Royally Bedded, Regally Wedded

by Julia James

  She would need nothing. Nothing but what she had arrived with.

  She got to her feet. The motion was jerky.

  ‘If you will excuse me—?’

  ‘Of course. However…’ The minute hesitation came again. ‘Before you go, I am instructed to require you to sign a particular document.’

  He drew a thick, long envelope from his inside breast pocket and took out the folded document within. He placed it in front of her.

  ‘Although you may wish to read it first—there is a translation attached to the original, as you can see—its content is very straightforward. His Highness, Prince Eduardo, requires you to agree to certain…restrictions. You are to make no claim either on your behalf, or that of your nephew, on the estate of his late natural father, or upon His Highness’s estate. You are to have no contact with the press in any way. All approaches by any member of the press to you, you are to direct to His Highness’s press secretary to deal with. You are to undertake never to agree to or participate in the publication of any book, or the broadcast of any programme, in any medium, pertaining to your nephew. When these undertakings have been agreed by yourself, a regular sum will be paid to you, for the maintenance of yourself and your nephew. When your nephew achieves his majority, a capital sum will be settled on him by His Highness, in due recognition of the financial obligation that would have devolved upon your nephew’s natural father.’

  He fell silent and extracted a fountain pen from his inside jacket, placing it beside the document, formally opening it to the final page, where her signature was to be appended.

  ‘I will sign the papers,’ said Lizzy. ‘But I will not accept any money. Please make that very clear to His Highness.’

  She put her signature to the document and waited while Captain Falieri added his own, as witness.

  Then she turned away. ‘I must talk to my son,’ she said.

  Gravely, Captain Falieri inclined his head, and watched her walk out.

  Rain was falling. Heavy, relentless sheets of rain that swept in off the North Atlantic, rattling against the windowpanes, spitting down the chimney.

  The cottage felt cold, so cold.

  Damp and unused.

  Captain Falieri’s expression darkened as he brought her cases indoors.

  ‘You cannot stay here,’ he said bluntly. ‘I will take you to a hotel.’

  Lizzy shook her head.

  ‘No. I would rather be here. I’ll be all right.’

  She turned to him and held out her hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For doing what you could to make this as…simple…as possible.’

  He took her hand, but he did not shake it. Instead, he bowed over it.

  ‘I wish…’ he said, and he straightened and looked into her eyes. ‘I wish that matters had been…otherwise.’

  Her throat tightened. She could not cope with kindness.

  Nor with pity.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘You had better go now. I’m sure the pilot will wish to start his return flight.’

  A private plane had flown her to a military airfield further south, and then Captain Falieri had driven her and Ben to her cottage.

  ‘If you are sure?’

  She nodded. ‘It would be best for Ben.’ She swallowed. ‘A complete break will be the easiest for him. As it was when—’

  She could not continue. Memories pressed upon her, heavy and unbearable. Could it really have only been a few weeks ago that she had stood here in the hallway admitting entrance to two strangers?

  She felt the vice close around her heart again.

  She turned and went into the kitchen. Ben was sitting at the table, slumped over it, dejection in every line.

  ‘Captain Falieri has to go now, Ben. Come and say goodbye.’

  Ben lifted his face to her.

  ‘Can’t we go back with him, Mummy? Can’t we? I don’t like it here. It’s cold.’ There were tears in his voice. The vice inside her crushed even more tightly.

  ‘No, my darling, we’ve come home now. Our holiday is over.’

  Tears quivered in Ben’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t want it to be over,’ he said.

  There was nothing she could say. Nothing at all. She wanted to sit at the table and howl with him, pour out all her grief and heartbreak. But she could not. She had to be strong for Ben.

  She forced a smile to her lips.

  ‘All holidays end, Ben. Now, come and say goodbye to Captain Falieri. He’s been kind to us. Very kind.’ She felt her voice crack dangerously.

  She took Ben’s hand and led him dejectedly out into the hallway.

  ‘Goodbye, Ben,’ said Captain Falieri gravely. He held out a hand to him.

  Ben did not take it.

  ‘Am I really not a prince any more, Captain Fally-eery?’ His eyes were wide and pleading.

  The Captain shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Ben.’

  ‘And Mummy isn’t a princess?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was only for the holiday, Ben. Us being a prince and princess,’ said Lizzy. It was the only way she had been able to explain it to Ben.

  ‘What about Tio Rico? Isn’t he a prince any more?’

  Lizzy’s hand rested on his shoulder. It tightened involuntarily.

  ‘He will always be a prince, my darling. Nothing can change that.’

  For one long, terrible moment she met Captain Falieri’s eyes. Then looked away.

  She waited as he took his leave, walking out into the rain. She heard the car door open, then slam shut, and the engine rev. The car drove off down the lane to the coast road, heading back to the airfield, to the waiting plane that would take him away.

  She shut the door as a spatter of rain came in on the wind.

  She shivered.

  ‘Let’s light a fire, Ben. That will warm things up.’

  But she would never be warm again, she knew. A terrible, deathly chill embraced her.

  How am I going to bear this? How?

  The question rang out in her anguish, but she had no answer. There could be no answer.

  She went into the kitchen. Captain Falieri had very kindly stopped at a supermarket on the way from the airfield and bought some provisions for her. They would do until she could get to the shops. Mechanically she started to unpack them, and then put some milk to heat on the electric cooker. Warm milk would be good for Ben. They had eaten on the plane; it had helped to make the journey pass. It wasn’t really very late, though the rain made it seem darker. Only a few hours since they had left the villa. Only a few hours…

  She stilled, unable to move. It was like a physical pain convulsing through her.

  With all her strength she forced herself to continue, to make up the fire in the range, set it to draw, check the heat of the milk.

  Ben sat at the table, head sunk upon his arms, a picture of misery.

  I’ve got to keep going. It’s all I can do. Just keep going. Keep going.

  It became her mantra. The only thing that got her through the evening, got her through the following day. And the one after that. And it would get her through the one after that. All the days that stretched ahead of her.

  For the rest of her life.

  It was unbearable—yet she had to bear it.

  There’s nothing else. Nothing else I can do. Just keep going.

  It will pass. Eventually it will pass.

  It had to.

  Eventually it will get better. Eventually I will accept it. Accept what happened.

  That for a brief golden time I was there, with him.

  And that time was over. Never to return.

  She looked around her, at the worn, shabby interior of the cottage. So short a time ago all she had wanted in the world was to be back here, without her life turned upside down, with Ben just an ordinary child, living a normal life with her.

  She would have given anything for that.

  Be careful what you pray for…

  The old adage came bac
k to haunt her.

  The nights were the worst. The nights were agony. Hour after hour she stared into the dark. Remembering.

  It’s all I have. Memories.

  Memories that were vivid, agonising. But memories that she knew, with even greater anguish, would start to fade. Like old photos, the colour seeping from them year by year. They would become blurred and lost. Gone for ever.

  Just as he was gone for ever from her life.

  Her thoughts reached for him, reached through the silence and the dark, reached across the sea and the land.

  But where he was she did not know.

  And what would it matter if you did? What would it matter if you could see him where he is? His world has taken him back—to the life he had, the life he has again. You were an…intermission…for him. He did what he did to keep Ben safe—and now Ben is safe again. Ben does not need him. He can have his own life back, as Ben has his.

  As you have yours.

  Without him.

  Only memories. Memories to last a lifetime. Nothing more than memories.

  A damp sun struggled through the clouds. After days of rain, the overcast skies were clearing. Raindrops dazzled drippingly on the branches of the trees, and a milder wind creamed up the coombe, bringing the scent of the sea.

  ‘Come on, Ben, let’s go down to the beach.’

  With forced jollity she rallied him, filling her voice with an enthusiasm she did not feel. Nor did she meet with any in return.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Ben. ‘I want to go back to Tio Rico’s beach.’

  ‘Other people are having their holiday there now,’ she said. ‘It’s like here in Cornwall. People come for a holiday, and then they go home. That’s quite sad for them, isn’t it? We live here all the time—so that’s good.’

  Ben looked at her mutinously.

  ‘We could live in the house by Tio Rico’s beach all the time,’ he said.

  ‘That house was only for a holiday for us. This is the house we live in. And we’re very lucky to be here, Ben. Lots of people have to live in cities, where there isn’t any beach at all.’

  ‘I don’t like the beach here. It hasn’t got a swimming pool. And it hasn’t got Tio Rico.’ Ben’s lower lip wobbled.

  ‘The beach here has got waves,’ said Lizzy, with determined cheerfulness.

  ‘But it hasn’t got Tio Rico,’ Ben protested. He swallowed, and lifted his eyes to her. ‘Mummy, doesn’t Tio Rico want us any more?

  She tried to find the words. Words that a four-year-old child could make sense of. But they were cruel words, harsh words for all that. Yet what else could she do except say them? To give Ben false hope would be the cruellest thing of all.

  ‘Your uncle can’t be with us any more, Ben,’ she began carefully. ‘He has duties to attend to. He has to be a prince now, not an uncle. It was just a holiday we spent with him. Just a holiday. That’s all.’

  Her words fell with excruciating mockery into her own ears.

  A holiday. That was all it had been. A holiday of enchantment, magic, wonder, and such bliss that it made the realisation that such a time could never come again so agonising that she could hardly bear it.

  But above all, above everything else, she must not say the words that ached to be said. For what was the use of saying them? What was the use, even in the dark—all alone in the bed she had once been content to lie in, solitary, celibate, untouched by the magic that he had strewn over her—what was the use, sleepless and despairing, of letting those words whisper in her mind, each one an agony of loss?

  The only way she could face the rest of her life now was never, ever, to say those words. Never even to think them. Or they would destroy her.

  Resolutely, she went on getting the beach things together.

  Pain and memory clawing within her.

  She took Ben, protesting, down to the beach. She had forgotten how chill the wind could be even at this time of year, in early summer. She made a camp in the lee of a line of rocks, sedimentary shales turned on their side by vast geological forces over vast reaches of time. So much time.

  She looked out to sea.

  Where was he now? she wondered. Was he in some fashionable high-society resort—Monte Carlo, the Caribbean, somewhere exotic? Mingling with fashionable high-society people? Fashionable high-society women, every one a beauty, the kind that he took his pick of—the Playboy Prince, leading the life he was born to lead?

  Stop it. It doesn’t matter.

  It doesn’t matter where he is, or who he’s with, or what he’s doing.

  It doesn’t matter.

  It will never matter again, for the rest of your life.

  She shook out the rug and weighted down the corners with a book, shoes and a bag.

  ‘Who’s for a paddle?’ she said, forcing her voice to be cheerful.

  ‘It’s too cold,’ said Ben, and sat on the rug and wrapped a towel around him.

  She whisked it off.

  ‘Then we’ll make a railway track. Which engines did you bring down with you?’

  ‘I don’t want trains—I want my fort. The fort Tio Rico made with me.’

  Lizzy’s heart sank. Gently she said, ‘We couldn’t bring it back, Ben. It was too big—don’t you remember? But we brought the knights, so that’s good, isn’t it?’ she finished encouragingly.

  ‘But it’s the fort I want. Tio Rico and me made it. We made it together, and it had a bridge and a porcully and towers.’

  She felt her heart catch with pain. Like a knife slicing into her memory stabbed her and she was there again, in the warmth and the sunshine—the ugly sister who had so miraculously been turned into Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty ready to be kissed awake by the most handsome Prince in the world.

  No. Anguish crushed her. She mustn’t let herself think, remember. It was gone, all gone. Like a dream. An enchantment.

  A fairytale that was over now.

  She took a breath.

  She must not think of fairytales. They were just that. Unreal.

  This was real—here, now. With Ben. She chivvied him along, refusing to let him mope. What was the point of him moping? What was the point of her moping? They had to get on with things. They had to.

  They had to keep going.

  ‘Well, we haven’t got the fort any more, but we have got trains. So let’s start building this track,’ she said, with forced resolution.

  She started digging into the sand, carving out the railway tracks that Ben liked to make so that he could drive his engines along. The sand was cold beneath the surface, and wet. The sand at the villa had been warm, dry.

  And Rico had helped Ben make the tracks.

  ‘Come on, Ben, give me a hand,’ she said.

  Morosely he started to help, his expression unhappy. Lizzy ignored it. She had to. She had to jolly him along, get him cheerful again, enthusiastic again. What alternative was there? She knelt down on the sand, facing out to sea, letting the wind whip her hair into unflattering frizzled wisps.

  Her looks were going already, she knew. Without all the expensive attentions of stylists and beauticians she was beginning to revert. She didn’t care.

  What did Ben care what she looked like?

  And there was no one else to care.

  Never again.

  ‘Where shall we make the train station?’ she asked, kneeling back a moment, feeling the wind-blown sand stinging on her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t care,’ said Ben. He sat back as well, beside her. ‘It’s a stupid, stupid track, and I don’t care where the stupid, stupid station is. Stupid, stupid, stupid.’ He bashed the sand with his spade, spattering it in all directions.

  ‘Well, I’d put it just before the branch line goes off, Ben. That’s the place for a station.’

  The voice that spoke was deep and accented, and it came from behind them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE world seemed to stop. Stop completely. Except that it didn’t stop. It whirled around her. Whirled with a dizzying sp
eed that made her feel faint.

  It wasn’t possible. It was an illusion—an auditory illusion. They happened sometimes—you could hear people speaking who weren’t there.

  Who were somewhere quite different. Who were at some aristocratic house party somewhere, or on a multimillion-pound yacht, or flying in a private jet to a tropical island with a beautiful film star for company.

  Who weren’t on a Cornish beach, with the wind blowing off the North Atlantic. Making the wind feel as if it was being wafted there from paradise…

  Her vision dimmed. She felt clouds rushing in from all around. The blood was thick in her head, bowing her down with its weight.

  ‘Tio Rico!’

  Ben’s voice was alight. She could hear it, piercing through the clouds and the thickening blood.

  ‘Tio Rico. Tio Rico!’

  She bowed her head. It was impossible. Impossible.

  ‘Hello, Ben? Have you been good without me?’

  ‘No,’ shouted Ben. Excitement overwhelmed him. ‘You weren’t here. Why weren’t you here, Tio Rico?’

  ‘I got delayed. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.’ She felt him lower himself down on to the rug. And still she could not move. Not a muscle.

  ‘Are you going to stay?’ Ben demanded. But there was fear in his voice.

  ‘As long as you want me to stay.’ He paused. ‘If your mother agrees, that is. Do you?’

  His hand was on her shoulder. Warm and strong. Sending heat through her, a living warmth that she could not bear.

  ‘Lizzy?’

  She looked up. He was only a foot or two away from her, hunkered down on the rug. She saw him immediately, completely. She saw everything about him in one absolute moment. As if he had always been there.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said. Her voice was thick, as thick as the blood suffocating her veins. ‘Captain Falieri explained to me. He said you would not be allowed to see Ben again.’

  The expression in his eyes altered.

  ‘Well, that depends,’ he said. He was looking at her very deeply, very strangely, right into her eyes.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t depend at all. He said it very clearly. He explained it very clearly. You’re not allowed to see Ben any more.’