by Jessica Hart
Max blanched at the suggestion. “No, thank God. I gather there’s some connection with the family at Westonbury Court so the royal family will be staying there, but Hope will be here, plus any other bridesmaids and other hangers-on.”
“It must be a headache for the San Michele security people, having the wedding here,” said Flora, who had gone back to doodling absently.
“That’s why Hope has had to fight so hard for the wedding she wants,” said Max. “It’s made her unpopular with the royal family. I think she’s hoping that by offering Fredrik hospitality here, it’ll show that she’s not just being difficult.”
He hesitated, running a finger around his collar. “I was wondering what you thought of the idea of moving in while Fredrik is here?” he said, and Flora’s pen skidded on the notebook.
“Moving in?” she repeated cautiously.
“I thought it might make situation more ... convincing,” he said. “You’d have your own room, naturally,” he went on. “I don’t think Count Fredrik is going to be prowling the corridors to check whether we’re sleeping together or not.”
“Probably not.” Flora heard a glum note in her voice, and caught herself up.
Hold on, wasn’t she supposed to be feeling relieved, not disappointed?
“I’m sure that’ll be fine,” she said briskly. “We can do a practice run pretending to be a couple. It’s not going to be a problem.”
“Ally, where are you?”
“Outside the church.”
“What on earth are you doing there at this time of the morning?” asked Flora, momentarily diverted. “Oh, never mind,” she said before Ally could answer. “I need you!”
Phone clamped to her ear, she was pacing up and down the bedroom Max had showed her into the day before. The décor was tired, but with fresh wallpaper and a lick of paint it could be a lovely room, with its odd angles and quirky fireplace. Like the rest of the manor now, it was sparsely furnished, but there was an inviting window seat from which you could look through the mullioned window to the walled garden below.
“Now? I’m a bit busy today,” Ally began, but Flora was not in the mood to accept any excuses.
“Today isn’t the problem. It’s tonight. You’ve got to help me, Ally! We’ve got this Count from San Michele staying here.”
“So? You were expecting him, weren’t you?”
“How did you know? Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re doing PR for Hope,” she said, answering her own question. “You know much more about what’s going on than I do. Anyway, Hope asked if Max would put Fredrik up and as we’re supposedly a couple, I’m staying here and playing hostess and ... Stop laughing! It’s really awkward!”
The awkwardness was with Max, but Flora didn’t want to go into that.
“I can imagine,” said Ally, making what sounded like only a token effort to treat the situation with the seriousness it deserved. “Okay, Floradear. What’s the man done to get you in such a state?”
“Nothing. He’s just a bit intimidating. I mean, he’s perfectly polite but he’s so cool. He’s got that whole sexy Special Forces thing going on, you know, all strong and silent, which is all very well until you’re trying to have a conversation. Max isn’t Mr Chatty either, and the arrival of the stony-faced Count poking around every corner of the Hall looking for trouble has brought home the reality of what this wedding is going to involve. It was left to me to do all the talking last night, and I was exhausted by the time I went to bed,” she remembered glumly.
“By yourself? Or did you have to be totally convincing? You know ... with sound effects?”
“For goodness’ sake, Ally! It’s just a bit of play-acting,” Flora snapped before she could help herself. But honestly, it wasn’t funny!”
“Sorry,” said Ally, contrite. “To be honest I’m having a bit of a weird one myself,” she admitted. “Your Count caught me in full skivvy mode at the Three Bells this morning. Not exactly the impression I was hoping to make.”
“You’ve met him already? Well that’s perfect! You can come to dinner tonight and use your famous charm to keep things ticking over while I’m in the kitchen doing my best to convince him that we’re not going to put on a hog roast to feed our royal guests.”
“I’m not sure he’s impressed by my charm,” Ally said. “He’s pretty much accused me of encouraging Hope to marry her Prince in order to further my own ends.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“I know, but he’s done a background check, Flora, and it was inevitable he’d think the worst. Don’t worry. Once he’s been softened up by your wonderful cooking it’ll be a piece of cake to convince him that I’m not a wolf in rubber gloves and a pinny. I just hope Max is properly grateful for everything you’re doing?”
“Not so you’d notice,” said Flora. “I’d wittered on all evening and I’m sure Fredrik thought I was a complete airhead, but when I said that to Max, instead of saying of course I didn’t come over as too silly for words and thanking me for doing all the work, all he said was that he wouldn’t be surprised at all,” she remembered, aggrieved.
“And he looks so sensible. He was lucky you didn’t crown him with a copper-bottomed saucepan.”
“There’s still time. We’ve got to entertain the Count again tonight, so you’ve got to come and help, Ally. If nothing else, we can talk to each other.”
“Poor Floradear,” said Ally, amused. “What’s on the menu?”
“Chicken, quince and hazelnut ravioli to start, followed by roast haunch of venison with a potato and celeriac gratin and then lemon tart.” Flora rattled off the menu. “What do you think?”
“Make it those pear and chocolate puddings I like instead of lemon tart and you’re on,” Ally said, and Flora cast a disapproving look into the phone.
“Chocolate will be too rich at the end of that meal.”
“Well, you could always chatter to Count Fredrik by yourself ...”
Flora sighed. “Chocolate and pear it is. Come about seven, okay? Wear something distracting.”
“I don’t think Fredrik is a man to be diverted by a glimpse of gooseflesh,” said Ally, who knew how chilly Hasebury Hall could be. “That ship sailed the minute he saw me in a headscarf and pink rubber gloves.”
“Rubbish,” said Flora stoutly. “Do a Cinderella transformation and knock his socks off! I’ll make sure Max piles the logs high in the grate.”
“Hope’s the one with the Cinderella dress and glass slippers but I’ll do my best,” promised Ally. “It should be an interesting evening.”
Chapter Nine
Like the rest of Hasebury Hall, the drawing room had seen better days, but Flora had drawn the heavily swagged curtains to shut out the sleety January night and Max lit a fire in the stone fireplace. He had been left with two long, squashy sofas, but all the antique furniture that had once graced the room was gone, and there were patches on the wallpaper where valuable paintings had once hung. Flora had found some lamps to cast a yellowy glow, though, and she’d set a line of tea lights along the mantelpiece to add a flickering light, and it all looked cosy enough.
Count Fredrik Jensson was a tall, upright man with a steely air about him that Flora found daunting. She hadn’t been at all surprised to learn that he had been a soldier. She could imagine him as a keen-eyed close protection officer, and he no doubt provided good security for the San Michele royal family, but his icy reserve was less suited to a relaxed dinner party.
Having Ally there definitely helped, though, even if it had turned out that the whole time she been talking to her friend on phone, Fredrik had been right beside her. Flora’s jaw dropped when Ally told her. “God, he didn’t hear what I was saying about him, did he? How embarrassing.”
“He didn’t say anything if he did, but I don’t get the impression Count Fredrik misses very much.” Ally sent their guest a cool look.
As usual, Ally looked fabulous with that not-trying-too-hard style that Flora always envied. Her outfit was sophi
sticated but not too formal, perfect for a winter dinner party in fact, which was more than could be said for Flora’s. She had left the kitchen long enough to run up to her room, drag a scarlet jumper over her head and pull on a pair of clean jeans. A final tousle of her hair with her fingers, a slick of bright red lipstick (Good Time Girl) and she was ready.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, she literally bumped into Max on the landing. He eyed her jumper dubiously.
“Don’t you own anything beige?”
“Do I look like a beige person to you?”
“I just thought it would be interesting to see you in a colour that doesn’t hurt my eyes.”
“I’m sorry if I don’t blend with your dreary décor,” she said, “but I’m not usually front of house. This is the warmest jumper I’ve got – it’s cashmere, let me tell you – and I need it if I’m not going to freeze to death walking between the kitchen and the dining room.”
Max was unimpressed. “You sound like Holly. She’s always moaning about the lack of central heating. It’s not that cold.”
“I had to get dressed under the covers this morning. I haven’t done that since I was six and my mother thought it would be a good idea to spend the winter in a tepee.”
“I’m sorry if you didn’t sleep well,” said Max stiffly.
“Oh, I slept fine once I’d piled on four extra blankets,” said Flora, although that wasn’t quite true. She had tossed and turned for hours, uncomfortably aware that Max was lying in bed just a couple of doors down the corridor.
Her plan not to give a moment’s more thought to the way he had kissed her wasn’t going well. It had been bad enough when she only really saw him in the kitchen, but persuading Fredrik that their relationship was real had meant that she could now picture him in the rest of the house too.
In spite of his shabby clothes, there was no mistaking that Max was lord of the manor. Something to do with the severe features, that autocratic nose, or the don’t-give-a-damn attitude. He had a presence that came from belonging, Flora thought. When she stood shivering next to him in the great hall to greet Fredrik, it had been easy to picture Max’s ancestors looking exactly the same, striding through their hall in ruffs and embroidered doublets, in powdered wigs or mutton chop whiskers, sublimely confident of their status as lords of all they surveyed.
It all underlined how out of place she was. She belonged in the kitchen, not the great hall. Flora tried not to find the thought depressing. She was certain Fredrik was going to see through the pretence. As Ally said, he didn’t look as if he missed much, and it must be obvious that she was never going to be lady-of-the-manor material.
But if he had doubts, Fredrik was too polite to say so.
“I thought I would try out some possible nibbles to have at the wedding.” Flora offered round a platter of exquisitely decorated canapés, and pointed them out as Ally oohed and aahed over them. “Smoked salmon on a beetroot blini, miniature Yorkshire puddings with rare roast beef and a horseradish mousse, and those are walnut sablés.”
Ally took a smoked salmon blini. “These look fab, Floradear. How do you get them to look so pretty? They’re like tiny perfect roses.”
“Do you think any of these would be suitable to serve at the reception?” Flora asked Fredrik as he took a walnut biscuit.
“I’m afraid I can’t say,” he said distantly. He spoke perfect English, with a very slight, but rather sexy, accent. “That will be for Prince Jonas and Miss Kennard to decide.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with a sausage roll,” grumbled Max but he helped himself to a Yorkshire pudding.
Flora put down the tray on the coffee table. “If Max had his way, we’d provide the royal party with a bag of crisps and some dips,” she sighed. “Isn’t that right, darling?” she added, with a belated attempt at sounding like a real couple. Perhaps sprinkling a few endearments around would do the trick?
“Now, now, there’s no need to exaggerate, Moonflower.”
Max caught the dagger look Flora sent him at the use of her name. Served her right for ‘darling’. And for turning his life upside down.
It had seemed a good idea to get Flora to the manor while Fredrik was here. Not least because he would have had to buy up Waitrose ready meals to give the man something decent to eat. And the food had been amazing. The meal she had cooked for Fredrik the previous night had been spectacular.
But now he would forever after be able to picture her everywhere: running down the stairs, hugging her arms together in the chill of the great hall, bending to add a log to the fire. He wasn’t quite sure how she had done it, but a few little touches and suddenly Hasebury Hall seemed cosy and welcoming and warm, whatever she said about the lack of heating.
How was he supposed to get her out of his head now? Now that he knew how she looked curled up on his sofa, the candlelight softening the bright colours she would wear. Now that her laugh, that wickedly warm laugh that snarled his senses, lurked in every room and along the passageways. Now that her scent drifted in the air with the memory of her smile.
“Hope wants a simple wedding,” he reminded her.
Flora waved that away. “There’s simple and simple. You can have simple no fuss, and simple exquisite, and Hope deserves the latter. I’m right, aren’t I, Ally?”
“You are, you are,” Ally agreed and Flora shot him such a triumphant look that Max could only cross his eyes at her and try not to smile.
He got up to refresh their drinks, and when he came back with the bottle, Ally and Flora were squealing with excitement about the visit to San Michele the following month.
“Omigod, Max, we’re going on a private jet!” Flora was practically bouncing up and down on the sofa.
Max’s brows rose. “Oh, God, wait until Holly and Ben find that out!”
“Their Serene Highnesses, Crown Prince Carlo and Crown Princess Anna, are looking forward to welcoming you all,” Fredrik said formally. “It will be an opportunity for the families to meet and get to know each other before the wedding in June. The Crown Prince will send the royal plane to the airport of your choice.”
“What happens once we get there?” Ally asked.
“We will, of course, issue you with a detailed itinerary nearer the time, but Prince Jonas and Miss Kennard will meet you at the airport and escort you to the palace.”
“That’s in the capital, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Liburno Castle. It is a very beautiful castle. I think you will enjoy your stay there.”
“Will we get a chance to see anything of the rest of San Michele?” said Max, topping up Fredrik’s glass.
“Certainly, if you wish,” said Fredrik. “A welcome dinner has been arranged for the first night you arrive, on the Saturday, but you will have time to relax over the next couple of days, and I am sure it will be possible to show you something of the country. The engagement will be formally announced on Prince Jonas’s birthday, which is on the Tuesday, and celebrated with a ball that evening.”
“A ball?” Max’s heart sank. “As in dancing?”
Flora’s eyes danced as she got up to hand round the platter of canapés again. “Of course with dancing! As in ball gowns and tiaras and an orchestra and waltzing. The real deal.”
“Oh, dear God.” Max slumped into his chair. “Please tell me I’m not expected to dance!”
Flora laughed and perched on the arm of his chair, still holding the plate. “Oh, but darling, you know how you love to dance with me!” she teased, resting a hand on his shoulder in a casually intimate gesture that seemed to sear through Max’s shirt onto his skin.
“What’s with all the darlings, Moonflower?” he demanded irritably in the kitchen when they were clearing away the main course, leaving Ally to earn her supper by entertaining Fredrik.
“I’m getting into part,” Flora told him with a lofty look. “Would you rather I called you something else?”
“Yes. Max would be good.”
“Oh, but anyone can call you Max. We
need a special name that demonstrates just how in love we are. Maybe you’re right. Darling is a bit ordinary. Honeybun? Big bear? Ooh, I know, what about Tiger?”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Well, we need something. Fredrik certainly isn’t going to get the impression we’re together after the way you’ve been scowling at me all evening. It was like cuddling up to a block of wood earlier!”
Flora picked up the gratin dish to transfer the leftovers to a bowl. “You could at least try not to look as if you’d rather pick up toads than touch me with a bargepole!”
Max had had a frustrating few days. He’d been holding the carving dish with the remains of the venison but now he plonked it down on the table, took the gratin dish from Flora’s hands and put that down too, and then he kissed her, a furious kiss that snapped the tight band of tension that had had him in its grip and plunged him into a glittery maelstrom of desire. For a few moments, he lost his footing completely and spun helplessly in the scent of her and the feel of her and the warmth of her before he managed, somehow, to pull back, his breath short and ragged.
They stared at each other for long seconds until Max swore and dragged a hand through his hair.
“I don’t even mind toads,” he told her and stalked out.
Trembling with reaction, Flora set the individual chocolate and pear puddings on plates and poured cream into a jug. What had that been about? Max had no business kissing her like that, as if he hated her, and then walking out before she had a chance to kiss him the same way.
Flora thought she had succeeded in composing her expression by the time she took the puddings through to the dining room. Max and Fredrik were having a discussion about the economic outlook but Ally took one look at Flora’s face and mouthed What?
Nothing, Flora mouthed back.
Ally’s silence was eloquent with disbelief, and Flora avoided her gaze as she handed out the pudding.
“That was absolutely delicious,” Ally said, scraping the last of the chocolate out of her ramekin. “I’ll help you clear, Floradear,” she added firmly. “Coffee anyone?”