Prince Vladimer sat at the head of the table with his mother at the opposite end.
Ancella noticed that the Princess appeared to be watching her son, noting every word he spoke to the Marchioness, who, looking exceedingly beautiful, was on his right.
As the meal, which was delicious, drew to an end, the Princess asked,
“What are you doing this afternoon, Vladimer?”
“I am going to Monte Carlo, Mama.”
He spoke to his mother with affection and warmth in his voice and Ancella, who could not help looking at him during luncheon, thought again, as she had last night, that he was without exception the most attractive man she had ever seen.
It was not only that he was so handsome. It was also the animation in his face when he spoke, the twinkle in his grey-green eyes and the smile on his lips that she found somehow irresistible.
He had not spoken to her before the luncheon, for she had been at the other end of the room and, almost as soon as the Princess had welcomed their guests, the meal was announced.
Ancella thought, however, although she was not sure, that he glanced at her once or twice. Then she told herself she was conceited in thinking that he was even aware of her existence.
“I wonder if it would be possible,” the Marchioness said immediately after the Prince had spoken, “for me to have a carriage this afternoon? I have one or two purchases I must make in Beaulieu.”
“But of course!” the Prince replied. “I will order the Victoria for you. You will find it most comfortable.”
“Thank you, Vladimer,” the Marchioness replied, smiling at him with an intimate look in her blue eyes that was very noticeable.
“If you are going to Beaulieu,” Captain Sudley interposed, “I wonder if you would mind if I came too? I want to buy some new collar studs, amongst other things.”
“But of course!” the Marchioness answered, “as long as you don’t mind my taking some time in the shops.”
“I will try not to be impatient,” he said with his loud laugh.
‘He certainly arranged that cleverly!’ Ancella thought to herself, remembering what she had heard him and the Marchioness plan when she had been hidden under the balustrade.
The other members of the house party all appeared to have various things they wished to do, while Baron Mikhovovitch said quite firmly that he was going to lie down and rest.
“I find these late hours very tiring,” he remarked.
“I find it even more tiring when one loses money!” someone laughed.
“That is true,” the Baron agreed.
“Do you know, an extraordinary thing happened last night,” Captain Sudley piped up.
“What was that? “ the Marchioness enquired.
“I left you and His Highness playing at the Baccarat table,” Freddie Sudley replied, “because I saw a man I know called Harnsworth. He is a member of my Club as a matter of fact. He was standing by the Roulette table, the one you play at, Your Highness.”
He turned to the Princess as he spoke, who was listening to him as was everyone else at the luncheon table.
“Harnsworth was standing there holding a considerable sum of money in both his hands,” Captain Sudley continued. “I went up to him and said, ‘run of good luck, Harnsworth? I envy you!’ He looked at me with an odd expression in his eyes. Then he answered, ‘It was an angel who won it for me! Now she has disappeared and I cannot find her!’
“‘An angel?’ I exclaimed. ‘Good God! There are not many angels in this place!’
“I laughed as I spoke. As a matter of fact I thought he must have been drinking.
“‘It was an angel!’ he persisted, ‘and I cannot believe it!’
“‘I cannot believe it either!’ I told him, ‘but she seems to have done you well! Are you going to have another flutter?’
“He did not answer for a moment and then he said, ‘I am going back to my wife, Sudley, and we are both going down on our knees to thank God for helping us!’”
Captain Sudley paused before he finished,
“He spoke in such a serious tone and with such conviction that I knew in fact that he was not only cold sober, but he also believed what he said!”
“What an extraordinary story!” the Baron exclaimed.
“I only wish an angel would help me!” the Marchioness cried and gave her light laugh, which someone had once told her sounded like a peal of bells.
“Do you really believe him?” the Princess asked.
“Well, he must have had a hallucination of some sort,” Captain Sudley replied. “At the same time it was a pretty substantial one and I never knew that Harnsworth had the sort of means that he could afford to gamble for high stakes.”
“We must all go looking for angels!” the Marchioness exclaimed. “Would it not be lovely if we could find one?”
The Princess rose to her feet and luncheon was at an end.
Ancella was only too grateful that nothing more was said about the angel. They would soon forget about Mr. Harnsworth’s win, she thought, when some other excitement happened in the Casino.
‘Thank goodness no one saw me with him,’ she told herself.
She was well aware that her life would be insupportable if the Princess and her guests thought that there was any possible way in which she could bring them luck at the tables.
The Princess went to lie down and Ancella turned towards her own room.
This was her time off and she decided that she would not waste a moment of it by staying indoors, but would go into the garden.
She had the idea of making a sketch of the view towards Eza.
When her father had been ill and unable to leave his room, she had often drawn sketches to amuse him.
Sometimes they were of people, sometimes they were of the countryside, the horses, the cows, a new haystack that had been erected or perhaps the shrubs in the garden.
She had brought her sketchpad with her to Monte Carlo and now, taking up her pencils, she thought that if the sketch looked attractive later she might colour it.
The sun was very warm and there was no wind as she went down the flight of marble steps into the garden.
The trees cast a cool shade and the flowers in their vivid colours were like jewels against their green background.
The sea was sparkling blue and today no waves were splashing against the promontory, but only very gently lapping.
Ancella did not walk to the balustrade. Instead she turned left and found a place she had noted before under the shade of a huge carob tree.
Here she had an almost perfect view of the Bay of Moors and beyond it the summit of Eza threw its castlelike outline sharp and clear against the blue of the sky.
It was so lovely that for some minutes she could only sit looking at it until, almost as if she called herself to task for wasting time, she opened her pad and picked up her pencils.
She must have been drawing for some time, wondering as she did so if it would ever be possible to ask if she could have a carriage to drive to Eza or to the Peninsula of St. Hospice when the Marchioness and Captain Sudley were not there.
Then she told herself that she was being very presumptuous. Of course she could not ask for a carriage and, if she wished to visit Eza, she would have to do so on foot.
She wondered how long it would take her. Then, as she raised her head to look again at the high summit, she was aware that someone was standing just behind her.
Before he spoke she knew who it was.
“I did not know that you are an artist,” the Prince said.
Ancella would have risen to her feet, but he said quickly,
“No, please don’t move.”
Ancella obeyed him and looked up as he towered above her, his head silhouetted against the dark green branches of a tree.
She met his eyes and somehow something strange happened, as it had last night in the Casino when she had first seen him.
They looked at each other and it was impossible to look away.
“So your name is correct!” he said.
She did not pretend to misunderstand.
“H-how – did you know?” she asked nervously.
“Actually I saw you standing at the table with the man you helped,” the Prince said.
“Your Highness – will not – tell the – others?”
“No, of course not,” he answered. “I am only thankful for your sake that they did not see you, as I did.”
She gave a little sigh of relief.
“There is so much I want to ask you,” he said, “but we cannot talk here, you realise that?”
Almost involuntarily Ancella looked over her shoulder towards the villa.
“Exactly!” he remarked. “For how long are you free?”
“Until five o’clock.”
“I expected that. It gives us quite a long time.”
Ancella waited.
She was not certain what he was about to suggest, but she knew that she would agree, whatever it was.
“I am going back to the villa,” the Prince said. “I shall drive my car away as if I was going to Monte Carlo.”
“Your – car?” Ancella questioned.
“Are you afraid to travel in one?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then I will wait for you a little way up the road. Turn right when you come out of the gate.”
Ancella looked at him wide-eyed and he said with a smile,
“You are English. They will expect you to go for a walk.”
Ancella did not speak and after a moment he said,
“Give me about ten minutes. The car does not always start as quickly as I should like.”
He smiled again and then walked away casually.
As if he had just spoken to her in passing, he walked to the end of the small garden and then back again on the other side of it.
Ancella went on sketching, but she hardly knew what her pencil drew.
Her heart was beating quickly and a strange excitement was creeping over her.
The Prince wanted to talk to her and she wanted to talk to him.
It was something, she thought, that she should not do, and yet why not? He was her host. He was in a way her employer, as the Princess was.
He had told her to meet him and there was nothing wrong in that. Yet she knew that, should their assignation become known, it would not only seem peculiar but it would also anger the Princess.
Dr. Groves had said that she was fanatically jealous where Prince Vladimer was concerned.
Although it was ridiculous, Ancella told herself, to think that His Highness might be interested in any way in her, she was not so naïve as to be unaware that the Princess would resent his taking an interest, however perfunctorily, in someone who was ostensibly her servant.
‘I must be careful – very careful!’
She knew, however, although caution warned her not to go, that she had every intention of meeting the Prince as he had suggested.
She waited for ten minutes, which seemed to pass very slowly. Then, shutting her sketchpad, she walked slowly up the marble steps, across the terrace, through the salon and up to her bedroom.
She put on one of the straw hats she had bought in London and which she had trimmed prettily with small white roses, which complemented the white collar and cuffs that were attached to the pale lilac gown she wore.
Picking up her handbag and sunshade, she looked at herself in the mirror and realised that her eyes were shining with excitement.
‘I must look casual,’ she told herself and deliberately walked slowly down the stairs into the hall.
When she reached the front door, the Major Domo, who had been speaking to one of the footmen, came forward to say,
“If you wished to go to Beaulieu, m’mselle, her Ladyship has already left.”
“I am going for a walk,” Ancella replied. “I must get some exercise.”
The Major Domo smiled.
“Ah! Les Anglaises!” he exclaimed. “They always want their exercise! The French would rather rest at this time of the day!”
Ancella smiled at him and started to walk up the twisting drive, pausing to look at the geraniums so as not to appear to be in a hurry.
Only when she reached the gates that led onto the road and turned right did she walk quickly with an eagerness she could not suppress to find the Prince.
He was about a hundred yards down the road and, when she saw his car, she drew in her breath in surprise.
Painted bright yellow, it had a black hood, which was open, and red leather seats.
As she appeared, the Prince came forward.
He held out his hand and, when she gave him hers a little shyly, he raised it to his lips.
“I was half-afraid you would not be brave enough to do as I suggested,” he said.
“I wanted to see Your Highness’s – car,” Ancella murmured.
“And also, I hope, its owner!” he answered.
She looked at the car because she was too shy to look at him and he said,
“Let me help you in and I will drive slowly so as not to blow your hat away. At the same time, if you are nervous of losing it, I have a chiffon scarf, which you can tie under your chin.”
He handed her the scarf as he spoke and she could not help wondering how many women had used it before her.
He wound up the car, which started easily, then jumped in beside her and drove off quite smoothly.
“What sort of car is it?” Ancella enquired.
“It is a Panhard,” he answered, “and the very latest model. I bought one after the magnificent achievement of Émile Lebassor in the race from Versailles to Bordeaux three years ago.”
“What did he do?” Ancella asked.
“Drove for forty-eight hours and forty-eight minutes. He only stopped once for a mere ten minutes at Bordeaux. It was a superhuman performance.”
“But surely this is a new car?” Ancella enquired.
“It is my third Panhard and has just been delivered,” the Prince replied. “I ordered my second after the race from Paris to Marseilles. You must have heard about that!”
“I am afraid not!” Ancella said apologetically.
“What do you talk about in England?” the Prince laughed. “Actually I thought everyone in the world must have heard of the race of over a thousand miles, which was completed by no less than fifteen of the thirty-two cars that started.”
“And the Panhard won?”
“It did indeed! And this new model can do fifteen miles an hour!”
As if he felt that Ancella might be frightened at the thought, the Prince added,
“But I would not dare to take you as fast as that! I must remember you come from England, where until two years ago the speed limit was four miles an hour!”
“It has been altered now,” Ancella said quickly.
“I know that, but you are fined if you exceed twelve miles an hour, which to my mind is ridiculous when in a very short time cars will be able to do thirty!”
“That is too fast!” Ancella exclaimed.
“You cannot expect me to agree, as I have just joined the Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland,” the Prince said. “It was formed last year.”
“Do you intend to race in England?” Ancella asked.
She thought, as she spoke, it might ensure her being able to see him after she had left Monte Carlo.
“When you have races, I shall try to win them!” the Prince answered. “In the meantime there are plenty in France!”
As he was talking, they were driving along the road and now he turned off the Lower Corniche to start climbing up a narrow twisting lane with deep gorges on one side of it, the hills rising on the other.
There were flowers nestling in the ravines and in the patches of grass clinging to the hillside. Ancella could see crimson poppies, pearly-white Stars of Bethlehem and wild orchids.
There were almond and nectarine trees covered with pink blossom and everywhere the mimos
a was a riot of gold.
It was so exciting to be conveyed in a car and to see the beauty all around her. At the same time Ancella found it difficult to think of anything but the Prince.
She was vividly conscious of how attractive he was as he drove with an expertise that she recognised and admired.
Occasionally the road became rather bumpy and the Prince said,
“One day I will take you to Monte Carlo. To ensure that the spectators of the Concours d’Elégance are not enveloped in clouds of dust, Blanc has brought in an Italian expert who has covered the road surface with tar.”
“With tar?” Ancella questioned in surprise.
“It makes it smooth, delightful to drive on and there is no dust,” the Prince replied.
Ancella thought if that were true it would be a great improvement.
Although it seemed windy sitting in the front of the car, she knew that they were leaving behind them a large cloud of dust, which because of the heat, hung almost like a fog on the dry air.
Soon they reached the road above the Lower Corniche and now she could see the great rock of Eza and below it a few scattered houses surrounded by big shady trees.
Beneath these some of the older inhabitants of the village were playing bowls, while small boys imitated them with marbles.
There was a large stone fountain and some of the peasant women from the village were filling their vessels and washing their clothes.
Everyone stopped what they were doing as the car appeared and, when the Prince drew it to a standstill under the shade of a large tree, the villagers gathered round staring at it in awe and admiration.
The Prince chose from the others a boy of about fourteen and told him to be in charge of the car. Then, helping Ancella to the ground, he led the way to where she could see a narrow path leading up the rock.
“I hope you are feeling energetic,” the Prince said. “It is an ascent of about five hundred feet.”
“I like walking,” Ancella replied.
“I had an idea you would. Do you live in the country?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it! I was sure you were not a product of the town!”
She did not ask him how he knew and they walked on, climbing to where there was a large archway through which they entered the village itself.
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