Marooned with the Millionaire

by Nina Milne

  ‘I try to be professional, but that’s as far as it goes. As part of my job I do keep up with the latest trends. Readers like details on what people are wearing.’ She waved a hand around. ‘Whilst I’m not a shopper, I appreciate the appeal to the rich.’

  ‘And a big part of Lycander’s economy relies on attracting the rich and the glamorous to our shores. We want designer names—we want the tourists and the parties. But we can’t only cater for the celebrity crowd. We need to look after our own people. So now I want to show you a different side of Lycander.’

  A sleek black chauffeured car pulled up to the kerb and April climbed in first, forcing herself not to scrunch up as close to the window as possible to lessen their proximity. Daft. This had to stop—right now she needed to concentrate, to determine whether or not this was some complicated political manoeuvre to persuade her to abandon her pursuit of the truth.

  The truth—that was what was important. Ever since the tragedy in which she’d lost Edward, after she’d clawed her way out of the pit of despair, she’d vowed never to sidestep the truth.

  She watched the Lycander landscape flash by, saw the busy, prosperous streets recede and slowly morph into roads on a sliding scale of prosperity that eventually spiralled downwards, until a sense of squalor gradually pervaded. Buildings became less well maintained, shops became smaller and dingier, walls were scratched with the bright slash of graffiti. And as the miles were swallowed up soon the designer-laden city centre seemed like a bubble, an impossible dream.

  Aware of his watchful gaze, she turned her head and saw the intensity of his expression. His face was suddenly harder, shadowed with grimness, his blue eyes dark with purpose.

  ‘When you think of Lycander, what images come to mind?’ he asked. ‘Other than that of a designer paradise, with yachts and jet-setters.’

  ‘Exports. Olives, wine and lemons. Beaches. Casinos. Wealth.’

  ‘Yes. All that exists. And under Prince Alphonse the casinos and rich celebrity hordes thrived. But he took the money they generated and instead of spending it on the country spent it on himself. He taxed the olives, the lemons, the vineyards, and he squandered the money on his lavish lifestyle. He squandered his people’s future.’

  ‘But...but surely someone could have stopped him?’

  ‘No. In Lycander, the ruler’s word is law.’

  ‘Then Brian Sewell has a point. The monarchy sucks.’

  ‘It depends on the ruler. Obviously Lycander’s fortunes are linked to the ruler’s morality and capabilities. History shows that overall the good times have outweighed the bad—most rulers have truly cared and ruled with justice.’

  ‘But Alphonse didn’t?’

  ‘No. But Axel would have, and Frederick does. Or at least he is trying to.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps one day democracy will be the right way forward—perhaps Frederick himself will decide to make those changes. But now is not the time. Lycander is not ready.’

  ‘What gives you the right to decide that?’

  ‘Nothing. It is not my decision—it is my belief. And I will fight for that belief.’

  ‘Then maybe you should let Brian Sewell fight for his.’

  ‘Through inciting violence and riots? Through a campaign of rumour and mire?’

  ‘OK. Not Brian Sewell. But those who believe that a ruler should be elected...shouldn’t be given such immense power simply through birth and blood.’

  ‘Lycander has had a monarchy for centuries, and on the whole it has worked. Right now it is working. But there is an enormous amount of work to do, and Frederick is the man to do it.’

  ‘Frederick—or you?’ The words came unbidden, ignited by the sheer determination in his voice.

  ‘Frederick is the Prince and he has a vision that I share. It is my honour to be of help to him.’

  ‘And if you and he disagree on policy? What happens then?’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘This isn’t an interview, April.’

  ‘I know that. This is off the record.’

  Marcus snorted. ‘But if you quote that “a leading figure in Frederick’s council” privately said blah-blah-blah, I’m sure people will join the dots.’

  ‘I won’t quote anything you don’t want to be quoted.’

  ‘That’s what you say now, but if our relationship goes downhill you may change your mind. For the record, I don’t want to be quoted. Period. What I do want is for you to drop the story.’

  ‘You still haven’t shown me why.’

  ‘This is why.’

  He gestured out of the window and April turned her head.

  Now they were in a different place all together. The streets were grubby, poverty was pervasive. Shops were shuttered, broken windows and rusted corrugated iron denoted a desolation that was a world away from lemons, olives and wine.

  ‘This is the result of Alphonse’s rule, and this is what Frederick wants to turn around. But to do that we need time—time that can’t be taken by a democratic, political fund-sucking fight.’

  He leant forward and murmured to the driver, and two minutes later the car pulled to a stop.

  ‘I want to show you what we’re trying to do.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  MARCUS ALIGHTED FROM the car and April scooted across the seat after him, emerged and looked around.

  This area was different again—not like the plush wealth of the city, nor the high glitz of Lycander’s high life, but it had an air of hope, shown by the green of a park, the few small cafés and shops that weren’t boarded up. One large building had a fresh coat of paint and boxes of flowers on the windowsills. The sound of music came from inside and the front doors were wide open. Groups of youths chatted outside, clustered in the sunshine.

  ‘This is a newly founded community centre. We opened it seven months ago, with funds from Lycander’s coffers and overseas help from the Caversham Foundation.’

  April nodded. ‘Set up and run by Ethan and Ruby Caversham.’

  ‘I read your interview with them.’

  ‘They are incredible people.’

  They truly were—April had warmed to the couple and their genuine belief in the foundation they ran for troubled teenagers.

  ‘Yes, and they helped us with money and, equally importantly, with advice.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘It takes more than money to get something like this to work. Teenagers have to want to come here, and they need to come here not to fight and continue gang warfare but because they want to help implement change.’

  Before she could respond a group of five teenagers headed towards them, with more than a hint of swagger, and April stepped a little closer to Marcus. Big mistake. Strength emanated from him, and the sheer solidity of him, the scent of leather and a woodsy overtone, almost made her mewl.

  Without subtlety she leapt sideways—she’d take her chances with the youths, who she could now see didn’t actually seem any threat. In fact she’d swear their studied nonchalance disguised pleasure.

  ‘Hey, Marcus.’

  ‘Blake.’ Marcus stepped forward and the two exchanged some sort of complicated handshake.

  ‘You here to train?’

  ‘Not today.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m here to show April around—she’s a writer. April, this is Blake and Gemma, Jacob, Aurelie and Isaac.’

  ‘Why’d you bring her here?’ The suspicion in Gemma’s voice would have curdled milk. ‘She’s a gossip columnist. She won’t be interested in the likes of us.’

  ‘I’m a writer,’ April interjected. ‘I’m interested in all aspects of Lycander.’

  ‘Not just this ridiculous, showy waste of money royal wedding?’ Blake said. ‘And the so-called perfection of the Prince and his bride? My family can’t afford food whilst they squander millions on fireworks.’

  Gemma shook her head emphatically, her bright blonde hair swishing in d
isagreement. ‘You need to look at the bigger picture, Blake. Sure, they’re spending a whole heap of money—but solely on Lycandrian goods, which will bring in loads of revenue to Lycander. Revenue that Frederick will put back into the system to benefit the people, so that your family and mine won’t have to rely on food banks.’

  ‘Charity.’ There was no disguise for the bitterness in Blake’s voice as he kicked at the kerbside. ‘People say that we’re layabouts and criminals, but what are we supposed to do?’

  Isaac weighed in. ‘Accept the benefits on offer. Frederick has set up free courses. My dad has enrolled on a mechanics programme. Once he qualifies, maybe he’ll be given a chance at a better life.’

  ‘That’s one man out of thousands.’

  ‘No one said change can happen overnight. It’s a start.’

  The debate continued and April glanced at Marcus, who had taken no part in the discussion. He simply leant against a wall and watched with interest, respect and definite pride. He caught her gaze and for a long moment held it, his dark blue eyes intent. She gave a near shiver—not of fear, but of sheer attraction.

  Pushing off the wall, he asked, ‘So what do you all think of having a democracy?’

  Gemma shrugged. ‘If you’d asked me two years ago when Axel died I’d have said yes.’

  At the mention of Axel, April sensed a small movement next to her and turned her head, caught the flash of pain fleeting across Marcus’s dark blue eyes, the shadow of grief and loss. Not obvious, but evident to her. Hell, she could smell grief a mile off—sniff it out with the bitter sense of personal experience.

  Without thought she moved a little closer to him, in an instinctive desire to offer sympathy as they listened to Gemma.

  ‘Because I believed Frederick would be a repeat of Alphonse—a playboy rather than a tyrant, a ruler who wouldn’t care about Lycander. But he promised that he would follow Axel’s policies, and so far he has. So right now I’m happy to give him a chance. But only if he is the real deal—if it turns out this is all a con, a ploy, a lie, then I’ll be on the streets in protest.’

  ‘So,’ April asked, ‘who here and now would vote for a democracy?’

  By now more people had gathered, and there was a hum as the question circulated.

  ‘Those for?’

  Hands were raised, but nowhere near as many as April would have expected.

  ‘Those against?’ Now there was a sea of hands, including Blake’s.

  The discussion continued, and it was clear the group had forgotten that April was even there.

  She turned to Marcus. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Sure is. Because if you had seen a lot of these teens a few months ago they wouldn’t have cared. That’s part of the problem—sheer apathy or a mindless belief of the kind Brian Sewell encourages. He takes people’s rightful dissatisfaction with the system and turns it into hatred and violence.’

  ‘Whereas here you encourage people to think about it. And that is interesting too.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it? This is your project, your input. I saw how those kids looked at you—they care about your opinion and I saw how proud you are of them.’

  There was a pause and she couldn’t help it—she grinned.

  ‘You’re blushing.’

  ‘I am not blushing.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Without thought she reached up. ‘Right there.’

  Lord knew she meant to point at his cheek, but somehow along the line the wires got crossed between her brain and her fingers and instead she brushed her hand down the angle of his cheekbone, along the firm line of his jaw tinged with early-afternoon shadow.

  Her breath caught in her throat and for too long—way too long—her hand remained against his skin. Until finally her brain caught up with events and panic descended, sending the order to snatch her fingers away.

  Unfortunately the panic also took a stranglehold on her vocal cords and no words, no excuses, no witty quip came to her lips.

  ‘Now I think it’s you who may be blushing.’

  His deep voice caressed her skin and then he lifted a hand and oh-so-gently trailed a finger down her own cheek. Her tummy clenched at the hot flash of desire that shot through her.

  ‘Right there.’

  It was a good thing he didn’t know that right now he’d be hard put to find a part of her body that wasn’t flushed with heat. An image of his finger continuing its trail streamed through her brain and she closed her eyes and summoned up the power of common sense.

  Hadn’t she learnt her lesson? Learnt how attraction could deceive and twist and lead her astray? Enough. This man had a goal—to keep her from her story—and maybe his intent now was to distract her from her purpose.

  Moving backwards, she summoned a rictus smile. But as she forced herself to look at him she saw his expression was as full of horror as her own, and she knew that whatever had just happened Marcus’s surprise equalled her own.

  That hadn’t been a strategic move by Lycander’s Chief Advisor—in fact he looked as flummoxed as she felt. He, however, was recovering considerably quicker.

  ‘Right. We seem to have got distracted by a blushing contest. I declare it a draw. Now, why don’t I show you around the inside of the centre?’

  He nodded towards the group of teens, who were still deep in conversation.

  ‘For the record, these kids are Lycander’s future, and I want them to have a future that doesn’t include seeing the inside of a prison. They deserve a lot more than that.’

  His words pulled her into reality, brought her focus back. She nodded, deciding that the best way to go was to expel the whole memory of the past few minutes and erase it from her timeline. Hard, though, when her skin still tingled. She tried to concentrate solely on her surroundings, creating a memory of the image because she knew that this was a place she would like to write about.

  April could see the thought that had been put into the interior of the centre, the efforts to make it look less institutional and more ‘homelike’. No doubt a lot of the youths here didn’t have the best home life, and so would appreciate the comfy sofas and recliner chairs and bean bags, the television and the well-stocked bookshelves, the up-to-date magazines stacked on tables.

  There was a gym, a room with a pool table, a ping-pong table and then, after going down a corridor, they entered a room that contained a boxing ring.

  ‘Boxing?’ April tried to keep the disapproval from her voice.

  ‘Yes. Training is a great way to let off steam. There’s a whole lot of illegal boxing that goes on in the streets—the kind that can actually kill. I want this to be somewhere kids can come and pursue boxing safely.’

  ‘But it’s dangerous and violent and...’

  ‘It’s a sport. One that requires discipline and dedication. Danger and violence is on the streets.’

  ‘So, do you box?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Heaven help her—because April certainly couldn’t help herself. An image of him stripped down, training with a punch bag, his muscles a testimony to discipline and dedication, shot across her mind.

  ‘Why?’ she managed, her reporter’s instincts coming to her rescue. ‘What’s the appeal?’

  ‘I started in my teens.’

  His tone was less than forthcoming, and it wasn’t really an answer.

  ‘In fact it was boxing that started this place off. I set up a fight, offered to take anyone on in a one-on-one. I thought it would give them an incentive to come here.’

  April stared at him. ‘And the best incentive you could come up with was to offer yourself up as a target?’ Horror touched her. ‘Couldn’t you have brought someone else in?’

  ‘I could’ve—but it wouldn’t have been as effective. I wanted to get their attention, show them that I’m more than some flash millionair
e politician trying to rule over them. So, yes, I put myself on the line.’

  He smiled suddenly and April blinked—the smile transformed his face, lit his dark blue eyes with a glint of amusement, and her toes twitched in her sensible flat navy shoes.

  ‘Don’t look so aghast. I’m actually pretty good.’

  ‘Yes, but you were up against fighters who might bend the rules. You could have been seriously hurt.’

  She knew they were talking about teenagers, here, but she was pretty sure that a lot of the youths on the streets might be short on years but would be long on experience.

  ‘It was worth the risk. It got people here. A huge crowd, in fact, who stayed when it was over and listened to what I had to say about what was going to be on offer here. You heard Blake—these people are poor, but they have their pride. Most of them don’t want hand-outs. They wouldn’t have come here otherwise.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I won. It was bloody, but the fights were fair. All but one, where the kid pulled a knife and got turfed out—not by me, but by the crowd. Three fights, and at the end they were willing to listen. The next day some of them came back, the day after a few more, and slowly... I think it’s working.’

  His voice, the sheer force of his belief and zeal, held her mesmerised. As she looked around the ring she could picture the scene, hear the drip of blood on the canvas, the silence and the cheers of the crowds, the aura of grit and the focus of the fighters. Most of all she could see Marcus—a man willing quite literally to fight for his beliefs, to endure pain in order to win victory for others.

  The idea took her breath away, made her feel a little light-headed even as she wondered why. What drove him to this? Grief over his best friend? A need to propel Axel’s vision into reality? Perhaps, but she thought there must be more to it. Whatever it was, she was damn sure he wouldn’t tell her.