‘I congratulate you, Miss Smith.’
Chapter Twenty
The Princess’s voice carried cool and clear in the silence, so near in tone to my own, and yet so empty of all emotion. Her eyes were bluer than my own green-tinged irises, and as chilling as the ocean depths. Behind the Princess stood Daria, black and silent as a spider. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. It was as though I were in some sort of nightmare in which I tried desperately to speak, but no sound was forthcoming. The faces of the crowd pressed closer, waiting, and still I couldn’t move. I could make nothing of what was happening. Why was the Princess here? I gazed around. Where had all these people come from? Why was no one shocked to see that the Princess had a double, and that the woman who had just stepped out of the carriage was an imposter?
And then the answers filtered slowly into my dull mind. I caught Daria’s eye, and I could tell she knew the exact moment the truth had dawned on me. What a stupid fool I’d been! There was a glint in her black gaze that might almost have been sympathy. The Princess’s features, by contrast, held no compassion, only a remote curiosity, as though she were watching an animal in the zoo, and wondering what it might do next.
‘You were never missing,’ I told the Princess, my voice dulled with shock. ‘You were here in the Palace all along.’
Princess Charlotte gave a nod that was more a bow of the head. ‘A necessary deception, given the circumstances.’
My shock turned to anger, and I drew in a breath. Before I could speak, I heard someone call my name, and then, to my surprise, there was the director of my drama school, pushing his way through the crowds.
‘My dear Elizabeth,’ he said. His usual composure had completely vanished. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes were round behind his glasses. He was even panting slightly. To my amazement he pushed past the Princess as though she didn’t exist. He caught hold of my hand. ‘You must believe I had no idea of this deception. If I’d had any knowledge that you would be put in danger, I would never have agreed to it. Never!’
I’d never witnessed Mr Ross lose his self-possession in any way. He gripped my hand, overwrought.
‘Why?’ I asked him. ‘Why did they do it? Why keep me locked in a room, and not tell me the truth? I don’t understand!’
‘I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.’ His voice was harsh and rasping. ‘It was all a trick. A most base deception. The Princess arranged for you to take her place in the ceremony. She was determined nothing should get in the way of her claim to the throne.’
The truth, when it came, was brutal in its force. ‘So if anything went wrong – if the protesters succeeded – I would be the one to die?’
I turned round, horrified eyes on the Princess. She met my gaze without emotion, even lifting her slim shoulders in a light, elegant shrug.
‘It was important for the future of Montverrier that the protesters were brought out into the open and caught. Now I will reign as Queen.’
The blood ran to my heart.
‘It was all a lie!’ I gazed round at the silent staff, hundreds of them, all looking at me, all aware for weeks that their Princess was alive and well, while I was shut up in her suite, a worthless decoy. And all the times I’d been told not to leave my rooms, it was because I might find out somehow that the Princess was not missing, and was living and breathing in the very same building.
And then I remembered Léon, and how he’d insisted I remain in the Princess’s suite, and this was the cruellest blow of all. Bitterness at Léon’s deception rose in my throat, almost choking me. I lifted my hands to my head and pulled off the crown, hurling it behind me so that it landed with a dull thud on the cushions of the carriage.
‘Elizabeth!’
Mr Ross attempted to catch hold of my arm, but I escaped his grasp and pushed past the Princess and her housekeeper. A gap parted for me in the throng, and I made my way at a half-run towards the steps to the Palace. Once inside I increased my speed, leaping, panting and gasping for breath, up the three flights of stairs to the floor where the Princess had her suite. In the unfamiliar layout, I rushed down endless corridors, throwing open doors until finally I rounded a corner and found my bearings. I entered the rooms that had been my prison for weeks, closing the door behind me with a thud.
I went immediately to my old battered rucksack and began to pile in the clothes I’d brought with me. Lies and deception! I was sick of it all. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, still in my long white dress, my cheeks flushed beneath the sprayed on tan. My fingers tore at the rose-bud fastenings until the silk slid down my skin, tumbling in a crumpled heap on the floor. Then I pulled my old jeans out of the wardrobe. I remembered Léon telling me not to be afraid, and my heart twisted like a knife. And I had told him I trusted him! Everything was a lie, but I’d thought that Léon, at least – .
I gave a choked cry and rushed to dress myself in my jeans and my old faded vest top. With my face scrubbed clean of make-up, I began to look more like myself. Only the tan and the blonde haircut belonged to the Princess. I grabbed my baseball cap out of my rucksack and pulled it down low over my brow. Then I cast a swift glance around my room, making sure I’d left nothing of my own behind. Outside the window, the sun continued to catch the waves in the harbour, sparkling right the way to the horizon. Despite the richness of the room and the beauty of the view, I wouldn’t miss anything at all from my stay in Montverrier.
Nothing at all, I told myself. I left the room, closing the door firmly behind me.
Chapter Twenty One
The destination board at Montverrier train station indicated there was still another half an hour to wait. I sank onto a bench, propping my rucksack beside me. It had proved surprisingly easy to leave the Palace – far easier than it had been to gain entry. The soldiers had cast a cursory glance in my direction and opened the gates. After that, I’d joined the throngs of people making their way home. All talk was of the attempt on the Princess’s life. I kept my head down, and no one in the crowd gave me a second glance.
There was still a danger, though, that someone might mistake me for Princess Charlotte, and so I leaned forward on the bench, elbows propped on my knees, keeping my eyes on the ground and my baseball cap well pulled down. I tried not to count the minutes.
The station concourse was full of travellers going home after the ceremony, and there was the constant tread of feet hurrying by. I kept myself occupied by studying the hundreds of pairs of shoes that passed through my line of vision, trying to guess the personality behind each one. This sort of game would normally keep me entertained for hours, but today the loafers and the wedge heels, the hi-top trainers and the black patent leather began to blur in front of me. There was a pain in my chest that refused to budge, and I felt hot tears well and roll down my cheeks.
I squeezed my eyes shut and sat for a while like this, letting the train announcements and the hurly burly of the busy station wash over me, until I realised one of the passers-by had come to a halt beside my bench. A shadow fell over me. I opened my eyes warily to find myself gazing down at a pair of biker boots. Boots that were attached to a pair of muscular, leather-clad legs. I went perfectly still. The boots moved, and Léon sat down beside me.
I kept my gaze resolutely on the ground. For a long minute, Léon didn’t speak. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘I didn’t know. That the Princess was alive and well, and in the Palace, I mean. I believed all their lies.’
I glanced sideways at his profile. Léon’s lips were pressed together. A pulse beat rapidly below his jaw line. I remembered the slow, strong beat of his heart as he protected me in the carriage. I looked away.
‘You were so calm when the shots came. As though you were expecting someone to try and kill me.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be calm?’ he said. ‘I told you no harm would come to you. You were safe.’
I digested his words in silence. It was true, he had kept me safe by covering me. But while I was protected, Léon had taken
a terrible risk in leaving his own body exposed. Had he really felt no fear? I cast another sideways glance at him under my eyelashes. Whatever his reaction under gunfire on the avenue, there was nothing calm about him now. Beneath his stillness he was filled with suppressed agitation.
‘I quit my job,’ he said.
I sat up straight, then. ‘You quit? Why?’
‘Because they lied to me, and I believed them. What sort of bodyguard fails to protect his charge like that? Instead of protecting you, all I did was lead you into danger.’
‘Léon, you saved my life!’
He shrugged, without replying. His hands were twisted together, and I felt an urge to place my own hand over them. We had both been betrayed.
‘Do you remember that story you told me?’ I asked him. ‘The one about the Roman army, and the trick the people of Montverrier played on them? I was thinking of that story as I walked down to the station. You shouldn’t blame yourself, Léon. We’ve been outclassed by people who are used to surviving through deception and cunning.’
Léon said nothing. I don’t know if my words helped him at all. His hands remained gripped tightly together, so that the whites of his knuckles showed through.
‘What will you do now?’ I asked him.
He relaxed his shoulders a little. ‘Go travelling for a while. Maybe look for work elsewhere.’ He looked down at the ground, gazing at the marble floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. ‘I heard Scotland’s nice.’
My heart did an enormous somersault. I turned my head and stared at him, at the bands of colour on his cheeks, the pulse beating rapidly in his throat. Was it possible that Léon, my cool, collected bodyguard, was actually nervous?
He shuffled his booted feet. ‘How about you?’ he said, still not looking at me. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I’m taking a couple of weeks’ holiday.’ I studied his averted profile. His jaw clenched once.
‘With friends?’ he asked.
‘No.’ He raised his head, then, and I gave him a small smile. ‘I thought I might travel down the west coast of Italy. Somebody told me how beautiful it was.’
Léon stilled, a light burning in the dark eyes resting on mine.
‘The smell of the sea and the bougainvillea,’ I quoted softly.
The silence that fell between us stretched, full of delicious anticipation. Then Léon, too, broke into a smile – the first heartfelt smile I had seen him give since I arrived in Montverrier. His eyes brimmed joy; his mouth was a wide, heart-stopping flash of white in the gloomy station.
‘I have my motorbike outside,’ he said. ‘May I give you a lift?’
I nodded, and he reached out a hand, sweeping me up with him onto my feet and into the strong clasp of his arms.
His eyes danced as he looked down at me. ‘A dinner of steak and red wine.’
‘A meal fit for a princess.’ I laughed up at him and took his hand in mine.
We so we made our way out of the station and into the golden Mediterranean sun, leaving the principality of Montverrier, and all its lies and secrets, far behind us.
THE END
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