by Nora Roberts
“We will—as soon as I make sure everyone got out.” After she’d checked every room and shouted until she was hoarse, she was satisfied. Terror began to edge its way in. Her heart in her throat, she grabbed him by the arm and raced downstairs again. They were nearly to the stage door when the explosion hit.
* * *
“I’m pleased you could meet me here, Monsieur Trouchet.”
“I’m always at your disposal, Your Highness.” Trouchet took the seat Alexander offered, setting his briefcase neatly on his lap. “It was a pleasure to see you at the Cabots’ last night, but as you said, such a gathering is not always appropriate for business discussions.”
“And as the health-care bill is, shall we say, a pet project of mine, I prefer to give it the time and place it warrants.”
Settled behind his desk, Alexander drew out a cigarette. He was well aware that Trouchet objected to the heart of the bill and that he was in a position to sway many members of the council. Alexander intended to see the bill put in force, with very few concessions.
“I know your time is valuable, monsieur, so we won’t hedge. Cordina has only two modern hospitals. In the capital and in Le Havre. There are fishing villages and farms in outlying areas that rely solely on the clinics set up by medical personnel. These clinics, though never conceived as profitable businesses, have steadily been losing ground over the past five years.”
“I am aware of that, sir, as are other members of the council. I’ve brought documentation with me.”
“Of course.” Alexander allowed him to pass neatly typed sheets, facts and figures, across the desk.
“Taking into account these documents plus the statements from several village doctors, it is my belief that the clinics will only remain in force if they are taken over and run by the state.”
Though he knew what he would find, Alexander gave him the courtesy of looking over the papers. “When the state takes over, it also takes the pride and the independence of the individuals involved.”
“And greatly increases the efficiency, Your Highness.”
“People run the state, as well, monsieur,” Alexander said mildly. “The state is not always efficient. But your point is well taken. Which is why I believe that with a subsidy, an allotment only, the clinics—medical personnel and patients—can retain both pride and efficiency.”
Trouchet closed his case but didn’t latch it. His capable hands folded on the lid. “Surely you can see that a compromise of this nature is fraught with pitfalls.”
“Oh, indeed.” Alexander smiled and blew out smoke. “Which is why I come to you, monsieur, to ask your help in filling those holes.”
Trouchet sat back, knowing he was being offered a challenge, a position of importance and a request for surrender all at once. He ran a finger down his nose as he chuckled. “I have no doubt you could fill the holes yourself, Your Highness.”
“But together, monsieur, we work for greater efficiency, and ultimately for the same end. N’est ce pas?” Alexander drew out a file of his own. “If we could go over these—”
He broke off, looking up in annoyance as Bennett burst in.
“Alex.” He didn’t so much as nod at Trouchet as the other man rose. “Reeve just phoned. There’s been an explosion.”
Alexander was up from his chair, his muscles rigid. “Father?”
Bennett shook his head. “Alex, it’s the theater.”
His face went white, so white that Bennett stepped forward, afraid he would crumple. But Alexander held up a hand. When he spoke it was only one word. At that moment his world was only one word. “Eve?”
“He didn’t know.” Bennett turned to Trouchet. “Please excuse us, monsieur, we must leave immediately.” He went to his brother’s side. “Together.”
The council member gathered up his papers and case, but before he could shut the lid, he was alone in the room.
“How? How did it happen?” Alexander demanded as they rushed to the car. When Bennett claimed the driver’s seat he started to object, then subsided. Bennett was right to do so. He would probably kill them both on the way to the theater.
“Reeve was only on the phone for a minute.” Bennett peeled down the drive, with the royal guards close behind. “She got another call, something was said about a bomb—about them not finding a bomb, and …” But he couldn’t say the rest, not when his brother was so white and stiff.
“And?”
“And they realized the caller meant a bomb in the theater. The police were there within minutes, five, ten at the most. They heard it go off.”
Alexander pressed his lips together. “Where?”
“In her office. Alexander,” he continued quickly, “she wouldn’t have been in there. Eve’s too smart for that.”
“She worried for me, for all of us. But not for herself.” He wouldn’t let go, though there was a pain burning between his eyes and another eating slowly through his gut. “Why is it we never thought of her?”
“If you want to blame yourself, blame all of us,” Bennett said grimly. “None of us ever realized Eve would be drawn into this. There’s no purpose in it. Goddamn it, Alex, there’s no purpose in it.”
“You said yourself she’s part of the family.” He looked blindly out the window. They were a half block from the theater. His muscles began to tremble. It was fear, stark, raging fear. Before Bennett had fully stopped at the curb he was out.
By the stage door, Reeve stopped talking to two of his men and stepped forward to ward Alexander off. At his signal a handful of police shifted over as a shield. “She’s not in there. Alex, she’s in the grove around back. She’s all right.” When the grip of Alexander’s fingers on his arms didn’t lessen, Reeve repeated. “She’s all right, Alex. She wasn’t in the office. She was nearly out of the building altogether.”
He didn’t feel relief. Not until he had seen for himself would he feel relief. Pulling away from Reeve, Alexander rushed around the side of the building. His eyes were drawn to the blown-out window, the blackened bricks. Pieces of jagged glass littered the grass beyond. What might have been a lamp lay in a tangle of bent metal on the path to the grove. Inside was what remained of Eve’s office.
If he had looked through the space in the wall where her window had been, he would have seen pieces of her desk. Some of the wood, torn into lethal spears, had arrowed into the walls. He would have seen the soaked ashes of what had been her files and papers, correspondence and notations. He would have seen the hole in the inside wall that was big enough for a man to walk through. But he didn’t look.
Then he saw her, sitting at the verge of the grove, leaning forward on a bench with her head in her hands. Guards flanked her and the man who sat beside her, but Alexander saw only Eve. Whole. Safe. Alive.
She heard him, though he’d barely even whispered her name. A shudder of emotion passed over her face, then she was up and running for him.
“Oh, Alex, at first I thought he meant it for you, and then—”
“You’re not hurt.” He had her face in his hands, framing it, exploring it. “Anywhere, anywhere at all?”
“No. Unless you count knees that tend to buckle and a stomach that tends to turn to jelly.”
“I thought you might …” But he couldn’t finish the thought. Instead he pulled her close again and kissed her as if his life depended on it. The guards kept the reporters at a distance, but the picture would hit the Cordinian and international papers.
“I’m all right,” she murmured over and over, because it was finally sinking in that it was true. “You’re shaking as much as I am.”
“They could only tell me that there had been an explosion at the theater—in your office.”
“Oh, Alex.” She held him close, knowing the hell he would have experienced not knowing. “I’m so sorry. We were going out the stage door when it exploded. As it turned out, the bomb squad was sending in men through the main entrance. When it hit we just kept going, and the police didn’t find us until the
y started spreading out.”
He held her hands so tightly they ached, but she said nothing. “And your troupe? Everyone is safe?”
“I got them out within minutes of the call. All but Russ, that is,” she added, glancing behind her at a very pale and quiet actor. “I was going over the second floor to make certain I hadn’t missed anyone, when he—”
“You? You were going over?” Now she did wince at the pressure of his hands.
“Alex, please.” She flexed her fingers until his loosened.
“Are you mad? Don’t you understand that bomb could have been planted anywhere? There could have been more than one. Searching the building is a job for the police.”
“Alex, my people were in that building. I could hardly waltz out not knowing if they were all safe. As a matter of fact, I had to drag Pete by the shirt, and—”
“You could have been killed.”
There was such bitterness, such fury in the tone, that her back straightened, though her knees had begun to weaken again. “I’m very much aware of that, Alex. So could any one of my people. Every one of them is my responsibility. You understand about responsibility, don’t you?”
“It’s entirely different.”
“No, it’s entirely the same. You ask me to understand, to trust. I’m only asking the same from you.”
“Damn it, it’s because of my family that—” But he broke off as he gripped her shoulders. “You’re shaking again.”
“Shock.” Reeve’s voice came from behind. He had his jacket off and was draping it over her. “Both Eve and Talbot should go to the hospital.”
Alexander swore at himself for not taking proper care of her, but before he could agree Eve was backing off. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. All I really need is to sit down for a few minutes.” Her teeth began to chatter.
“In this you’ll do as you’re told.” Alex motioned for one of the guards to assist Russ.
“Alexander, if I could have a brandy and a quiet room, I would—”
“You can have a quart of brandy and as many quiet rooms as you wish. After you’ve seen Dr. Franco.” He scooped her up in his arms before she could protest.
“For heaven’s sake, I’m strong as a horse.” But her head found his shoulder and settled there.
“We’ll have the doctor confirm that, and bring in a veterinarian if you like.” He paused briefly to look at Reeve. “We’ll talk later?”
“I’ll be at the palace in an hour or two.”
* * *
Eve lay on the pristine white examining table and frowned as Dr. Franco shone the pinpoint light in her left eye. “Too much fuss,” she muttered.
“Doctors like nothing better than fussing,” he told her, then shone the light in her right eye. Flicking the light off, he took her pulse again. His touch was gentle, his eyes kind. Eve had to smile at the smooth white dome of his head.
“Don’t you consider it a waste of your time to examine a perfectly healthy patient?”
“I need the practice.” His lips curved in the bed of his white beard. “Once I’ve satisfied myself, I can set the prince’s mind at rest. I don’t think you’d like to worry him.”
“No.” She sighed as he attached the blood pressure cuff. “I just don’t care for hospitals.” Meeting the irony in his eyes, she sighed again. “When I lost my mother, we spent hours in the waiting room. It was a slow, painful process for all of us.”
“Death is hardest on those left behind—just as illness is often more difficult for the healthy.” He understood her aversion to hospitals, but remembered that when Prince Bennett had been recovering from his wounds, she had come every day to sit with him. “You’ve had a shock, my dear, but you’re strong and resilient. You’d be pleased if I assured the prince you didn’t have to remain overnight.”
She was already sitting up. “A great deal more than pleased.”
“Then a bargain must be struck,” he added, gently coaxing her back down.
“Ah, the kicker.” She smiled again and tried to ignore the fact that she felt like a bowl of gelatin. “How about free orchestra seats to opening night of each play?”
“I wouldn’t refuse.” Her pulse was strong, her blood pressure well within the normal range, but there was still a lack of color in her cheeks and a hollow look around the eyes. “But to seal this bargain, I must have your word that you will rest for twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four? But tomorrow I have to—”
“Twenty-four,” he repeated in his mild, implacable tone. “Or I will tell the prince that you require a night of observation here at St. Alban’s.”
“If I have to stay in bed all day tomorrow, I’ll need more than a hospital.”
“We could perhaps compromise with a walk in the garden, a drive by the sea. But no work, my dear, and no stress.”
She could make calls from her bedroom, she decided. Her office would probably take days to repair in any case. And if agreement got her out, she’d agree. “Twenty-four hours.” She sat up again and offered her hand.
“Come, then. I’ll take you out before there is a rut in the corridor from the pacing.”
Alexander was indeed pacing when Dr. Franco brought her out of the examining room. Bennett was leaning against the wall, watching the door. As soon as they came through, both men started forward. Alexander took Eve’s hand, but looked at Franco.
“Doctor?”
“Miss Hamilton is naturally a bit shaken, but has a strong constitution.”
“I told you,” she said smugly.
“However, I have recommended twenty-four hours of rest.”
“Not bed rest,” Eve put in.
“No,” Franco agreed with a smile. “Not complete bed rest. Though all activity should be relaxing. What she needs now is some quiet and a good meal.”
“Medication?” Alexander asked.
“I don’t believe she requires anything, Your Highness, but a bit of pampering. Oh, and I would disconnect the phone in her room for the next twenty-four-hour period.” When Eve’s mouth fell open, he patted her hand. “We can’t have you disturbed by phone calls, can we, my dear?” With a final pat he wandered away.
“Sharper than he looks,” Eve said under her breath, but was weary enough to accept defeat. “Russ?”
“One of the guards took him back to the hotel.” Bennett touched her shoulder. “His nerves are a bit shot, that’s all. The doctor gave him some tranquilizers.”
“Now we’ll take you home.” Alexander took her arm. Bennett flanked her other side. “My father and the rest of the family are anxious to see for themselves that you’re all right.”
* * *
She was fussed over, pampered, as per doctor’s orders, and put to bed by the Bissets’ old nanny. The woman who had cared for Alexander’s mother, for him and his brother and sister, and now for the third generation, clucked and muttered and had hands as gentle as a baby’s. They were curled with arthritis, yellowed and spotted with age, but she undressed Eve and slipped her into nightclothes effortlessly.
“When your dinner tray comes, you will eat.”
“Yes, Nanny,” Eve said meekly as her pillows were fluffed and piled behind her.
The old woman settled beside her and picked up a cup of tea. “And now you will drink this. All of this. It’s my own mixture and will put the color back in your cheeks. All my children drink it when they are sick.”
“Yes, Nanny.” Even Prince Armand had never awed her as much as the silver-haired, black-clad old woman with the Slavic accent. Eve sipped at the mixture, expecting the worst, and was surprised by a nutty herbal taste.
“There.” Pleased with herself, Nanny nodded. “Children always think medicine will taste nasty and find tricks to keep from taking it. I know tricks of my own.” Her stiff skirts rustled as she shifted. “Even little Dorian asks for Nanny’s drink when he’s feeling poorly. When Alexander was ten, Franco took out his tonsils. He wanted my tea more than the ice cream.”
&nbs
p; She tried to picture Alexander as a child, and only saw the man, so tall and straight and proud. “What was he like, Nanny, when he was little?”
“Reckless. Thunderous.” She smiled and the symphony of wrinkles on her face deepened. “Such a temper. But the responsibility was always there. He learned it in the cradle. He seemed to understand even as a baby that he would always have more than other men. And less.” As she spoke, she rose to tidy Eve’s clothes. “He was obedient. Though you could see the defiance in his eyes, he was obedient. He studied hard. He learned well. Both he and Bennett were fortunate that their personalities were so markedly different. They fought, of course. Brothers must, after all. But they became fond of each other early as people.”
She kept a sharp eye on her patient, and noted the tea was nearly finished. “He has the intensity of his father, sometimes more. But, then, the prince had my Elizabeth to share with him, to soothe him, to make him laugh at himself. My Alexander needs a wife.”
Eve’s gaze rose slowly over the rim of her cup. She was warm and growing drowsy, but she recognized the look in Nanny’s eyes. “He’ll have to decide that for himself.”
“For himself. And for Cordina. The woman he chooses will have to be strong, and willing to share the burdens.” Nanny took the empty cup. “Most of all, I hope she is capable of making him laugh.”
“I love to hear him laugh,” Eve murmured as her eyes fluttered closed. “Does it show, Nanny? Does it show that I love him so much?”
“I have such old eyes.” Nanny smoothed the sheets before she dimmed the light. “And old eyes see more than young ones. Rest now and dream. He’ll come to you before this night is over, or I don’t know my children.”
She knew them well. Eve stirred and sighed and saw Alexander the moment she opened her eyes. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand in his, watching.
“Nanny gave me a magic potion.”
He kissed her knuckles. He wanted to go on kissing her, holding her close and tight against him until the nightmare had faded completely. With an effort he kept his fingers light, as well as his voice.