Smoke and mirrors? The eyes of the whole world would be on me. I had confidence in my acting abilities, but it would take a pretty big cloud of smoke to stop someone with a zoom camera from guessing I wasn’t the Princess of Montverrier. I opened my mouth, about to say I’d never heard such a ridiculous idea, when the director tapped an envelope on the desk in front of him.
‘The Royal family understand the dangers involved,’ he said, ‘and they’ll pay you well for your trouble.’
I dropped my eyes to the crisp envelope with its discreet Royal crest. Mr Ross slid it towards me and I pulled out the contract inside. My jaw dropped. Of course there was a risk involved, but even so, the sum offered was enormous, and out of all proportion to the task. I stared at the figures and thought of my travelling drama classes, and the enthusiasm of the kids in all the schools I visited, and how now I’d be able to keep my educational theatre going without worrying about where the next funding was coming from.
And finally I thought, really, how hard could it be to wear a crown for a day?
I raised my eyes to the director’s. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’
Chapter Three
And so now, a whirlwind week later, here I was, far from the dark, gloomy alleyways of Edinburgh, rushing past the Mediterranean under a glorious blue sky towards my temporary life as a princess. I tightened my hands on Léon’s waist as he picked up speed. Still keeping close to the coast, we began to climb the hill leading to the Palace. The road twisted and turned, and I bent my body with Léon’s as we rounded each curve, sometimes leaning precariously towards the ground as it rushed past.
I was fascinated by the sea – such a bright blue, and so different from the grey, misty coast I was used to – and so it was a surprise when I glanced round Léon’s shoulder to see we were approaching the Cathedral. Of course. This is where the Investiture ceremony would take place in a few weeks’ time. My nerves began another shivering dance as we neared. It was a magnificent building, all pearly white bricks and ornate, rococo design. Not for the first time I began to doubt whether I could go through with the charade. I wondered if there were any way I could change my mind. For an instant, I would have given anything to be back in my cosy flat in Edinburgh, with the rain pattering on the window, a cup of tea beside me and a book in my hand. But there was no halting Léon. We zoomed past, and then another sight caused my jaw to drop and my nerves to redouble. Beyond the great courtyard in front of the Cathedral someone had erected an enormous placard where everyone on the road to the Palace would see it. There, in big red letters, were daubed the words:
A KING for a KINGdom. Tradition not ABOMINATION. Say NO to a Queen for Montverrier.
There was a rough painting of a crown with an angry cross through it. Léon must have sensed the tremor that ran through me and my hands tightening around him because he slowed, throwing a glance over his shoulder. His eyes met mine briefly, but then the road claimed his attention and soon we were speeding away again.
All my pleasure in my arrival in this hot, colourful country vanished as the Cathedral disappeared behind us. Mr Ross had insisted that my stay here would involve no danger, but whoever had erected that sign was impassioned and furious. I couldn’t believe a simple placard would be an end to the protest, and I began to wonder what had really happened to the Princess. Had she really just run away? Or was she being held captive by angry protesters until after the Ceremony? I pressed myself closer to Léon’s reassuringly solid frame, but my heart was pounding in my ears.
We were now on the wide avenue leading to the Palace, with rows of tall poplars reaching up on either side of us. At the far end of the avenue was the ornate ironwork fencing that surrounded the Palace gardens. Beyond, I could make out the vivid colours of an exotic flower display and a peacock strutting his way along the fence, for all the world like a miniature guard. On either side of the main gates, two soldiers dressed in white stood to attention. On their heads were white helmets plumed with gold, with the black of their guns the only jarring note.
Instead of approaching the main gates, Léon drove on, down past the side of the Palace gardens until we came to a smaller side gate, similarly guarded by soldiers. Léon halted beside them and reached into his leather jacket to pull out a battered document. The soldiers examined the paper and looked at me, their faces unsmiling. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since we passed the Cathedral. It took all my drama training to keep my face neutral and my hands steady on Léon’s waist, but then the soldiers were saluting and clicking their heels, and the gates to the Palace were opening.
Léon revved the engine, and we were inside the grounds of the Palace of Montverrier. I heard the gates shut behind me with a clang, like the doors to a prison.
Chapter Four
The Palace building is constructed from cream bricks and looks for all the world like a toy fort. I looked up to see the dark blue and gold stripes of the Montverrier flag hanging from one of its turrets, lifeless in the hot, still air. Mr Ross had only been able to give me a hurried briefing in the few days I’d had available, and up to now I’d seen just a handful of photos of the Palace. It was smaller than I’d expected, and more welcoming somehow, with its warm stones and flowers at the windows. My heart began to slow a little at the sight of it.
Léon brought the bike to a halt in a small forecourt to one side of the building. He dismounted first and reached out a hand to help me down. My legs were trembling, but I kept my fingers steady in his, reaching up my other hand to take off my helmet. He stopped me with a hand on my arm.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘We must go inside before you remove your helmet. There are too many windows looking down on the grounds.’
I looked up. He was right. There were literally hundreds of windows. Who knew what was behind them?
Léon pressed my arm. ‘Don’t be afraid. All will be well as long as you do exactly as I say.’
Far from reassuring me, his words reminded me that I was completely in his hands. It was an uncomfortable sensation for someone so used to independence, and I was reminded again how alone I was, and how far from the safety of home. When I didn’t answer, he continued ruefully, ‘I’m afraid from now on you will have to learn to trust me.’
He, too, was still wearing his helmet. All I could see were those dark eyes, which now seemed to reveal some kindness. I nodded.
‘Very good,’ he said. He took my arm. ‘Our housekeeper, Daria, is waiting to show you to your rooms.’
We entered a side-door to the Palace. Instead of the light, spacious interior I expected, I was surprised to find myself in a dark and rather shabby corridor. My footsteps echoed on the cream and grey tiles, but there was no time to look around, because a woman dressed from head to toe in black came hurrying down a flight of stairs to greet us.
Léon ushered me forward. ‘Lizzie, this is Daria.’
The housekeeper stretched out a pale hand. She had the whitest skin I’d ever seen, smooth and flawless, almost like a doll’s. She gripped my fingers once, claw-like, and released them. Her eyes, almost black in her pale face, swept over me, and I was filled with another sensation of foreboding.
I gave her a warm smile I was far from feeling. ‘Pleased to meet you, Daria.’
Daria nodded once, brusquely, and turned to speak to Léon in a language I didn’t understand. Montverrier is a country of two languages. The official language is French, and, as my mother was French, it’s a language I speak well. On the streets, though, the citizens of Montverrier speak their own dialect; a unique vocabulary found only in this tiny pocket between the mountains and the Mediterranean.
I could grasp nothing of Daria’s guttural comment. To be honest, I thought excluding me from the conversation was a little rude. So, evidently, did Léon. He answered Daria in French, and I gathered we were to avoid the main entrance by taking the servants’ stairs to the Princess’s suite, which was to be mine for the next five weeks.
Daria led the way, with Léon bringing up the rear. He’d r
elieved me of my rucksack and slung it over his own strong shoulder, something I was to be glad of, as there were three steep flights of stairs to climb before we reached the door to the Princess’s suite. Daria pushed it open, and I stifled a gasp of delight. Unlike the servants’ stairs, the room we entered was light and airy, with three tall windows opening out onto a balcony. I wanted to see more closely the beautiful gardens Léon had hurried past, and the avenue of poplars, and so straightaway I made a beeline for the view.
Léon had stopped to speak to the housekeeper. Now he said sharply, ‘Stay away from the window, Lizzie.’ I halted, taken aback, and gave him an astonished look. ‘Don’t put yourself anywhere where someone might catch a glimpse of you,’ he said. ‘Not even when the make-up artists have done their work, and you begin to look like the Princess. We can’t take any risks at all before the ceremony. You must get used to keeping yourself as much out of the way as possible.’
I turned to give a longing look through the window. All I could see from this part of the room was the blue sky meeting the tops of the poplars. Was this to be the whole of my contact with the outside world for the next five weeks? A bird flew past, a dark speck on the blue, and the sight of its freedom brought home to me everything I would be giving up. But I straightened my shoulders. I was being paid to do a job, and I intended to perform it to the best of my ability. And, unlike the Princess, at least I could return to normal life at the end of it.
Daria stepped into the room, her heels rapping on the parquet floor. ‘Léon is right, Miss Smith. From now until the ceremony you must remain in these rooms. No one will be allowed to enter unless escorted by Léon or myself.’
Of course it made sense to keep myself apart from the rest of the Palace. The risk of discovery was too great. Still, I couldn’t prevent a feeling of dismay at being cooped up in this suite for weeks, whilst the sun beat down so gloriously outside my window.
The housekeeper went on, ‘The staff have been told that Princess Charlotte is keeping to her suite until the Investiture. They believe she is suffering from a nervous disorder, and that doctors have prescribed complete rest. It’s vital that no one here discovers you are not the real Princess.’
‘And what if Princess Charlotte returns before the ceremony?’ I asked.
Daria gave a small, tight shrug. ‘If Her Royal Highness returns, all well and good. You will go home, and Princess Charlotte will take part in the ceremony herself.’
What a strange reply! The Princess’s return would be “all well and good.” It seemed an indifferent comment from someone who should surely be desperate for the Princess’s safety. My eyes were on Daria’s, but she merely gazed back at me coldly.
‘And the King?’ I asked.
‘The King is far too unwell to leave his room in the hospital.’ The chill in Daria’s expression dropped another degree. ‘We must pray that the King does not die before the Princess has been crowned next-in-line. If he does, it will leave the throne empty and – ’
She broke off. Finally, she had shown some emotion. What was it she was afraid of? I remembered the angry words daubed outside the Cathedral. Just how dangerous were the protesters? My eyes flew to Léon, standing in the doorway. Beside the forbidding housekeeper, his presence was solid and reassuring.
His eyes met mine. ‘You have nothing to fear, Lizzie.’
The tension left my shoulders. There was something uncomplicated about Léon that drew my trust. And after all, what could happen to me in a Palace so well guarded?
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘And now I’d like to ask you both a favour. Please don’t think of me as Lizzie Smith. I’d like you to start addressing me as you would the Princess.’ I smiled, indicating my travel-stained jeans and flat pumps. ‘It might seem strange to you, when I’m dressed like this, but I need to immerse myself in my role.’
Léon nodded and gave a small bow of his head. ‘Very well, Your Highness.’
I was taken aback by the promptness of his response, and so I almost missed the remarkable change in Daria’s features. Her eyes flashed fury. I thought for a split second I must have imagined it. What could possibly have caused such anger? Even after her expression returned to its blank chill, her cheeks remained mottled with red.
After a short pause, she said, ‘Very good.’ And then, after another telling hesitation, ‘Your Highness.’
I tried to hide my dismay. I had no wish to provoke a quarrel. Over the housekeeper’s shoulder, Léon continued to look at me, straight faced. And then one corner of his mouth lifted in a brief smile and, unbelievably, he gave me a reassuring wink.
It was such an unexpected response, I almost choked on a laugh. I turned it adroitly into a cough, putting my fingers over my lips.
‘You must be thirsty after your journey,’ Daria said. ‘I will bring you a tray of coffee and biscuits. Would there be anything else?’ Another pause, before she added through thin lips, ‘Your Highness?’
I shook my head. ‘No, thank you, Daria. Some coffee would be lovely.’
Léon opened the door, and the housekeeper’s heels tapped away down the corridor. My bodyguard waited, head on one side, until the sound of footsteps had completely disappeared. Then he said quietly, ‘You mustn’t mind Daria. She’s devoted to Princess Charlotte. She will find it hard to see someone else in her place.’
I chewed my lip. This was an unexpected complication. I hoped Daria wouldn’t make my time here even more difficult than it already was.
Léon remained in the doorway, hands by his sides, his helmet tucked under one arm. Several seconds ticked past, and I wondered what on earth he was waiting for. Finally he broke into the glimmer of a smile. ‘I’m sure you want to rest and freshen up, Your Highness. But I can’t leave the room until you give me permission to do so.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You may go.’ I tried to answer in the way the real Princess would have done, but the words were awkward, and I felt my cheeks go pink. It was all very well asking Léon to think of me as the Princess, but I still had no idea how to act like one. ‘Oh, dear,’ I said, falling back into my natural manner. ‘I have a lot to learn, don’t I?’
The look on Léon’s face told me all I needed to know. There were barely five weeks until the ceremony. Five weeks had seemed like a long time to be away from home, but now it seemed not nearly enough to learn everything.
After Léon had gone, I gazed around the room that was to be both my home and prison for the next five weeks. It was elegantly furnished, but there wasn’t much sign of the Princess’s personal presence. The furnishings were a mixture of the antique – a silk-covered chaise-longue and a walnut cabinet – and the bland – a few official photos of the royal family, and a couple of landscapes of Montverrier on the walls. Not much to go on for a guess at Princess Charlotte’s personality, or for a clue to her whereabouts.
I thought again of the angry placard we’d passed on the journey to the Palace. I hoped wherever the Princess was, that she was in no danger. And, more than anything, I hoped she would return safe and well in time for the ceremony.
Chapter Five
After finishing my coffee I showered and changed into a pale blue summer dress I pulled out of my rucksack. There was an enormous wardrobe in the Princess’s suite. I’d opened it briefly and discovered row upon row of dresses carefully stored in plastic wrappers. One wall was devoted to shoes and handbags, all of exquisite quality. In the bedroom there was a smaller wardrobe filled with other less formal wear; capri pants and flowing cotton skirts, t-shirts and silk scarves.
After unpacking the meagre belongings in my rucksack and hanging them next to the Princess’s collection of finery, I wondered what to do next. There was a bookcase in the sitting-room, filled with the latest best-sellers, and a rack full of magazines, but I was too on edge to concentrate on reading. I was just wondering if it would be all right to move a little closer to the window and look outside – I could peek out from behind the curtain, surely? – when a knock at the door
almost made me jump out of my skin.
I opened it to find Léon. He’d changed out of the biker leathers and was wearing dark trousers and a white t-shirt. I’d thought him slender when we first met, and that his torso was bulked out by his leathers, but even without his thick biker jacket his chest was broad and hard. A tattoo was just visible beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. I was so struck by the change in him it was an instant before I realised there were two other people standing behind him.
‘These are your hairdressers, Your Highness.’
I pulled the door wide to let in two rather serious-looking, fresh-faced young men, very different from my stubble-chinned, chatty hairdresser at home. They entered in silence, without greeting me, and I showed them to the Princess’s enormous bathroom. As they set up their tools, I returned to the sitting-room to find Léon had taken a seat on one of the silk-covered sofas and was waiting, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Mindful of what he’d told me earlier, about having to wait for the Princess to give him permission to leave, I said, ‘There’s no need for you to stay, Léon. You may go, if you wish.’
He looked at me, in that steady way he had that I was coming to recognise. ‘As long as there are other people in your suite, I stay with you. And you must never, ever allow anyone into these rooms unless I’m present. Do you understand?’
I understood only too well the importance of remaining hidden. Even so, I felt an irrational desire to protest, to tell Léon he was making me feel like I was a prisoner, and he the gaoler. Still, I couldn’t afford to let myself descend into claustrophobia. There were still weeks until the ceremony. I turned on my heels to join the waiting hairdressers.
Chapter Six
After leaving drama college I’d played a few lead roles in the theatre, as well as one or two parts on television. I’d been sprayed green and given warts for the Wicked Witch of the West, worn a bump as a pregnant teenager, and even had my head shaved for a role as cancer patient in a hospital soap. All these were nothing, though, to the transformation I was about to undergo.
Palace of Deception: A Romantic Suspense Novella Page 2
