A King In Love
Page 11
‘It’s the only fun poor Papa ever has,’ she told herself.
Although she supposed it was reprehensible because he was a married man, she could understand how he must find it imperative at times to escape from the boredom of the Palace and a wife who always appeared to be finding fault.
“I wish I could marry a commoner,” she called out aloud, “a jolly peasant who would laugh and sing his way through life.”
Then she acknowledged that she was too intelligent to be content with just an ordinary man and that, when she did get a chance of listening to the Prime Minister and the other Statesmen, she found them very interesting and enlightening.
As she put the last of her clothes ready for the morning, she knew she would always find any conversation with the King a thrilling experience, which in a way was somehow linked with the thrill and excitement she had felt at the touch of his lips.
Because they were a part of him and because when she met his eyes she had the same feeling as when she was aware of his vibrations, she knew that being with him was in fact very different from being with any other man.
Perhaps it was something she would never find again.
Was it love?
She could not decide whether it was or not, but undoubtedly the question was there.
Because it frightened her, she wanted to run away and never think of it again.
Chapter Six
Riding with her father at the foot of the mountains, Zita thought that she should be happier than she had ever been before, but somehow something prevented her from finding this adventure with him as wonderful as it might have been.
Every morning when she woke she felt as if there were a stone in the place where her heart should have been.
Even though they laughed and joked together and climbing up the sides of new mountains was thrilling, but still there was something missing.
At night, alone in the bedroom of the small inn they stayed at, she would find, although she tried to prevent it, her thoughts were only of the King.
In not meeting him at five o’clock the next morning as he had expected, she wondered if she had been unnecessarily cruel.
Had he waited and waited, hoping she would come?
Then she told herself with a metaphorical shrug of her shoulders that, of course, he had neither waited nor minded.
Why should he worry about one woman, when he had dozens of every sort, shape and size yearning for him, longing for him and ready to fall into his arms?
She told herself that his only interest in her had been that she was unpredictable and his failure to find an explanation for either her looks or her intelligence had irritated him.
She was sure she was not mistaken in thinking that, because he prided himself on his intuition, he expected to sum up any woman he met quickly and was seldom proved wrong or disappointed.
‘Perhaps he has been disappointed in me? That will be very good for him,’ Zita thought.
At the same time she knew that the one who had been hurt in this unequal contest was her.
She was intelligent enough to reason it out that it was because she had met so few attractive men that the King had seemed overwhelming and doubtless more fascinating than he really was.
‘If I had ever been in Paris, as he has, or even to England, I should very likely have found a dozen men no less attractive than he. At least I should not have felt that he was something so unusual and unique that it is difficult to forget him,’ she told herself.
Actually she found it impossible and, although during the day she forced herself to concentrate on her father, she was aware that just behind everything she was saying, the King was always there, like a skeleton at the feast.
Even so, it was a delight to ride without restriction and to know that when evening came she did not have to face her mother in either a fault-finding or a sulky mood.
To begin with things had not gone entirely according to plan.
The King had been late in leaving the Palace and Zita, waiting for the carriages to arrive at The Inn of the Golden Cross, could not help worrying if they were late because he had lingered for longer than he should have done, waiting for her.
Then she told herself that she was making herself out to be far more important than she really was.
Yet doubtless it had irritated him that she had not obeyed his orders and it might be annoying him still more that now he would never learn the secret of an unpredictable waitress.
Then she told herself firmly,
‘As soon as he has left Aldross, he will never think of me again.’
At the same time, because there was the chance that the King would either write to her or make enquiries at the inn, she was forced to take Gretel into her confidence.
“You’ve seen His Majesty again?” Gretel exclaimed. “How exciting! What did he say to you?”
“It was just by chance,” Zita replied truthfully, “that we met out riding.”
“Has he proposed to Princess Sophie?” Gretel enquired.
Zita shook her head.
“I bet that’s your fault!”
Zita laughed.
“I think the truth is that the King has no wish to marry anybody. After all, he has been a bachelor for a long time.”
“That’s true,” Gretel agreed, “and the travellers who come through here have lots to say about the actresses and such like whom he entertains at the Palace. But I shouldn’t be saying that to you.”
“Why not?” Zita asked. “I have heard about them anyway.”
Gretel looked surprised, but she went on,
“It’s been a thrill for us to see the King in the flesh, but if he’s not going to marry Princess Sophie, I expect it’s the last time he’ll come to Aldross.”
“Why should you say that?” Zita asked in some surprise.
“Because he’s too busy elsewhere when he goes away from Valdastien.”
“In Paris!”
“And who’ll blame him?” Gretel asked. “In France they understand what a man likes in the way of amusement! What have we to offer except folk-dancing and too many snowy mountains?”
Zita laughed, but equally she was thinking that it was the truth and that small countries like Valdastien and Aldross could be very dull for an adventurous man.
When, nearly an hour late, the King arrived with her father, he changed carriages and went on into his own country without entering the inn.
As she watched from an upstairs window, Zita felt that if he was not even curious enough to ask if she was still there, their acquaintance, if that was what it had been, had definitely come to an end.
Her father had come busting up to the room the King had used on his arrival.
“Sorry to be late, my dearest,” he said. “Maximilian was late for breakfast and the Prime Minister also insisted on seeing him for a last word.”
He flung his plumed hat down on the bed as he added,
“God knows why Statesmen always have something extra to say, rather like people who invariably add a postscript to their letters.”
Zita laughed.
“The truth is, Papa,” she said, “they are not as quick-brained as you or I and therefore all the important things they ought to have said in the first place come to them later when they are in bed or in their baths.”
Her father laughed as she intended him to do.
Then she went to talk to Gretel in the next room while he changed.
They left their clothes behind at The Inn of the Golden Cross and, having accepted a glass of wine from the Proprietor, they set off, excited at what lay before them.
“We certainly shall not reach the place I was planning to stay tonight,” the Grand Duke said, “but we will stop halfway and look at the lake where you first bathed and learnt to swim.”
“I would love that!” Zita exclaimed. “And I recall that the inn was very attractive.”
It was more comfortable than she remembered and the food was so delicious that they stayed there fo
r three nights.
They climbed high up the mountains and Zita swam each day in the lake that was the same as it had been ten years before, unspoilt by the encroachment of tourists.
Sometimes torrents in the winter would alter the scene on the sides of mountains that she and her father had visited and loved, but the little lake was mirror-still and pale blue from the sky above it and the rocky pine-covered crags descended sheer to the water.
It was so lovely that Zita felt it might have been part of a Fairy tale.
She found herself wondering as she swam what she would feel if the man she loved was swimming with her. After they had bathed, they would sit in the sunshine and talk together of their dreams and of course – their love.
Then she tried to convince herself that she had everything she wanted in being with her father.
Moreover, it was very unlikely she would ever find a man of her own rank who would not be horrified at the idea of his wife swimming in a public place, even though there was nobody to see her except himself.
‘I am very very lucky that Papa is so unconventional,’ Zita told herself severely, ‘and how can I be so ungrateful as to want anybody else but him?’
She was very affectionate and attentive to her father and she knew that she made him happy and that he was enjoying himself.
“This is the first holiday I have had for a long time,” he said.
“That is what it feels like,” Zita teased, “but I know you disappeared for nearly a week last year and Mama was so disagreeable that all the servants in the Palace talked of giving in their notice!”
“I remember now,” the Grand Duke said, “but it still feels a very long time since I have been so free.”
“We will make the very most of it,” Zita promised.
*
The next day they set off fairly early and lunched in a little chalet where climbers slept when they were scaling that particular mountain and which also provided rough but palatable food for occasional travellers.
There were two men there who were just about to attempt to scale the peak of the mountain above them.
Her father talked to them and they respectfully accepted his advice on how they should attempt it, although Zita was almost certain that they did not recognise him.
Then, while the sun was still very hot, they set off again and now the Grand Duke was able to point out a mountain that seemed taller than the rest, where the snows from the winter not only covered the peak but were deep in the crags quite far down on the barren rocks.
“It looks very high, Papa!”
“It is,” the Grand Duke agreed. “Maximilian told me that it is higher than any other mountain in Valdastien.”
“Has the King climbed it himself?” Zita asked.
“He may have,” the Grand Duke replied indifferently, “since he told me that the inn at which we shall be staying is quite comfortable.”
Instantly, because the King had spoken of it, Zita wondered if he had been there incognito, perhaps with some attractive woman he fancied.
Then she thought that since the King had a penchant for actresses, it was unlikely they would appreciate what could be the considerable discomforts of country life and country inns.
She could imagine them scented and bejewelled, enjoying the luxury of thick carpets, elegantly furnished bedrooms and being waited on and cosseted by an inordinate number of servants.
If they had known privation and discomfort before they were successful, that would certainly not be an attraction now.
For her it was the reverse. She loved the bare wooden boards in the inns where they stayed, with perhaps just a rug or two made from a bearskin or that of a goat.
It was fun to sleep in the box-beds that the peasants preferred because they could draw the curtains close in the cold winter nights on a mattress made of goose-feathers and being obliged to wash in cold water was certainly no hardship in the summer.
“Why are you silent, my dearest?” the Grand Duke asked unexpectedly. “I am missing your laughter.”
“Actually I was thinking how lucky I am to be with you,” Zita replied, “and to enjoy the simple life where we wait on ourselves with nobody to fuss over whether we do or do not look exactly as we should.”
The Grand Duke laughed.
“I am sure that your mother would think it very reprehensible that I prefer a silk scarf round my neck to a tie and that if it is hot I ride in my shirt sleeves.”
“At the moment I am concerned not with my appearance but my stomach,” Zita replied. “I am hungry and I am hoping that our dinner when we arrive this evening will be a substantial one.”
She remembered that their luncheon had been mostly of goat’s cheese and the Grand Duke replied,
“If Maximilian is to be believed, the food is excellent, so I hope we will not be disappointed.”
Once again the King’s name gave Zita a strange feeling in her breast, but she told herself it was nothing more than she had felt ever since she had met him at The Inn of the Golden Cross.
In addition she had experienced a very strange feeling when she saw him drive away until there was just a cloud of dust in the distance and then an empty, if beautiful, view over the valley.
‘That is the end of the story,’ she had said to herself.
She felt that a chapter in her life had closed and there would be no mention of the King in those that followed.
An hour later the sun was sinking lower in the sky and it was not as hot as it had been, when finally they left the valley to start climbing up the side of a mountain.
There was a twisting winding path through the pine trees and they climbed higher and higher until Zita began to feel that they must have lost the way.
The horses could manage only a slow pace uphill, when just above them appeared an attractive chalet with gabled windows that looked as if it might have been an illustration in a picture book.
“We have found it, Papa!” Zita exclaimed. “And it is very attractive.”
There were tables and chairs outside the inn and to her surprise several travellers were seated at them, drinking glasses of wine.
This was usual at most of the mountain inns at this time of the year. At the same time, because this particular one was so isolated, Zita had somehow anticipated that they would be the only guests.
They took their horses to the back of the inn where they found there were stables, which were somewhat primitive, but adequate.
There appeared to be nobody in charge of them and Zita took Pegasus into a stall where there was plenty of hay and water, which showed that the stables were regularly in use.
She unsaddled him, took off his bridle and patted him affectionately before she shut him in and went to find that her father had already dealt very effectively with his own horse.
They walked from the stables to the inn, which was a very short distance and, instead of going round to the front, her father led the way to the kitchen door.
As he opened it, he knocked on a wooden panel, saying in a loud voice,
“Is there anybody here to welcome a weary traveller?”
There was the sound of a woman’s voice calling out for somebody and then from a passage, which led to the front of the building, a woman appeared.
The moment Zita saw her she felt that she must have seen her somewhere before.
Then, as she came towards them, smiling a welcome, she looked at the Grand Duke and gave a cry that seemed to echo down the narrow passage.
“No, no! It can’t be true!”
“Nevi!” the Grand Duke exclaimed and held out both his hands to her.
It was then that Zita remembered that Nevi had been the lovely woman who had been so delighted to see her father many years ago when they had been travelling together in another part of the country.
She could remember him saying,
“I always keep my promises, Nevi, and this time I have brought my daughter to meet the prettiest woman in the whole of Aldross!”
“I can’t believe it! I’ve thought of you so often, but I was sure you’d never come here!”
“Once I returned to the place where you used to be,” the Grand Duke said, “but you had flown.”
“It was Rudolph,” Nevi said in a low voice. “He was so wildly jealous that he insisted that we move to a part of the country where he thought you’d never find me.”
“I tried,” the Grand Duke responded simply.
Then he added in a different voice,
“Perhaps it will be embarrassing for you if my daughter and I stay here.”
“Rudolph was killed in a climbing accident a year ago,” Nevi replied, “and now I own the whole place and run it with the help of several nice girls and one of my nephews who’s learning the business.”
She gave the Grand Duke a flashing smile before she added,
“By the blessing of God, we have no one staying with us at the moment, so not only are my best rooms free, but I can look after you and the gracious fraulein as I’d wish to do.”
As if while speaking she suddenly remembered Zita’s existence, she turned towards her and exclaimed,
“But you’ve grown! You’re no longer the little girl I remember.”
“We all grow older,” the Grand Duke said, “which unfortunately is something we cannot prevent.”
He spoke in his joking manner, but Zita heard an irrepressible note of youthful excitement in his voice that had not been there before!
As she looked at her father, she thought that he not only looked extremely handsome, but also younger than she had seen him for some time.
There was a large comfortable room for him overlooking the front of the inn and another that Zita sensed Nevi did not consider quite so grand, but which had a view over the valley.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Nevi said as she showed Zita into it, “and please ask for anything you require. I can’t tell you how happy it has made me to see you and your honourable father again.”