The Ordinary Princess

by Liz Fielding

  He was concerned about Katerina, she realised with a belated flash of insight. Behind that rigid exterior he was just like any man worried about a reckless teenager in his care.

  Recalling some of her own wilder moments, she felt her over-developed sense of empathy well up, and another dangerous surge of sympathy for him. She quashed it mercilessly. He did not need her sympathy. Jay had offered him as a target because of his very lack of sympathetic qualities.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be okay,’ she said and, ignoring his command, continued to pick up the dressings.

  ‘Are you?’ He bent to help her, folding his long legs as he reached beneath the table. ‘It isn’t easy.’

  ‘Being her guardian?’ she asked, catching her breath as his shoulder brushed against hers.

  ‘Being young,’ he countered, concentrating on his task. ‘Being so visible. Having every mistake you make the subject of common gossip.’

  He was holding a pouch containing an antiseptic wipe as if not quite sure what to do with it.

  ‘Shall I take that?’ she offered, holding out her hand.

  Alexander Orsino looked up to discover that Laura Varndell was regarding him solemnly, her wide silvery blue eyes apparently brimming over with compassion, concern.

  He had no need of her concern. No need of any assistance. He wasn’t helpless and to demonstrate the fact, in the absence of the maid, he would deal with her grazes himself.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, tearing open the pouch containing an antiseptic wipe before sitting down beside her. ‘Give me your hand.’

  For a moment she stared at him in disbelief, then wordlessly—which was probably a first—she did as she was told, holding out her hand for his attention. It was long, finely boned—a hand, wrist, made for the sparkle of diamonds. But it was bare of any kind of adornment other than nail polish.

  He supported it, holding it gently as he dabbed at her knuckles with the antiseptic.

  She was trembling almost imperceptibly, doubtless still feeling the after effects of her reckless behaviour, and he found himself wanting to tighten his grip, reassure her.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Varndell,’ he said, by way of distraction, ‘do you make a habit of tackling burglars?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. I’ve never been in that situation before. The truth is, I didn’t stop to think.’

  ‘Well, on this occasion I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said, glancing up and momentarily left struggling for breath as he looked straight into her huge, solemn eyes. ‘Will you promise me that next time you think you’re witnessing a crime in progress you will walk away? Call the police?’

  ‘If I’d done that today you wouldn’t have known that your niece had made a break for freedom,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Even so. Promise me.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she offered, hooking a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear to reveal a tiny gold earring in the shape of a star. ‘But only if you’ll stop calling me Miss Varndell, as if you’re addressing a public meeting. I prefer Laura.’

  He preferred formality. It was a useful way of keeping his distance. Except, of course, Laura Varndell had already breached his highest defences. Few outsiders ever made it into this room.

  Stalling for time, he looked for another antiseptic wipe, took his time about opening it before he turned to face her, lifting her chin with the touch of his fingers, turning her face to the light. She had silver-blue eyes, clear, almost translucent skin that was the gift of cool, northern skies, and stars in her ears. And as she lifted her head, and her flaxen hair slid back from her neck, he found himself imagining how it would look encircled by the wide collar of pearls that had once belonged to his mother.

  Which was enough to bring him back to earth.

  And, faintly embarrassed to be caught staring, he said, ‘It’s nothing. No real damage.’ But he touched the moist cloth to her cheek to clean away a smear of dust. ‘What did you do?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Me?’

  ‘You seem very knowledgeable about the dangers of restricting teenage girls. Were you reckless? At seventeen?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Her lips parted as she laughed. ‘I really don’t think I should tell you that. I’m on Princess Katerina’s side in this and I’d hate to prejudice her case.’

  ‘In other words, yes.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Did you escape down drainpipes?’ he persisted. ‘Go to clubs and parties your parents had forbidden?’

  Her smile faded. ‘I had no parents to forbid me. They were killed when I was a child.’

  He stilled. ‘I’m so sorry, Laura.’

  She’d finally touched him with this common bond between them, and for a moment he wanted to say that he understood her loss, her pain—

  ‘It was a long time ago and really I barely knew them,’ she said quickly, before he could speak. He recognised the defence mechanism. ‘They were always away a lot, and then I was at boarding school, but in answer to your question, yes, Your Highness, I was frequently reckless—although I never climbed down a drainpipe.’ Her lovely eyes appeared to cloud momentarily. ‘I’m afraid of heights.’

  ‘But not much else, I’d suspect,’ he said.

  ‘Then you’d be wrong,’ she said, jacking the smile back into place, determinedly shaking off whatever shadow had crossed her thoughts. ‘I’m absolutely terrified at this moment.’

  He regarded her quizzically. He knew she was a little shaky, had felt the almost imperceptible tremble of her hand as it lay in his, but outwardly she was calm, composed.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘You’re not like that silly girl, afraid of me.’ It was not a question.

  ‘Well, actually I am, just a bit. But only because I know you’re going to be angry with me.’

  He leaned back, surprised. ‘Why would I be angry with you?’

  ‘Because I’m going to ask you to give Katerina another chance. Ground her, if you must,’ she rushed on. ‘She’s been foolish; of course she has. But even princesses need a day off now and then. An opportunity to be ordinary.’

  ‘Ordinary?’

  ‘You know. Girl-in-the-street ordinary.’

  ‘Oh, please.’

  ‘Has she ever been on a bus or the underground?’ she demanded. Then, as an afterthought, ‘Have you?’

  Scarcely sure whether to be amused or affronted, he said, ‘I’ve never found it necessary.’

  ‘The chauffeur is on call twenty-four hours a day, I guess.’

  ‘Not the same one,’ he assured her, opting for amusement. He had a feeling it would be safer. ‘But, yes. It goes with the job. I am on call twenty-four hours a day, too. Seven days a week. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year.’

  ‘You never have a day off?’

  ‘I escape occasionally.’ He put on working clothes, went to his vineyard to work up an honest sweat. ‘But my pager is never switched off.’

  ‘Poor you, too, then,’ she responded. And sounded as if she meant it.

  ‘You make it sound as if I am deprived,’ he said, suddenly finding even his simulated amusement difficult to sustain. ‘I cannot believe, given the choice, that you would surrender a chauffeur-driven car in order to battle with the rush hour crowds on the underground.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you lose something, keeping the outside world at a distance. The underground may be crowded and dirty, but it’s real,’ she said. ‘Using it is a life skill. Like learning to use a public telephone—’

  ‘My niece has a mobile phone,’ he said, cutting off her nonsense. ‘And I can assure you she knows how to use it. It costs a small fortune—’

  ‘And if she lost it?’ she demanded, interrupting him. People did not interrupt him. ‘Or it was stolen? This evening, for instance, on her way to this club. If she got into difficulties would she know how to use a public call box?’

  Now she was being ridiculous. ‘How difficult can it be?’

  ‘Nothing is difficult if you know how to do it. But suppose that first time she was frightened, confused, in a
panic? Suppose it was one of those boxes that only takes a prepaid phone card and she didn’t have one?’

  Phone card? What was a phone card?

  She didn’t miss his hesitation and, apparently satisfied that she’d made her point, she said, ‘Maybe you should try it for yourself and see.’

  ‘You are not exactly tempting me to allow Katerina more freedom, Laura.’

  ‘Give it to her,’ she warned, ‘or she’ll take it. She nearly got away with it tonight. She’ll be a lot safer if she’s streetwise. Knows her way around.’

  ‘She will be even safer in Montorino,’ he said, getting abruptly to his feet and putting an end to this lecture from a young woman who hadn’t the first idea about Katerina’s life—or his.

  He’d been patient—Laura Varndell had, after all, alerted him to Katie’s bolt for freedom—but enough was enough. Then, discovering that he was still holding the wipe, evidence of his sudden and unexpected intimacy with a stranger, he dropped it on the tray as if it was incendiary.

  ‘You’ve been generous with your time,’ he said, ‘and your interesting opinions. You have my thanks, Miss Varndell,’ he went on, reverting to the safety of formality, ‘but I will not delay you any longer. And, despite your enthusiasm for public transport, on this occasion I must insist that you allow my chauffeur to take you home.’

  She looked, for just a moment, as if she was about to throw his offer back in his face. Tell him what to do with his lift home.

  But she didn’t. Instead she gathered herself and stood up. ‘Thank you, Your Highness, but that won’t be necessary. I have transport.’ Her own two feet would carry her to the nearest bus stop. The last thing she wanted was His Serene Highness knowing where she lived. Then, as she reached the door, she turned. ‘Will you call me and let me know when Princess Katerina arrives home safely? It doesn’t matter how late it is. I won’t sleep until I know.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll leave my number with the, um, footman, then.’

  He resisted the impulse to ask her to leave it with him. He wasn’t a secretary. He didn’t deal in telephone numbers. ‘He will accompany you to your car.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. I’m not a princess, Your Highness. I know how to look after myself.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAURA sat at her desk, laptop open. All she had to do was send a little note to Trevor asking if he was interested in an exclusive diary piece involving a spoilt, wayward princess who had so far evaded the attentions of the press. And her encounter with Prince Less-Than-Charming.

  He wouldn’t be able to resist it.

  Short of catching the Prince himself climbing down someone’s drainpipe—preferably not his own—it couldn’t be more perfect, she told herself. And tried not to listen to the voice of a conscience which would keep repeating Prince Alexander’s words about not wanting a photograph of Katerina appearing in some newspaper.

  But it wasn’t a photograph. She wasn’t even going to name names. Not that she supposed there would be any real doubt as to her identity. Katie’s days of shinning down drainpipes without being spotted by the paparazzi would be over. But they were anyway.

  It would certainly give His Serene Highness ample justification for sending the girl back to Montorino. She was doing him a favour, she rationalised.

  If anything, he should be grateful.

  She wouldn’t hold her breath for his undying thanks. Didn’t want them.

  All she wanted was a phone call to let her know that the girl was safely back under her uncle’s roof, then she could hit ‘send’ and go to bed safe in the knowledge that Trevor would be calling her tomorrow to offer her her job back.

  Xander spoke to the security officer assigned to Katie and, having reassured himself that his niece was safe, gave orders that if she and her friends left the club, went somewhere they wouldn’t be actually breaking the law, there was no need for her to return home immediately.

  It was nothing to do with Laura Varndell’s pleading on her behalf. On the contrary. Katie was, after all, seventeen. She might not be old enough to be in a club, but she was not a child: according to her champion, treating her like one had caused the problem in the first place.

  So, having rationalised the likely harm of her staying out for an hour or two against what would happen if she decided to cause a scene, he had chosen the former and returned to what he had been doing before the interruption.

  He was finding it unusually difficult to concentrate on state papers, however. Laura Varndell’s face—smiling approvingly—would keep intruding. Since her approval mattered not one jot, he did his best to block her out, although farming subsidies faced an uphill battle for his concentration. He persisted, however, until Katie arrived home late, eyes sparkling, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of facing the consequences of her actions.

  ‘I’m sorry, Xander,’ she said, twirling dramatically before dropping a kiss on the top of his head, exactly as if he were her great-grandfather. It made him feel about the same age.

  ‘No, you’re not, Katerina,’ he said, determined upon severity. ‘You’re not in the least bit sorry.’

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ she said, flopping down on a sofa and putting her feet up on the table. ‘If it’s Katerina, I’m in serious trouble. Am I being sent home on the first available flight tomorrow morning?’

  ‘This morning,’ he corrected. ‘Right after you’ve telephoned Miss Varndell to apologise for the fright you gave her when you disappeared.’

  ‘Miss Varndell?’

  ‘The young woman who mistook you for a burglar?’

  ‘I frightened her? Give me a break. She practically scared the living daylights out of me.’

  ‘Then, along with your apologies, she has earned my thanks.’

  ‘I’ll bet. I told her you’d probably give her the Order of Merit—just second class, you understand, in gratitude for clipping my wings.’

  ‘What a pity she didn’t make a better job of it. It would have saved me the trouble.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t disappoint her?’

  ‘I gave her my thanks, some first aid and a brandy for the shock. Nothing more.’

  ‘That’s so cheap of you.’ Then, ‘You’re not really going to send me home, are you?’

  ‘Goodnight, Katerina.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I have to sweat on it.’ She didn’t seem unduly bothered as she swung her legs to the floor. ‘Goodnight, Your Serene Highness,’ she said, dropping him a graceful curtsey—quite a feat considering the hideous boots she was wearing—apparently satisfied that she’d teased him out of his severity.

  He watched her go, biting back the smile until she was out of sight. Only then did he pick up the phone.

  Laura had Celebrity magazine propped up on her desk in front of her as she waited for the call, checking the picture of Prince Alexander against reality. He did have the most incredible eyes. Dark and deep as one of Montorino’s mountain lakes. And about as cold.

  Except that for a moment as he’d held her face, cleaned the graze on her cheek with such gentleness, she’d almost believed he could be a real human being if he made the effort.

  She told herself that she was glad he hadn’t bothered. She had an uneasy feeling that, if she cracked the surface, somewhere beneath that austere façade there might be a man it would be all too easy to like and she didn’t want to like him.

  Her entire future depended upon her not liking him at all.

  She turned from the photograph, glaring at the cellphone lying on her desk. ‘Ring,’ she demanded. ‘Just ring, will you!’

  She jumped as it responded on cue, the soft burble unexpectedly loud in the late-night silence. That had to be the reason she was shaking as she picked it up, pressed ‘receive’. The reason for the warm flush to her cheeks.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Laura Varndell.’

  ‘Miss Varndell, His Serene Highness Prince Alexander has asked me to inform you that Her Highness Princess Katerina h
as returned home safely.’

  The deep breath came in handy because, for just a moment, everything stopped working.

  She didn’t believe it—it was the footman! He’d asked that pompous prat in the tailcoat to call her. So much for her belief in the real human being beneath the cold exterior.

  What had she been thinking? He was a prince. Reality didn’t come into it.

  ‘Please thank His Serene Highness for his courtesy,’ she replied, through gritted teeth. Then she turned to her laptop and the note waiting to be despatched to Trevor McCarthy.

  And she hit ‘send’.

  Xander sat back, ignoring the pile of papers still to be dealt with before he could even think about bed. Regretting that he hadn’t called Laura Varndell himself to tell her that Katie was safely home.

  He made a dismissive gesture.

  That he’d even been tempted was sufficient reason in itself not to call, he knew, yet there had been something about her directness that was deeply appealing. She had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to voice it.

  He was so tired of people saying only those things they thought he wanted to hear. Of people who agreed with him without question. Of timorous maids who dropped things if he so much as looked at them.

  Laura hadn’t been afraid of him. Better still, she hadn’t been trying to impress him. Given the opportunity, she would undoubtedly tell him that it was his fault if his staff were terrified of him. He eased the back of his neck, kneading his fingers into the knots of tension that had eased for a while, but had now returned with a vengeance.

  She just didn’t have a clue about his life. Fortunate girl.

  Not that it mattered. She would have been worth listening to, no matter what ridiculous ideas she was propounding. Even lobbying for Katie’s right to the kind of freedom other girls of her age enjoyed.

  As if he took some perverted pleasure in keeping his niece from running wild. The girl was in London to further her education, not to party. There would be a media feeding frenzy soon enough. Eager eyes watching, waiting for her to put a foot wrong.