once.

“In a way that's true. I've always lived in London. I never knew anything as beautiful as this.”

They had dismounted to let their horses drink from a stream that ran through a small wood. When the beasts were satisfied, Dottie and Randolph tied them to a tree and wandered away by the water. Ahead of them the sunlight slanted between the branches, and the light seemed to mingle with the sound of birdsong and the soft crunch of their feet against the earth. At moments like this she wished it would never end. There was peace here, something she dimly recognized that she had never found before.

Randolph walked beside her in silence, handsome and maddeningly unreadable. Dottie longed to say something to comfort his sadness, but she guessed he would hate for her to introduce the subject, and she couldn't risk it. Lacking any other way to reach out to him, she showed her sympathy by a careful gentleness. At last he said, wryly humorous, “Dottie, please don't treat me with kid gloves. I promise you it isn't necessary.”

“I can't help it. I heard what happened.”

“It was bound to happen. Bekendorf couldn't let the situation continue. No father could.”

“But doesn't Sophie get a say?”

He looked across the water. “Sophie has been more loyal to me than I deserve. She would have abandoned everything to marry me, even as a commoner. I can't accept her sacrifice, although I honor her for her generosity.”

“But do you lo-”

“Please can we discuss it no further? The matter is ended.”

“If you can end it just like that, then…” She stopped at the look in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said dangerously, “Go on. Am I in for some sentimental psychobabble about not having loved her? The only true feelings are the ones that are paraded to the world? Because I don't bare my soul on Oprah, I have no soul? Isn't that how it goes?”

She didn't answer, only stood looking at him. He sighed and calmed down.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you.”

“Probably did you good,” she said. “I can't see you blurting it out on Oprah either, but keeping it all in isn't good for you. All right, that's psychobabble, but sometimes even psychobabble gets it right. You're too controlled.”

“Control was instilled in me as a child. It's too late for me to abandon it now.”

“But don't you ever want to be simply happy?”

His answer was an eloquent shrug, and suddenly, as if a window had been opened, she saw into his mind. “You don't think happiness matters, do you?”

“Not for me,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone that had no trace of self-pity.

“What does matter to you?”

“My duty to the people of this country, in one way, if not another.”

“You mean teaching me to take your place?”

“Of course.”

“But doesn't that hurt terribly?”

“It doesn't matter,” he shouted. “Why can't you understand that? Whether it hurts me or not is unimportant. Let me tell you-” he checked and took a deep breath.

“Tell me what?”

“That life is a great deal easier this way. There's nothing worse than constantly fretting over your own feelings. There's no happiness in that either. But if you do what has to be done, there can be a little satisfaction.”

Something was aching inside her, almost too much for her to speak. “And that's what you're going to live for?” she asked at last. “A little satisfaction from doing your duty.”

“It's all that's left for me, Dottie.”

“But you can't say that,” she cried. “It's giving up on life.”

“I shall live a life-”

“No you won't, except on the surface. Inwardly you'll have crawled away into a cave where you think nobody can find you. You say that being hurt doesn't matter, but actually you plan to protect yourself by not having any feelings that can be hurt. It looks brave and noble but actually it's cowardly.”

“Thank you,” he snapped. “If you've finished…”

“I haven't. There's something else.”

“Get it over with.”

“All right,” she said breathlessly, and kissed him.

She did it quickly before she lost her nerve, but she was driven by a need so strong that it created a kind of courage. The last time her lips had lain against his had been in the park on her final day in England. The memory had been with her every moment since, and now there was something she had to know. Seeking the answer, she pressed her mouth more urgently against his, and felt his tremor, his indecision. He wanted to draw back but couldn't make himself do it. She sensed that much. But what else was there?

His hands were on her shoulders, neither pushing her away nor drawing her close. In a troubled voice he murmured, “Dottie…”

“I'm not going to let you hide in that cave.”

She had a glimpse of his face, harsh and cynical as he said, “Perhaps that isn't your decision.”

“I'm the crown princess, I'm making it my decision.”

She silenced him before he could answer, kissing him again with purpose and urgency. Her life hadn't taught her to be a skilled lover, but she had something better than skill, a need to communicate with him through her flesh, and a feeling in her heart that she wouldn't acknowledge, but which drove her none the less.

She could feel him trembling with the struggle going on inside, and she sensed the exact moment when he stopped struggling. He'd been holding himself taut in defense against her, but suddenly the tension went out of him and his body seemed to relax against her. Then his arms went around her and he had taken charge, full of anger and resentment at how she'd broken through his guard, but unable to prevent it.

“You're playing a dangerous game, Dottie,” he growled.

“Who's playing games?” she whispered against his mouth. “Kiss me.”

She barely got the last word out before he smothered her mouth again, kissing her with a fierce skill that showed her she was just an amateur. But she was learning fast. Sliding her hands along his arms, feeling the swell of muscles, it was as though she'd never touched a man before. Nor had she. Only boys, as unskilled as herself, callow lads who'd deferred to “Steamroller Dottie.” But this man had deferred to nobody until she came along, and now he was in no mood to defer to her. She'd unleashed something she couldn't control, and it was the most thrilling event of her life.

Her heart was hammering. Briefly, it was alarming how everything was slipping out of focus, but then she didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered beyond this moment, her old life, her new life, Mike…

Mike!

She pulled back, gasping as the world returned abruptly. “Oh no, I can't…please let me go.”

He did so, staring at her with a brow of thunder. Even so, he was more in command than she.

“I shouldn't have done that,” she said in horror. “Why didn't you stop me?”

“Her Royal Highness's word is law,” Randolph said ironically.

“Is that the only reason why you kissed me back? To humor me?”

“Is that why you think I did?”

“Don't confuse me with questions. Oh, I'm terrible. How could I do that to poor Mike?”

Randolph made a sound of disgust. “Do you realize that's how you always talk about him? To you he's always poor Mike. If a woman's really in love with a man she doesn't talk about him like that.”

“That's not true,” she flashed. “I've always been in love with Mike.”

“Perhaps that's why you aren't anymore,” he suggested, his eyes full of the things she was trying to pretend weren't true.

“You know nothing about it.”

“I know how you kissed me just now. I know that it was your kiss. What more do I need to know?”

“That's right, jeer at me.”

“I'm not jeering, merely pointing out that all this maidenly reticence is a little out of place.”

“Because I came on to you, right? Well, I shouldn't have done, and I wish I hadn't. I'd forgotten what you're really like.”

“And what am I really like?”

“Everything's planned, isn't it? Draw people in so that you can use them, and then fend them off when they try to be nice to you. Oh boy, am I glad I'm going home soon!”

“Dottie, listen-”

“No, I'm going back. Don't come with me.”

“I have to.”

Suddenly inspired she flashed, “Then you can follow me 'at a respectful distance.' There! Is that royal enough for you?”

She fled back to her horse, so furiously upset that she actually managed to mount without assistance, which she usually couldn't do. By the time Randolph reached his own horse she was far ahead, galloping madly.

All over Elluria the mail deliveries were being watched with feverish excitement. A grand ball would put the seal on the new queen's acceptance, and not to be invited meant social death. As the last of the invitations arrived there were sighs of relief and groans of despair.

The chandeliers in the great ballroom were taken down and each tiny facet washed separately. The finest crystal was retrieved from cupboards. The palace gardeners worked overtime tending hothouse blooms to adorn the public rooms.

Dottie's dress was a masterpiece of blue satin, heavily embroidered and studded with jewels. On her head she would wear a diamond tiara that had been in the family for three hundred years. A matching diamond necklace and bracelet completed her adornment.

“You look gorgeous, Dot,” Mike breathed when he looked in on a fitting. Aunt Liz had stepped out for a moment and they were alone.

She wondered fleetingly how she would look to Randolph. Would he think her beautiful? He'd been away for the past couple of days, and she didn't know when he'd return. That was good, she told herself. The thought of their last meeting still made her go hot and cold with shame.

“Dot? Are you there?”

“Sorry,” she said hastily, returning to the present. “How are you managing, darling? I gather they're fixing you up with white tie and tails!”

He made a face in which disgust and unease were mingled, and she burst out laughing. Then she kissed him more tenderly than usual. She was feeling guilty about Mike these days.

“And I'm having dancing lessons,” he said. “I told them I didn't need that. A waltz is easy-one, two, three, one, two, three. What else do you need?”

“I said the same,” Dottie replied, carefully removing the magnificent jewelry. “But I have to learn all the other stuff, too. Fancy doing the quickstep and wondering if your tiara's falling off.

“Undo me,” she begged. He pulled down the zip at the back, and steadied her as she stepped out of the dress. Still in her slip, she draped the lovely dress over the back of a chair then turned to him with mischief in her eyes. “One, two, three?” she said.

“You're on. Can I have the first waltz, madam?”

But she shook her head in mock horror. “Oh no, you have to wait for me to invite you. If I deign to honor you, a footman will approach and ask if you would like 'the honor of dancing with Her Royal Highness.”'

“Suppose I say no?”

“Then I'll lock you up for an insult to my royal person.”

“You're a right idiot, you know that, Dot?”

“You only just found that out?”

They laughed together and began hopping around the room like the pair of kids they had once been.

Mike's brow became furrowed, as it always did when he tried to think. “Don't feel you have to invite me to this big 'do,”' he said. One, two, three. “I wouldn't be offended if you thought I'd be out of place.”

“You're not getting out of it that easily,” she said, interpreting this generous offer without difficulty.

“I'll need moral support.” One, two, three.

“But Dot…”

“Be there.”

“Yes, Dot. Anything you say Dot.”

“And don't say it like that, as though I'm always giving you orders.”

“No, Dot. Anything you say Dot.”

She thumped his arm. He began to chuckle and she joined in, overwhelmed by tender affection for him. He was her Mike, as comfortable as an old slipper, and right now that seemed preferable to the turbulent sensations and feelings that awaited her if she wasn't careful. At last they stopped dancing and clung together, while peals of mirth echoed up to the elegant painted ceiling.

Their laughter reached Randolph, who was approaching along the corridor and through the outer room. The sound entranced him, catching at his heart and making him press forward to find the source without considering what it might be. The door to her bedroom was ajar and he'd pushed it open and walked in before he had time to think. That was how he saw Dottie, dressed in her slip, hugging Mike to her, her head thrown back as she laughed affectionately up into his face.

“Good afternoon,” Randolph said calmly.

Dottie released herself from Mike's arms, but didn't seem discomposed at being found like this. If anything, she eyed Randolph with dislike, which puzzled Mike.

“I believe Captain Gorshin and some of his friends were hoping you would join them about now,” Randolph informed him.

“Right. Fine.' Bye Dot.”

When they were alone Randolph eyed her coldly. “May I suggest that you put some clothes on?” he said bleakly. “May I further suggest that in future you pay a little more attention to the proprieties? Fooling around with young men in your underwear is not the behavior this country expects of its queen.”

He spoke more harshly than he'd intended. The intimate sight he'd stumbled on had struck him like a blow in the chest. He called formality to his aid, and for once it failed him.

“And may I remind you that these are my private apartments and you should have knocked before coming in?” Dottie said defiantly. “May I further remind you that in these rooms I decide what's proper and what isn't?”

“Congratulations, Dottie,” he said ironically. “You're beginning to acquire the tone of lofty command. It's a pity you have such a poor idea of when to use it.”

“Are you telling me how to behave?”

“On the evidence of my eyes I think somebody needs to.”

“Oh stop being so stuffy. Mike's seen me in less than this-”

“I don't want the details.”

“-when I stayed with his family once, and we all had to fight over the bathroom.” She met his eyes innocently. “Everyone saw everyone in everything…or rather in nothing. Or anyway, not much.” Seeing no yielding in his face she said coaxingly, “Can't you see the funny side?”

“I suppose I might have expected that from you,” he said bitterly. “The funny side. Always the funny side. You're incurably frivolous.”

“Rubbish. I can be serious when the situation is serious. But this one isn't.”

“You're the queen. If you let a man see you wearing only a slip and-” he stopped, feeling his breath coming unevenly.

Dottie looked down at herself, following his gaze. “Yes, I'm not wearing a bra,” she said. She couldn't resist adding, “Have you only just noticed?”

He'd been trying not to. The top of her slip was lacy and full of little holes, giving tantalizing glimpses of her otherwise bare breasts. They were as firm and uptilted as he recalled from that first morning when he'd been granted a brief, forbidden glimpse of her lovely nakedness. His brow was damp.

“Are you so shameless that you don't cover yourself?” he demanded coldly.

Dottie herself couldn't have explained what had gotten into her to make her goad him like this, but the little devil that was urging her on gave another prod with his trident.

“Why should I? It's only you.”

“Meaning that I'm some kind of eunuch?” he demanded dangerously.

“I was thinking more of a father figure. And what's a eunuch?”

“A eunuch would be a man who could see a woman dressed as you are and feel no response,” he snapped. “A eunuch would observe you half-naked and see the funny side.”

“But you don't?”

A pit yawned at his feet. Just in time he saw it and swerved.

“I cannot be amused,” he said bitingly, “when a woman to whom I must swear allegiance as my queen behaves in a way unsuitable to her station.”

The effect of these words on Dottie was so swift and dramatic that it took Randolph aback. He couldn't know that any reference to his lowered position cut her to the heart. He only knew that the fun drained out of her face, leaving only a sad dignity behind.

“Perhaps you're right,” she said, pulling on a robe and turning away from him.

“Dottie, I was only-”

“It's a rotten situation for you. I should have remembered.”

“Let's not discuss that.”

“No, we don't need to discuss anything. I'll go and get dressed now.”

She hurried away, leaving Randolph displeased with himself. He'd acted correctly and it had been a disaster. She was no longer joyous, therefore no longer Dottie.

And that was all wrong.

The rules stated that royalty arrived last and departed first. So on the night of the great ball Dottie stood, with Randolph, behind the huge mirrored double doors that led into the ballroom, knowing that on the other side were gathered two thousand people.

She would have liked to grasp his hand, but although he was beside her she couldn't make herself do it. Everything was wrong between them now.

The moment came. From behind the doors she could hear the orchestra play the national anthem. The doors opened on the glittering scene and they stepped forward.

At once she was engulfed in a wave of applause. Everywhere people were smiling at her. She knew a stab of pleasure, but hard on its heels came indignation. Why didn't they hate her for displacing the man whose life was dedicated to their service? Why didn't they spare a thought for his suffering? Burning with pity for him, she failed to notice her progress until she found herself at the foot of the stairs leading to her dais.

Randolph led her to the top, inclined his head and withdrew. The Master of Ceremonies caught her eye. She nodded, he signaled to the orchestra conductor, her partner presented himself and the ball began.

Deep in the crowd, Mike had watched Dottie's arrival with fond admiration, glad to see that she didn't seem to need his help. Then a footman approached him, but the words weren't the ones he'd expected. “Would you like the honor of dancing with the Countess Sophie Bekendorf?”

Mike looked around wildly at some of his officer friends, but they slapped him on the back and urged him on. Sophie was magnificent in dark red velvet, her shoulders bare but for the famous Bekendorf rubies. Feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter Mike followed the footman toward her, not in the least comforted by her brilliant smile.

But Sophie was charming. She greeted him warmly and was even understanding about his dancing. After a couple of turns around the floor she said sympathetically, “Why don't we sit this one out? I'm a little thirsty.”

Mike found himself in a small conservatory just off the ballroom, a drink in his hand, and Sophie's ardent eyes turned on him.

“I really only drink beer,” he protested.

“But this wine is practically our national drink,” she said, sounding hurt.

So he tried it, and had to admit that it wasn't bad after all.

“Everyone wants to talk to you,” Sophie said admiringly, “because nobody knows our new queen as well as you. We're all so glad to have her. She's refreshingly natural.”

“Aye, speaks her mind, does Dot,” Mike confirmed.

“So I've observed. Tell me, did her royal birth really come as a surprise to her?”

“Oh yes. She had no idea. Mind you, her grandpa always knew. Used to say all sorts when he'd had a few.”

Sophie gave a tinkling laugh and Mike began to feel that perhaps he was a heck of a fellow after all. He drained the second glass and a third appeared as if by magic. Or perhaps it was the fourth.

“But I don't suppose he knew very much,” she said.

“Well, he had some very strange stories. Nobody believed a word of them, mind.” Mike held out his glass to Dagbert, wondering why he'd ever been worried. A glow of content was settling over him.

Deep in the ballroom Dottie was beginning to feel relieved. So far she'd managed without mishap. Every foreign ambassador had to be honored with a dance in strict order of importance. Somewhere near the lower end of the list was Count Graff, the ambassador from Korburg, who danced correctly, spoke like a robot and barely bothered to conceal the fact that he was looking her over with mingled interest and contempt.

Sometimes she caught sight of Randolph, splendid in dress uniform. He too was doing duty dances, although her quick eyes never saw him in Sophie's arms. Why? she wondered. Had they made a pact to avoid each other in this public place? Or was Randolph simply too heartbroken to be near her?

Then she realized that he never looked at her. She'd dared to be pleased with her own appearance. She knew that she really looked like a princess. And for all the notice he took she might as well not have bothered.

At last her duty dances were done, and she could sit on the plush chair on her dais, and wiggle her toes. Randolph would approach her now, but he seemed deep in conversation with a general, so Dottie set her chin and summoned a footman.

“Inform my cousin that I would like to speak to him,” she said, sounding more imperious than she felt because she felt uneasy behaving like this.

After a moment Randolph approached her and bowed correctly. His air was polite but formal. He bowed again when she indicated the chair beside her, and took it.

“Is there some way I can be of use to you?” he asked.

“You can tell me how I've offended you.”

“Your Royal Highness has not offended me.”

“Oh stop that!” she said, letting her temper flare a little. “Why haven't you asked me to dance?”

“Because it's not my place. I've already explained that it's for you-”

“But surely that doesn't apply to you?”

“I'm afraid it does.”

“Then I'm asking you to dance with me.”

He rose and extended his arm. “As Your Royal Highness commands.”

She was about to speak to him crossly again but she noticed how sad his face was, and it silenced her. They danced together correctly for a few minutes, and Dottie became more depressed every minute. When had they ever been correct? Perhaps his misery over Sophie was more than he could conceal. Whatever the cause, he seemed to have become almost a stranger.

He saw her looking at him and smiled self-consciously. “I trust you're enjoying your first ball?” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “I'm enjoying it extremely.” She thought that sounded about right.

Randolph heard the elegant phrasing and his heart sank. For some reason tonight he found himself remembering their first evening in London, when she'd laughed and talked outrageously. At first he'd been shocked, but shock had passed as he became charmed by her springlike freshness. And all the while he'd been deceiving her, and he knew that she'd never quite forgiven him.

Now a change had come over her. She was beginning to learn her role, to dress correctly and speak elegantly. But, inch by inch, she was ceasing to be Dottie, and he didn't like it.

He reminded himself that to her this was just a game, that she was looking forward to calling a halt and returning home to marry Mike, the man to whom her heart clung with a stubbornness that drove him wild. He thought of the secret action he'd taken to ensure that her dream would never come true. He was deceiving her again, and his guilt tormented him.

For a moment her attention was distracted, and he followed her gaze to where Sophie was floating by in the arms of the Korburg ambassador, the third time she'd danced with him.

Oh, no! he thought in dismay. Please Sophie, not that!

He didn't blame her. He knew the family pressure she was under to find a royal husband, and Harold was now the most eligible. But he felt sick at the thought that she might ally herself with a man he despised. Then he realized that Dottie was watching his face, and he hastily smiled.

The dance was coming to an end. He led her back to her dais, bowed and excused himself. Suddenly feeling very lonely, Dottie looked around for Mike, but there was no sign of him. What she did see was Randolph approaching Sophie and firmly cutting out the Korburg ambassador. She watched miserably as they circled the floor, until Aunt Liz touched her arm and indicated somebody that she really ought to honor with her attention.

For a while Randolph and Sophie waltzed in silence. But at last he could contain himself no longer and said in a soft, urgent voice, “Don't do it, Sophie. For pity's sake, don't do it.”

“Are you the man who should say that to me?” she asked softly. “What else should I do? Wear the willow for you?”

“No, not that, but how could we marry when I have nothing to offer? There was no choice for either of us. Your father made me see that.”

“I understand. Forgive me for what I said, beloved. You're a good man. I know your heart too is broken.”

A frisson of unease went through him. Perhaps she sensed it, for she gave a beautifully modulated sob.

“Sophie, please,” he murmured. “Don't cry here.”

Swiftly he danced her out onto the terrace. She was still weeping, and he felt vaguely embarrassed, and then ashamed of his embarrassment. Once he'd thought her cool, composed, a good friend but no more. Her apparent desolation at his loss made him awkwardly conscious that his own feelings had always been weaker.

“Sophie, my dear,” he said as they slowed to a halt, “what do you want me to do?”

“I know you can't change anything,” she sobbed. “I accept it, but you mustn't blame me for what I do.”

“How could I ever blame you? But it hurts me to think of you as that man's wife.”

“And yet you yourself will soon be married, won't you?”

“Hush,” he placed his fingertips gently over her mouth. “Don't speak of that.”

“No, there's nothing more to say, for either of us. Kiss me goodbye.”

Saddened by her grief, and what he felt to be his own inadequate response, he drew her close and laid his lips tenderly on hers. It was the kiss of a generous friend, but from a short distance it could have had the appearance of a lovers' embrace.

At least, that was how it seemed to Dottie, standing at a window, looking out with bleak eyes.