‘It’s getting late, Your Highness,’ he said quietly. A faint flush crept over his cheeks. He dropped his eyes at last and began picking up the heavy chess pieces and replacing them in their box. ‘Tomorrow will be another long day.’
I stood then. ‘Good night, Léon.’
‘Good night, Your Highness.’ Léon didn’t stand, as he usually did whenever I left the room. He didn’t look up, either, but kept his eyes on his task, placing the pieces carefully one by one in their velvet box.
After I’d got ready for bed and was lying awake, shifting restlessly, that night, more than any other, I was conscious of Léon’s presence in the suite. I heard him go into the bathroom, and then a little while later, I heard his footsteps retreat to the sitting-room. I pictured him lying on his uncomfortable sofa and wondered what thoughts went through his head in the darkness, before he fell asleep. Was he lying alert, ready to prevent anyone entering the room? By this time, we’d been thrown together a long time. I realised how little I knew of him.
I realised, too, that after all this was over I’d miss Léon’s quiet, gentle presence very much.
Chapter Thirteen
Five weeks is a very long time to be cooped up in one suite of rooms, no matter how luxurious the furnishings. Léon must have been more resilient than I. Nothing seemed to trouble him. He was able to remain perfectly calm and still for hours at a stretch. Every day when I woke he greeted me in the same easy manner, and yet I, on the other hand, became increasingly restless as the weeks wore on, to the point some days of wanting to run to the door, wrest it open and race down the corridor, screaming my way to freedom.
The lack of physical exercise was also a strain on my mental state. I walked up and down the long sitting-room every day, practising my role as the Princess, but this was a slow stroll, on light footsteps, and I missed the vigorous work-out to be gained from a brisk stride up Arthur’s Seat back home in Edinburgh. In the mornings, before breakfast, I practised yoga in my bedroom in order to keep my limbs supple. Caught up in my own isolation as I was, selfishly I hadn’t stopped to consider how even more restricting these four walls must be for a man like Léon.
One morning I woke much earlier than usual, in the throes of a terrible nightmare. I’d dreamt I was walking up the steps of the Cathedral, with the hot sun blazing down on my head. The crowds were silent, radiating malevolence. As I turned to give them the Princess’s wave, they began to jeer and boo. And then, in that way there is in dreams sometimes, there was the real Princess, dressed in jeans and a shirt, standing on the steps in front of me. She lifted her head, and the look in her eyes was one of such ice-cold rage I woke in horror, my heart beating like a drum.
I rolled out of bed without thinking, hoping Léon’s down-to earth presence would banish the fear brought on by my over-active imagination, but I’d forgotten how early it still was. I pushed open the door to the sitting-room and found Léon stretched out on the polished floor, dressed only in his shorts. His hands were behind his head, and he was lifting himself off the ground in a set of rapid push-ups. His eyes were half-closed in concentration, and he hadn’t noticed me enter. I stood for a moment, my hand on the door frame. Léon’s legs were tanned and muscular, and his thighs bulged and lifted with each lift of his torso. My eyes were drawn to his tight stomach, rippling with strain, and then to the beads of moisture on his chest that mingled with the sprinkling of hairs.
I wrenched my gaze away, beating a swift, silent retreat to my bedroom. Then I lay on my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, the pounding in my heart sounding in my ears. It was a long time before the image of Léon’s physical exertion left my head. Even when I closed my eyes, the sight was imprinted on my retina. The tattoo on his arm – the one just visible beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt – was of a stylised bird in flight. I saw it rising and falling, the wings beating with the flexing of his muscles.
Eventually I threw myself into a few yoga poses to calm myself, and my caged thoughts settled. All that day, though, I remained on edge. My dream, and the four walls around me, oppressed me beyond all endurance. When Léon pulled out the chess board for our game later that night, I leapt to my feet.
‘Léon, how can you stand it?’ I cried. ‘I don’t think I can bear another moment cooped up in here. I need to feel some sun on my skin. Breathe in some fresh air. Get out of this stifling room. Anything!’
Léon just stood there, his face grave as usual. He made me feel as though I were a child having a tantrum, and in fact I would have liked nothing better than to run at him and beat his chest until he felt the same agony I did. I breathed in and out slowly, but the walls of the suite were crowding in on me, and I lifted my hands to my head, almost moaning aloud.
‘Is it really so bad?’ Léon came towards me and pulled down my hands, holding them in his own.
I nodded miserably. His strong fingers pressed mine, and he leaned closer. For a breath-taking moment, I thought he was about to hold me in his arms, but then he stepped back, my hands still in his, and looked at me, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Well, there’s no sunshine,’ he said, lifting his head in the direction of the window, where the curtains were drawn against the night. ‘But how about some fresh air?’
I brightened, my lips parting in anticipation. ‘Really? How?’
‘We could take a couple of cushions and sit outside on the balcony. Just this once.’
It’s a measure of how desperate I was to escape the Princess’s suite that even this small freedom made me draw in my breath in a gasp.
‘But you must be quiet as a mouse,’ Léon warned.
I pulled my hand out of his to put a finger to my lips. ‘You won’t hear a sound, I promise.’
I ran to my room to fetch a cardigan to throw over my shoulders. I realised I had never been out after dark in Montverrier. I’d arrived in blazing sunshine. What would the temperature outside be like at night? Hot and sultry? A fresh breeze from the sea? Perhaps it sounds ridiculous, but I was coiled up with excitement at this small step outdoors. By the time I returned, Léon had thrown open the balcony doors and switched off all the lights in the sitting-room, so that we wouldn’t be seen. I stumbled as I entered, my eyes not used to the dark, and started when he caught my arm.
‘Ssh,’ he said, his voice a whisper against my cheek.
He led me to the door to the balcony and made me crouch down as we stepped over the sill. I stifled a giggle. It felt as though we were escaping the school dormitory. Léon had set a few cushions against the stone balustrade. He guided me down, so that I was sitting out of sight, with my back against the cool stone. I had no need of my cardigan. The evening air was warm and still.
He bent to whisper in my ear. ‘Look up.’
I tilted my head. A full moon hung above the roof of the Palace, bathing us in a cool glow. All around, twinkling and dancing, were layer upon layer of stars, stretching away into infinity. It was as though we were suspended alone above the city, with nothing to prevent us floating up and plunging our hands right into the middle of the Milky Way. I breathed in the warm air from the sea and felt drunk with exhilaration.
I turned to Léon, and saw my own shining eyes reflected in his. ‘Thank you,’ I breathed.
Chapter Fourteen
Léon’s eyes darkened, shimmering wide and midnight black. The moon bathed his face, highlighting the planes and angles, and leaving his mouth a firm, carved line. He leaned towards me, reaching out a hand to settle my cardigan more securely around my shoulders. His fingers brushed my neck, and I shivered.
‘You’re not used to the evening air,’ he said, his voice a murmur. ‘Perhaps we should go back inside. Daria would never forgive me if you caught a chill.’
‘No,’ I said in a firm whisper. ‘If I go back inside that room again, it will kill me. Please, Léon.’
He nodded. ‘Very well. Just a little while longer.’
And so we sat there in silence, the two of us, and this escape into the night, sitting side
by side with Léon, listening to the faint heartbeat of the city and the murmur of the sea – this brief escape was one of the happiest moments of my entire life.
I brought my knees up and rested my hands on top of them, leaning back against the stone wall of the balcony. I don’t know how long we sat there. Neither of us felt the need to speak. Occasionally Léon shifted position, stretching his legs out in front of him. I heard his steady breathing, and the flap of a bird’s wings overhead, and time seemed to stand still. Perhaps I even began to drift into sleep. I had the impression we were riding in the basket of a balloon in the night sky, far above the world, away from all tension and stress. For the first time since I’d arrived in Montverrier, my mind was completely relaxed.
And then a new noise drifted upwards from the city. A staccato splutter, repeated three or four times. Léon shot bolt upright.
‘Oh, fireworks,’ I said. ‘How lovely. Such a shame we can’t stand and watch – ’
He hauled me to my feet in a flash, pressing his hand on my back so that I remained crouching. ‘Get inside.’
There was the distant whir of an engine approaching. Léon bundled me over the sill of the balcony and pushed me into the sitting-room, closing the thick plate door after him. Then he dragged me by the hand and forced me down on one of the sofas, with its back to the windows. I could see nothing except the silk cushions.
‘Stay there.’ His eyes were wide and fixed on the sky outside.
The engine’s rumble grew louder, and I recognised the clatter of a helicopter’s blades. My heart began to race, thumping in hard, tiny beats against my rib-cage.
‘What’s happening?’ I kept my voice to a whisper, even though the doors were shut. Léon didn’t answer, and so I tried to sit, to lift my head over the back of the sofa, but he pressed down again on my shoulders.
‘Stay where you are,’ he said.
As he spoke, the roar of the helicopter grew nearer, and then the room was filled with a harsh white light. The noise of the whirling blades grew so loud, it seemed the helicopter must be hovering right outside our window, over the very place where we’d been sitting. I gripped the cushions. Léon’s hand continued to squeeze my shoulder, steady and reassuring.
And then, as quickly as it had come, the helicopter vanished, the sound of its engine drifting away over the sea. The sitting-room was plunged into darkness again, and the only sound was my own rapid breathing and my pulse thrumming in my ears. Léon released his grip on my shoulder and stood, his eyes still fixed on the window.
‘What was that?’ I asked. My voice was breathless with fear.
‘Nothing to worry about. A police helicopter.’
‘But why?’ My mind raced back to the noise I’d thought was fireworks. ‘Was there shooting in the city?’
He met my gaze, obviously not wanting to cause me anxiety, but I caught hold of his arm. ‘Léon! Tell me.’
He nodded reluctantly. ‘Those were gunshots we heard. Not fireworks.’ He released his arm gently from my fingers. ‘I must speak with the Palace security.’
I thought he meant to leave the room, and had to bite my tongue to stop myself from begging him not to leave me alone, but instead he made his way to the cupboard in one corner of the sitting-room where he kept his own belongings. He drew out a slim hand-held device, and was about to speak into it, when there was a short rap on the door that almost made me leap out of my goose-fleshed skin. Before Léon could get to it, the door opened, and Daria stood in the doorway. Although it was late at night, she looked neat as ever in her black suit. Her face was white as marble in the dark of the room, and her black eyes flicked from Léon and back to me.
Chapter Fifteen
Daria’s gaze flew to the window, where the moonlight flooded in, pooling in great silver rectangles on the polished wooden floor. We had left the curtains drawn back in our haste to get inside. Without saying a word, she marched over to close them. With her hand on the cord pull, she stopped stock still for a moment. Her attention was caught by the cushions, lying scattered on the balcony floor where we’d left them. She breathed in, with a sound like a hiss, and pulled the curtains shut. Without the moon’s light to illuminate it, the shadowy room was plunged into darkness, but the housekeeper appeared to have the sight of a bat. A couple of seconds later, she switched on the lamp on the desk, and her white face appeared out of the gloom.
Again her eyes darted from Léon to me. ‘You will have heard the helicopter, Your Highness,’ she said. ‘There is no need for alarm. A routine search of the city before the ceremony.’
‘We heard gunfire,’ I said.
‘There were no guns. Some yachts have arrived in the harbour. The people have begun celebrating with fireworks. I’m sorry if they disturbed you.’
I looked at Léon quickly. He was standing immobile, his arms crossed over his chest. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, or whether he believed Daria or not.
‘What about the protesters?’ I insisted. ‘I know there are people in Montverrier who are against the Princess. Is there fighting in the city? Has she been found? Does anyone have any idea where she is?’
Daria’s face was as cold and eerie as the moon had been. ‘There is no need for you to concern yourself. Your job is to take part in the ceremony, where you will be well guarded.’ She turned her attention to Léon. ‘And your job is to make sure Miss Smith sees no one until she leaves the Palace. No one, do you understand? Even stepping onto the balcony is too great a risk.’
I caught the reddening in Léon’s cheeks, even in the dim light cast by the lamp. It was a reprimand, but he took it calmly, merely bowing his head once.
Daria turned to me. ‘There are only a few more days until the ceremony. You must get some rest.’ Then she added tightly, as though against the grain, ‘You have worked hard, Your Highness.’
She made her way to the door. I waited for a few seconds after she’d closed it, then I looked at Léon. ‘Do you believe her? Were they really only fireworks?’
‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged off the question and moved so that he was standing close to me, his expression serious. ‘You did very well this evening, Your Highness. You showed no fear, and you did as I said. As long as I am your bodyguard, whatever happens during the ceremony, no harm will come to you. Do you trust me?’
A lump rose in my throat. It wasn’t the first time Léon had asked me this question. I was afraid, but I nodded.
‘I trust you.’
Our eyes held for a few moments. I didn’t know it then, but it was a statement I would come to regret bitterly.
Chapter Sixteen
I had been willing these five weeks away, but now, as the day of the ceremony approached, perversely I wanted time to linger. My nerves were jittery. It didn’t help that Mr Ross’s team of silent make-up artists came back to prepare me, reapplying the tan which had begun to fade during my confinement, freshening up my manicure and retouching the roots of my blonde bob. Their lack of conversation unnerved me.
A couple of days before the Investiture, the housekeeper brought someone new with her – a designer to fit my dress. I’d been most anxious about practising walking in ceremonial robes, and had had visions of having to support a long, heavy ermine cloak and an enormous crown, like the one worn by Princess Elizabeth during her coronation. Daria had informed me that I had no need to worry about managing stiff robes; that my dress would be quite simple.
I was surprised to find that the designer, a small, fussing man who spoke as little as everyone else I’d been in contact with, brought with him just a cloth carrying case and a small bag. We retired to my bedroom for the fitting. I stepped into the gown – a long, flowing, simple dress in fine white silk, cinched tightly at the bodice and fastened with tiny buttons in the shape of rose-buds.
The designer clapped his hands together in appreciation of his own handiwork, walking round me several times, tugging here and adjusting there.
‘A little tuck here,’ he muttered to himself, ins
erting a couple of tiny pins in the fabric either side of my waist.
He drew a pair of matching silk slippers out of the bag and placed them on my feet. And then, last of all, the crown, which I wouldn’t wear until the Archbishop placed it on my head during the ceremony.
I held my head quite still as the designer fitted it into position. The crown was surprisingly light; more like a tiara than the cumbersome affair I’d expected. It was fashioned out of gold strands, spun together in the form of flowers, with diamonds at their centre. One large diamond glittered in the midst of them all. I moved my head gingerly from side to side. The crown stayed in place. Now to test it properly. I opened my bedroom door and, with the designer fussing and clucking behind me, began a slow procession into the sitting-room.
Léon was on the sofa in his usual patient pose, arms folded across his chest. When I entered, he rose to his feet, dropping his hands to his sides.
‘Your Highness.’ The expression on his face was remote; nothing like the Léon who had sat on the balcony in the dark, gazing up at the night sky. He bowed his head.
I made my way down the sitting-room, my crowned head erect, my skirts swishing over the wooden floorboards. All trace of Lizzie Smith had vanished. For the first time, I had managed to get inside the skin of Princess Charlotte of Montverrier.
Chapter Seventeen
The evening before the ceremony, I found myself entirely alone in the suite. Léon had been entering and leaving for much of the day. There was much to organise with the Palace security before the ceremony, he told me, and he wanted to ensure all was in place for the short ride to the Cathedral. In order to do so, he needed to travel the route several times himself. I would have loved to have been able to step outside with him, and to discover for myself the mood of the city. Just to have felt the fresh air on my skin again would have been wonderful.
Palace of Deception: A Romantic Suspense Novella Page 5
