It couldn’t be in doubt. Elsa inspected the request from all angles. There was a lot to consider.
Like going out to lunch with Stefanos. He’d suggested it last night. She didn’t remember agreeing.
‘He said to tell you it’s a picnic. He said to tell you shorts are man…mandatory and swords are optional. I don’t know what that means.’
‘It means Stefanos is being silly,’ she said, a bit too abruptly, and Zoe looked at her in astonishment.
‘Don’t you like Stefanos?’
‘No. Yes! I don’t know.’
‘Do you want Christina to run you a bath?’ Zoe said seriously. ‘The bath is lovely. It’s really, really deep.’
‘I believe I can run my own bath,’ Elsa said. ‘Though I should take a shower. I hope your cousin Stefanos is taking one too. Preferably cold.’
‘Why would he want to do that?’ Zoe asked, astonished.
‘I have no idea,’ she said and summoned a grin. ‘I know I’m being stupid. But I think it might be me who needs to take a cold shower.’
She went to shower-but then she changed her mind. This wasn’t a place for denying oneself.
Her hip would definitely like a bath.
Back home she survived on tank water. Showers had to be fast of necessity.
Here she had a feeling if she wanted to stay in the bath all day, playing with the amazing selection of bottles of luxury…stuff? no one would say a word of protest. So she did. If not for a day, for almost an hour.
She might have used one too many bottles of smelly stuff, she conceded as she soaked on. She was fighting to keep an airway free through bubbles.
Finally, reluctantly, her conscience got the better of her. She wrapped herself in a fabulously fleecy white towel, used several more towels getting rid of the bubbles and padded back to the bedroom.
She opened her wardrobe and gasped. Yesterday she’d accepted two dresses and a couple of shirts and sandals. Some time during the night her selection had been augmented by…well, by enough clothes to keep a girl happy for a year.
This was really intrusive. She should be angry. But…She tugged out a lovely jonquil blouse and a soft pair of linen shorts. She held them up in front of her and any attempt at anger disappeared.
‘If you need to change direction, then you might as well enjoy it,’ she told herself, and thought she was about to go on a picnic with Stefanos and she had new clothes and she felt terrific and maybe changing direction wasn’t bad at all.
He was leaving.
She wouldn’t think about that. She’d cope. She always had coped with what life threw at her. And if life was now throwing bubbles and new clothes at her…and lunches with princes…a girl might just manage to survive.
She came down the staircase looking wide-eyed with apprehension, self-conscious in her neat lemony blouse, white shorts and new sandals-and very, very cute. She’d twisted her curls up into a knot. He liked it, he thought. He liked it a lot.
He’d like it better if he could just untwist it…
‘Have you been standing there for hours waiting for me?’ she demanded as she saw him.
‘Hours,’ he agreed, and grinned.
Did she have any idea how cute she was? Her eyes were creased a tiny bit from a lifetime spent in the sun, but that was the only sign of wear. Her nose was spattered with her eighteen gorgeous freckles. If he didn’t know for sure she must be close to thirty, he’d have pegged her as little more than a teenager.
And she smelled…She smelled…
‘Wow,’ he said as she came close, and she grinned.
‘Lily of the Valley, Sandalwood and Fig and Anise. There would have been lavender in there too, but I couldn’t get the bottle open.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he said faintly and then counted freckles again. ‘Um…Don’t you believe in cosmetics?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Most of the women I know wear make-up,’ he said lamely, kicking himself for letting his mouth engage before head.
‘Well, good for them,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Do you, too?’
‘Do I what?’
‘I’ve spent so much time in doctors’ waiting rooms over the last four years that I’ve read enough cosmetics advertisements to make me a world expert. There’s men’s cosmetics as well. I’m sure princes use them. Fake tan’s the obvious one. Does your tan rub off on your towel?’
‘No,’ he said, appalled, and she arched her eyebrows in polite disbelief.
‘You’ll need sunscreen,’ he said, sounding lame, and the look she gave him then was almost scornful.
‘Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I’m Australian. I put sunscreen on before my knickers.’
And then she heard what she’d said-and blushed.
It was some blush. It started at her toes and worked its way up, a tide of pink. She could feel it, he thought, and her knowledge that it was happening made it worse.
He loved it.
‘So…so this is royal beachwear,’ she managed, moving on with an obvious struggle.
He glanced down at his casual chinos, his linen shirt and his boat shoes. ‘What’s wrong with this?’
‘Looks great for being a prince and lazing on a sixty-foot yacht on the Mediterranean,’ she said. ‘It’s not great for rock pools, though. And that’s where I hoped we’d be going. Somewhere rock pooly?’
She was defending by attack, he thought. But she was still blushing.
Last night he’d kissed her. Right now, all he could think of was that kiss. And how he could repeat it.
He may well get his face slapped, he thought. She’d been way out of control last night, exhausted and vulnerable. Right now…her defences were up and, even if he wanted to-okay, he did want to-she’d be sensible enough for both of them.
‘The kitchen staff have set us up with a picnic basket,’ he told her. ‘There’s a great little beach I know a few minutes’ drive from here. I believe it even has rock pools.’
‘What time will we be back?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ she said, definite. ‘I want control here. I should even be deciding where we’re going.’
‘Isn’t it usually the guy…?’
‘Who gives orders,’ she finished for him. ‘I’m sure it is, and if it’s a prince then it probably works double. But Sleeping Beauty’s for wimps. I fight my own battles-and I set up my own defences. Can I tell Zoe four o’clock?’
‘If you like.’
‘I do like,’ she said. ‘You’re on probation. After that kiss last night…I don’t know why you did it but it scared me. I’m happy to have a picnic but let’s make it quite clear this relationship is purely business.’
‘Of course,’ he said courteously but he was aware of a stab of disappointment.
He didn’t know what was happening-but what he did know was that he didn’t want to be on a business footing with Elsa.
‘So why are we going on a picnic?’ she asked as they headed out along the coast road. ‘Aren’t there urgent princely things you should be doing?’
There were urgent princely things he should be doing, but for now…They were ensconced in a Gullwing Mercedes-a 1954 300 SL. A car with doors that opened like wings from the centre. A car that looked like a weird seagull-a crazy, wonderful car. It had belonged to the King, but it had obviously sat in mothballs for the last fifty years. Finding it had been a highlight of the past two dreary weeks.
And now…it felt great. The sun was shining, they were cruising smoothly around the curves of the scenic coast road, the Mercedes’ motor was purring as if it was finally allowed to be doing what it should be doing-and for the moment that was how he felt too. As if he’d got it right.
Beside him…A beautiful woman with freckles.
‘So we’re going to the beach why?’ she prodded again and he shook off his preoccupation with Elsa the woman and Gullwing the car and tried to think of what she’d asked.
‘I want to be private.’<
br />
‘Not so you can kiss me again?’
‘No,’ he said, startled, and then thought actually that wasn’t such a bad idea.
‘Just as well,’ she said, but her voice was strained. He glanced across at her and thought she’d come close to admitting that last night’s kiss had affected her as much as it had him.
‘So you want to talk to me,’ she ventured.
‘We need to depend on each other,’ he said, trying to sound suitably grave and princely. ‘Maybe it’s time we got to find out a bit more about each other.’
‘Without kissing.’
‘Without kissing.’ Hard to sound grave and princely while saying that.
‘So you can figure whether I can take on this island?’
‘No.’ He grew serious then. ‘I’m not asking that of you. It’s my responsibility. But I did think-even before last night-that you deserve an explanation of who I am-of what’s behind the mess of this island. So that while I’m away you have a clear idea of the background.’
He was manoeuvring the car off the main road now, turning onto a dirt track through what was almost coastal jungle. Once upon a time this had been a magnificent garden but that was a long time ago now. He parked the car under the shade of a vast wisteria draping the canopy of a long-strangled tree. As the car’s batwings pushed up, the wisteria’s soft flowers sent a shower of petals over their heads.
It was right to come here, Stefanos thought. Matters of state had to wait a little. This felt…right.
Elsa was gazing around her with awe and the beginnings of delight. A tiny stone cottage was also covered with wisteria. It looked ramshackle, neglected and unused.
‘This looks almost like home,’ she breathed. ‘Without the termites.’
‘You have termites?’
‘My house is wood veneer,’ she said darkly. ‘Veneer over termites. So what’s this place?’
‘My home,’ he said, and she stared.
‘Your home? But you live in Manhattan.’
‘Now I do. This is where I was brought up.’
She stared around her, puzzled. ‘But a prince wouldn’t live here.’
‘I wasn’t raised as a prince. My father scratched a living fishing. He was killed in a boating accident when I was sixteen. Accidents to the island’s original royals are littered throughout our history-never anything that could definitely be attributed to the King, but terrifying, regardless. After Papa died my mother insisted I go abroad. She sold everything to get me into school in the States. Christos left soon after, for the same reasons, only Christos’s mother had a little more money so she was able to go with him.’
‘So you left the island when you were sixteen? Alone?’
‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘I had no choice. Mama was terrified every time I set foot on the island so she insisted I didn’t return. She died of a heart attack just before I qualified as a doctor, and it’s to my eternal regret I wasn’t here for her. I hope…I hope she was proud of my medicine. I’ve always hoped that what I do was worth her sacrifice.’ He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Who can tell, but there it is.’
‘So…’ She was eyeing him cautiously. Sympathetic but wary. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I want to tell you why I left the island and I want to explain how important my medicine is to me.’ He hesitated. ‘That’s all. Dumb, really. But after last night…it seemed important that you know.’
‘You can practice medicine here,’ she said, still cautious.
‘I can,’ he said. ‘I will. The old doctor here is overjoyed that I’ll be joining him.’
‘But…not practising neurosurgery?’
‘I’d need a population considerably bigger than this island to justify equipment, technology, ancillary staff. So no.’
‘You’ll be a good family doctor,’ she said softly and he smiled.
‘I hope so. If I’m not I’m sure you’ll tell me. Now…lunch?’
‘Yes, please.’
She climbed out of the car and gazed around her. It was a picture-perfect setting, a tiny house nestled in a tranquil little cove. She thought of Stefanos growing up here, using this place as his own private paradise.
He had it all. His career, his title, his good looks, his life.
So why did she feel sorry for him? It wasn’t what he’d intended, she thought, glancing at him as he retrieved a picnic basket from the car. But suddenly…Suddenly she thought she hadn’t had it too hard at all.
She’d lost Matty but she’d loved him and he’d loved her. Her own parents had died young but her best friend, Amy, had always been close. And then there’d been Zoe.
How hard must it be to walk alone?
How would he react if she told him she felt sorry for him? she wondered, and then she glanced at him again, at the sheer good looks of the man, the way he smiled at her, the teasing laughter behind his eyes.
All this and sympathy too? This man was too dangerous for words!
He suspected it was a picnic to surpass any picnic she’d ever had. Lobster, crunchy bread rolls, butter curls in a Thermos to keep them cool, a salad of mango and avocado and prawns, lemon slivers, strawberries, tiny meringues, a bottle of sparkling white wine…
‘This is enough for a small army,’ she gasped as he spread a blanket over a sandy knoll overlooking the sea.
‘I doubt the royal kitchen appreciates the concept of enough. Do you think you can make a dent in it?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she said and proceeded to do just that.
She concentrated on eating, as if it was really important. It probably was, he conceded. She’d missed last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast, but she probably didn’t need to concentrate quite as hard as she was.
She seemed nervous, and that made two of them. Last night had left him floundering, and quite simply he didn’t know how to go forward. This was a woman unlike any other. A widow. A woman with a past, but a woman who was facing the future with courage, with humour and with love.
Quite simply, she left him awed. And now…He felt as if he were treading on eggshells, and he was already sure he was squashing some.
In the end it was Elsa who broke a silence that was starting to seem strained. ‘So tell me about the island,’ she ventured. She was lying on the rug looking out to sea. She was on one side of the rug, he was on the other and the picnic gear was in between. It was starting to seem a really intrusive arrangement. But it’d be really unwise to change it, he thought. No matter how much he wanted to.
‘I’ll show you the island,’ he told her. ‘When you’ve finished lunch I’ll give you a quick tour. It’s far too big to see in a day-but I do want to give you some impression of what we’re facing.’
‘We?’
‘Hey, you offered to help,’ he said and then smiled at her look of panic. ‘But no, Elsa, relax. I meant we as in all the islanders.’
She managed a smile in turn. ‘Not we as in the royal we? Not we as in, “We are not amused”?’
‘No.’
‘So there’s still nothing for me to do.’
‘There is.’ He hesitated, trying to figure a way to say what needed to be said. He couldn’t. But still it needed to be said.
‘There are three things,’ he said at last. ‘Some time before I go back to Manhattan-before the end of the month-I’d like to take you to Athens. I want you to buy a dress for the coronation.’
It was such an unexpected request that she looked blank. It was left to him to explain-why he’d woken at three this morning and thought he had to do this. He’d fit it into his schedule somehow.
‘I want you to have a gown that’ll do justice to your role on the island,’ he said simply. ‘I want you to stand by Zoe’s side at the coronation and look royal yourself. You’re her guardian. I’ll stand by her side as Prince Regent but you’re guardian to the Crown Princess. You should be received with equal honour.’
There was a lengthy silence at that. Then, ‘A dress,’ Elsa said cautiousl
y. ‘You mean…not a nice nannyish dress with a starched collar and Nanny embroidered on the breast.’
‘I had in mind more a Princess Di dress. Or a Princess Grace dress. Something to make the islanders gasp.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said dryly.
‘Yeah, right? That would be two positives? That means you agree?’
‘That means there’s no way I agree.’
‘I wish it,’ he said.
‘Oooh,’ she said. ‘Is this insubordination?’
‘Elsa…’
‘Sorry.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘It’s an amazing offer.’ She shook her head, as if shaking off a dream. ‘But it’s nuts. For one thing, you have way too much to do to be taking me shopping. How could you possibly justify putting off your surgical lists for something so crazy? And second…The clothes you’ve already arranged for me are bad enough.’
She faltered then, her colour fading as she realised what she’d said. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I mean…they’re lovely and I’m very grateful, but…I don’t know how to explain. This is me, Stefanos. I might be changing direction but I’m still me. I don’t do Princess Di or Princess Grace. Please. Let me keep being Elsa.’
‘You can be Elsa in a couture gown.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said again. ‘But no. So okay, that’s sorted. What next? What else did you want to talk to me about?’
‘It would give me pleasure to see…’
‘No.’ Flat. Definite. ‘You’re royalty and I’m not. Let’s move on.’
Uh-oh. He wasn’t having much luck here, and the next one was more important. Maybe he should have voiced it first. Except when he’d thought this all through in the middle of the night, the thought of taking her shopping had distracted him. It was still distracting him.
Maybe now, though, he needed to get serious.
‘It’s not just shopping,’ he said softly. ‘I’d like you to see an orthopaedic surgeon in Athens. I want you to get your hip repaired.’
Crowned: The Palace Nanny Page 11