by Trish Morey / Caitlin Crews / Nina Harrington / Raye Morgan
‘Why sad? We’ve both come a long way these past three years so that we can sit on this beach together in this beautiful place. Who knows what the next three years will bring?’
‘Oh, Simon. Don’t do this. You are a prince, soon to be a king, with responsibilities and people who need you. Right here in Ghana. While I still have a sister back in England who needs me, and a dad who is sick. So not much seems to have changed on that front, does it? If anything, I would say that our lives are even further apart than ever.’
Simon gasped and choked out a question. ‘You don’t mean that? We have only just …’
‘Just what? Remembered old times? Yes, it has been wonderful, and just for the record I never stopped missing you. But unless one of us is prepared to move to another continent this is one long-distance relationship that is not going to work. We both know what this kind of job does to couples.’
Simon took an even tighter grip on both of her hands.
‘Don’t give up on us quite just yet, Katie. You were always the creative one. Won’t you even try to come up with a few ideas? Andy doesn’t work here all year—far from it. And there are webcams and video links we could bring in, so that you could see your family and talk to them any time you wanted.’
She paused for a moment, then nodded. ‘That’s true. But it would have to work both ways, so that you could talk to the other tribal leaders from the UK. Here is an idea for you. From what I saw today you are proud of being a one-man band, taking all the responsibilities onto your own shoulders.’ Kate slid closer to him along the beach towel. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way. Most of the other presentations today came from teams of volunteers, where the company has provided the equipment and there’s more than one project leader.’
She reached out and touched his face with one finger before smiling at him. ‘Maybe it is time for you to share the workload and forgive yourself a little. After all, you are Chief of Development. You could spend time raising funds and extra sponsorship back home and still …’ Then she stopped and sighed. ‘But you don’t want that. Do you?’
He slowly shook his head from side to side. ‘I am going to be the new king, with all the responsibilities that come with that honour. I can’t leave my people without the support they need.’
‘Then we are stuck, aren’t we?’ she answered, and slowly slid her fingers from his grasp, breaking their connection. ‘Perhaps we ought to get back in time for dinner, Simon?’ Kate said, trying to keep her voice calm and light. ‘Molly will be wondering where we have got to.’
And with that she turned away from Simon to gather up her shoulder bag, and waited for his reply—which never came.
The final touches of sunset were throwing deep shadows along the beach now, the red and scarlet bands adding texture and colour to a sky which seemed to go on for ever across the horizon. But under the trees the light was fading fast. The hotel lights shone ahead as a beacon, and lanterns had been hung in the palm frond pagodas along the edge of the shore, but Kate was struggling to see Simon’s face.
Something had changed in the air between them, as though the light under their easy camaraderie had just been extinguished.
‘Can you find your own way back?’ Simon finally asked, in a low voice full of concern but distant and cold as the night air.
Simon was still sitting with his arms resting on his knees, staring out towards the horizon. She could not see his eyes at all now, but she knew. She had made a mistake. And this one was not going to go away.
Her own way back? No, she did not want to find her own way back.
She wanted to dance along the moonlit shore, with Simon holding her hand like he used to. She wanted to skip in and out of the waves and laugh so hard that her stomach ached.
She wanted him to want to be with her. But that was impossible.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she replied. ‘I’ve made it on my own this far. I don’t need anyone to show me the way.’
And with that she set off back down the beach alone, grateful for the cover of darkness so that nobody would see her fresh tears.
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CHAPTER NINE
COMPARED to the green and lush world where she had spent the last two days, visiting dedicated and under-resourced project volunteers, the hard surfaces of the airport seemed a cold and unwelcome place.
Passengers of all shapes and sizes were shoving and pushing their way forward, trying to find the correct check-in desk for their flight or meeting up with friends and family.
She had never felt so startlingly bereft and alone.
The lights were too bright, and the clattering sounds of people and equipment and aircraft seemed deafening inside her head, creating a whirlwind of crashing sound.
She perched on the very end of a hard metal mesh bench, already crowded with several families and their assorted luggage, and hugged her precious suitcase even closer while she waited for her check-in desk to open. She was late, and the gate was later. But she had left it right until the very last minute before leaving for the airport. Hoping against hope that Simon would call her on her cell phone.
But he had not called. Why should he? She had made it clear that she did not see any future with him in Africa, and this was where his heart was now—not the rolling chalk hills of cold and green Hampshire, England.
Simon was gone. She had pushed him away with logic and common sense and practicalities. All because she had been too cowardly to fight against convention and persuade Simon and the wonderful, generous people she had met over the past few days that she and her family could have a new home here.
That had been a few short days ago—but not any more.
Ghana had worked its magic on her.
As she’d tossed and turned in the stifling hot village accommodation she had been offered so generously by the project team, her mind had constantly come back time and again to Simon’s challenge.
Perhaps Simon was right and this was a place where she could create a new life?
The more she thought about it, the more options seemed to spring up. Molly had emailed her details of the latest communication software the company were rolling out to the field operations and it was certainly impressive. The more she considered what her life would be like in the next five years, the more she wondered if living and working with Simon in Ghana could become a reality. Could she work part-time in Ghana and England? Andy had managed it for years. But could her family cope with that?
A single telephone call had been all that was needed. It had lasted hours, and probably cost the company more than she wanted to think about, but at the end of it both Tom and Gemma had agreed that her happiness was all they wanted. Gemma would love her to be home now and again, but she had always adored Simon, and any chance of a trip to Africa was a brilliant bonus—especially now that he was going to be a king.
She had never loved her family more.
To say that Andy had been thrilled that she wanted to apply for his job would be the understatement of the year! In fact she’d had to rein him back and talk job-share and part-time. But that was next week’s problem.
Anything to stop her heart melting at the memory of Simon’s tender kisses.
Simon had always been her prince, and now he was going to be a real king, with his own people. The hard reality was that she was going to have to work hard to prove that she was up to the job of being his queen.
She had always thought of herself as Cinderella, making the fire for her stepsisters—or in her case her sister and step-dad. That was where she belonged, wasn’t it? Not upstairs, sharing her life with a king.
Kate closed her eyes and tried to block out the noise. Perhaps she should risk the heat and head outside for an hour, to help relieve her headache? The check-in desk might be open by then. At least she would escape that strange drumming that was going on inside her head. Drumming and chanting and. Drumming?
Kate’s eyes flew open just as the crowds of pas
sengers seemed to part like the Red Sea before Moses, leaving a wide channel for a very strange procession which seemed to be focused on … her. Two drummers in bright striped skirts and bandanas jigged and jogged their way through the airport lounge towards her lowly metal bench, followed by a line of men and women in stunning togas, headdresses, and heavy golden necklaces and royal regalia.
Then she felt her eyes widen as two men in full ceremonial Ghanaian dress walked in a stately fashion towards her. One of them even dared to give her a wink, and gestured with his head over his shoulder as they got closer.
Startled, Kate blinked several times before she recognised that the handsome young Ghanaian was Paul, looking every inch the Prince in his splendid costume.
Hardly daring to breathe, Kate lifted her head and looked over Paul’s shoulder—into the pale grey eyes of Simon Reynolds.
And her heart sang.
He was wearing his tribal toga—a brightly coloured strip of woven cloth wrapped around his tall, athletic body, with the end thrown over one shoulder. A golden sash crossed his bare bronzed shoulder, and his lower arm was wrapped in a stunning amulet. To complete the picture, one of the boys she had seen on the photo of the village school was struggling to control the weight of a great fabric parasol and hold it over Simon’s head.
On either side of Simon were royal attendants. The tall proud men each carried a golden ceremonial staff, topped with a large carved golden standard, and as she watched in stunned silence Simon turned slightly and whispered to one, then the other, before stepping forward so that he was right in front of her.
Kate looked into his smiling eyes and tried to express how totally confused and elated and stunned she was, but failed. It was all too much. He came to her rescue.
‘I might be only a prince, not yet a king, but I come from a long line of proud people,’ he said, his voice resonating around the airport, which seemed to have come to a universal halt while everyone found out what was going on and why there was a royal procession there.
He glanced to one side, and out of the corner of her eye Kate saw Molly giving him a supportive thumbs-up. ‘A wise woman once said that every King needs his Queen. So I come to you today, Miss Kate O’Neill, and offer you my hand.’ His eyes smiled, and she could see the edges of his mouth quiver with emotion. ‘Will you do me the honour of being my future Queen? My partner? My wife? Will you share my life with me, Kate? Say yes. You have always been a princess in my eyes. Let me make you a queen I can share with the world.’
Somewhere in the airport an announcement was going out about the check-in desk for a flight to London, but Kate wasn’t interested in that any longer.
All she could think about was this man in a toga, who was asking her to marry him before a crowd of strangers. All that mattered was Simon, his grey eyes fixed on her with such pleading and such love that the only thing she could do was smile and nod in reply, and keep on nodding until the doubt on his face was transformed into startling happiness and joy.
Then the drummers started banging away for all they were worth. Simon’s friends from the village began dancing from side to side, their ceremonial staffs transformed into marching band batons, and the great parasol slid slowly to one side as its holder joined in the jig.
‘You have always been my Prince, Simon Reynolds. I never thought you could one day be my King. We will find a way to make it work, because I don’t want to spend one more miserable day away from you. That’s why I applied for Andy’s job yesterday.’
‘You did?’ he replied, his forehead so close to her. ‘I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours convincing your company to build on what we have achieved so far and use us as a pilot study for similar initiatives all over the kingdom. They’ll be sending a whole team of new graduates to make it happen. But I’ll need you with me every step of the way to make it work. Say yes, Katie. My beautiful princess. My Katie. Say yes, so that I can take you home to begin our new life together.’
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS a perfect morning in June, and the cathedral bells were ringing out across the old narrow lanes and university buildings of the ancient city which Kate now called her wet season home.
They were ringing for her, Kate O’Neill, and the man she was going to marry. When Simon had been crowned King of the village all she’d had to do was watch in wonder as the local tribal Kings and their families gathered in the huge Durbar Square. Simon and the elders had paraded around, greeting the hundreds and then the thousands of local inhabitants who had come to meet their new King.
Under the huge parasol, and again accompanied by the elders carrying tall staffs with golden standards, Simon had accepted the honour of having the crown placed onto his head with such dignity and gratitude that Kate had swallowed down tears of pride and happiness as he’d sworn allegiance to the principal King and been given his new name.
It had been a magical day. The crowning ceremony had been followed by feasts and wonderful food, then dancing late into the night—and music: music all day. Music so joyous and exuberant and full of life that just the memory of that day made her grin with pleasure.
It was memories like that which had sustained her over the winter months and the weeks they had been apart as Andy and Molly had worked to create the new project programmes.
Sometimes it had felt as though she had dreamt the whole thing.
Simon—her Simon—was a king. A king!
A man other people loved and respected and went to for advice and decisions and help. She was so proud of him, but the more she thought about her new role, the more she sometimes felt intimidated by the enormity of her responsibilities.
It had truly hit home when she’d returned to the village with Tom and Gemma in the Easter holiday. It had come as quite a surprise when the village matchmaker had called on her father out of the blue with his attendants, to start negotiations for her marriage to their King. Traditional gifts had been offered, which she’d had to formally accept and examine with great detail before they could finally become officially engaged in the eyes of the community.
It was only then that it had seemed real. She was engaged. To a king.
Kate smiled to herself as she looked out onto the sunlit streets, then suddenly Gemma sneezed, and Kate looked up at her across the width of the limousine and smiled as Gemma rubbed her nose and grinned back at her.
Trust Gemma to bring her back down to earth.
Gemma had loved everything about Africa. The light, the colour and the atmosphere. And the villagers had taken her into their homes and their lives. The pretty blue-eyed girl with the lovely smile had already broken the hearts of several local boys, but there was only one person Gemma had wanted to be with and spend her day with—and that was Simon. She’d followed him to school, lip-reading his answers to her non-stop questions, helping out on the computers, sitting next to him at mealtimes and holding tight onto his hand when they’d been in the crowds of well-wishers and curious people.
Kate reached out and squeezed Gemma’s hand for just a few seconds, and Gemma crinkled up her nose in reply and used sign language to say, ‘You look so beautiful.’ She waved her hands above her ears. ‘Especially the head thing.’
Kate casually patted the diadem the hairdresser had pinned onto the chignon below her veil. The tiara had been a surprise gift from her future mother-in-law, and it was a precious vintage piece which had been passed down through the family. Simon had called it a peace offering, and perhaps it was, but it was also the closest thing to a crown that Kate had ever worn, and it felt and looked amazing.
‘Oh, this old thing,’ she replied to Gemma, and they grinned in secret code.
‘A crown for a princess.’ Tom laughed on the seat next to her, and pushed against her shoulder playfully, in the jacket of his new morning suit. ‘My two girls look lovely. I am proud of you both.’ And with that Tom O’Neill sniffed several times and took a moment to look out of the window, trying to look casual, as though he did this every day of the week.<
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Kate’s heart melted. ‘Now, do not get me going,’ she croaked. ‘This make-up has taken hours to put on.’ And then they all laughed, sharing a precious last moment in private as the car slowed and turned into the long drive that led down to the cathedral steps.
Molly had already texted her to say that the cathedral was full to bursting with dignitaries, friends, extended family, colleagues—and sixteen very special guests from a small village in Ghana, who had arrived with Simon a few days earlier for a Royal tour of the town and the local countryside and a small inspection of Kate and her home.
Television cameras were already placed to broadcast the wedding to the world.
In fact, the whole week had been a blur of things to be done and organised, with radio and TV interviews, and time with the local dignitaries and the royal party from Ghana.
Chaos had reigned in the O’Neill household. The wedding dress had come first, and then coping with the stress on Gemma and Tom, and meeting Simon’s mother again. The stress had never seemed to end. She was so grateful that Simon had arrived to help.
And of course there was extra stress in that this was no ordinary wedding. This was a royal wedding! Complete with complicated rules of protocol and statesmanship and visiting diplomats and so many people that there had been times when Kate had had to remind herself that she was doing this for Simon.
It scarcely seemed possible that their great day had finally arrived.
And now the car was crawling to a stop. The sound of bells rang out louder and louder across the square, and she saw the crowds of well-wishers and the press gathered outside the cathedral entrance. Her will faltered just a little.
She did not want to let Simon down at the last minute by doing something wrong, or saying something stupid, or falling flat on her face on the steps in front of the TV cameras. Not with the world’s media looking on.
‘He is still Simon,’ her dad said softly, and clasped hold of her hand as she gulped down her racing heart, fired by exhilaration and excitement. Kate looked into the face of the man who had given her and her sister a loving home, and wondered how he had known. ‘He loves you,’ Tom said. ‘Always has and always will, no matter what you do or say, and that is all that matters, isn’t it? Okay?’