by E V Darcy
Her grandfather didn’t really have that kind of power, did he?
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Alistair said, glancing away from her scrutiny.
‘Like what?’
‘Like I’m one of your puzzles to work out.’
She opened her mouth to protest, before snapping it shut again. She probably had been looking at him that way, trying to work out who he was after seeing him in a completely different light; one that involved a ridiculously adorned hat sitting atop his head. Alistair had always been the most approachable, the only member of her extended-family who seemed semi-normal compared to the rest, which was saying something considering he had the greater tie to the whole royal thing. But now she wasn’t so certain if that wasn’t just a face he wore for them and the public; did he have others that he donned with their grandfather and uncle? One for world leaders; another for his private life?
‘What the hell are you even trying to cover up?’ she finally asked. ‘I mean, the car exploded, there must have been a technical fault or something… Why this whole charade in the first place?’
Alistair matched her confused expression. ‘Hattie, has no one explained to you that what happened to your friend wasn’t an accident. It was a bomb, Hattie, a huge bomb put under that car. For the damage it caused, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been meant to go off in a city, like here in Wessex. Maybe next to the Tyrrell building, maybe outside a shopping centre? But wherever it was meant to be, it was far too big a bomb for your little street.’
Hattie felt her mouth hang open as she stared up at the future king. A bomb. Not a fault. Not a wiring problem, not a problem with the fuel, but a purposefully planted device meant to kill and hurt people.
‘Didn’t Marcus tell you this already?’ Alistair asked. Hattie shook her head. ‘Didn’t the police suggest it?’ She began to shake her head again, but paused halfway as she tried to recall everything that had happened that fateful morning.
She’d picked herself up off the floor, dazed and confused; she’d ran up the steps without thinking, but stopped halfway as the road came into view and she saw the car ablaze. The fire licked its way high into the sky, thick black smoke billowing upwards into the clouds high above the dancing flames. The noise was so loud, the popping and crackling of the fire eating away at the vehicle, the metal screaming as it bent and twisted with the intense heat of the inferno.
She’d stumbled towards it, watching the smoke swirling and spiralling from under the long car, unravelling across the road before disappearing into the ether.
Jensen, she’d called out, coughing and spluttering as she got closer, turning her body away slightly as the heat intensified against her near naked skin. She kept calling his name, kept trying to get closer—two steps forward, one step back—until finally, through the flames she’d seen him. His body turning, twisting—
‘—it’s okay, Hattie. It’s okay.’ Alistair’s calm voice brought her back to the moment, as she coughed and wheezed, her frame heaving to dispel itself of the phantom smoke the memories made feel so real. Her cousin’s warm, large hand gently rubbed circles against her back, trying to ease her coughing fit and get her to relax once more.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in her ear as he crouched beside her. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She shook her head, waving him away to try and get some space to breathe again.
She took a huge lungful of air, trying to calm her racing heart. Her mind ran over everything she’d seen, felt, heard… Of course it was a bomb. Cars didn’t just explode. What had she actually thought had happened?
She let out a little noise of disbelief. She hadn’t really been dwelling on the how or why, just on the fact it had. On how her friend was no longer going to randomly call the group together, suggest something insane, and off they’d all go to do it. No more crazy adventures with Jensen…
‘But who’d want Jensen dead?’ The question came from her lips without thought, but now she heard it, it was an excellent one to pose.
‘Hattie, what exactly did you know about Jensen’s life?’ Alistair asked as he took his seat again. She frowned as she considered his question.
‘Jensen was… fun loving,’ she told him simply. ‘Crazy, always ready for something. Anything and everything was his motto in life. He only drove a Ferrari and lived in an amazing penthouse in Avon.’
‘You’ve been to the penthouse?’ Alistair asked. She shook her head. She and Julia had been invited a few months ago, but when they’d called up, he wasn’t there. The manager had said he’d suddenly had to go out of town. ‘Did you see pictures of it on social media?’
Another head shake. ‘No, he didn’t do things like that, he always said his life was his own and not for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to spy upon; if he wanted the world to know something he’d shout it from the highest mountain or as he jumped from a aeroplane.’ She chuckled softly at the thought. He’d sent her a video of such an event, the tips of his hair flying wildly about his head as the helmet held the rest in place; the goggles he wore had made him look weird as he hurtled towards the ground.
‘Did he have any enemies?’ Alistair pushed.
She raised her brows at her cousin. ‘So when I wouldn’t spill to Marcus they sent you? They should have just sent one of my sisters.’ She frowned at that. ‘Actually, why the hell haven’t any of them visited me? They have been told, haven’t they?’
Alistair licked his lips before sinking his teeth into his lower one. Hattie sighed and rolled her eyes. She should have known they’d have kept her involvement a secret, but to not tell her own sisters?
‘Bloody hell, that’s a new low, even for our family, Alistair.’
‘I am sorry, Hattie, but you weren’t talking and this is important.’ His eyes showed his sincerity, their softness making her squirm in her seat as she kept her tongue still rather than telling him anything else he wanted. ‘Look, I said I’d come and if you opened up a bit, I’d report back on only things that might throw some light on the whole thing.’
‘And holding me prisoner is the way to go about that, is it?’
‘You’re not being held prisoner, Hattie, you’re being medically observed.’
‘Bullshit.’ She pushed herself out of her seat and headed to the wardrobe. ‘If I’m not being held here, then I’m free to go.’ She pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt one of the Guards had dropped off two days ago—neither of which were actually hers—and turned around to start getting undressed.
‘Hattie! I’m right here!’ Alistair complained, spinning around the moment she began to strip.
‘I don’t care. I’ve been stuck in here for four days, Alistair, without access to my friends or my family. I’ve had nothing to do but watch that bloody brainwashing box’—she waved at the TV before she slipped her still bandaged right arm into the sleeve of the blouse—‘and hearing the same damn lies over and over about Jensen every time the news comes on.’
‘Look, if you’d just spoken to Marcus, you’d have been discharged yesterday once the doctors had cleared you. Just answer the question and I’ll see that you get escorted over to The Castle today.’
Her fingers froze on the buttons of the shirt as Alistair’s words sank in. ‘I’m not going to The Castle of The Guild!’ Her cousin winced at the screech of her voice.
‘Hattie- Can I turn around?’
‘Sure,’ she said pressing the last button through the hole and planting her hands on her hips to face the prince.
‘Just tell me, did Jensen have any enemies?’
‘None that I know of,’ she said shortly. Alistair’s eyes remained on her, unwaivering and demanding she give him more than what she was already telling. She threw her hands up, giving in, and elaborated. ‘There wasn’t anyone who he met that didn’t instantly fall in love with him just a little bit. He was every guy’s guy and every woman’s picture of perfection.’
‘Even yours?’
‘What- no.’
‘But he spent the night with you,’ Alistair said, taking a step towards her.
‘Yes, he stayed at mine on Wednesday night.’ She raised her brows, challenging him to ask her directly. She was going to lie regardless, but she wanted to hear him ask. He didn’t, instead his shoulders sagged and he turned to take a seat again.
‘Sorry, just with everything that happened with Victoria and Cormac, everyone’s a little on edge. So, if you had been planning something with him, like I don’t know, running off and eloping for example…’
Hattie choked on air as she tried to bite back her laughter.
‘Marry Jensen? Ha! Jensen was so terrified of commitment he’d never had a relationship that lasted more than a few months,’ she explained. ‘However,’ she added with a secretive little smirk and by the twich of Alistair’s lips knew his interest was piqued —he was going to have to get a better poker-face than that before he became king. ‘He did ask me to marry him.’
Alistair’s head whipped around so sharply, she thought he’d get whiplash. ‘Relax.’ She laughed. ‘He asked me to marry him every time I saw him, sometimes twice in one night. He did the same with Julia and Constance too.’ She paused as a thought dawned on her. ‘Never Heidi though.
‘Look,’ she told him with a pointed finger, before she started to hunt for a pair of shoes. ‘Jensen couldn’t make an enemy out of anyone. He was too nice for a start and had too much fun for another. He had no responsibilities; he didn’t take a position at his father’s company when he was offered one, and as far as I know he lived off the trust his grandfather left him and a few sound investments—as advised by moi. Now, if that’s all, I’m going to go!’ She stood back up triumphantly with a smart court shoe in each hand.
Alistair considered her words; his lips puckering as he turned them over in his head. He rose from the chair and walked to the window, his index finger tapping at his chin. Hattie rolled her eyes as she slipped the shoes on her feet.
‘What about Roman?’ he suddenly asked.
‘What about Roman?’ she retorted.
‘Well, if the bomb wasn’t for Jensen, maybe it was for his brother. His identical twin brother.’
Hattie opened her mouth to protest, before she closed it again quickly. A stray thought from Wednesday night popping into her head.
Everyone else thought I was Roman.
Crap, what if Roman had meant to be the target? What if someone was out to get him and got Jensen instead? Even their own mother couldn’t tell who was who when they were dressed the same and didn’t speak. Anyone who didn’t intimately know the two would never be able to tell one from the other.
Hattie swallowed and dropped heavily onto the bed in defeat.
‘You better get Marcus in here.’
‘They can’t have been that identical,’ Marcus said, frowning down at the pictures Hattie had found on Guildford University’s website. They’d done an in memoriam piece on Jensen and there were pictures of him with various members of the gifted programme during their time on campus. Or at least they thought they had.
‘That one with me,’ she said, pointing at one taken just before Christmas break during their second year. ‘That’s Roman. That one’—she tapped another with Julia further down the page—‘is Jensen.’ Marcus scrolled between the two photos, his dark eyes framed by his brows. ‘I suppose I should call them up and let them know they’ve messed— Oh, for the love of God.’ She sighed as Marcus scrolled further and she saw Roman’s graduation photo at the bottom with Jensen’s name on it. ‘They’re utter idiots.’
‘How can you tell?’ Alistair asked, his face also scrunched up in confusion as he tried to tell the two apart.
It truly was remarkable how identical the pair had been. Neither had a visible freckle, mole, or birthmark to make them stand apart—although she knew that Jensen had a tiny freckle on the inside of his right little toe while Roman had one on the left. Both of them had their appendix removed when they were fifteen, within days of one another, and both had broken their left ankle while playing rugby almost exactly one year apart.
One of their research projects had been on their own genetic sequences. They’d found so few differences it had caused quite a stir in the scientific world; they’d become published before they’d even completed their undergrad, which the university had loved, of course.
So how could she, little Hattie, tell who was who just by glancing at them when no one else could? Their eyes.
‘But they’re the same eyes!’ Alistair protested, throwing the tablet back at her when she revealed her secret. Marcus scrutinised the pictures a little more before shrugging and clicking off the page to look at something else.
‘Not their actual eyes,’ she told her cousin as she clicked on Roman’s graduation picture and zoomed in to just see his face. ‘It was the way they looked at me. Very different.’
‘Oh, God,’ Alistair groaned. ‘Don’t tell me; they were both desperately in love with you, but you only had eyes for Jensen.’
‘Roman,’ she corrected her cousin. ‘And no, neither were in love with me; desperately or otherwise.’ She just wished one of them had been.
‘Getting back to the point,’ Marcus interrupted. ‘So when you left the bar you saw no one following you?’ Hattie huffed with annoyance. They’d been over this twice already.
‘For the last time—and I mean it Marcus, I am out of here after I say all this one last time. We left the bar at about ten. He said he had a car, but I wasn’t going to let him drive, so we walked up the beach to my house—which by the way I am pissed about you blowing up. We will be coming back to why exactly that had to happen.’ The Guardsman looked unmoved and unimpressed by her demands. ‘It was a nice walk; the moon was full, the beach was bright, and the water was relatively calm. It was a little chilly, but nothing out of the normal for the season. It takes ten minutes tops to get to mine from the bar.’
‘If he had a car, why did he get picked up the next day?’ Alistair asked.
‘Very good, Your Highness.’ Hattie looked unimpressed at the two of them.
‘Having a car doesn’t mean that you’re driving,’ she pointed out. ‘You could easily have a car service. And as we took our shoes off, he got his phone out and sent off a message. Maybe he was letting his driver know he was leaving on foot?’ That comment made Marcus frown and he quickly turned back to his tablet and began tapping away. Hattie rolled her eyes. One would think he was fresh out of the training academy.
‘Did he know where you lived before that night?’ Marcus asked.
‘He’d never been there before, but he knew, I sent the group a change of address notice when I bought the place.’
‘You bought it what? Ten years ago, would he still remember?’ Alistair asked. Hattie stared at him, hoping she could somehow set his head on fire with her thoughts. She was fed up of them being so stupid, or worse, treating her as the stupid one.
‘It was eight years ago, and Jensen has what you’d call a photographic memory. You tell him something, he remembers it. How do you think he found me? He didn’t just happen upon me.’ As soon as she said the words, she stopped.
How had he known she was at that bar that night? The bar was relatively new, opening just six months or so ago, so she’d never mentioned it to any of them save Julia. Had he gone to her house and upon finding it empty just happened to go for a drink at the nearest bar? He had seemed in need; drinking Roman’s preferred tipple like it was water…
Everyone else thought I was Roman.
She rubbed her temples as thoughts raced around her head; pieces to a puzzle she’d never fit together. Why hadn’t he just told her why he was sneaking around as his brother before he’d gone and got himself blown up? Or told her what he needed to go and fix? Was that linked to the reason why he was dressed as Roman? Damn him! He knew she hated problems she couldn’t solve, and without him there to fill in the blanks, she’d never really know the answer to the plethora of questions she had for him.
‘Nothing happened; I asked him why he was dressed like his brother, but he skirted the question. Instead, he asked if I could change being a Snape or not be royalty, would I? I answered. We got to my house, I let us in from the back—from the beach. I asked him the same, but he deflected again, telling me how he got more points on the entry exam for the Guildford programme than Roman did.’
‘Did he?’
‘How should I know? You’d have to ask the University. But I did ask him, if he were so smart, why wasn’t he the vice-president of Seymour Medical. He laughed and said it would mean wearing those types of clothes—Roman’s type—all the time. But before I could question him on that he asked me to dance. He asked me why Roman and I weren’t on the best of terms after being close at University.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Hattie, please,’ Marcus tried to reason. ‘It might give us something to work with.’
‘It literally won’t. So no. But he did tell me that Fiona and Roman aren’t faithful. Apparently, they cheat on each other all the time. That might be something to look into.’ Marcus made a hmm sound before he tapped something out on his screen.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
‘There’s not much more to say.’ She shrugged. ‘He stayed over—on my couch.’ She still wasn’t giving them that titbit. ‘He got up far too early the next morning, waking me up at the arse-crack of dawn, and said he’d had to go and sort something out, but he’d be back later. It seemed rather important.’
‘I’ll look into that,’ Marcus said. Hattie sighed. ‘So you two weren’t a thing and he didn’t have a girlfriend? No one to get jealous that he’d spent the night with you?’