I paused the video and turned to face Léon. ‘Léon, what do you think is going on here in the Palace?’ I asked him. ‘I mean, the real truth?’
He dropped his hands to his sides and looked at me. ‘My job is to protect you on the day of the ceremony. No harm will come to you whilst I am your bodyguard. Trust me.’
There was a dark, serious light in Léon’s eyes as he spoke. I nodded slowly. I did trust him. I did believe he would try his utmost to keep me from harm. It was only later that night, as I lay awake watching a few wisps of cloud drift past the moon through my window, that I realised Léon hadn’t really answered my question. What did he know about what was going on in the rest of the Palace? It was true he was there to protect me on the day of the ceremony. But it was also true that he made sure I never left my suite, and that I spoke to no one unless he or Daria authorised it.
The clouds sailed past outside my window, leaving a glorious night sky behind them, black as jade, and sprinkled with a thousand stars. It was a sky such as I never saw in my northern city, and despite its splendour, as I gazed on it, I was overwhelmed with longing for home.
Chapter Ten
It’s strange how quickly a person can become accustomed to new surroundings. Within a few days of my arrival, I had fallen into a routine every bit as regular as my motorbike ride to work each day through the streets of Edinburgh. It helped that Léon was as punctual and as reliable as the soldiers outside the Palace, who paraded in the grounds every day at twelve o’clock on the dot, the sergeant’s commands penetrating even the thick plate windows to my suite.
One morning, a week or so after I arrived, I entered the sitting-room to find Léon engrossed in a book. I must have expressed surprise, as up until then I’d never seen him reading.
He rose from the breakfast table as I entered, his expression a little bashful. ‘I don’t normally read when I’m working. Books are too much of a distraction. I become involved in a story, and I lose concentration.’ He glanced around the suite. ‘But here, I know you are safe in your bedroom during the night. No one can get to you except through this room. I can relax.’
‘Oh, Léon,’ I said, feeling guilty. ‘And now I’m awake, and I’ve spoiled all your pleasure in your book.’
He shook his head, drawing out a chair for me. ‘It’s no matter. My book will always be there.’
‘What are you reading?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s a Roman military history.’
I was touched to find he was a little embarrassed. Perhaps he thought I might mock his interest, but I was curious to know what he found so fascinating.
‘Really? Have you always been interested in that time in history?’
And so Léon began to tell me how he’d stood inside the ruins of the Coliseum in Rome with his Italian mother as a teenager, and how he’d wondered about the might of an Empire that could build such a magnificent building two thousand years ago and send armies across the world. He’d started devouring anything to do with Roman history, and especially to do with their military. He was fascinated by their efficiency and organisation.
‘Do you know they conquered most of the countries around the Mediterranean, but they never conquered Montverrier?’
I poured myself a coffee, shaking my head. ‘Why not, I wonder? Surely the tiny army of Montverrier couldn’t withstand the might of Rome?’
‘No. It wasn’t military might that kept out the Romans. It was a trick.’
I looked up, my attention caught. ‘A trick? What sort of trick?’
‘The only way the Romans could invade Montverrier was by sea, since the mountains provide too difficult an obstacle. But even a fleet of Roman ships travels slowly. The fishermen of Montverrier knew in advance that the soldiers were approaching. There was time for the people to prepare. The Romans landed, expecting at least some resistance, and found a country of walking dead.’
I spluttered and swallowed my coffee. ‘What a fantastical tale,’ I said. ‘Do you mean zombies?’
He smiled. ‘Yes. In a way. The country’s elders met the Romans on the beach and told them to go back. They said that all their crops and drinking water had been cursed, and the spirits sucked out of the citizens by malevolent gods. Of course the Romans suspected a trick. They sent a party into the King of Montverrier’s palace. Once there, they met with no resistance. Everywhere the soldiers went, the citizens shuffled past them, dressed in rags, their skin blue, their eyes vacant. It must have been a chilling sight, but it didn’t stop the Roman army. They helped themselves to whatever they wanted: women, gold, wine, food. Until finally they, too, became walking corpses.’
I opened my eyes wide. ‘Now you’re kidding me. Did this really happen?’
He chuckled at my reaction. ‘Yes, really. The citizens had tricked them. The wine the soldiers stole was poisoned. There is a root that grows in the mountains that has a powerful effect on the mind. If you eat it, you lose consciousness of your own surroundings, and yet your body remains active. Of course, the people of Montverrier knew better than to eat the drug themselves. It can be fatal. They simply put on an act.’ Here Léon stood and walked a few paces towards me, his eyes white and rolling, his arms limp by his sides. It was such a convincing performance, I drew back involuntarily in my chair.
‘Stop it, Léon!’
He laughed and sat down again to continue his story. ‘Once the poison began to take effect, the elders herded the soldiers back to the waiting fleet. They stumbled along, blind to everything around them. The elders told the rest of the Roman army, “Look! Your soldiers have fallen foul of the gods, as we warned you they would. You must leave, now, before your own souls are sucked from your bodies.” It must have been a terrifying sight, all those years ago. Hundreds of men, eyes vacant, not knowing their comrades. The Romans who’d remained on board ship gathered them all in and fled back to Rome, as fast as they could.’
‘What an amazing story! And you’re such a good story-teller, Léon. It’s no wonder your Swiss charges wanted you to read to them. Your zombie gave me chills down my spine. You should be an actor.’
It made me smile to see Léon blush with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ he said gravely. The twinkle in his eye undermined his serious tone, and I laughed out loud.
‘If the people here are so full of tricks, I see I must be on my guard in Montverrier,’ I said. Then I sobered quickly, and glanced up at Léon. ‘That’s an amazing story, about the Romans. That all the people of a country could act together in such a cool fashion, and pull the wool over the eyes of an entire invading army. I can’t believe the men of Montverrier just stood back when the soldiers came and let them take what they want, including the women. It seems a little bit chilling.’
Léon put his head on one side, considering. ‘That’s true,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’s a small country, and the people have always had to rely on cunning rather than strength.’ Then he glanced at me teasingly, changing the subject. ‘And in any case, what about Scotland? The Romans never invaded your country, either. In fact, they were so frightened of you, they had to build a big wall to keep you out.’
I laughed at this, and when Léon asked me to describe my home, I began to wax lyrical about the Castle and King Arthur’s Seat, and the views to the sea, and the road up the coast to the Highlands. I painted such a homesick picture of Edinburgh, and Léon was so fascinated by all I had to tell him, that it came as a shock when Daria entered to take away our breakfast things. We broke apart almost guiltily.
Daria’s black, beady eyes darted between us, and I felt my cheeks go crimson, as though she’d caught Léon and me in a passionate embrace, which was ridiculous. We’d only been talking. I rose to my feet and kept my voice as cool as I could.
‘Good morning, Daria. Thank you for the breakfast.’
Léon stood when I did. Unlike me, he seemed completely unflustered by Daria’s entrance. He moved away to the window.
Daria began stacking the breakfast things. ‘What
news of the Princess?’ I asked her.
Her eyes darted towards me and away. ‘Nothing. Our people are still searching. You have a speech expert coming this morning. Mr Ross has arranged it. What time shall I send him to you?’ Then she added as an afterthought, ‘Your Highness.’
I knew perfectly well that a speech master would be visiting that morning. It was all part of the schedule I’d discussed with Mr Ross. It was on the tip of my tongue to say so to Daria, but then I gave a mental shrug. The housekeeper seemed determined to cling to her passive aggressive manner, and confrontation wouldn’t help us in the few weeks remaining.
‘Send him up in half an hour,’ I said coolly. ‘Thank you, Daria.’
I turned to go to my room to get dressed. Léon was leaning back against the wall, his expression blank, but as I passed he gave me an approving nod.
Chapter Eleven
After watching hour after hour of video clips, I had mastered the Princess’s movements and mannerisms well enough to pass scrutiny on the drive to and from the Cathedral. I knew exactly how to hold my head erect, how to lean forwards as I offered the crowds a smile and a wave, how to mount the Cathedral stairs with a light step, my back straight and my chin just lifted. Even the Princess’s own father would need to look closely in order to tell the difference between us.
There was now just the little matter of the ceremony itself. The Archbishop of Montverrier would do most of the speaking during the service. The Princess had only a few lines to say, before and immediately after the Archbishop placed the crown on her head, but her every word would be relayed to the crowds outside and scrutinised across the world. Mr Ross had organised a speech expert to ensure that when the Princess’s voice crackled over the speakers outside the Cathedral, no trace of plain Lizzie Smith from Edinburgh would be heard.
Dr Graham was brought to my door by Daria. He was a man of around sixty, with a full head of grey, fluffy hair and eyes like an owl’s behind steel glasses. Ironically, for a man who was an expert in speech, he barely said a word in conversation during his time with me. Another one of Mr Ross’s team of silent staff, I guessed.
Dr Graham brought with him a disk containing samples from the few occasions where Princess Charlotte’s voice had been recorded. Before attempting the Princess’s voice for myself, I sat in silence, listening over and over again as the professor played back her clear vowels and precise consonants. As an actress, I’m used to projecting feeling in my speech. After listening to the Princess time and again, one thing struck me forcibly. Her voice contained no emotion at all. On first hearing the disk, I put this down to nerves. Perhaps Princess Charlotte was shy of speaking, and had merely learned her speeches off by heart, forgetting that she was addressing real people. But the more I listened, the more I began to wonder. When a speaker is nervous, there will be a tell-tale tremor in the voice, a hesitation, or sometimes a stifled giggle. The Princess’s voice was completely steady, and completely cold.
“I’m delighted to be here at the Royal Children’s Society…”
“As patron of the Montverrier Ballet, I was deeply moved by your performance…”
And, most chilling of all, “It is with great sadness that we remember today the Queen, my mother…”
I began to wonder what this young woman could be like, whose voice was so empty of emotion, even when she spoke of the death of her own mother. It was one of the most difficult voices I’d ever had to mimic, and I struggled. As I repeated the words of the ceremony for Dr Graham, I couldn’t help but inject some feeling into them.
“I, Charlotte, Princess of Montverrier, do declare my loyalty, and life and limb I will devote unto you…”
The professor would pick me up time and time again. ‘No, no, no. I hear Lizzie Smith from Edinburgh. Get rid of your own emotions and become the Princess.’
In the end, I decided the best thing to do was to recite the words as though I were relaying a shopping list over the phone. That way, I could be sure they were precise, and yet devoid of any feeling.
Mastering the Princess’s speech patterns was hard work and took longer than I’d anticipated. It took several days of endless repetition of the words of the ceremony before Dr Graham was satisfied enough with my progress, days in which I became increasingly frustrated with myself, and with my situation. As I immersed myself more and more in my role, the walls of the Princess’s suite closed in on me, leaving me feeling stifled and a little afraid of the cold, unfeeling creature I was becoming.
Through it all, I was glad of Léon’s steadying presence.
Chapter Twelve
My days transforming myself into the Princess were full of intense concentration. The evenings, though, were a different matter. After Dr Graham had left for the day, and Daria had removed the remains of our dinner, Léon and I would be left alone in the Princess’s suite. There was no outside entertainment for us. No wifi, and not even a television. I would have liked to have watched the news, at least, in order to find out how things were in Montverrier, and whether the protesters had taken any other action apart from putting up the placard. In my first week at the Palace, I’d asked Daria if it would be possible to have a radio.
The housekeeper had put on her most contemptuous expression. ‘There is no need to concern yourself with outside events, Your Highness. You must focus on your role in the ceremony. Everything else is a distraction.’
My sudden plunge into isolation had badly affected my spirits. I lost my temper a little. ‘Says who?’ I asked. ‘Who has the right to decide all this, and tell me how I can and can’t approach my job?’
She raised her brows. ‘I have my instructions, Your Highness.’
‘Who from?’ I insisted.
There was the merest hesitation. Daria dropped her gaze from mine and resumed her task of clearing the plates from the table. ‘Mr Ross believes it’s better for you to have no outside influences.’
‘Mr Ross?’ I stared at Daria. This was the first I’d heard of it. When we drew up our schedule together, Mr Ross had mentioned nothing to me about having to cut myself off from all news of the outside world.
I glanced over at Léon, but he merely shrugged, as though he knew no more than I did. I opened my mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps if I saw reports of bad feeling against the Princess, it would disturb my concentration, and make me even more anxious about the ceremony.
In any case, there was nothing I could do to move Daria, and so in the evenings, Léon and I were left in silence. For the first week or so, I leafed through the Princess’s collection of novels and tried to read, but my mind was coiled and alert. I was unable to concentrate, and found myself reading and re-reading the same pages. When I finally put my book down one evening and heaved a sigh, Léon glanced up from his Roman history.
‘What is it, Your Highness?’
‘I just don’t know what to do with myself, Léon. I can’t sit still to read. My mind is jumping like a flea in a circus.’
He rose from the table and went to the long walnut cabinet against one wall, where he proceeded to open one of its doors. To my surprise, he pulled out a chess board and a mahogany box of pieces.
‘Chess?’ I cried in dismay. ‘If I can’t even read a book, I’ll never be able to concentrate long enough for a whole game of chess.’
‘Nonsense.’ Léon set the board on a small side table and began calmly setting out the pieces. ‘Chess is wonderful for focusing the mind.’
And so, reluctantly, I took up a place opposite him and begun studying the board. It was a long time since I’d played. My father taught me when I was just a child, but I hadn’t played since he died. My father’s old, battered set was nothing like as ornate as the Princess’s. I picked up each marble piece one by one and examined it curiously. All the figures were foxes, and each one was a work of art. The king was ferocious and snarling, and his queen a cunning vixen. Even the pawns were intimidating cubs, brandishing swords. I found the whole set a
little disquieting, like everything else in Montverrier.
Still, I pushed forward one of the pawns, and we began to play. It didn’t take long for me to realise that Léon was a worthy opponent. He applied the same cool concentration to the game as he did to his job as bodyguard. I found myself studying his face, instead of the game; the way he rested his chin on one fist; the small frown that puckered his brow, and the long, dark lashes that hooded his eyes as he gazed at the board. His physique was strong and spoke of action, but his movements were surprisingly contained. There was even something graceful in the way he leaned forward to lift a piece in his long fingers. I became so engrossed in watching Léon, that first evening we played, that I lost the game within a very few moves.
The next evening was different. Léon had been lulled into a false sense of security by my lapse in concentration. I was playing white, and he blocked all my advances with a routine set of play that was easy to predict. When I left a path open to my queen, he took it with his rook in a swift move, glancing up at me as though disappointed in my lack of skill.
I pretended to be cast down at my failure to protect my vital piece. I studied the board, my chin resting on both my hands.
‘Oh, dear,’ I said. ‘How stupid of me to expose my queen like that.’ I frowned and pushed forward a knight, into the path of Léon’s king. ‘But just a minute,’ I asked, feigning innocence. ‘Isn’t that….checkmate?’
I lifted my head, blinking.
Léon stared at the board in astonishment. Then he laughed out loud. ‘You little devil.’
It was the first time I’d seen Léon laugh. His eyes met mine, alight with amusement. His serious mouth spread wide in a smile that transformed him, showing gleaming white teeth and deepening the laughter lines running down his cheeks. All the stiffness left him, and his chest rumbled with mirth.
My eyes were drawn to his mouth and the curve of his lips. I don’t know how long I stared at him; it could have been just an instant, or whole minutes. Time seemed to stand still. All of a sudden I realised he was no longer smiling.
Palace of Deception: A Romantic Suspense Novella Page 4
