by India Grey
‘You don’t understand,’ he said flatly, and was about to try to explain when a movement on the beach below them caught his eye. Not a person quite, but the distinct shadow of one, flickering across the uneven sand, betraying the fact that there was someone lurking beneath the veranda. One with a camera and recording equipment, he had no doubt.
Across the table Emily regarded him steadily. ‘Try me.’
But already he was on his feet, pushing the hair back from his forehead, his eyes darting around the softly lit terrace beneath the canopy.
He’d lowered his guard. He’d completely forgotten Josefina and her bloody press contacts and for a moment he had just been himself. Deus , basic error. Maybe it was just as well the paparazzi had shown up or God knows what he would have ended up saying. Doing.
‘Time to go.’
In one swift movement he was by her side, gathering up Luciana from her knee and into his arms. As he bent to pick her up he caught the soft scent of Emily’s hair. She relinquished Luciana without protest, but glancing at her face he saw a dull flush of anger along her cheekbones.
There was no time to explain.
And what would he have said anyway? That the whole thing had been Josefina’s idea, a royal photo opportunity set up to make him look better than he was? That was hardly likely to make her look upon him any more favourably.
‘O carro, por favor, Raimiro.’
While they’d been eating his two bodyguards had been sitting discreetly at a table by the door to the main restaurant, but now they leapt to their feet. Raimiro was on the phone before he’d finished speaking, and with the speed and efficiency of long practice they were moving quietly through the restaurant to the door. Luciana felt warm and soft in his arms, and he felt a surge of fury and protectiveness as he held her head against his chest and wove his way quickly through the tables.
The car drew up as they emerged into the pastel-hued evening. He pulled open the door, shielding Luciana’s face as he stood aside to let Emily in before getting in beside her. It all took just a matter of seconds. Barely enough time for Josefina’s pet photographers to have picked up their cameras.
Emily’s face was stony, but leaning back in his seat, Luis allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. He’d acted completely on instinct, and for once it hadn’t been for his own benefit.
It felt surprisingly good.
CHAPTER NINE
CONCERNS Grow for King’s Health…
The headline said it all really, but just in case anyone was left with any doubts about the king’s illness, the huge front-page photograph of a waxen-faced King Marcos Fernando slumped in the back of the car en route from the private clinic would have settled them once and for all.
Luis looked at the picture for a long time and, aware that Josefina was virtually combusting with the urge to speak, began very slowly to read the story too. He’d got as far as the bit about sources close to the king confirming that he’d attended the clinic for a series of tests when Josefina could hold herself back no longer.
‘It really is most unfortunate, sir.’
‘Absolutely,’ Luis said gravely, setting the paper aside. ‘Thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to pass on your good wishes to my father.’
At least she had the good grace to blush. ‘Of course. That would be most kind, and obviously —’ she stressed the word slightly, which ironically had the effect of making her sound even more insincere ‘—the King’s personal health is the most important thing in all this, but my job is to keep an eye on the long-term welfare of the monarchy. Really, sir, it’s very regrettable that the King’s illness has been given such prominence at this stage. We had hoped that by going out with Miss Balfour last night—’
‘Miss Balfour and Princess Luciana. It was hardly a romantic date.’
‘Even better!’ There was a clash of bangles as Josefina threw her hands up theatrically. ‘A completely new perspective on the Prince—the perfect way to keep the King’s health in the background and show the public your caring side! The photographers were strictly briefed to be respectful of the Princess’s age and her vulnerability, sir, but in the end you hardly gave them a chance to get a usable shot. Which is why—’ she didn’t bother to conceal her exasperation ‘—you’re relegated to one paragraph on the end of the story about the King.’
‘Am I? I missed that,’ Luis drawled. ‘Oh, yes, here it is. “One person who doesn’t seem overly worried about the King’s health is Crown Prince Luis. Instead of spending the evening at his ailing father’s bedside he chose to go out for a fun dinner with his niece, Princess Luciana. This is the first time the playboy Prince has been seen with the daughter of his late brother, although this sudden interest may have more to do with the Princess’s new dance teacher, Emily Balfour, with whom the Prince was spotted in a steamy clinch recently”.’ He put the paper down. ‘How cynical the press can be.’
‘They have a job to do, sir. Just like I do. And just like you do.’
‘The difference is they chose to be unscrupulous parasites and you chose to be an arch manipulator of the truth, whereas I…’ He was about to say that he’d had his role thrust upon him, but stopped. It would have been a lie. He’d brought it on himself. And whatever other facts about himself he might allow Josefina to spin and remodel, that one was unalterable.
He sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry to have ruined the master plan. Do you have any other ideas to transform my tawdry image?’
A look of immense relief settled on Josefina’s expertly made-up face. ‘Well, the first thing is to go and see your father—’
‘I have,’ Luis interrupted wearily. ‘I spent an hour with him this morning.’ For much of that time King Marcos Fernando had been asleep, and Luis had simply sat by the bed, looking down at the parchment-pale face, trying to reconcile the reality of the frail old man in the bed with the myth of the strong, infallible monarch in which the people of Santosa were so desperate to believe.
‘A private visit is no good, sir.’ Josefina looked at him as if he was missing something obvious. ‘You need to let the press know that you’re going, alert photographers and a news crew, and be ready to give a comment to reassure the people that the king is doing well.’ She spoke quickly, ticking each point off on a scarlet-tipped finger. ‘Also, I think we need to start publicizing the jubilee event more aggressively. It’s only a matter of weeks away, and it will give people something to focus on and a reason to feel optimistic in these…uncertain times.’
Luis kept his eyes fixed on the potted palm behind Josefina. It reminded him of the restaurant last night and for a moment the memory of Emily Balfour’s face, the sinking sun turning her eyes to violet and her cheeks to rosy gold. He’d joked so many times about her being a child—and why? Because of that night a year ago when she’d refused to succumb to his meaningless, empty seduction. Evidence if ever it was needed that she was wise way beyond her years.
‘…but actually, I think that’s the key.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Luis brought his gaze back to Josefina, wondering how much of what she’d said he’d just missed. He’d been so lost in thought she could have just informed him that she’d arranged for him to be fed to a cage of lions as part of the jubilee entertainment for all he knew.
‘Princess Luciana. I think she’s going to be a massive asset. I respect your decision as the Princess’s legal guardian to keep her out of the public eye, but the jubilee would be the perfect opportunity to give her a more prominent role.’
‘No.’ Luis stood abruptly, disgust mixing with the same primeval instinct that he’d felt last night when the paparazzi had appeared. An asset. Deus. ‘Luciana’s too young, and far too vulnerable. She couldn’t deal with the press, and she shouldn’t have to.’
‘With respect, sir, she’s going to have to sometime. You can’t let her grow up like some princess in a fairy tale, kept in a tower.’
‘I’m not suggesting that,’ he snapped. Or wa
s he? Was his guilt over what had happened to Rico and Christiana clouding his judgement? What would they do?
As if she’d read his thoughts, Josefina said, ‘Prince Rico was always most keen that she should grow up understanding the duties of her position. I know it’s difficult, but I genuinely believe that she would benefit from this greatly. She already seems to have bonded very firmly with Miss Balfour, and since she’s a trained ballet dancer…’
Luis shook his head, his mind was whirring. ‘Wait a minute—what exactly are you suggesting?’
‘The Brazilian National Ballet.’ Josefina looked at him with a trace of exasperation. ‘They’re lined up to perform as part of the jubilee celebrations. And I thought that maybe Princess Luciana and Miss Balfour could be part of the performance.’
No.
The word sprung to Luis’s lips, but got no further. What right did he have to dictate Emily’s life? She was a dancer, for God’s sake. He had brought her over here to use and manipulate her, and the least he could do was let her have the chance to do something she loved.
And as for Luciana… Hadn’t he already had far too much influence on her life already? Hadn’t his flawed judgement and shallow, selfish attitude affected her enough?
Down below in the courtyard the sunlight glinted off the polished buttons and gleaming rifles of the guards stationed at the inner gateway.
‘What if Miss Balfour doesn’t want to do it?’
‘I’m sure she will, sir. I took the liberty of contacting the principal of her ballet school in England, to find out whether she was up to a major role. Apparently she’s an extremely gifted dancer, sir—the star of her year. When she left last year her career as a prima ballerina looked assured, but her mother’s illness seems to have brought it to something of a halt. The principal was clearly of the opinion that this was a travesty.’
Luis closed his eyes, picturing Emily on the rickety stage in that dingy community centre in her Pink Flamingo T-shirt, and the fluid grace with which she’d moved.
‘The Brazilian ballet are doing Giselle on the mainland at the moment, and I’ve just managed to get tickets for you for Saturday night’s performance. Why don’t you take her, and ask her then?’
‘Oh, that was brilliant!’ Emily exclaimed, as she and Luciana finished going through the very simple routine she’d devised to introduce her to the basic ballet positions. ‘Do you know, I think you’re a natural ballerina!’
Luciana bowed her head shyly, but in the mirrored wall of the palace’s state-of-the-art gym Emily could see her smile of pride. What she said was true though. Perhaps because of her shyness Luciana naturally had the upright bearing that made much of the preliminary stuff unnecessary.
Emily held out her hand to her. ‘Let’s have a little rest, and then we’ll do some more work on those toes. If you’re not too tired, after last night?’
Taking her hand Luciana shook her head fiercely. ‘Oh, no . I’m not tired at all.’
Emily led her over to the bench along the wall and passed her a plastic bottle of water. ‘All dancers have to drink plenty of water when they’re practising.’
Luciana took a small sip. ‘I liked the drink from the restaurant better.’ The little frown line appeared between her eyebrows. ‘What was it called again?’
‘A cola float.’ Emily laughed. ‘But they’re strictly for special occasions only.’
There was a small pause, then Luciana said, ‘Last night was a special occasion, wasn’t it? I know it wasn’t my birthday or Christmas or my grandpa the King’s birthday, but it still felt like a special occasion.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Emily agreed quietly. It had felt like a special occasion to her too. The beach at sunset, the silly champagne float, the shared food and the game they had played had all made it feel special…. And Luis. Luis had made her feel special. She remembered the feel of his fingers sifting through her hair and the peculiar intensity in his eyes as he’d asked her what she thought about Luciana.
And for once he hadn’t been cynical or mocking or taken the opportunity to tease her about being a child. She had had a kind of breathless, dizzying feeling that he was about to let her into a place that was as closely guarded as the inner sanctum of the palace. And then at the last minute he had withdrawn behind those thick stone walls and let down the portcullis, and the evening had been over.
She got abruptly to her feet, and strode over to the CD player. ‘Anyway,’ she said briskly, desperate to calm the sudden fizz and crackle of desire that had gripped her whole body. ‘Shall we carry on? Now you’ve got the hang of the positions we can do some more advanced moves.’
Ultimately she just hadn’t been special enough, she thought angrily, turning on the CD. Maybe the whole ‘deep and meaningful conversation’ routine was one of the many strategies in his seduction repertoire, and in the end he’d just decided she was too dull, too gauche, too unbroken , to be worth the effort.
Luciana had gone over to the barre and was standing there waiting, her body held very upright, her eyes fixed on Emily’s face. Seeing the anxiety in them Emily instantly felt awful. She hadn’t meant to sound so terse. Consciously forcing herself to relax she did a little pirouette and then swept down in a low bow.
‘Would Princess Luciana give me the honour of this dance?’
The music was a plodding polka, intended for exercise work, but Emily swept Luciana up in her arms and waltzed her around the room, swooping and hopping until they were both breathless and Luciana was giggling uncontrollably. Neither of them heard the door open, or were aware that they were being watched, until they whirled round and saw the solid figure in a starched nurse’s uniform standing squarely in the middle of the floor.
Emily staggered backwards, letting Luciana slide from her arms. The laughter on her lips instantly died as she saw the expression of supreme disapproval on Senhora Costa’s face, which didn’t alter as, with a rustle of starch, she curtsied to Luciana.
Emily felt her insides go cold.
‘It is time for Her Highness’s lunch and her afternoon nap,’ the nanny said stiffly, taking Luciana by the hand and marching towards the door. ‘In future, Senhora Balfour, I would ask that you could return the Princess to the nursery yourself at one o’clock sharp. The importance of routine cannot be underestimated.’
‘I—I’m sorry…’ Emily called after them, but as the door slammed in their wake she knew she wasn’t remotely sorry about lunch or naps or routine. She was sorry for Luciana.
Viciously she stabbed the off button, and the music ceased. Emily tugged off her ballet shoes and threw them back into her bag, where they landed on top of the pointe shoes she had brought with her.
She paused, her heart still beating out a hard, angry rhythm. And then lowering herself down onto the smooth, blond wood floor she took the satin slippers out of her bag.
They were old ones—one of the few things that she had brought with her from Balfour, and the toes were frayed and worn. Picking one up she ran the tattered satin ribbons through her fingers and flexed the shoe between her hands so it was folded almost in half, thinking about when she’d worn them, to dance Sleeping Beauty in her final year.
Her lucky shoes. That’s how she’d always thought of them. That’s why she’d brought them with her when she left home, but of course by then their luck seemed to have deserted them. She shoved her foot into the left shoe, pushing her toes down hard to the block at the end, feeling the pain. Pain was part of ballet; she’d never been afraid of that—of the blisters and the blood, and the ugly, raw calluses.
Behind her the door opened. She looked round, but the tingling sensation in her spine had already told her who she would see. Luis’s broad shoulders almost filled the door frame and the spotlights set into the ceiling of the studio shone on his bronze hair and turned it to gold.
‘I’m afraid you just missed Luciana,’ she said, turning away again and concentrating hard on tightening her pointe shoe. ‘Senhora Costa took her back to the nurse
ry for lunch and her rest.’
‘It was you I wanted.’
His voice was perfectly neutral. So why did her heart feel like a rubber ball that had been bounced against her ribs? She took the ribbons of her shoe and crossed them tight across her ankle, winding round and pulling hard.
‘What for?’
Footsteps on the wooden floor, coming towards her. She kept her head bent over her foot, but the hairs on the back of her neck rose as he came to a standstill right behind her. ‘I just wanted to ask you…’ He paused, and she lifted her head and looked into the mirror in front of her. Their eyes met, and Emily experienced the same sensation as you got when you touched an electric fence. An electric fence around a huge, black chasm, warning her to keep away from the edge. ‘I wanted to ask you if you’d like to come—’
She looked swiftly down again. ‘I don’t think so.’
He came forward so he was standing in front of her, leaning against the barre. ‘You haven’t heard what I was going to say yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She finished tying the ribbon around her ankle and tucked the knot in, neatly, out of sight. ‘I just think that after last night it would be better—simpler—if we kept things on a professional basis. Could you please pass me the other shoe?’
It was lying on the top of her ballet bag. He bent and picked it up, but he didn’t hand it to her straight away. ‘This is professional,’ he said absently, turning it over in his hands, feeling the hardness of the pointe. ‘I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me to the ballet.’
Emily looked up, holding onto her bare foot. ‘The ballet?’
‘It’s the Brazilian National Ballet performing.’ He frowned, still looking at the shoe. ‘I assumed that ballet shoes would be soft, but this is rock hard. Doesn’t it hurt?’