by Various
She was drooping with tiredness now, only just remembering at the last minute to put her hand politely over her mouth as she yawned, and looking at her he felt the same old tightening in his chest. Guilt, but something else too. For a while he’d also forgotten to see her as an object, a problem, a living, breathing reproach. She was a little girl, and he liked her. In her solemnity and cautiousness she reminded him of Rico.
‘I suppose we should get this little one back to her bed,’ Emily said reluctantly, putting her arm around Luciana.
A fragile sense of something shared had grown up between them over the course of the evening. Luciana had been at the centre of the conversation—Emily had made sure of that—but oddly that seemed to have added to the sense of intimacy between them. He found he didn’t want the evening to end.
‘Would you like some coffee?’
Emily glanced up at him in surprise, and then down at Luciana. She was almost asleep, her head lolling against Emily’s side. Gathering her up, Emily pulled her onto her knee and settled her there, safe and comfortable in the circle of her arms.
It wasn’t guilt Luis felt in that moment, it was pure envy, and it took him by surprise.
‘Well…’ Emily said uncertainly. ‘She’s had such a lovely time—it would be a shame to rush back.’ She looked up at him, and her blue eyes were full of questions. ‘And coffee would be lovely.’
Luis nodded in Luciana’s direction. ‘Do you think she’s all right?’
‘I’m sure she is.’ Emily’s voice had dropped to a low, breathy murmur. ‘Look, she’s pretty much asleep. She’ll be fine, although whether the fierce Senhora Costa in the nursery will be happy is another matter.’
Luis made a sharp, dismissive sound. ‘I don’t care what Senhora Costa thinks, and I’m not talking about tonight. I mean…’ He paused, feeling the words dry and swell painfully in his throat. ‘I mean, do you think she’s all right…generally?’
‘You mean, is she coping with losing her parents?’
‘That’s essentially what I’m asking, yes.’ In the soft evening the words sounded harsh and raw. Luis realised that he was looking into Emily Balfour’s clear blue eyes almost imploringly, and he turned away and stared out over the satiny ocean instead.
Oscar’s words came back to him like a whisper on the warm breeze. She’s good, through and through, and he felt them like a knife in the gut. He wanted her reassurance, he realised. He wanted her to say that Luciana was OK, because he wanted to feel better about what he’d done. He wanted her absolution.
‘I don’t know.’ Her voice was very soft, but her words twisted the knife. ‘She’s very shy, certainly, but I get the impression that her reserve is more than just shyness.’
The waitress had brought coffee, he noticed distantly. The glass coffee pot stood in the centre of the table now, but he didn’t bother to pour it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, of course, I’ve only just met her, and I’m not exactly an expert on children—’ she looked up at him through her dark lashes and flashed him a brief smile ‘—even though you think I actually am one.’
Luis frowned, too focused on what she was saying to pick up on the joke. ‘But you think she’s…troubled?’
‘No more than any other child who’s lost her parents so young. Tell me…’ She paused, and Luis watched her gently twining a lock of Luciana’s dark hair round and round one slender finger. ‘How old were you when your mother died?’
Luis stiffened as a tiny bolt of shock shot through him at the question. Suddenly he was back in the hotel room in England, looking down on her as she floated in the bath, her hair floating around her pale, still face. With a sharp shake of his head he shoved the image back into the dark corner of his mind where it had spent the past half a lifetime. ‘Much older than Luciana,’ he said impatiently. ‘Fourteen.’
‘And how did you cope?’
He reached out and pushed the plunger down on the coffee pot in one vicious stabbing movement, making a little of the dark liquid spill out onto table. ‘I did a lot of sport and discovered girls.’ And along with girls, the amazing, anaesthetic qualities of sexual attraction, which temporarily blotted out unpleasant emotions, like sadness and loneliness and grief. Of course, now there was only guilt to blot out, but he had to do it without recourse to the old methods. ‘I don’t think either of those things are really an option for Luciana, so I don’t see how this is relevant.’
‘You didn’t talk to anyone about it?’
He exhaled sharply, a gust of incredulity. ‘Deus, no.’
Lifting her head she looked at him curiously. Hell, she was pretty. Talking to her was the last thing he felt like doing. He wanted to silence her mouth with his and drag her off to bed.
‘You make it sound like an outrageous idea.’
Suppressing a sigh of great weariness Luis splashed coffee into the two cups. The restaurant was quieter now; most of the families with young children had left, and now the tables were occupied by surfers who’d finished on the beach for the day and were relaxing with beers. Luis envied them.
‘In our family it is.’ He swiped away the coffee on the table with the side of his hand. ‘Being a Cordoba is about saying the correct thing, not the honest thing. You can’t change that. It’s part of the deal.’
‘Surely it doesn’t have to be?’ she persisted gently. ‘There are lots of things that are beyond your control—like what happened to Luciana’s parents—but you can influence how you handle those things. Help her to deal with it.’
Luis felt as if the world had stopped turning for a moment. There was a pounding in his head, a slow, relentless throb like the beat of a drum, or the toll of a funeral bell. Suddenly his mouth was filled with ash, so he took a gulp of his coffee.
‘How?’ he said tersely. ‘How can I help her to deal with it?’
‘You can talk to her about it—about them. And let her talk to you. I think that maybe the reason she doesn’t talk much at the moment is because she knows she’s not allowed to say the things that she’s thinking.’
Luis turned away, his lip curling in disdain. There was so much Emily Balfour didn’t know. So much he hoped she’d never find out. She was too good, too honest and straightforward, to understand that talking to Luciana about what happened was impossible. Unthinkable.
‘You don’t understand,’ he said flatly, and was about to try to explain when a movement on the beach below them caught his eye. Not a person quite, but the distinct shadow of one, flickering across the uneven sand, betraying the fact that there was someone lurking beneath the veranda. One with a camera and recording equipment, he had no doubt.
Across the table Emily regarded him steadily. ‘Try me.’
But already he was on his feet, pushing the hair back from his forehead, his eyes darting around the softly lit terrace beneath the canopy.
He’d lowered his guard. He’d completely forgotten Josefina and her bloody press contacts and for a moment he had just been himself. Deus, basic error. Maybe it was just as well the paparazzi had shown up or God knows what he would have ended up saying. Doing.
‘Time to go.’
In one swift movement he was by her side, gathering up Luciana from her knee and into his arms. As he bent to pick her up he caught the soft scent of Emily’s hair. She relinquished Luciana without protest, but glancing at her face he saw a dull flush of anger along her cheekbones.
There was no time to explain.
And what would he have said anyway? That the whole thing had been Josefina’s idea, a royal photo opportunity set up to make him look better than he was? That was hardly likely to make her look upon him any more favourably.
‘O carro, por favor, Raimiro.’
While they’d been eating his two bodyguards had been sitting discreetly at a table by the door to the main restaurant, but now they leapt to their feet. Raimiro was on the phone before he’d finished speaking, and with the speed and efficiency of long practice they were moving quietly
through the restaurant to the door. Luciana felt warm and soft in his arms, and he felt a surge of fury and protectiveness as he held her head against his chest and wove his way quickly through the tables.
The car drew up as they emerged into the pastel-hued evening. He pulled open the door, shielding Luciana’s face as he stood aside to let Emily in before getting in beside her. It all took just a matter of seconds. Barely enough time for Josefina’s pet photographers to have picked up their cameras.
Emily’s face was stony, but leaning back in his seat, Luis allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. He’d acted completely on instinct, and for once it hadn’t been for his own benefit.
It felt surprisingly good.
Chapter Nine
CONCERNS Grow for King’s Health…
The headline said it all really, but just in case anyone was left with any doubts about the king’s illness, the huge front-page photograph of a waxen-faced King Marcos Fernando slumped in the back of the car en route from the private clinic would have settled them once and for all.
Luis looked at the picture for a long time and, aware that Josefina was virtually combusting with the urge to speak, began very slowly to read the story too. He’d got as far as the bit about sources close to the king confirming that he’d attended the clinic for a series of tests when Josefina could hold herself back no longer.
‘It really is most unfortunate, sir.’
‘Absolutely,’ Luis said gravely, setting the paper aside. ‘Thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to pass on your good wishes to my father.’
At least she had the good grace to blush. ‘Of course. That would be most kind, and obviously—’
she stressed the word slightly, which ironically had the effect of making her sound even more insincere ‘—the King’s personal health is the most important thing in all this, but my job is to keep an eye on the long-term welfare of the monarchy. Really, sir, it’s very regrettable that the King’s illness has been given such prominence at this stage. We had hoped that by going out with Miss Balfour last night—’
‘Miss Balfour and Princess Luciana. It was hardly a romantic date.’
‘Even better!’ There was a clash of bangles as Josefina threw her hands up theatrically. ‘A completely new perspective on the Prince—the perfect way to keep the King’s health in the background and show the public your caring side! The photographers were strictly briefed to be respectful of the Princess’s age and her vulnerability, sir, but in the end you hardly gave them a chance to get a usable shot. Which is why—’ she didn’t bother to conceal her exasperation ‘—you’re relegated to one paragraph on the end of the story about the King.’
‘Am I? I missed that,’ Luis drawled. ‘Oh, yes, here it is. “One person who doesn’t seem overly worried about the King’s health is Crown Prince Luis. Instead of spending the evening at his ailing father’s bedside he chose to go out for a fun dinner with his niece, Princess Luciana. This is the first time the playboy Prince has been seen with the daughter of his late brother, although this sudden interest may have more to do with the Princess’s new dance teacher, Emily Balfour, with whom the Prince was spotted in a steamy clinch recently”.’ He put the paper down. ‘How cynical the press can be.’
‘They have a job to do, sir. Just like I do. And just like you do.’
‘The difference is they chose to be unscrupulous parasites and you chose to be an arch manipulator of the truth, whereas I…’ He was about to say that he’d had his role thrust upon him, but stopped. It would have been a lie. He’d brought it on himself. And whatever other facts about himself he might allow Josefina to spin and remodel, that one was unalterable.
He sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry to have ruined the master plan. Do you have any other ideas to transform my tawdry image?’
A look of immense relief settled on Josefina’s expertly made-up face. ‘Well, the first thing is to go and see your father—’
‘I have,’ Luis interrupted wearily. ‘I spent an hour with him this morning.’ For much of that time King Marcos Fernando had been asleep, and Luis had simply sat by the bed, looking down at the parchment-pale face, trying to reconcile the reality of the frail old man in the bed with the myth of the strong, infallible monarch in which the people of Santosa were so desperate to believe.
‘A private visit is no good, sir.’ Josefina looked at him as if he was missing something obvious. ‘You need to let the press know that you’re going, alert photographers and a news crew, and be ready to give a comment to reassure the people that the king is doing well.’ She spoke quickly, ticking each point off on a scarlet-tipped finger. ‘Also, I think we need to start publicizing the jubilee event more aggressively. It’s only a matter of weeks away, and it will give people something to focus on and a reason to feel optimistic in these…uncertain times.’
Luis kept his eyes fixed on the potted palm behind Josefina. It reminded him of the restaurant last night and for a moment the memory of Emily Balfour’s face, the sinking sun turning her eyes to violet and her cheeks to rosy gold. He’d joked so many times about her being a child—and why? Because of that night a year ago when she’d refused to succumb to his meaningless, empty seduction. Evidence if ever it was needed that she was wise way beyond her years.
‘…but actually, I think that’s the key.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Luis brought his gaze back to Josefina, wondering how much of what she’d said he’d just missed. He’d been so lost in thought she could have just informed him that she’d arranged for him to be fed to a cage of lions as part of the jubilee entertainment for all he knew.
‘Princess Luciana. I think she’s going to be a massive asset. I respect your decision as the Princess’s legal guardian to keep her out of the public eye, but the jubilee would be the perfect opportunity to give her a more prominent role.’
‘No.’ Luis stood abruptly, disgust mixing with the same primeval instinct that he’d felt last night when the paparazzi had appeared. An asset. Deus. ‘Luciana’s too young, and far too vulnerable. She couldn’t deal with the press, and she shouldn’t have to.’
‘With respect, sir, she’s going to have to sometime. You can’t let her grow up like some princess in a fairy tale, kept in a tower.’
‘I’m not suggesting that,’ he snapped. Or was he? Was his guilt over what had happened to Rico and Christiana clouding his judgement? What would they do?
As if she’d read his thoughts, Josefina said, ‘Prince Rico was always most keen that she should grow up understanding the duties of her position. I know it’s difficult, but I genuinely believe that she would benefit from this greatly. She already seems to have bonded very firmly with Miss Balfour, and since she’s a trained ballet dancer…’
Luis shook his head, his mind was whirring. ‘Wait a minute—what exactly are you suggesting?’
‘The Brazilian National Ballet.’ Josefina looked at him with a trace of exasperation. ‘They’re lined up to perform as part of the jubilee celebrations. And I thought that maybe Princess Luciana and Miss Balfour could be part of the performance.’
No.
The word sprung to Luis’s lips, but got no further. What right did he have to dictate Emily’s life? She was a dancer, for God’s sake. He had brought her over here to use and manipulate her, and the least he could do was let her have the chance to do something she loved.
And as for Luciana…Hadn’t he already had far too much influence on her life already? Hadn’t his flawed judgement and shallow, selfish attitude affected her enough?
Down below in the courtyard the sunlight glinted off the polished buttons and gleaming rifles of the guards stationed at the inner gateway.
‘What if Miss Balfour doesn’t want to do it?’
‘I’m sure she will, sir. I took the liberty of contacting the principal of her ballet school in England, to find out whether she was up to a major role. Apparently she’s an extremely gifted dancer, sir—the star of her year. When s
he left last year her career as a prima ballerina looked assured, but her mother’s illness seems to have brought it to something of a halt. The principal was clearly of the opinion that this was a travesty.’
Luis closed his eyes, picturing Emily on the rickety stage in that dingy community centre in her Pink Flamingo T-shirt, and the fluid grace with which she’d moved.
‘The Brazilian ballet are doing Giselle on the mainland at the moment, and I’ve just managed to get tickets for you for Saturday night’s performance. Why don’t you take her, and ask her then?’
‘Oh, that was brilliant!’ Emily exclaimed, as she and Luciana finished going through the very simple routine she’d devised to introduce her to the basic ballet positions. ‘Do you know, I think you’re a natural ballerina!’
Luciana bowed her head shyly, but in the mirrored wall of the palace’s state-of-the-art gym Emily could see her smile of pride. What she said was true though. Perhaps because of her shyness Luciana naturally had the upright bearing that made much of the preliminary stuff unnecessary.
Emily held out her hand to her. ‘Let’s have a little rest, and then we’ll do some more work on those toes. If you’re not too tired, after last night?’
Taking her hand Luciana shook her head fiercely. ‘Oh, no. I’m not tired at all.’
Emily led her over to the bench along the wall and passed her a plastic bottle of water. ‘All dancers have to drink plenty of water when they’re practising.’
Luciana took a small sip. ‘I liked the drink from the restaurant better.’ The little frown line appeared between her eyebrows. ‘What was it called again?’
‘A cola float.’ Emily laughed. ‘But they’re strictly for special occasions only.’
There was a small pause, then Luciana said, ‘Last night was a special occasion, wasn’t it? I know it wasn’t my birthday or Christmas or my grandpa the King’s birthday, but it still felt like a special occasion.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Emily agreed quietly. It had felt like a special occasion to her too. The beach at sunset, the silly champagne float, the shared food and the game they had played had all made it feel special… And Luis. Luis had made her feel special. She remembered the feel of his fingers sifting through her hair and the peculiar intensity in his eyes as he’d asked her what she thought about Luciana.