Reunited with Her Surgeon Prince

by Marion Lennox

  ‘We won’t go home,’ the grandmother told her. ‘This is our son, our daughter, our granddaughter. This is where our hearts are. This is where we stay.’

  ‘You’re tired...’

  ‘We can be tired when we’re no longer needed. Thank you, Doctor,’ the woman said simply. ‘You go and rest. It’s you who must be tired.’

  She was tired but she’d been this tired before. She talked to the little boy’s family, then walked out through the throng of gathered relatives and thought that two children were alive, their scars hopefully minimised, because of her presence today. She thought, it felt okay.

  She thought of Marc, who’d spent his day in ceremonial clothing, ticking off box after box of his long list of coronation duties, and she thought he’d be so much more tired than she was.

  This is where our hearts are.

  The grandmother’s words came back to her, and her heart twisted.

  Her bodyguards were waiting. A chauffeur was holding a car door wide.

  She slipped into the luxurious interior and closed her eyes.

  The ball would have started.

  All she wanted was to hug Felix and then sleep. But, tucked away at the back of her heart, was another desire. To go to Marc as she’d done for those few short months all those years ago. To be held by him, comforted by him, find solace and joy in his body. In his love.

  Yeah, that’s not going to happen, she thought bleakly, but she thought again of Marc and what he’d faced today.

  This is where our hearts are.

  When the car pulled up at the palace, Hilda met her and gave her a hug and she took it gratefully.

  ‘We hear you’ve done amazing work,’ Hilda said simply. ‘Our people are grateful. His Highness knows what you’ve been doing—he was briefed a couple of hours ago. He expresses his gratitude and says if you don’t wish to attend the ball he understands. Felix is asleep. I can run you a bath, give you some supper and you can sleep.’

  And that was a siren song. A bath, supper and then sleep.

  But those words kept echoing.

  This is where our hearts are.

  We can be tired when we’re no longer needed.

  Did Marc need her? He didn’t, she thought. He couldn’t. They’d made that mutual decision years ago.

  But for now...

  For now, even though her day had been tough, she knew without being told that Marc’s had been worse, trapped in bureaucracy, in ceremonial imperatives.

  We can be tired when we’re no longer needed.

  He couldn’t need her for ever. She was going home, but for now, for tonight, maybe her presence might help. It was an indulgent thought, probably stupid, but he’d wanted her to attend the ball. It had seemed important.

  He’d organised her a gown.

  So, as doctors did the world over, she fought for and found a second wind. She braced and smiled at Hilda and moved onto the next thing.

  ‘A bath would put me to sleep,’ she told her. ‘A shower and a sandwich—and then my ball gown, please. I have a Cinderella moment I need to attend to.’

  * * *

  Ten o’clock and already the night had been interminable.

  He’d spent an hour every afternoon for almost two weeks with a dancing master. It had chafed him to absolute fury, but Josef had deemed it imperative.

  ‘The dances at ceremonial balls are set pieces. Every Royal in Europe is trained from birth. Not to dance would be deemed an insult, to dance badly a bigger one.’

  So politics demanded he danced. Politics demanded he looked like something out of the archaic portraits lining his ancestral hall.

  Politics demanded he danced with one ‘imperative’ after another while he knew Ellie was coping with far more important things. Like saving lives.

  Except this was important. Cooperation with neighbouring countries was crucial to stability. He needed to gain the trust of the dignitaries here tonight and one of the ways to do that was to show he respected their world.

  Thus he danced when all he wanted was to be with Ellie.

  He’d sent word to find out how things were panning out. ‘The crisis is over,’ Josef had told him half an hour ago. ‘The specialists you had flown in have arrived. There are now enough medical staff on the ground to handle the work and we seem to have got off without fatalities.’ He’d given a small smile, which was huge for Josef. ‘If we’re not careful we’ll have your Ellie acclaimed as a national heroine. She stands to be as popular as you are.’

  ‘Except she’s going home.’

  Josef’s smile had died. ‘As you say.’

  ‘She won’t come now.’

  Josef had glanced at his watch and agreed. ‘Our people tell me she’s been overwhelmed by work from this morning. I believe we must excuse her. At least there’s no imperative. For your wife not to attend would be an insult but at least she’s not your wife.’

  And how lucky was that? Marc thought grimly, and went to do his duty.

  He danced. He felt ill about Ellie.

  And then, as he danced with the Queen Mother of a neighbouring country, there was a stir at the door and he glanced across. It was Ellie.

  She looked absurdly nervous. Absurdly self-conscious.

  She looked stunning.

  Who had designed her gown? Maybe Ellie had decreed its style herself, he thought, for in this ballroom full of glitz and tizz, of diamonds and gold, of chandeliers, of pure unmitigated opulence, Ellie stood apart.

  Wearing anything but a beautiful ball gown in this magnificent place would have been yet another of those thousand chasms that could be construed as a royal insult. But this was built with elegance as well as simplicity. It had a scooped sweetheart neckline, tiny sleeves, a figure-hugging bodice and a skirt that flared in soft folds, sweeping all the way to the floor.

  The gown had no embellishments. Its beauty was in the cloth itself, Marc thought, shot silk or some such. It was sapphire showered with the merest shadows of silver, making it shimmer as she moved.

  She’d caught her hair in a simple knot so her auburn curls were escaping. Simple and yet beautiful.

  She was wearing a single pearl at her throat, and his own throat seemed to constrict as he realised it was the pearl he’d given her for the only one of her birthdays they’d been together.

  She looked stunning. Ethereal. Breathtaking. But she was standing in the doorway looking scared to death.

  Marc turned to the woman he’d been dancing with. ‘Will you excuse me, madam? I need to go to my wife.’

  ‘Your ex-wife, surely?’ But there was a smile playing at the corners of the Queen Mother’s lips.

  ‘Is there such a thing?’ Marc murmured. ‘For me, I’m not sure.’ And he bowed and turned and strode through the dancers to Ellie. The couples parted before him. He reached Ellie and he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  ‘Hey.’ How inane was that?

  ‘Hey, yourself.’ She looked at him with relief. ‘Thank you for coming to rescue me.’

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ He smiled down at her, thinking she was more beautiful than anyone in the room. Her face was pale and her eyes were too large in her face. She wore minimal make-up—she must have dressed in a hurry—and he recognised her shadows. She’d spent too long in the emergency room, fighting to save lives. But, oh, she was lovely.

  ‘My people tell me you’ve done some stunning work,’ he told her, his eyes not leaving hers.

  ‘We were lucky. No fatalities. But, Marc, there might have been. More doctors...’

  ‘There will be more doctors,’ he swore. ‘I appointed a new Minister for Health yesterday, an excellent woman. She knows what you’ve been doing and she intends to personally thank you before you leave. But, Ellie...’ he held out his hand ‘...for tonight
can we forget about today and forget about tomorrow? For now... I seem to remember you can dance.’

  He thought of that first time they’d gone out for a pub dinner all those years ago. A pianist had started up—honky-tonk, jazz, fun. And Ellie had laughed with delight and grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor. ‘Let’s jive.’

  ‘This isn’t the music I’m used to,’ she muttered now. There was a thirty-piece orchestra centre stage, playing a classical waltz.

  ‘So you’re not up to it?’ His eyes gleamed a challenge and the ready laughter sprang back into hers.

  ‘Are you kidding? Bring it on.’

  * * *

  Forget the jive. The waltz was much better.

  She hadn’t waltzed, not properly, since she was eight years old and her grandma died. But that memory was deeply embedded. Ellie’s mother had been ill, flighty, reckless. There’d been many nights when her mother had simply disappeared. But she remembered her grandmother being there, turning up their sound system, putting on the songs she’d learned to dance to.

  Dancing with her Grandma, Ellie had felt special, safe, loved.

  That was how she felt now—only so much more.

  Safe? That was a weird description, she thought. The eyes of everyone in the ballroom were on them. She was a country bumpkin, child of a single mum, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Watching her, society’s elite. She should be nervous, self-conscious, achingly aware of all the things she could do wrong.

  But the day had blown away any last vestige of self-consciousness. She’d fought all day for the things that really mattered.

  And here, right now, for this moment, was the only thing that mattered. Marc was holding her in his arms. Her steps were magically following his. His eyes were smiling at her, the music was all around them and the rest of the world faded to nothing.

  ‘You do know how much I love you?’ His words were a soft murmur, a background to the amazing music, maybe part of the music itself. ‘What you’ve done today... I’m so proud of you, Ellie.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she begged. ‘I can’t stay.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’ He swung her around, his arm encircling her waist. The silky folds of her skirt brushed her legs. We might just as well be making love, she thought, in the tiny part of her brain that was still available for thought. ‘Ellie, it was unfair of me to ask. But we have tonight. It ended at midnight for the Prince too, remember?’

  ‘Cinderella, huh?’

  ‘I’m thinking they were both blasted out of their worlds. In fairy tales they get to fudge the ending—happy ever after. But in real life...’

  ‘In real life the Prince has to get up the morning after, put on a suit and tie and discuss the state of the country’s... I don’t know...sewer system.’

  His lips twitched. ‘We do have to discuss that.’

  ‘There you go, then. Where’s the romance?’

  ‘Here, tonight.’ The turn of the dance brought them close again, and his lips brushed her hair. She could hear a collective gasp from around them.

  ‘Marc, don’t. They’ll get the wrong impression.’

  ‘No,’ he said strongly and swung her again. ‘They’ll get the right impression. Josef talks of me finding a wife. I did find one. She’s free to return to her own life and I understand the reasons she’s going, but there’s no need for me to find anyone else. Ever.’

  * * *

  She didn’t last until midnight. Cinderella’s Prince might have danced with his Cinders to the exclusion of everyone else, but this was no fairy tale, and after a full set in Marc’s arms Josef was casting them anxious looks. Royal noses were being put out of joint. They both knew it, but it was Ellie who tugged herself out of Marc’s arms and forced herself to break the moment.

  ‘You know you should be dancing with someone else.’

  ‘Someones else,’ he said ruefully. ‘Josef’s given me a list.’

  ‘And I’m asleep on my feet.’ Though it hadn’t been true until now. It was only now Marc had released her that she felt like sagging.

  ‘I wish...’

  ‘We both wish.’ She managed to smile. ‘I should have excused myself tonight.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  ‘It felt...important. To come.’

  ‘It was.’

  Josef was looking directly at Marc. Marc was ignoring him but Ellie saw the look. It contained a hint of desperation.

  ‘I won’t say good luck tomorrow,’ she whispered, speaking fast, knowing this was the last time they’d speak in anywhere approaching privacy. ‘You won’t need it. You’ll be a brilliant king.’

  ‘Thank you for bringing Felix.’

  ‘He’s told me all about tomorrow. He’s going to look as “beeyootiful” as you, apart from riding on a fat horse.’

  ‘She’s not fat.’ Marc gave her a lopsided smile that said he was under as much pressure as she was. ‘When Felix comes back next year without the brace he can have quite a different mount, but for a kid with no riding experience, with his leg in a brace, in a royal procession...’

  ‘Hey, you don’t need to convince me. I’m his mother.’

  ‘And I’m his father. I wish I could...’

  ‘Don’t wish.’ She took his hands. She would have raised her face and kissed him—every ounce of her wanted to—but in this place, under the eye of the world’s media and royalty...maybe not. ‘Just be,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be watching you from my place in the cathedral. Josef’s arranged for Felix to be escorted to join me after the procession. We’ll both be cheering for you like crazy.’

  ‘And then going back to Australia.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and smiled at Josef, a wide, encompassing smile that said she was done, Josef could do his worst. ‘Yes,’ she said again and pressed his hands hard, just the once, and then released them. ‘Goodnight, Your Highness, and goodbye. Tomorrow you’ll be too busy to see me, and the day after that I’ll be gone.’

  And she turned away, made sure her smile stayed pinned to her face, and walked away.

  Through the glittering throng. Out the magnificent entrance. Down the steps to the waiting car.

  And I have nothing to leave behind, she thought, and even managed a feeble smile. Not even a glass slipper.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ELLIE SLEPT BADLY—okay, she hardly slept at all—but some time before dawn she fell into an uneasy doze. Her dreams were troubled, a jumble of royal impressions—the ball, the palace—plus the day she’d had treating burned kids. And interspersed amongst it all was Marc. Marc, looking at her with troubled eyes, hungry eyes. Marc, who would have held her, but who understood too well why she couldn’t stay.

  Marc was just down the hall. He was as far from her now as he’d always been. But, strangely, she seemed to know him better now. She knew the man he was—the honour and duty that would hold him to his lonely course.

  It broke her heart, but to follow his suggestion, to remarry... To let herself fall again...

  Except hadn’t she already? Would she once again break her heart as they parted?

  When a knock at her door finally roused her, for a wild, half-asleep moment she thought, she hoped, it might be him. She glanced at the bedside clock and it was after eight.

  Yikes. She sat up with a start, practicalities overtaking dreams. Felix had to be in his uniform and ready by nine. Hopefully, Hilda had woken him and given him breakfast.

  And the knock couldn’t be Marc. She could only imagine the list of formalities he’d be required to complete this morning.

  ‘Yes?’ she called.

  It was Hilda, opening the door a crack to call through without intruding, ‘Good morning, madam.’ Her tone was apologetic. ‘We let you sleep as long as we could but Felix is needed. Feli
x, your father’s valet wishes to see you dressed...’

  What? Ellie sat bolt upright in bed. Hilda thought Felix was here? ‘Hilda?’

  Hilda’s head appeared around the door. ‘Madam?’

  ‘Felix isn’t here.’

  The door opened wider. Hilda stood, plump and perplexed, staring at Ellie’s bed as if it were trying to play tricks on her. ‘He always comes into bed with you in the mornings.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Ellie stammered. ‘I mean, until early. Yesterday, it was so big, and dancing with Marc...’ Oh, for heaven’s sake. She was stammering like an idiot.

  ‘That’s why we let you sleep.’ Hilda gave a half smile but it didn’t last. ‘But I checked on Felix an hour ago and his bed was empty. I assumed he was with you.’

  ‘I tucked him in at midnight but he was fast asleep.’ She was wide awake now. ‘Maybe he’s gone to the stables. Or to find Marc? He’s very upset that this is our last day.’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ Hilda said, and disappeared with such alacrity that Ellie realised she had indeed left it until the last moment to find him. And that the normally unflappable lady was close to panic.

  She rose and tugged on jeans and a windcheater. The coronation dress made for her by the palace dressmaker, a dress fit for the mother of the future King, hung in state in its own wardrobe but it could wait until later. She headed to Felix’s rooms and stared at his rumpled bed.

  The bed was cold.

  She walked to the window and saw the stables below. Felix loved this room. He’d spent hours sitting on the window ledge watching the stable hands walk the magnificent horses around the exercise yards.

  The longing had been there since the first day. ‘One day I’ll ride a horse like Papa’s.’

  ‘When you come back next year you’ll have the brace off your leg. Your papa will be able to teach you properly.’

  ‘I don’t want to come back. I want to stay now.’