It didn’t matter. This wasn’t Ramón’s fight, she thought. Finally, silence fell again; baffled silence. The cameras were still in use but the journalists were clearly wondering what they had here. She waited and they watched. Impasse.
‘You do speak English?’ one asked at last, a lone question, and she nodded. A lone question, not shouted, could be attended to.
And why not all the others, in serene order? Starting now.
‘Yes,’ she said, speaking softly so they had to stay silent or they couldn’t hear her. ‘I speak English as well as Spanish and French. My parents have Spanish blood. And I did indeed act as crew for His Highness, Prince Ramón, as we sailed between Sydney and Auckland.’ She thought back through the questions that had been hurled at her, mentally ticking them off. ‘Yes, I’m a cook. I’m… I was also a single mother. My son died of a heart condition two years ago, but I don’t wish to answer any more questions about Matty. His death broke my heart. As for the rest… Thank you, I enjoyed last night, and yes, rumours that I cooked for His Highness early this morning are true. I’m employed as his cook and crew. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last three months and no, I’m not sure if I’ll continue. It depends if he needs me. What else? Oh, the personal questions. I’m twenty-nine years old. I had my appendix out when I was nine, my second toes are longer than my big toes and I don’t eat cabbage. I think your country is lovely and the Marquita is the prettiest boat in the world. However, scrubbing the Marquita is what I’m paid to do and that’s what I’m doing. If you have any more questions, can you direct them to my secretary?’
She grinned then, a wide, cheeky grin which only she knew how much effort it cost to produce. ‘Oh, whoops, I forgot I don’t have a secretary. Can one of you volunteer? I’ll pay you in muffins. If one of you is willing, then the rest can siphon your questions through him. That’s so much more dignified than shouting, don’t you think?’
Then she gave them all a breezy wave, observed their shocked silence and then slipped below, leaving them dumfounded.
She stood against the closed hatch, feeling winded. Gordon was staring at her in amazement. As well he might.
What was she doing?
Short answer? She didn’t know.
Long answer? She didn’t know either. Retiring from this situation with dignity was her best guess, though suddenly Jenny had no intention of retiring.
Not just yet.
This was a state-of-the-art security system, and sound was included. Not only did Ramón see everything, he heard every word Jenny spoke.
‘It seems the lady doesn’t need protecting,’ Señor Rodriguez said, smiling his relief as Jenny disappeared below deck and Ramón’s security guards appeared on the docks.
Ramón shook his head. ‘I should have been there for her.’
‘She’s protected herself. She’s done very well.’
‘She shouldn’t have been put in that position.’
‘I believe the lady could have stayed below,’ the lawyer said dryly. ‘The lady chose to take them on. She has some courage.’
‘She shouldn’t…’
‘She did,’ the lawyer said, and then hesitated.
Señor Rodriguez had been watching on the sidelines for many years now. His father had been legal advisor to Ramón’s grandmother, and Sofía had kept him on after Ramón’s father died, simply to stay aware of what royalty was doing. Now he was doing the job of three men and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘Your Highness, if I may make so bold…’
‘You’ve never asked permission before,’ Ramón growled, and the lawyer permitted himself another small smile.
‘It’s just…the role you’re taking on…to do it alone could well break you. You’re allowing me to assist but no one else. This woman has courage and honour. If you were to…’
‘I won’t,’ Ramón snapped harshly, guessing where the lawyer was going and cutting him off before he went any further. He flicked the screen off. There was nothing to see but the press, now being dispersed by his security guards. ‘I do this alone or not at all.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘I don’t know what’s wise or not,’ Ramón said and tried to sort his thoughts into some sort of sense. What was happening here? The lawyer was suggesting sharing the throne? With Jenny?
Jenny as his woman? Yes. But Jenny in the castle?
The thought left him cold. The night of his father’s death was still with him, still haunting him.
Enough. ‘We have work to do,’ he growled and headed back to the room where the Heads of State were waiting.
‘But…’ the lawyer started, but Ramón was already gone.
CHAPTER TEN
H E MANAGED a few short words with her that night as he passed the supper room. It was all he had, as he moved from the evening’s meetings to his briefing for tomorrow. To his surprise, Jenny seemed relaxed, even happy.
‘I’m sorry about today,’ he said. ‘It seemed you handled things very well.’
‘I talked too much,’ she said, smiling. ‘I need to work on my serenity.’
‘Your serenity?’
‘I’m not very good at it.’ Her smile widened. ‘But I showed promise today. Dr Matheson would be proud of me. By the way, I hope it’s okay that Gordon and I are staying here tonight. The boat’s up on the hard, and who wants to sleep on a boat in dry dock? Besides, staying in a palace is kind of fun.’
Kind of fun… He gazed into the opulent supper room, at the impassive staff, and he thought…kind of fun?
‘So I can stay tonight?’ she prompted.
He raked his hair. ‘I should have had Señor Rodriguez organise airline tickets.’
‘Señor Rodriguez has better things to do than organise my airline tickets. I’ll organise them when I’m ready. Meanwhile, can I stay tonight?’
‘Of course, but Jenny, I don’t have time…’
‘I know you don’t,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Señor Rodriguez says these first days are crazy. It’ll get better, he says, but I’ll not add to your burdens tonight. I hope I never will.’
Then, before he could figure how to respond, a servant appeared to remind him he was late for his next briefing. He was forced to leave Jenny, who didn’t seem the least put out. She’d started chatting cheerfully to the maid who was clearing supper.
To his surprise, the maid was responding with friendliness and animation. Well, why wouldn’t she, he told himself as he immersed himself again into royal business. Jenny had no baggage of centuries of oppression. She wasn’t royal.
She never could be royal. He could never ask that of her, he thought grimly. But, as the interminable briefing wore on, he thought of Jenny-not being royal. He thought of her thinking of the palace as fun, and he almost told the suits he was talking to where to go.
But he didn’t. He was sensible. He had a country to run, and when he was finally free Jenny had long gone to bed.
And there was no way he was knocking on her door tonight.
He missed her at breakfast, maybe because he ate before six before commencing the first of three meetings scheduled before ten. He moved through each meeting with efficiency and speed, desperate to find time to see her, but the meetings went overtime. He had no time left. His ten o’clock diary entry was immovable.
This appointment he’d made three months ago. Four hours every Wednesday. Even Jenny would have to wait on this.
Swiftly he changed out of his formal wear into jeans, grabbed his swimmers and made his way to the palace garages. He strode round the rows of espaliered fruit trees marking the end of the palace gardens-and Jenny was sitting patiently on a garden bench.
She was wearing smart new jeans, a casual cord jacket in a pale washed apricot over a creamy lace camisole and creamy leather ballet flats. Her curls were brushed until they shone. She looked rested and refreshed and cheerful.
She looked beautiful.
She rose and stretched and smiled a welcome. Gianetta.
Jen
ny, he told himself fiercely. This was Jenny, his guest before she left for ever.
A very lovely Jenny. Smiling and smiling.
‘Do you like it?’ she demanded and spun so she could be admired from all angles. ‘This is the new smart me.’
‘Where on earth…?’
‘I went shopping,’ she said proudly. ‘Yesterday, when we finally escaped from that mob. Your security guys kindly escorted me to some great shops and then stood guard while I tried stuff on. Neat, yes?’
‘Neat,’ he said faintly and her face fell and he amended his statement fast. ‘Gorgeous.’
‘No, that won’t do either,’ she said reprovingly. ‘My borrowed ball-gown was gorgeous. But this feels good. I thought yesterday I haven’t had new clothes for years and the owner of the boutique gave me a huge discount.’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ he said faintly.
She grinned. ‘I know, it was cheeky, but I thought if I’m to be photographed by every cameraman in the known universe there has to be some way I can take advantage. She was practically begging me to take clothes.’
‘Gordon said you were upset.’
‘Gordon was upset.’
‘I should have been there.’
‘Then the cameramen would have been even more persistent,’ she said gently. ‘But I have clothes to face them now, and they’re not so scary. So…I pinned Señor Rodriguez down this morning and he says you’re going to see Philippe. So I was wondering…’ Her tone became more diffident. ‘Would it upset you if I came along? Would it upset Philippe?’
‘No, but I can’t ask you…’
‘You’re not asking,’ she said and came forward to slip her hands into his. ‘You’re looking trapped. I don’t want you to feel that way. Not by me.’
‘You’d never make me feel trapped,’ he said. ‘But Jenny, I can’t expect…’
‘Then don’t expect,’ she said. ‘Señor Rodriguez told me all about Philippe. No, don’t look like that. The poor man never had a chance; I practically sat on him to make him explain things in detail. Philippe’s your cousin’s son. Everyone thought he stood to inherit, only when his parents died it turned out they weren’t actually married. According to royal rules, he’s illegitimate. Now he has nothing.’
‘He’s well cared for. He has lovely foster parents.’
‘Sofía says you’ve been visiting him every week since you got here.’
‘It’s the least I can do when he’s lost his home as well as his parents.’
‘He can’t stay here?’
‘No,’ he said bleakly. ‘If he’s here he’ll be in the middle of servants who’ll either treat him like royalty-and this country hates royalty-or they’ll treat him as an illegitimate nothing.’
‘Yet you still think he should be here,’ Jenny said softly.
‘No.’
‘Because this is where you were when your father died?’
‘What the…?’
‘Sofía,’ she said simply. ‘I asked, she told me. Ramón, I’m so sorry. It must have been dreadful. But that was then. Now is now. Can I meet him?’
‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said, feeling totally winded. ‘And he’s the same age your little boy would have been…’
‘Ramón, can we take this one step at a time?’ she asked. ‘Let’s just go visit this little boy-who’s not Matty. Let’s just leave it at that.’
So they went and for the first five miles or so they didn’t speak. Ramón didn’t know where to take this.
There were so many things in this country that needed his attention but over and over his thoughts kept turning to one little boy. Consuela and Ernesto were lovely but they were in their sixties. To expect them to take Philippe long-term…
He glanced across at Jenny and found she was watching him. He had the top down on his Boxster coupe. The warm breeze was blowing Jenny’s curls around her face. She looked young and beautiful and free. He remembered the trapped woman he’d met over three months ago and the change seemed extraordinary.
How could he trap her again? He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. He didn’t intend to.
Yet-she’d asked to come. Was she really opening herself up to be hurt again?
‘I can’t believe this country,’ she said, smiling, and he knew she was making an attempt to keep the conversation neutral. Steering away from undertones that were everywhere. ‘It’s like something on a calendar.’
‘There’s a deep description.’
‘It’s true. There’s a calendar in the bathroom of Seaport Coffee ’n’ Cakes and it has a fairy tale palace on it. All white turrets and battlements and moats, surrounded by little stone houses with ancient tiled roofs, and mountains in the background, and just a hint of snow.’
‘There’s no snow here,’ he said, forced to smile back. ‘We’re on the Mediterranean.’
‘Please,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You’re messing with my calendar. So, as I was saying…’
But then, as he turned the car onto a dirt track leading to a farmhouse, she stopped with the imagery and simply stared. ‘Where are we?’
‘This is where Philippe lives.’
‘But it’s lovely,’ she whispered, gazing out over grassy meadows where a flock of alpacas grazed placidly in the morning sun. ‘It’s the perfect place for a child to live.’
‘He’s not happy.’
‘I imagine that might well be because his parents are dead,’ she said, suddenly sharp. ‘It’ll take him for ever to adjust to their loss. If ever.’
‘I don’t think his parents were exactly hands-on,’ Ramón told her. ‘My uncle and my cousin liked to gamble, and so did Maria Therese. They spent three-quarters of their lives in Monaco and they never took Philippe. They were on their way there when their plane crashed.’
‘So who took care of Philippe?’
‘He’s had a series of nannies. The palace hasn’t exactly been a happy place to work. Neither my uncle nor my cousin thought paying servants was a priority, and I gather as a mother Maria Therese was…difficult. Nannies have come and gone.’
‘So Philippe’s only security has been the palace itself,’ Jenny ventured.
‘He’s getting used to these foster parents,’ Ramón said, but he wasn’t convincing himself. ‘They’re great.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’
‘I’ll be interested to hear your judgement.’ Then he paused.
‘Gianetta, are you sure you want to do this? Philippe’s distressed and there’s little I can do about it. It won’t help to make you distressed as well. Would you like to turn back?’
‘Well, that’d be stupid,’ Jenny said. ‘Philippe will already know you’re on your way. To turn back now would be cruel.’
‘But what about you?’
‘This isn’t about me,’ she said, gently but inexorably. ‘Let’s go meet Philippe.’
He was the quietest little boy Jenny had ever met. He looked just like Ramón.
The family resemblance was amazing, she thought. Same dark hair. Same amazing eyes. Same sense of trouble, kept under wraps.
His foster parents, Consuela and Ernesto, were voluble and friendly. They seemed honoured to have Ramón visit, but not so overawed that it kept them silent. That was just as well, as their happy small talk covered up the deathly silence emanating from Philippe.
They sat at the farmhouse table eating Consuela’s amazing strawberry cake. Consuela and Ernesto chatted, Ramón answered as best he could, and Jenny watched Philippe.
He was clutching a little ginger cat as if his life depended on it. He was too thin. His eyes were too big for his face.
He was watching his big cousin as if he was hungry.
I feel like that, she thought, and recognized what she’d thought and intensified her scrutiny. She had the time and the space to do it. Consuela and Ernesto were friendly but they were totally focused on Ramón. Philippe had greeted Jenny with courtesy but now he, too, was totally focused on Ramón.
Only Ramón’s title didn’t explain things completely, Jenny decided. Ramón was here in his casual clothes. He didn’t look spectacular-or any more spectacular than he usually did-and a child wouldn’t respond to an adult this way unless there was a fair bit of hero worship going on.
‘Does Prince Ramón really come every week?’ she asked Consuela as she helped clear the table.
‘Every week since he’s been back in the country,’ the woman said. ‘We’re so grateful. Ernesto and I have had many foster children-some from very troubled homes-but Philippe’s so quiet we don’t seem to get through to him. He never says a thing unless he must. He hardly eats unless he’s forced, and he certainly doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. But once a week Ramón…I mean Crown Prince Ramón…comes and takes him out in his car and it’s as if he lights up. He comes home happy, he eats, he tells us what he’s done and he goes to bed and sleeps all night. Then he wakes and Ramón’s not here, and his parents aren’t here, and it all starts again. His Highness brought him his cat from the palace and that’s made things better but now…we’re starting to wonder if it’s His Highness himself the child pines for.’
‘He can’t have become attached to Ramón so fast,’ Jenny said, startled, and Consuela looked at her with eyes that had seen a lot in her lifetime, and she smiled.
‘Caro, are you telling me that’s impossible?’
Oh, help, was she so obvious? She glanced back to where Ernesto and Ramón were engaged in a deep conversation about some obscure football match, with Philippe listening to every word as if it was the meaning of life-and she found herself blushing from the toes up.
‘We’re hearing rumours,’ Consuela said, seemingly satisfied with Jenny’s reaction. ‘How lovely.’
‘I…there’s nothing.’ How fast did rumours spread?
‘There’s everything,’ Consuela said. ‘All our prince needs is a woman to love him.’
‘I’m not his class.’
‘Class? Pah!’ Consuela waved an airy hand at invisible class barriers. ‘Three months ago Philippe was Prince Royal. Now he’s the illegitimate son of the dead Prince’s mistress. If you worry about class then you worry about nothing. You make him happy. That’s all anyone can ask.’ Her shrewd gaze grew intent. ‘You know that Prince Ramón is kind, intelligent, honourable. Our country needs him so much. But for a man to take on such a role…there must be someone filling his heart as well.’
Cinderella: Hired by the Prince Page 15