by Jessica Hart
Caro stretched her mouth into a wide smile. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she said involuntarily.
‘I asked you why,’ said the Dowager in freezing accents and Caro jumped in spite of herself.
‘Philippe and I have decided that our relationship isn’t going to work.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘It’s not nonsense!’ said Caro, forgetting that she wasn’t allowed to argue back.
The Dowager actually harrumphed. Caro had never heard anyone do that before in real life. ‘I was under the impression that you loved my great-nephew?’
‘I do,’ said Caro in a low voice, her momentary amusement fading. ‘I love him very much but, as you keep reminding me, he’s a prince and I’m just a very ordinary girl. It’s been fun, but it’s time for him to get serious now and find a serious woman who’ll be a worthy princess for Montluce. But that won’t be Lotty,’ she thought she had better add, just in case the Dowager got her hopes up.
‘No,’ said the Dowager, to Caro’s surprise. ‘I see that now. Not that Charlotte appears to be in any hurry to come home from wherever she is,’ she added querulously, suddenly no different from any other confused and irritable elderly lady.
‘She’ll be back,’ Caro said, trying to comfort her.
She bent to fondle Apollo’s ears, feeling ridiculously choked up at the thought of never seeing him again. ‘Be a good dog,’ she said. ‘Work on the stick chasing.’
Straightening, she faced the Dowager, who was looking haughtier than ever, her lips were pressed together in a very thin, very straight line. But her eyes were suspiciously bright and, on an impulse, Caro leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodbye, Altesse,’ she said.
There were other goodbyes to say. Down in the kitchens, there was a gloomy atmosphere and every maid and footman wanted to shake her hand and say how sorry they were that she was leaving. Agnès cried a little, and Jean-Michel presented her with a collection of his recipes.
And then came the last, and hardest, goodbye.
CHAPTER TEN
‘SO, YOU’RE really going?’ said Philippe. Caro’s bag was waiting by the door, and she was shrugging on her father’s jacket and trying not to cry.
‘Yes.’ She summoned a smile and squared her shoulders, determined to make it a good farewell. ‘This has been one of the best times of my life, Philippe. Thank you for everything, and I…I hope we’ll always be friends.’
‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said as if the words had been wrung out of him.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Caro, her voice cracking, and when Philippe opened his arms she went straight into them. He held her very tightly, not speaking, for a long, long moment and Caro’s throat was painfully tight. She couldn’t have spoken if she had tried.
Eventually, Philippe let out a long breath and let her go. ‘Goodbye, Caro,’ he said.
‘Goodbye.’ Eyes blurring with tears, Caro turned for the door, lifted her chin and from somewhere found a smile so that she could leave with her head high.
For the last time, she walked down the sweeping staircase and out past the palace servants who had gathered to wave farewell, keeping her smile in place all the way. Yan was waiting with the black SUV, and he held open the door so that Caro could get into the back. Only then, hidden behind the tinted windows, could she let herself cry at last.
It felt as if she were being torn away like a snail from its shell as Yan drove her back over the hills to the border, and then on the fast road to Paris. When they got to the airport, he drove her right up to the entrance, opened the door and got out her bag for her. She was going to have to get used to opening her own doors from now on, Caro reflected.
She turned to hold out her hand to Yan and thank him. Expecting his usually impassive nod, she was astounded when he shook her hand warmly. ‘If there is ever anything I can do for you, mademoiselle, you have only to ask,’ he said.
It was the first time she had heard him speak.
Caro smiled shakily. ‘Just make sure Philippe is safe,’ she said.
‘I will,’ said Yan, and then he got into the car and drove away, back to Montluce, leaving Caro alone outside the terminal building with her tatty bag at her feet, just an ordinary girl once more.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: What happened???
Caro, I’m worried. What happened?? I’ve just rung Grandmère, and she said you’d gone. She’s cross with you and cross with Philippe. Then I rang Philippe, and he shut me out. He was talking, but it was like after Etienne died. He was very cool and very polite and somehow not there at all. He just said everything was ‘fine’, which it obviously isn’t. I thought everything was going so well? I thought you and Philippe were friends, but he sounds so distant now, and you’re not there. Tell me you’re OK, at least.
Lotty xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: What happened???
Hi, Lotty
Yes, I’m OK. I’ve been home a couple of weeks, and I’m starting to remember what real life is like. I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but Philippe is right, things are fine. I suppose you’ve guessed by now that we were more than friends. I can tell you that now, but we ended it by mutual agreement. Right from the start, we always knew it couldn’t last.
Caro stared at the screen. Her eyes were tight with unshed tears and her throat felt as if a great stone had been lodged in it since that awful day she had said goodbye to Philippe. It had been so easy to tell herself that she understood it was temporary and that she was just making the most of their time together. She had known it couldn’t last, but how did you stop yourself falling in love?
She had tried so hard to keep those nights separate from the time when she and Philippe were just friends, but it hadn’t made any difference. Of course she had fallen in love with him. How could she not?
She missed him. She missed her friend. She missed her lover. She missed the way he smiled at her and the way he rolled his eyes whenever he saw what she was wearing. She missed moving around the kitchen, listening to him talk. She missed lying next to him in the early morning, curled into the hard curve of his body.
Caro went back to her email. She owed Lotty the truth now.
When things aren’t so painful, I hope Philippe and I can be friends again, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I could bear to see him with someone else. He’s such a special person, he deserves someone perfect. The thing is, I can’t talk about him to anyone except you. To everyone else, he’s just a prince from some tiny country nobody had ever heard of until the fuss about the pipeline. They can’t see beyond the fairy tale to the man he is, and I can’t explain. I guess that goes with the territory when you’re royal.
I miss Montluce, Lotty. I miss the people and the lake and the mountains. I even miss your grandmother and Apollo! I miss Philippe most of all. Things may be difficult for him at the moment, but he’s found his place in Montluce, and that means more to him than he realises right now. When his father comes home, I think Philippe will be able to build a relationship with him at last, and that’s what he needs most of all. I don’t fit in with Philippe’s life now, and he wouldn’t fit in with mine, that’s for sure, so I know I’ve made the right decision, even if it hurts right now.
Caro’s mouth trembled. Funny how knowing that you’d made the right decision was no comfort at all. Why did everyone pretend that it helped? It didn’t. Nothing helped.
Please don’t worry about me, Lotty. I’ll be fine. I’m thinking of setting up my own deli and café at last, specialising in produce from Montluce, and have even been to the bank to talk about a business loan. That will be exciting when I can get it up and running. Right now I’m temping again, and there’s too much time to think, and to remember. Fortunately my ‘celebrity status’ was ver
y short-lived and limited to those who read Glitz (not that many in Ellerby, thank goodness!) so I haven’t had too many people recognise me. My life in Montluce seems so far away now, anyway. It’s taken me a little while to adjust to normal life, but I’m nearly there. I know I need to start meeting men, so I’ve been looking on right4u.com again. To be honest, I can’t imagine falling in love with anyone else right now, but I know I have to get back into it. I’m not expecting to meet someone right away, but I can at least show willing.
Caro stopped typing again. It was hard to explain to Lotty the depression that gripped her every time she looked at her potential matches on the site. They were all perfectly decent men, but none of them were Philippe.
I’m glad you’ve been in contact with the Dowager Blanche, I think she misses you more than she can say.
The way she missed Philippe. But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Philippe, Caro reminded herself. Hadn’t she decided enough was enough? She was tired of this constant ache for him, the constant looking for him and remembering that he wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there when someone said something ridiculous, or when she turned to catch his eye, knowing that he would share the joke.
He wasn’t there to roll his eyes at her clothes or be rude about her cooking.
He wasn’t there when she lay wretched at night, longing and longing to be able to turn and reach for him.
Two weeks passed, then three, and it didn’t get any easier, whatever Caro told Lotty. She tortured herself imagining Philippe with Francesca Allen. Was Francesca sitting on the balcony with her feet up on the railings beside Philippe’s? Was she waving and accepting posies? Did she spend long, sweet nights in Philippe’s bed?
The thought of it was a knife twisting inside Caro, and she flinched at the pain of it. The temptation to email Philippe or to look up events in Montluce on the internet was huge, but she wouldn’t let herself give in. She couldn’t bear to see pictures of Francesca beside him. Knowing would be worse than imagining, Caro decided.
No, she had to get on with her own life. One evening when Stella was out with a new boyfriend, Caro took a deep breath and logged onto right4u.com. Just to look, she told herself. She would never find the perfect man sitting at home. Her mind veered to Philippe, but she yanked it back. She needed Mr Right, not Prince Right.
She hadn’t logged on for a while, so she wasn’t expecting any messages, but there were two. Mr Sexy was still hopeful, and there was a new message from Ordinary Guy. Well, that sounded promising.
Ignoring the ache in her heart, Caro clicked on his profile. No photo, but that wasn’t unusual. He certainly sounded like a perfect match—over ninety per cent. So she ought to be excited, right? This guy was everything she’d ever wanted: steady job, own house, interested in the same things as her. He’d spent a lot of time overseas, he said, but now he wanted to settle down with the right woman. After years of resisting the idea, he was ready for marriage and a family.
He could even punctuate. His message was brief. You sound like someone I’d like to get to know. What about meeting up for a drink some time?
So he didn’t sound that romantic or glamorous or exciting, but that was fine by Caro. She had done romance and glamour. This time she needed sensible and ordinary.
Stella frowned when she heard that Caro had agreed to meet him. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’
‘No,’ said Caro. ‘I’m not sure, but I’ve got to start some time, Stella. I’m not expecting this guy to be the one, but he sounds nice enough. I’m thinking of this as a practice run.’
But it felt as if there was a great weight on her heart as she got ready to go out that night. On the screen, Ordinary Guy was perfect. She should be more excited at the idea of meeting him, Caro knew, but how could she be excited when he wasn’t Philippe, when he wouldn’t have Philippe’s hands and Philippe’s mouth and Philippe’s body? When he wouldn’t click his tongue against his teeth in exasperation, or draw her to him with a smile that promised deliciously sinful pleasure?
How could he do that, when he was just an ordinary man?
Perhaps it was unfair to waste his time, Caro thought guiltily, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life pining for something that could never be. No, she decided. She would go, she would smile and she would be pleasant. She could always come home after one drink.
It was difficult to care what she looked like. Caro rifled through her wardrobe without interest and finally put on the dress she had worn that first night with Philippe when he had taken her to the Star and Garter. She had been wearing this dress the first time he’d kissed her, Caro remembered. How desperate she had been about George then. Perhaps one day she would be able to look back and marvel that she had felt this wretched about Philippe too.
The steps outside the Town Hall were empty when Caro arrived. She looked at her watch. Seven o’clock, as promised. She would wait ten minutes, she decided, and then she would go.
Hugging the light cardigan around her shoulders, Caro sat on the top step in the last of the evening sun and let herself miss Philippe. Only for five minutes, she promised herself. Five minutes of remembering the taste of him, the feel of his body, the wicked pleasure of his hands. The laughter in his eyes. How easy it was to be with him, how comfortable to lean against his shoulder and feel that everything was all right as long as he was there.
There was a tight prickling behind Caro’s eyes and she squeezed them shut, willing the tears away. Just what she needed on a first date: to be caught crying for another man. She shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t let the bittersweet memories in. It only made things worse.
Oh, God, someone was coming… Caro heard the footsteps and hastily knuckled the tears from under her eyes. Please, please, please don’t let this be Ordinary Guy, she prayed.
‘Waiting for someone?’
Caro’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. ‘Philippe!’
Her heart was hammering high in her throat as she stared at him, longing to believe that he was real, but hardly daring to. He looked real. The saturnine features, the lean, powerfully muscled body, his mouth, his hands…yes, they were all as she remembered. Only the anxiety in the silver eyes was unfamiliar.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked rudely, too startled to remember her manners or the fact that he was a prince.
‘I’ve got a date,’ said Philippe, sitting down beside her on the step.
‘A date? In Ellerby?’ Caro couldn’t take it in. It was too incredible to have him there, close enough to touch. She wanted to pat him all over to check that he was real. She wanted to burrow into him and press her face into his throat and hold on to him for ever and ever.
‘I’m meeting a princess,’ he said. ‘Who’s expecting a frog.’
Understanding dawned through Caro’s haze. ‘It was you?’
‘Meet Ordinary Guy,’ said His Serene Highness Prince Philippe Xavier Charles de Montvivennes.
Caro couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. ‘You’re not ordinary,’ she said. ‘You’re a prince. That whole profile you wrote was one big fib!’
‘It said we were a ninety per cent match for each other,’ Philippe reminded her. ‘And it wasn’t a fib. Every word of that profile was true.’
‘The steady job?’
‘Well, no job’s secure for life nowadays,’ he conceded, ‘but, barring revolution, being prince in Montluce should be safe enough. My father is back in his own apartments, but he’s still resting. We’ve agreed that I’ll take over more of his duties on a permanent basis, so I’d call that a job. And I’ve got somewhere to live, just like I said on the profile.’
‘A palace!’
‘Hey, it’s a roof over my head.’ Philippe’s smile faded. ‘But that’s all it is without you, Caro. It isn’t a home. It hasn’t been since you left that day. That damn palace, stuffed with paintings and antiques and footmen and it’s just been…empty. I hate it without you, Caro,’ he said. ‘Please come back.’
Caro had begun to tremble. ‘Philippe…’
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ he interrupted her before she could go on. ‘You want an ordinary life, an ordinary man to share it with. I know that. That’s why I let you go.’
He still hadn’t made any move to touch her, but sat, like her, with his feet drawn up on the step below and his arms resting on his knees. ‘I told myself that you were right, that you would only be happy if you came back here, and that I should look around for someone else, who was comfortable with life in a palace.
‘I did try, Caro.’ Philippe turned his head to look at her and his silver eyes were so warm Caro marvelled that she could ever have thought of them as cold. ‘I took Francesca out to dinner, and tried to imagine her as a princess. And I could do it, no problem. She’d make a great princess…but I couldn’t imagine her with me.
‘That’s when I realised that under all the trappings, I am just an ordinary guy. I’m like everyone else: muddled, insecure, blaming my parents for my own failures. I’m going to stop doing that now, Caro. I’m grown up, and I can make my own choices and live with the consequences.’
He looked away, across the square, squinting a little in the slanting evening sun.
‘I’ve spent so many years afraid to commit myself to anyone in case they left and I had to feel something, and then you did leave, and it did hurt, but I survived. If I hadn’t known you, hadn’t loved you, I wouldn’t have been hurting, sure, but I wouldn’t have given up that time for anything, Caro.’
Caro found her voice at last. ‘You love me?’
‘Of course I love you.’ Philippe sounded almost impatient as he looked back into her eyes. ‘I just didn’t dare admit it to myself, or to you.’ He took Caro’s hand at last. ‘You must have known.’
