by Robyn Donald
He nodded. ‘Exactly—although even the forces have been restive lately. Their pay has been cut and a very popular general was court-martialled and shot by firing squad for mutiny.’
Serina picked up the coffee cup, noting with an odd detachment that her hand was trembling. She finally managed to drink the rest of the liquid down before asking a question that had been bothering her.
‘Why is Gerd so concerned about this? It’s really nothing to do with him—and, anyway, I’d have thought he’d be happy with a less repressive regime on his doorstep.’
‘The last time Montevel suffered a revolt Carathia had to deal with about fifty thousand refugees,’ Alex told her bluntly.
‘I see,’ she said, startled by the number. ‘I hadn’t even thought about that.’
‘And unrest along the borders makes every ruler uneasy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Right, are you ready to go?’
His words made no sense. She stared at him and he elaborated, ‘We’re looking at gardens, Serina.’
‘I couldn’t,’ she said involuntarily, stunned that he should expect her to carry on as though nothing had happened.
He shrugged. ‘I’d have thought it a much better way to deal with the situation than sitting here anguishing over it.’
At that moment she hated him. ‘This is my brother we’re talking about,’ she said between her teeth.
‘So you’re going to sit here and worry without being able to do a thing to affect the outcome?’ he returned, coolly challenging.
She glared at him. ‘I thought I was a prisoner here.’
‘A prisoner, yes, if you want to think of yourself like that,’ he agreed calmly. ‘Not necessarily confined to one place, though.’
Serina got to her feet. Which didn’t make much of a difference to the intimidation factor—he still towered over her. Tonelessly, she said, ‘All right, I’ll go.’
It was a strange day. She managed to behave normally—smiling, making polite conversation to both garden owners, conducting the inter views with something of her usual concentration. Stony professional pride drove her to compose her photographs with as much care as usual.
But she felt as though she’d been sliced in two; no, she thought on the way home, in three. One part was the magazine columnist, the other the sister anguishing over her brother, and the final part the lover coping with betrayal.
When at last they drove up to the bach, she barely waited for the Land Rover to stop before bolting out.
Alex watched her run into the bach and followed her. She’d done well, but for the whole day he’d felt the barriers firmly in place.
As though she blamed him for this whole situation, even though it had been caused by her brother. Damn the kid—if he weren’t heading straight towards death, Alex would have carpeted him, amongst other things pointing out just how much his actions upset his sister.
And some part of him was angry with Serina for being so intransigent. He’d expected her to want to go to Carathia; what he hadn’t expected was his exasperation and anger at her flinty resistance to him.
Once inside, he said, ‘I’ll make you some tea while you write up your notes.’
She swallowed and flashed him a stunned glance, then seemed to shrink. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
Writing up her notes by hand took up the rest of the afternoon. After a meal she didn’t taste, she said, ‘I’d like to watch the news on television.’
He switched on the set and joined her on the sofa. Tension tore at her—not the exciting, sensuous tension of the previous days, but a feeling that was rooted in pain.
Gradually—so gradually she hadn’t really realised what was happening—she’d learned to trust Alex. That cautious, hard-won faith lay in shards around her now.
Without taking much in, she watched the parade across the screen of states men and politicians, celebrities and unfortunates whose lives had somehow become camera fodder.
Nothing about Montevel…
When it was over, Alex said, ‘Is there anything else you want to watch?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘In that case, I suggest you go to bed.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s barely eight o’clock.’
‘Neither of us got much sleep last night.’
She flinched, memories flooding back of the previous night’s passion. Scrambling to her feet, she said stiffly, ‘I’ll make up a bed in the other bedroom.’
‘No.’
Her head came up and she eyed him with frozen compo sure. If she had to spend the night in his bed something inside her would die, she thought fiercely. ‘I am not sleeping with you.’
He got to his feet, lithe and big and completely determined. ‘I can’t force you to sleep, of course, but you’re spending the night in my bed.’
His cool insistence goaded her into saying, ‘I give you my word I won’t try to run away.’
‘Good, but that doesn’t change anything,’ he said, his tone telling her there was no option. ‘I won’t expect sex, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
White-lipped, she said, ‘You can’t—won’t—force me to sleep with you, surely.’
His eyes narrowed as he said softly, ‘Of course I wouldn’t, Princess.’
Her composure cracked. Hands clenched by her sides, she snapped, ‘Don’t call me that! How would you feel if I called you Businessman all the time?’
‘Irritated,’ he conceded, a glimmer of amusement in the blue ice of his eyes shattering what was left of her precarious poise.
‘You might think it’s funny, but I find it demeaning and insulting and completely infuriating, and I’m sick and tired of it and I want you to stop.’ She stopped, biting back the even more intemperate words that jostled for freedom in her brain.
‘Very well, I won’t do it again. Now, get ready for bed.’
They measured gazes like duellers. Then she said savagely, ‘At least you can’t force me to enjoy sleeping with you.’
‘I could,’ he said with cool, threatening insolence, ‘but I’m not going to.’
Serina whirled and stormed into the bedroom, hauling off her clothes with a carelessness that should have shocked her. She crawled into the bed, turned on her side and lay still and fuming, waiting for him to come.
CHAPTER TEN
TRY as she did, Serina couldn’t fall sleep before Alex came in. Frantic thoughts jostled in her brain, drowning out the voice of reason that told her she was transfer ring her anguish and anger to Alex because she couldn’t vent it on Doran.
And it was less painful to be furious with Doran than lie there terrified he might be killed.
Eyes clamped shut, she heard Alex come in and the small sounds that indicated he was undressing. Her already rigid body stiffened even further when he slid into the bed beside her.
He didn’t touch her. Humiliatingly, her anger dissipated in a flood of bitter, aching regret for the pleasure they’d taken from each other, the joy of discovering how desire enriched her life…
Except that the hours spent in his arms had almost certainly been a means to an end.
And it didn’t help that she almost understood his motivation. She would do anything for her brother; it was entirely understandable that Alex should do what he could to help Gerd and Rosie…
Every muscle strained and taut, she fought the urge to turn over. She could hear Alex breathing—steady, relaxed—and decided she hated him. Hot tears squeezed through her lashes; she refused to humiliate herself by giving in to them.
‘Go to sleep, Serina,’ Alex said lazily.
She couldn’t trust her voice enough to give an answer. Eventually, she did sleep, only to wake in the grip of the night mare. Only this time she was held firmly against Alex and he was saying, ‘It’s all right, sweet heart. Go back to sleep now.’
But when she woke in the morning she was alone in the bed. It had been a dream, she thought in confusion—a deceiving, treacherous dream, especially the part where he’d held her close to his so
lid warmth and strength and called her sweet heart…
Did he regret their affair, deciding he’d wasted time making love to her when she knew nothing—had been totally taken in by the video game fabrication Doran and his friends had fed her?
Limbs heavy and weighted, she climbed out of the bed and showered, getting into jeans and a T-shirt. It took all of her will to get herself through the bedroom door, but the need to know if Alex had learned anything more about Doran’s movements drove her out.
Alex didn’t look as though he’d spent a difficult night. He was standing outside in the crisp winter sunlight, talking into a mobile phone, his brows drawn together, but he swung around as soon as she came out.
‘All right, then,’ he said concisely, snapped the telephone shut and examined her critically. ‘All right?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ she said automatically.
‘Doran has managed to evade surveillance,’ he said succinctly. ‘He hasn’t been seen since he left the airport at Rome, but I imagine he’s already sailing across the Adriatic towards Carathia. Gerd’s got his coast guard on full alert.’
Alex’s voice was neutral, but she turned away from his intent scrutiny. ‘So we just have to wait.’ And pray, she thought bleakly.
‘I’m afraid so.’ The leashed impatience she detected in his tone indicated he wasn’t accustomed to waiting.
She knew the feeling well, she thought bleakly. Impetuously, she demanded, ‘Why won’t you tell me who is backing them? Doran hasn’t got the money to fly all around the world.’
‘Because we still don’t know exactly who is producing this show. It could be one of two organisations.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Breakfast,’ he said curtly. ‘And then we’ll get on the road.’
She bit back her protest. Staying here, or going back to the home stead to worry the day away wasn’t sensible.
That day and the following one were repetitions of the first. Almost sick with worry, Serina plodded doggedly on with her schedule, reluctantly grateful to Alex, who supported her unobtrusively.
Jailer he might be, but he was always there.
Even in bed, she thought on the third morning after Doran’s bomb shell. She’d woken thinking she was once more in his arms, only to find it was another dream…
Once more he’d left her alone; she got up and dragged herself through her morning routine.
Her heart stopped when she heard Alex call. Still in her pyjamas, she raced through the door, almost colliding with him.
‘What?’ she gasped, staring up into his face. ‘What news?’
‘Gerd’s security men picked up Doran and several others off the coast of Carathia.’
So relieved she couldn’t speak, she felt tears start to her eyes. His arm came around her shoulders. Steadfastly resisting the temptation to sink against him, use his strength to bolster her own, Serina pulled away and finally managed to breathe, ‘Thank God.’
‘Indeed,’ Alex agreed dryly, stepping back.
‘He’s all right?’
‘He’s fine, although he’s refusing to believe just how close he came to killing not only himself, but all his friends and probably thou sands of others too.’
‘Is there a way of contacting him?’
‘Once Gerd’s security men have finished with him, he’ll be free to go home, where you can try to make him aware of how dangerously he’s been playing.’
She firmed her trembling lips, so awash with conflicting emotions she found it difficult to think. ‘Then I’ll go home too,’ she said swiftly.
He said calmly, ‘All right.’
‘I’m not asking permission,’ she flashed.
His brows lifted, but he said mildly enough, ‘I wasn’t granting it. I know how you feel—you want to lash out at Doran. It would be a lot more sensible to hurl your feelings at me.’
But she’d regained control of her temper. ‘I don’t blame you for anything,’ she said as calmly as she could.
Only for stealing my heart…
And that was over-dramatising. Hearts stayed firmly lodged in their owners’ chests. They might crack or break, but they mended. This pain, the dragging anguish, would ease.
It had to, because she couldn’t bear much more of it.
Alex said, ‘Doran is going to be acutely defensive; if I can give you some advice, treat him as an adult who’s made a mistake and has learned from it. Although I’d point out the in advisability of lying to those who love him.’
Of course he hadn’t meant that to hurt. He didn’t know she loved him. Quietly, she said, ‘I just hope that he realises once and for all that he has no hope of going back to Montevel.’
‘So does everyone,’ Alex said austerely. ‘He’s caused enough trouble—and I’m sure Gerd has made that more than clear to him. If he’s got any sense, he’ll apply himself to his final year at university and find a career that will keep him busy.’
She asked tentatively, ‘Are you going to hold him to working off his plane flights?’
‘I am,’ Alex said uncompromisingly.
And, during the long journey back to France, she hugged that promise to her heart. It was foolish, of course, but it offered her some comfort at a time when she needed it. If Alex kept in touch, they might…
No, she thought, inserting the key into the lock of her apartment. Don’t even think of it. It’s not going to happen. This time next year you’ll have difficulty remembering Alex’s face, and the only me men toes you’ll have of the whole episode will be the columns and your photographs.
Because Kelt and his family were using the private jet, Alex had organised a flight for her on commercial airlines, which had left her exhausted. The noise and heat of a Mediterranean summer in the city beat around her and she was already missing New Zealand, green and crisp and lush.
Doran was home. He came to meet her with a carefully blank face, an expression that turned to alarm and shock when she dropped her luggage and began to weep silently at the sight of him.
‘Oh—don’t,’ he choked and came and took her in his arms, holding her carefully, as if afraid she’d shatter. Awkwardly, he patted her back. ‘It’s all right, Serina, it’s all right. Don’t cry—please don’t cry. I’m fine, and I’m sorry—I’m sorry I lied to you.’
She gulped back her tears, unable to tell him that they were only partly for him. ‘I should hope so,’ she said, but her voice wavered. ‘I’ve been sick with worry.’
‘I know.’ He set her away from him. ‘Alex Matthews told me.’
Something in his voice told her that the talk had not been a pleasant one. She remembered Alex’s advice—treat him like an adult.
‘When?’
‘He flew into Carathia yesterday, just before I came home.’ He pulled a face and said lugubriously, ‘We had a long talk, he and I.’
Serina digested this, wondering why Alex hadn’t come at least part of the way with her. No, not wondering, she thought bleakly. She knew why. It was his way of showing her that everything was over.
‘A long talk?’ She tried to conceal her avid interest. ‘About what?’
Doran shrugged. ‘Oh, everything really. Want something to eat, or coffee?’
‘Coffee, thanks. I’m going to have to stay awake until night fall if I possibly can.’
Chatting of nothing, he made her a drink and, when she’d sat down and picked up her coffee cup, he said, ‘It wasn’t a pleasant conversation. To put it bluntly, Alex tore strips off me.’
‘Did he?’ she said neutrally.
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. ‘I suppose he had every right to be furious. I hadn’t thought of the fallout for Carathia if we actually made it, and Gerd Crysander-Gillan is his cousin.’ He frowned. ‘Not to mention that his half-sister is Gerd’s wife now.’
‘I have to admit I didn’t think of the possible refugee problem until Alex mentioned it,’ Serina said, cautiously feeling her way with Alex’s advice very much in mind.
Doran flashed her a relieved look
. ‘Yes, well, neither had I. And when he told me that the whole scheme had been engineered by the opposition in Montevel—it made me feel sick.’
‘The opposition in Montevel?’ Stunned, Serina stared at him. ‘I didn’t know there was one.’
‘Well, to gain any sort of aid they need an opposition—it’s tolerated, but not encouraged.’ He leaned forward, face earnest. ‘A group of—well, they call themselves freedom fighters and I suppose they are—from the opposition knew they didn’t have a chance of gaining power any legitimate way, so some bright spark came up with this idea. They used us.’
The coffee bitter in her mouth, she swallowed and said thinly, ‘Go on.’
‘Apparently, the idea was that we’d stir up a lot of trouble on the border—enough to keep the regime leaders occupied so the freedom fighters could grab power for them selves. They didn’t care a bit what happened to us—in fact, Alex didn’t say so but, from comments he and Gerd made, I think they were hoping we’d all be killed so they wouldn’t have to concern them selves about anybody ever claiming the throne again.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose they realised you weren’t likely to try, but when I heard that I was very glad you’d stayed in New Zealand.’
Was that why Alex had been so adamant it wasn’t safe for her to go back?
‘I hope you’ve realised now that the return of the monarchy in Montevel is not going to happen,’ she said, but mildly.
Apparently, she’d struck the right note. Even more seriously, Doran told her, ‘Something Alex said made me realise that the people should choose their leaders, not have them imposed on them by—well, by any means. If the Montevellans want a return of the monarchy, then they’ll have to get rid of the regime they’ve got now and ask me if I’ll take it on.’
He paused and finished on a wry smile, ‘That’s if they want me, of course. And I’d want a referendum before I’d accept.’
Thank you, Alex, Serina thought, so grateful she had to put the cup down and take a couple of deep breaths before asking mildly, ‘Is there any reason to be concerned about your safety?’
He looked startled. ‘Why should there be? We were picked up well before we got anywhere near Montevel, and no one else knows about us.’
