But Daria had made all that impossible, of course. And so when Léon left me alone once more after our evening meal, I did the next best thing to going outside. I waited a few minutes until I was sure his footsteps had disappeared down the stairs, and then, against all his instructions, I switched off all the lights and tiptoed over to the window.
It was a marvellous sight. I could almost feel the atmosphere of anticipation in the city. The poplars on the avenue were illuminated in the gathering dusk with soft lighting, and beneath them an excited crowd of onlookers were already staking claim to the best places for the procession. Sleeping bags were spread out on the warm flags, candles flickered, and the sounds of music and laughter filtered up through the glass doors. To the west of the Palace, and just visible on the horizon, was the harbour, where wealthier guests had arrived in their yachts. The lights from the decks sent cheerful reflections bobbing and dipping in the waves. A few fireworks crackled and raced upwards, adding sparks of red and gold to the stars clustered in the sky.
I pressed my hand to the glass. It was a relief, after the terrible evening when the helicopter had swept over the Palace, to see that the festivities appeared so good-natured. And regarding my transformation, I knew in my heart I had done all I could, and that not even the Princess’s closest friends would guess at the deception. And yet despite this, I was filled with the most crippling fear, far worse than any stage-fright I’d ever yet experienced. I dropped my hand from the window, shivering with cold. What if something went wrong?
A step sounded behind me. ‘I warned you to stay away from the window, Your Highness.’
I leapt round with a guilty start. I’d been so enveloped in my fears, I’d failed to hear Léon enter. One look at his face showed me he just how upset he was at my disobeying his instructions. ‘But they’re so far away, Léon – ’
He reached across without speaking and drew the heavy curtains closed. His unusual brusqueness caused me a twinge of shame at causing him concern. I covered it by blurting out the first thing that came to mind. ‘Isn’t it strange, Léon? All those people will be sleeping soundly on the pavement tonight, and I’ll be up here in my soft bed, wide awake, worrying about everything that could go wrong.’
He switched on the lamp at the desk, then returned to tug at the drapes, making sure no chink of light could get through. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’ he quoted absently, his hands busy with his task.
‘Henry IV.’ I glanced across at him. After all these weeks thrown together, Léon was still full of surprises. ‘I had a role in that play once when I was at drama school. My first big production. The night before I didn’t sleep a wink.’ I went to the desk, and my eyes fell on the lines of the ceremony. I twisted my fingers together. ‘How I wish I were back in my flat in Edinburgh right now, and with all this over.’
Léon didn’t reply. Ever since I’d arrived in Montverrier, he’d been a constant presence. Silent, reliable, ever watchful, and rarely showing any emotion. Today would be our last evening together. I took in Léon’s dark features, the slight hook to his nose, the grace in his movements as he straightened himself, and knew just how much I would miss my faithful shadow.
‘How about you, Léon?’ I asked on impulse. ‘What will you do after the ceremony?’
He raised his head, regarding me for a moment or two before revealing, ‘I have a house on the west coast of Italy, between the sea and the mountains. I’ll ride down the coast road on my motorbike, the smell of the sea and the bougainvillea in my nostrils, looking forward to a meal of steak and red wine, and to a few weeks doing nothing but swim in the Mediterranean.’
I smiled, a broad, un-Princesslike grin that almost reached my ears, and banished the fear I’d been feeling. ‘That sounds perfect,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you had such a poetic soul.’
‘A man would have a heart of stone not to feel the poetry in such a place.’ He hesitated a moment or two before adding softly, ‘But in fact, I have nothing against being here, in this present moment.’ His dark eyes rested on mine for an instant, and then his mouth turned down, and he said, ‘Time to rest. In twenty-four hours all your hard work will be done.’ He moved to leave, throwing over his shoulder, ‘I have one or two things still to see to. I’ll ask Daria to bring you some warm milk. It will help you sleep. Pleasant dreams, Your Highness.’
After Léon had gone I wandered restlessly round the sitting-room, picking up and replacing objects at random. Léon’s Roman history was lying on a side-table where he left it, and I flicked through it absently, remembering the story of how the citizens of Montverrier fooled the entire Roman fleet. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was about to embark on a similar deception, and that the loyal subjects lapping like waves on the outskirts of the grounds had no idea that their Princess was an imposter.
I moved to stand before the gilt mirror above the cabinet. A person I’d come to recognise as myself gazed back. I’d become used to the deep tan and the black brows shaped into elegant arches. My eyes were a little greener than Princess Charlotte’s bright blue, but not so different that anyone would notice. There was still something missing, though; something I’d tried hard to replicate, but failed. My eyes glowed with too much emotion. Try as I might, I couldn’t empty them of feeling, as the Princess appeared to do. I stared at myself, wondering just what my double was doing this evening. Where was she?
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, and I turned, expecting Daria with the warm milk my bodyguard had promised. To my surprise, Léon himself entered, bearing a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of biscuits. He carried it over to the desk and laid it down. He seemed more than usually serious.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said.
It was the first time he’d said my full name. The halting way he spoke it was strangely endearing. I moved over to where he was standing by the desk.
‘What is it?’
‘I know you’re anxious about tomorrow. Perhaps you are concerned about your personal safety. If so, I want you to know that you have nothing to fear. You will never be in any danger whilst I’m your bodyguard.’
‘Oh, Léon, of course I know that,’ I exclaimed. I reached out and took his hand. ‘I never had any doubt in you.’
Léon’s stiffness left him, and the corners of his mouth lifted, almost in a smile. ‘Good. You have nothing to fear, remember that.’ Then, in a gesture completely without affectation, he lifted my hand and kissed it. ‘Sleep well, Your Highness.’
The impression of Léon’s warm lips on my fingers stayed with me long after I’d gone to bed. For a long while I lay awake, listening to the distant sound of the crowds mingling with music and the noise of revelry on the yachts in the harbour. My thoughts were far from the day ahead. I was thinking of Léon, and how after the ceremony he would ride down the coast road to his house in Italy, and I would never see him again.
Chapter Eighteen
The day of the ceremony I threw on my robe and went into the sitting-room for breakfast, expecting to find Léon sitting at the table as usual, with his pot of coffee beside him. He rose as I entered, and I did a double-take. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie, the white of his shirt a crisp contrast against his tanned features. Of course, I’d forgotten that Léon, too, would have to dress for the occasion. He looked so different. More remote. Formidable, even.
He pulled out a chair for me. The usual easy atmosphere between us was gone, and my heart was wrenched with sadness at the loss of it. I took a few sips of coffee and picked at my croissant, leaving more crumbs on my plate than actually made their way to my mouth. Léon, too, was subdued, and it was a relief when Daria appeared at the door, returning with the designer and one of the make-up artists. The next couple of hours were spent having my hair styled and make-up applied, and I vowed when I returned to Edinburgh I wouldn’t look in another mirror again for months. I was becoming heartily sick of the sight of myself.
Finally, at ten minutes to eleven precisely, the moment
I’d been preparing for – the moment an entire team of staff had worked towards – had arrived. Daria opened the door of the Princess’s suite, and I stepped out into the corridor, my silk dress rustling against my heels.
With all my anxiety about the procession to the Cathedral, I’d forgotten I would have another ordeal to face before I entered the avenue of poplars: meeting the Palace staff, whose presence I’d avoided so rigorously all these weeks. To my relief, the corridor outside the Princess’s suite was empty. With my heart in my mouth, I followed Daria. She led me in a different direction to the one I’d arrived in, turning right outside the suite, away from the servants’ stairs, and along endless quiet corridors. Every door we passed was closed. It was as though the whole Palace had been abandoned. The unexpected silence sent shivers down my spine.
And so we made our way in procession, without speaking a word; Daria at the front, then me, and then Léon bringing up the rear, until we reached the top of a splendid flight of stairs. Although no one at all was there to see us, I made sure to lift the hem of my dress in exactly the same manner the Princess would have done. We began to descend. There wasn’t a single sound to be heard in the whole of the Palace except for our footsteps. Down and down we went, our steps in unison, until we reached a grand, echoing hallway, tiled all in marble. Several enormous oil paintings on the walls gazed down on us. Apart from the presence of these ghostly ancestors, the hall was empty. During our entire walk from the Princess’s suite, we had encountered not a single soul.
But I had no time to ponder on the missing staff, because all of a sudden the double doors were opened, letting in a flood of light, and there were two footmen, dressed in dark blue livery, waiting in the courtyard. It was eleven o’clock precisely. Daria dropped back to let me pass. The heat rose in waves from the stone flags, and a bright sun beat down on my bare head as I stepped through the doors. I blinked in the unaccustomed light, casting a brief glance at the blue sky I had only seen through glass for five long weeks. To my starved eyes, its colour was a miracle of purity.
The carriage was waiting, gleaming gold in the sun like something from a fairy tale. Two white horses, large and proud, snorted and stamped at its head. Everything had the quality of a dream, and it seemed to me as though I were outside my own body, gazing down at Princess Charlotte of Montverrier as she left for her ceremony.
And then Léon was by my side, and the cool fabric of my dress floated around my ankles as he handed me into my seat. I felt Léon’s fingers press mine – the merest touch of reassurance – before he followed lightly behind me. I sank back into the carriage’s blue silk seat, and the horses swept through the gates.
Léon’s attention turned to the crowds as we emerged onto the avenue. A great roar went up, and in the bright Mediterranean sun everything took on a vibrancy and intensity such as I’d never before experienced. The bright green of the poplars stirring gently overhead, the vivid sky where seagulls whirled and cried, the gold and blue of the Montverrier colours, hanging from every lamp-post. The crowds waved and called out to me from behind the barriers. I leaned forward, returning their well wishes in the manner I’d practised so long, with a smile and a graceful wave, palm forward, the fingers of my hand slightly spread. Children sat on their parents’ shoulders, clutching flags, whilst others clung to the slender trunks of the poplars.
The carriage rattled down the avenue before rounding the corner into the square between the Mediterranean and the Cathedral. What a magnificent sight lay before us! The sea was a glittering expanse of brilliant blue and silver in the sunlight, and the stones of the great Cathedral a blinding white. A red carpet had been laid down for my arrival, lined on each side by trumpeters dressed in gold and blue. A group of maids-in-waiting, all in white, were at the bottom of the Cathedral steps to greet me. As we drew to a halt, a voice crackled in Léon’s ear-piece, and he spoke into his device. And then the carriage door was open, and two footmen helped me alight. The maids-in-waiting darted forwards to arrange my dress with deft fingers while the trumpeters sounded their welcome. Another great cheer went up from the waiting crowds, and it was time to begin the long procession into the Cathedral.
I didn’t dare turn my head to see what had become of Léon, but I sensed his protective presence, ever watchful, as I walked away. I reached the top of the stairs, my head erect, my shoulders straight, and passed inside alone. The interior of the Cathedral was blessedly cool. I had an impression of light, and gold, and wonderful colour, but I kept my eyes fixed ahead. The sound of the last trumpet died away. There was a muffled shuffling and rustling from the pews, and then hundreds of guests rose to their feet. The organ swelled in the notes of the first hymn, and the choir’s angelic voices rang through the Cathedral. I thought fleetingly how impossible it was to fear anything in surroundings of such magnificent beauty. The sun streamed through the stained glass windows, spilling colours of ruby, emerald and sapphire in my path. As I progressed up the aisle, the scent of roses filled the air. All my weeks of preparation had come to this, and I was filled with a sense of calm. I took my place, seated in my throne on the altar, my hands held lightly in my lap. The Archbishop stepped forward and began the first words of the service.
Chapter Nineteen
I have no real recollection of the moment the crown was placed on my head, or of hearing the Archbishop speak the words that confirmed Princess Charlotte as next-in-line to the throne of Montverrier. I remember my answer ringing clear and true, and a muffled cheer going up from the crowd. And then there was the fear gathering again in my chest as the end of the ceremony approached, and it became time to face the most hazardous part of my deception: the drive to the Palace in the open carriage. It was an effort not to tremble as I stood and made my way down the aisle.
The congregation rose, the doors to the Cathedral were flung wide, letting in a vast beam of sunlight and a burst of trumpets. I stepped out into the heat, holding my crowned head high. Once more the crowd erupted into cheers. It was now mid-day, and the sun was at its peak. The light reflected from the sea was blinding. Relief washed over me like a wave at the sight of Léon waiting for me by the door of the open carriage. Under a thousand watchful eyes I couldn’t demonstrate how happy I was to be reunited with him, but a brief look passed between us, and Léon nodded once as I stepped past him and up into the carriage.
All my pleasure in the ceremony evaporated in the too-revealing sun. I kept my smile in place and waved to the crowds as the carriage left the square. Léon sat in the far corner, scanning the throng. The short trip along the avenue seemed endless. The poplars shivered; a thousand cameras clicked and whirred. I expected any moment that someone would stop and shout, ‘Fake!’
There was a flurry of unusual movement in the crowd, and for a heart-stopping moment I thought my nightmare had come true, and someone had recognised me as plain Lizzie Smith. Then everything happened with the dreamlike quality of a slowed down film. Léon pushed me to one side, and I found myself face down on the seat of the carriage, with Léon on top of me. At the exact same moment, there came a noise like a rocket exploding. For a split second afterwards, there was silence, and then screams from the crowd. The horses shot forward, and my head was flung back violently against the seat. I heard a long, staccato volley of gun shots.
Léon murmured in my ear, ‘Stay down, Lizzie.’ Several thoughts unfurled in my mind in order, with a strange slowness, as though we had all the time in the world. I realised only later that I’d thought everything all at once, in a split second. First, I registered that Léon had called me Lizzie. His use of my name, and the sound of his voice, filled me with an exhilaration that had nothing to do with the events around me. Then I registered the shots, and guessed that someone had tried to kill me. Or perhaps there were two separate people trying to kill me. Or a team of two. Or several people lying in wait along the route, and I would never make it back to the Palace. My heart began to race with terror, until Léon spoke again in my ear. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
His hand circled my waist, and he was lying over me protectively, so close I felt the gun he wore press into my back. His breathing was steady, but as the seconds ticked by and the horses raced onwards, his heartbeat quickened a little, and the hand on my waist tightened.
Then we were passing through the archway of the Palace, and I heard the heavy doors of the courtyard swing to behind us with a clang. Léon righted himself, guiding me with him into a sitting position. He reached up to straighten the crown on my head, where it had slipped to one side, and as he did so his eyes held mine.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.
I nodded, but my hand shook as I pushed back the lock of hair which had fallen over my forehead. The next minute there were voices and people calling out, and a dozen pairs of hands to lift me down. Léon leapt from the carriage and disappeared into the waiting throng, speaking urgently into his device.
I dragged my eyes away from his retreating back to find myself completely alone in a crowd of people I didn’t know. The Palace staff – so strangely absent when I’d left that morning – now filled the courtyard. I hadn’t been this close to others since I was enclosed in the Princess’s suite five weeks ago, and I stepped back, pressing myself against the carriage. The crowd fell silent. Everywhere I looked there were eyes watching me, and for a few seconds I was numb with fear.
And then the people in front of me moved aside, their feet shuffling on the stone slabs, and my fear turned to shock. I was standing face to face with a carbon copy of myself: a slim, blonde woman, whose dark, elegantly-shaped brows were raised in appraisal of me.
Princess Charlotte of Montverrier ran her bright blue eyes down my length, from the crown on my head to the silk slippers on my feet, and back up to meet my astounded gaze.
Palace of Deception: A Romantic Suspense Novella Page 6