Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2

by Various Authors

And then she was gone.

  The way she’d kissed him goodbye had almost made it feel as if it was goodbye for ever. He pushed the thought away. Of course it wasn’t. She’d be back in a few days. And maybe then he’d be able to take the sadness from her eyes, make her realise just how much she was loved. That it didn’t matter if she didn’t fit into her family, because she had him and their future children—and they’d be all the family she needed.

  He drove home in complete silence. Parked in the road outside his cottage, lifted Bramble out, and let them both in. He had enough time to have a cup of coffee, make a fuss of the dog and change into a suit for morning surgery, and then it was time for work.

  And right now Melinda would be on her way to London.

  He walked over to the surgery. The village seemed to be busier than usual—clearly the tourist season had started early this year. Quite a few people had cameras. Well, Penhally Bay was picturesque, with the smattering of pagan memorials in the surrounding countryside, the wreck of the seventeenthcentury Spanish treasure ship Corazón del Oro and the smugglers’ caves, and the cliffs overhanging the Atlantic. Maybe these people were all from some camera club and they’d come to find inspiration for a competition or something.

  ‘Morning, Dragan,’ Hazel, the practice manager, said as he walked in.

  ‘Morning, Hazel.’ He smiled at her and headed for his consulting room. He’d just settled in when there was a rap at the door and Nick—as usual, without waiting to be asked—opened the door.

  ‘Quick word,’ he said—more of a statement than a question.

  ‘Sure.’ Dragan gestured to the chair next to his desk.

  ‘We need to think about locums,’ Nick said.

  So now would definitely not be a good time to say he needed leave for a few days. Dragan carefully kept his expression neutral. ‘We could do with a long-term one to keep us going through the summer. I know Adam’s here now and he’s taken over Marco’s list, but we still need cover for Lucy while she’s on maternity leave,’ he said. And maybe longer, if Lucy decided she wanted a break before returning to medicine. ‘We can just about manage for now, but we’ll really need someone to help us next month when the tourists start arriving.’

  ‘Good point. I’ll get Hazel onto it,’ Nick said. ‘I did call to see you yesterday, but you were out. Interesting neighbour you have.’

  ‘Cruella De Vil, you mean?’ Dragan said before he could stop himself.

  Nick’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I thought she was rather fun, actually. We went out for dinner last night.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Dragan gave him a polite smile. Natalie or Natasha—or whatever her name was—wasn’t his idea of fun. Nick was lonely, and Dragan could understand that, but why bother going out with someone so shallow when he could find himself someone genuine and warm? Someone more like…well, more like Kate, Dragan thought, the midwife who’d been their practice manager before Hazel had taken over.

  ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ Nick said, and to Dragan’s relief the senior partner left him to see his first patient.

  Dragan just about managed to keep his mind on his work during the morning. But the second his last patient left his consulting room, he grabbed his mobile phone and checked it for messages.

  There were two—both from Melinda.

  In London. Love you. M.

  Napoli. Love you. M.

  It wasn’t until after he’d finished his house calls that he had the text he’d really been waiting for.

  Contarini. Love you. Call you soon. Something I need to tell you. M. xx

  Something she needed to tell him? He frowned. She’d tried to tell him something earlier, but he’d told her it could wait. Well, whatever it was, it probably wasn’t as bad as she thought. Things often seemed worse than they really were after you’d just had bad news.

  Although he was itching to call her, see how see was, he kept the desire under control. The last thing she needed was for him to ring her in the middle of something awkward. And at least he had something positive to do that evening. Knowing that Reverend Kenner liked dogs, Dragan was perfectly comfortable taking Bramble with him for a walk along the harbour down to the rectory, next to the church. Though it was with some relief that he passed Nick’s house and saw that the senior partner’s car wasn’t there. He was probably out somewhere with that atrocious woman—which was a good thing. Then Nick wouldn’t be asking just why Dragan was calling in on Reverend Kenner, who wasn’t on his patient list. Until Melinda was back and wearing his ring, Dragan wasn’t ready to discuss his plans with anyone else.

  ‘Ah, Dragan. You’ve brought Bramble with you.’ Reverend Kenner bent down to pat the dog. ‘How’s her leg?’

  ‘This time round, hopefully, it’s healing nicely. And I’m not letting her off the lead until we’ve got the X-rays back after her next check-up.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  English tea was one thing Dragan definitely hadn’t learned to love. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘So, what can I do for you? You were quite mysterious on the phone.’

  ‘Melinda’s agreed to be my wife,’ Dragan explained.

  ‘Congratulations! I’m so pleased—you make a lovely couple. And people have been wondering, you know.’

  Dragan smiled wryly. ‘Nothing’s ever secret for long around here, is it? Melinda would have been with me today, but she had a call from her parents last night and had to go back to Contarini. Her brother’s been killed in an accident.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Do give her my condolences when you speak to her, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Dragan paused. ‘About the wedding—we wondered if you’d marry us in St Mark’s.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Reverend Kenner said warmly. ‘Though you should expect the whole village to turn out.’

  ‘That’s fine by me. Um, I haven’t done this sort of thing before, so I don’t have a clue what the procedures are. I assume we have to fill in some sort of paperwork?’

  ‘Yes. Strictly speaking, I should see you both together,’ Reverend Kenner pointed out.

  ‘Melinda will come to see you as soon as she’s back in Cornwall,’ Dragan promised.

  ‘So have you any date in mind?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  Reverend Kenner raised an eyebrow. ‘Should I be concerned about your reasons?’

  Dragan shook his head. ‘Not at all. It’s just that now we’ve decided to get married neither of us wants to wait any longer than we have to. So what happens now? Do you read the banns or something?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Reverend Kenner frowned. ‘Are you both British nationals?’

  ‘I’ve spent nearly half my life here,’ Dragan said, ‘and I obtained British citizenship when I qualified as a doctor. But I’m not sure about Melinda.’

  ‘Then we’re probably safest to get a common licence—that’s permission from the bishop for non-British nationals to marry here.’

  Dragan blinked. ‘We have to go and see the bishop?’

  ‘We’re quite a way from the bishop’s diocese, but the good news is I’m one of the bishop’s surrogates—I can sort out your application for the licence,’ Reverend Kenner reassured him. ‘I have copies of all the forms you’ll need to fill out. You’ll need proof of your nationality—your passport will do fine—and maybe a letter from the embassies saying that the marriage will be recognised in Melinda’s home country.’ He frowned. ‘Is Contarini part of the European Union?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘If it is, I won’t need a letter from the embassy, but check with Melinda. If it’s not, I’ll need the letter.’ He smiled. ‘I’m just so pleased for you both.’ He checked in his diary. ‘As soon as possible, you say. We need to allow a couple of weeks for the paperwork to go through, so we’re looking at the end of the month…Ah, yes. We have a slot at three o’clock on the last Saturday in April, if that suits you both?’

  ‘That’d be perfect.�
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  ‘You’ve sorted out your best man and bridesmaids?’

  ‘Not yet. But now we’ve got a definite date, we’ll work on it.’

  Reverend Kenner handed him a sheaf of forms. ‘Obviously we’ll need to have a little chat—I always do with couples who want to marry—but it’s nothing too onerous.’

  ‘We don’t mind,’ Dragan said. ‘We just want to get married. Properly.’

  ‘And the whole village will be celebrating with you,’ Reverend Kenner said warmly.

  On the way home, Dragan remembered the hot-water bottle. Melinda had promised to return it to Violet Kennedy. Well, that was one small thing he could do to help: collect it and deliver it for her. It would give Melinda one less thing to worry about; being the conscientious vet she was, she was probably fretting about it. And she had enough to deal with right now.

  The tourists were still hanging about outside the café—probably waiting for the sunset, he guessed. He unlocked the door to Melinda’s flat, carried Bramble up the stairs, retrieved the hot-water bottle, and had just set the dog back on her feet and locked the door again when he realised he was surrounded. By the tourists. Who were busy taking photographs—of him.

  ‘What’s go—?’ he began.

  ‘So who are you to Princess Melinda?’ one of them cut in.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ He stared at the man. Princess Melinda? Was the guy talking about his Melinda?

  ‘Princess Melinda. The heir to the throne of Contarini, now her brother’s died,’ one of the others said.

  ‘Right stunner, she is. Blonde and…’ One of the others lifted two hands, as if cupping curvaceous breasts.

  They were talking about his Melinda. Dragan just about managed to contain the urge to punch him—no way was this grubby louse going to get his paws anywhere near Melinda!

  ‘Give it a break, man. She’s never going to look twice at you. Beauty, brains and royal, to boot—she’s way out of your league,’ one of the others said, nudging the mouthy photographer.

  A camera flashed in Dragan’s face. ‘So you’ve got the key to her flat, then,’ one of them said conversationally.

  ‘I’m just a friend,’ Dragan said. Though right now he was beginning to wonder. How could Melinda possibly be a princess and not have told him something so important about herself? She’d agreed to marry him, for goodness’ sake. For better or worse. No secrets.

  ‘Friend, hmm?’ Another flash. ‘So what’s the hot-water bottle for?’

  ‘It belongs to the owner of a patient she treated on call yesterday,’ Dragan said shortly.

  ‘And she didn’t have time to return it before she went back to Contarini for the funeral?’ one of the paparazzi said. ‘Right. Good of you to help out. A friend, you say.’

  ‘Hang on, you’re the local doctor, aren’t you?’ another asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you live just round the corner. Handy,’ another one remarked.

  How did they know he lived nearby? Had they been watching him?

  ‘So what do you make of King Alessandro, then?’ one of the others asked.

  King Alessandro? Presumably he was Melinda’s father. Dragan spread his hands. ‘Can’t help you, I’m afraid. Sorry. Excuse me.’

  To his relief, they let him go, but his brain was whirring as he walked back to Fisherman’s Row. Melinda was a princess? Heir to the throne, according to the paparazzi—and that meant she’d be Queen Melinda on her father’s death.

  And hadn’t she said something about her father wanting to retire?

  Oh, lord.

  This changed everything.

  He’d asked the local vet to marry him.

  And it turned out that she was of royal blood. The heir to the throne.

  No wonder she’d reacted so badly when he’d teased her about behaving like a princess—because that was exactly what she was.

  But why hadn’t she told him the truth about herself? Why had she lied to him? She’d agreed to marry him, yet she’d kept something this big from him. That didn’t bode well for their marriage—if she’d be allowed to marry him in the first place. Her Royal Highness Princess Melinda Fortesque was hardly likely to marry a commoner. Especially when she was about to become Her Majesty, Queen Melinda.

  Oh, hell.

  Even if it was possible for her to marry him, they couldn’t base a marriage on secrets and lies. No wonder she’d wanted to keep things low-key between them. It was nothing to do with avoiding being the top subject of the village grapevine—she’d probably been terrified that the press would ferret it out.

  Well, they had now.

  And if this was the ‘something I must tell you’—she was too late.

  Dragan’s mobile phone—which he’d forgotten to take with him when he’d gone to see Reverend Kenner—was ringing as he walked in the door. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. Melinda.

  What the hell did he say to her?

  Although he was tempted to leave it and get his head round the situation before she called back, at the same time he needed to know the truth. From her. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Dragan? Carissimo, I rang and rang and you weren’t there,’ she said, sounding worried. ‘Are you all right?’

  No, he wasn’t. ‘Sure,’ he lied. Even though she’d kept the truth about herself from him, she was in an awkward situation. Hundreds of miles away with a family who didn’t accept her for who she was, preparing to go to her brother’s funeral. Now wasn’t the time to make a big deal out of it—though that didn’t mean he was going to let her off the hook. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Sort of. But I miss you so much. Dragan, there’s something I need to tell you.’ She’d slipped into Italian and was speaking so rapidly that he had to concentrate to follow her. ‘It’s important and I know I should have told you before I left, but it was all such a mess, and there was no time, and I’m sorry, and…’ She paused for a moment. ‘Dragan, about my family. There isn’t an easy way to say this, so I’ll say it straight. My father’s the king of Contarini.’

  ‘King Alessandro. I know.’

  Melinda was stunned. He knew? But who’d told him? ‘How?’

  ‘I went to get Violet Kennedy’s hot-water bottle from your flat to take it back to her and save you the job, and the paparazzi were there when I came out.’

  ‘And they hassled you? Oh, no!’ He must be so hurt and angry—learning that she’d kept this from him for so long. And hearing it from someone else instead of from her… ‘Dragan, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want you to find out that way. I wanted to tell you myself.’

  ‘Bit late now.’ He was clearly trying to keep his voice toneless, but even he could hear the hurt and anger seeping through.

  ‘Are you all right? The paparazzi didn’t—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about them,’ he cut in. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t find the right words. I know I should have told you. But I was…’ She paused, trying to find the right word. One that wouldn’t make things even worse. ‘I was scared.’

  ‘Scared?’

  ‘That I’d lose you.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Once people know I’m Princess Melinda, they treat me differently. And I didn’t want things to change between us.’

  ‘You think I’m that shallow?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t! But it’s human nature that people see the title—it gets in the way of seeing the person. I didn’t want to lose you, lose what we have. All I wanted was to live a normal life, just like any other person.’

  ‘But you’re not just any other person, are you? You’re next in line to the throne. You’re the heir in waiting.’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Officially I’m the heir at the moment. But I don’t want to be queen. And I’m not going to be either.’ She swallowed. ‘My father wants to retire—abdicate, call it what you want. He’s got high blood pressure, so it’s sensible that he star
ts to take things easier now he’s older. And at least nowadays there is the option to abdicate—in the old days he would have been king until he died and the job would have killed him. If he hands it over to me…then he’s free. It will be better for his health.’

  ‘So you’re staying in Contarini.’

  ‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t belong here, Dragan. I belong in Penhally, with you. I’m just Melinda Fortesque, the local vet. And I’m getting married to the love of my life.’

  His silence told her that he didn’t believe her. That he was hurt and angry and didn’t know how to trust a single word she said.

  She hadn’t actually lied to him.

  But then again, she hadn’t told him the whole truth either. And lies of omission were still lies.

  ‘Dragan. I love you, I love Penhally and I love my job. I don’t want to be the Queen of Contarini. I don’t want to run the kingdom. I have no interest in politics and I’d be a rubbish head of state. I’m not what Contarini needs.’

  ‘What about your duty to your family?’

  He’d stayed in the village in Croatia during the war to pay off his family’s debts—debts that hadn’t been their fault at all—to make sure his family honour stayed intact. He’d put his duty before his own safety. And in her shoes she knew he’d do the dutiful thing. He’d give up the woman he loved and the job he loved for his family’s sake.

  But her family wasn’t like his.

  And giving up the life she loved to be the Queen of Contarini would be the biggest mistake she’d ever make.

  She had to convince him of the truth. ‘I’m not the only child. My younger sister Serena’s everything I’m not—she enjoys politics and diplomacy, and she’s good at it. She’d make a brilliant queen and she’d love every second of it. Whereas my heart won’t be in it, and that would make it wrong for me and wrong for the country.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I have to do the right thing, Dragan. The right thing for everyone.’

  ‘So that means it’s over between us.’

  ‘No! I’m still the same woman I was when you asked me to marry you.’

  ‘Are you? Melinda, you’re of royal blood. You’re never going to be allowed to marry a commoner.’