A Royal Proposition

by Marion Lennox

  Twenty minutes later, the jet lifted off from the international airport, and Alastair was finally away. The plane circled the islands underneath as it veered to face Europe.

  And Alastair stared down at the turquoise sea and imagined his wife. Rose. She’d be practising her swimming, he thought, and wondered if she’d have made it past five strokes by the next time he saw her.

  She would-and he’d miss seeing her try.

  The thought was suddenly almost unbearable. He stared down into the water, willing himself to see, but it was too far away.

  But he stayed looking for a very long time.

  But Penny-Rose wasn’t swimming. As Alastair’s helicopter took off for the mainland she sat and watched until the sound had faded to nothing, the seabirds had returned to reclaim the patch of beach where the helicopter had landed and the machine was far out of sight.

  Yet still she watched.

  Have a wonderful time, he’d said.

  How could she do that when Marguerite might be dying? When anything could be happening on the other side of the world.

  On her side of the world.

  And that was the crux of it. This wasn’t her home. And neither was Australia. Home was where the heart was.

  Home was with Alastair.

  Fiji. Los Angeles. London. Paris.

  The journey was interminable. Each step seemed to take for ever and sleep was impossible. By the time Alastair reached the hospital he was past the point of rational thinking. So much time had elapsed. What if…?

  ‘What if’ didn’t bear thinking of. At least Belle was with her, he thought again and again. If the worst came to the worst, his mother wouldn’t be completely alone.

  But, thankfully, the worst hadn’t come to the worst.

  ‘She’s had a mild heart attack.’ The physician on duty saw the grey look of strain in his face, and answered his overriding terror straight away. ‘She’s still very much alive and she should be OK-’

  ‘Should?’ He went straight to the nub of the matter. ‘Why do you say should?’

  The physician gave him a smile that didn’t quite reassure him. ‘The attack itself didn’t cause long-term damage, but we’ve had to operate. One of her arteries has become too thin to allow safe passage of blood. The way it was, it was a miracle she hadn’t had an attack earlier. I’m sure she’s been suffering angina for some time. She wanted to wait until you arrived but we daren’t. In fact, she’s in Theatre right now.’

  The physician’s voice gentled as she tried to ease his strain. ‘She’s having what’s called a coronary artery bypass, and there’s every reason to hope she’ll come through it with flying colours.’

  ‘But…’ Alastair’s eyes were searching the doctor’s face. ‘She mightn’t?’

  ‘Your mother is seventy. She’s been ill, and it’s a major operation. There’s always a chance that things won’t go well.’

  ‘She could die on the operating table?’

  ‘Yes,’ the doctor said frankly. ‘There is that chance. But there’s every reason to hope that she won’t.’

  ‘I wish I could have been here-before she went in.’

  ‘We couldn’t wait,’ the physician told him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Alastair put his hands up and raked his hair, then closed his eyes. ‘At least she had Belle.’ He opened his eyes again, forcing himself to practicalities. If his mother was in Theatre, there was nothing to do but find Belle. ‘Where’s she waiting?’

  ‘Belle?’

  ‘My…our friend.’ As the doctor looked confused, Alastair explained further. ‘Belle will be here somewhere. I rang her…’ he glanced at his watch ‘…twenty-four hours ago.’

  ‘As far as I know, there’s been no one with your mother.’

  Silence.

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of time with your mother,’ the physician told him. ‘I’ve been on duty in Coronary Care for the last twelve hours.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘We’ve had an epidemic of heart attacks and I’ve hardly had a break. I would have seen anyone with your mother.’

  He couldn’t believe it. ‘Belle said she’d come.’

  ‘Maybe she’s been delayed,’ the doctor said gently. She, too, glanced at her watch. Her time with Alastair was over. ‘It may well be a couple of hours before your mother’s out of Theatre. Can I show you where you can wait, or would you prefer to find yourself a hotel, freshen up and come back when the surgery’s finished?’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ Alastair said grimly. ‘Of course I’ll wait.’

  He waited for four hours. The surgery went on for ever, and Alastair paced the waiting room as if somehow expending energy could help. It didn’t.

  ‘There are complications.’ The physician popped in to find him before she finally went off duty. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s taking longer than expected.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘There’s still no need to panic,’ she reassured him. ‘Not yet. It’s just been a more extensive repair job than they thought.’

  ‘She’ll never make it,’ Alastair groaned, and the doctor looked at him and then pushed him gently into a chair.

  ‘Sit,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll ask the staff to bring you sandwiches and coffee.’ And then she paused. ‘Is there anyone you want us to contact? You mentioned a name before. Belle? Would you like her to be with you?’

  ‘No!’

  And suddenly he was very sure of it.

  And he was also sure who he really wanted to be by his side.

  He wanted his Penny-Rose.

  And he wanted her so badly it was as if his heart were as injured as his mother’s.

  Belle arrived half an hour later, breezing into the waiting room with her arms full of flowers as if she were there to visit a mother with a newborn babe. She looked gorgeous. Chic and immaculate in a tiny black suit that must have cost a mint, not a hair out of place, her face immaculately made up…

  Here was every reason he had wanted to marry her, Alastair thought grimly. She was indeed the perfect woman.

  So why, as she gave a cry of pleasure, placed her flowers aside and rushed to put her arms around him, did he feel nothing? Nothing at all.

  It was as if she were some sort of plastic doll-beautiful, but inside there was nothing.

  She didn’t notice his reaction. ‘Oh, Alastair, what a frightful time you must have had. Poor darling.’ She kissed him lightly, then pulled away and made a little moue with her lips. ‘Darling, you haven’t shaved.’

  He hadn’t. And he didn’t give a damn.

  ‘Has it taken twenty-four hours,’ he said carefully, ‘for you to decide what to wear when visiting hospital?’

  She looked astounded. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ His pent-up anxiety exploded in fury. ‘I asked you to come. I needed someone to be here with her. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Darling, I knew you couldn’t be here until now.’

  ‘I asked you to see my mother. Not me.’

  She still looked astonished, as if the idea of spending time with an old lady was preposterous. ‘I rang.’

  ‘You rang?’

  ‘Of course I rang.’ Belle was defensive and angry in return. She had never been one to take criticism lightly. ‘The nurse said she was as well as could be expected and due for surgery. There wasn’t any point in coming while she was busy having pre-op examinations and things. I would have just had to sit in the room and wait.’

  ‘Right.’ He was past anger now. He was cold and drained and very, very tired. ‘What a waste of time. Of course. So when she went to Theatre, she had no one with her at all.’

  ‘She had the staff.’

  ‘It’s not the same, Belle.’ He drew in an angry breath and he knew what he had to say. ‘She had no one with her who loved her. It’s important.’

  ‘I don’t…’

  ‘You don’t love my mother? Of course you don’t.’ He nodded, his weariness intensifying by the minu
te. ‘I should have thought of that.’

  ‘I’m fond of Marguerite,’ she chided him gently. ‘Alastair, you’re weary. You’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘Maybe I am.’ He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but truth was surrounding him, fog or not. He lifted the flowers from the table and handed them back to her. ‘Love is…important. I hadn’t realised it. Until now. And we don’t have it, Belle.’

  ‘What-?’

  ‘We never have had it,’ he said grimly. ‘And I want it. I want it for my mother, for my children-and for me. And I won’t find it with you. So…’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Belle, but there it is. I organised my life like a business. But it’s not like that. Since Lissa died-’

  ‘Alastair, I understand-’

  ‘You don’t,’ he said bleakly. ‘After Lissa died I thought I could do without love. But that was because I didn’t know what love was. Not true love. Lissa and I were the best of friends and her death hurt like hell. Maybe if we’d married we would have ended up loving…like it’s possible to love. Maybe we wouldn’t. All I know is that when I made my vow not to love, I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I do now.’

  She still didn’t get it. ‘Darling, you’re overwrought.’

  ‘I’m overwrought,’ he agreed. ‘Yes. And maybe I should have been overwrought a long time ago. Take your flowers, Belle,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve messed with the smooth running of your life, but there’s no future for us. Take your flowers and go.’

  She got it then. Her eyes narrowed in anger. ‘Oh, Alastair, for heaven’s sake. If that little slut has pulled you in-’

  ‘If you’re talking about my wife, I’d advise you to be very, very careful,’ he growled. ‘My wife is anything but a slut.’ He took a deep breath. ‘My wife is my love.’

  Marguerite came back from Theatre two hours later and they still didn’t know if she’d make it. She had tubes and machines hooked up everywhere and the sight of her pale face made Alastair feel sick.

  ‘She arrested on the operating table,’ the surgeon explained. ‘We’ve been very lucky to get her back. But the repair work has been done. If she pulls through the next few hours she should be fine.’

  So he sat, glued to her bedside, willing her to keep on breathing.

  Hour after hour.

  Staff came and went. He hardly noticed. All he saw was his mother. All he thought about was his mother.

  Or maybe that wasn’t quite true. Because at the back of his mind was an aching need for Penny-Rose.

  Why was he calling her Penny-Rose in his thoughts?

  It was how he’d first seen her, he thought. Diminutive and work-stained and determined. Clad in overalls, ready to take on the world for her siblings, as tough as old boots.

  And tender to the core.

  She’d said she loved him.

  Hell!

  He watched his mother, but over and over through that dreadful night he thought of his wife.

  And with the dawn, Marguerite opened her eyes and smiled.

  ‘Alastair.’ It was a faint whisper, thready and weak, but she was there, conscious and alive. Her pleasure resonated in her voice. ‘What…what are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to be with you.’

  ‘But…’ She thought that through. ‘You should be with your wife.’

  ‘Penny-Rose…’ It was so close to what he’d been thinking that he was thrown off balance. ‘You know it’s just make-believe. Penny-Rose isn’t my wife.’

  ‘Of course she is.’ Marguerite squeezed his hand with what little strength she had. ‘She loves you just like I loved your father. She loves you even more than I love you. So much…’

  And she closed her eyes and slept-and left him wondering.

  Finally he was persuaded to take a break. Marguerite was settled, her breathing was deep and even and the doctor said she might well sleep for hours. He was sure now that when she woke she’d remember he’d been here, and the staff were smiling their reassurance and their pleasure. She’d live.

  So…a shave and a wash and a sleep were called for. Not necessarily in that order.

  ‘But maybe you’d better see your friend before you go,’ the charge nurse said, and he frowned.

  ‘My friend?’

  ‘She’s in the main waiting room. She says you won’t want to see her-that we’re not to disturb you-but she’s been waiting for some time now. Maybe seven or eight hours. She looks as worried as you have been. I was just about to send someone down to tell her your mother has every chance of recovering, but if you’d like to tell her yourself…’

  It didn’t make sense. ‘Belle’s been waiting?’

  ‘Is that her name? She didn’t say. You’ll find her down the hall.’

  So he went down the hall-and in the waiting room was Penny-Rose.

  For a moment he said nothing-just stood staring down at her as if he were seeing an apparition. The waiting room was deserted-no one but the most anxious of relatives would be here at this early hour. So Penny-Rose had sat alone and her eyes had been glued to the door as she’d waited.

  When Alastair appeared, she looked up at him without saying a word. Her eyes were huge, questioning and terrified, and he realised with a stabbing certainty that she wasn’t concerned about him. Not now.

  Unlike Belle, who’d only come to the hospital when she’d been sure of seeing Alastair, all Penny-Rose’s thoughts were with Marguerite. That was what she was searching for in his face. Marguerite’s fate. And he looked haggard, he knew, and his face must give the worst of impressions.

  But for the life of him he couldn’t make himself smile.

  All he could think of was that she was there. She was his love. The two thoughts crashed down on him with overwhelming force.

  How could he have been so stupid as not to have seen it? How could he have thought he couldn’t love?

  Here she was. Miraculously here. His wonderful, wonderful bride. His wife!

  ‘Penny-Rose…’ His voice came out a haggard whisper, and she came straight to the worst conclusion possible.

  ‘Oh, Alastair. Alastair…’ It was a whisper of distress and absolute, desolate loss, and she buried her head in her hands and closed her eyes. ‘Oh, no.’

  He couldn’t bear it. It took half a second to cross the room, kneel before her and take those beloved hands in his. To drag her fingers away from her tear-drenched eyes and make her look at him.

  ‘No. Penny-Rose, no! She’s alive. She’s OK…’ As she still looked at him with the remains of horror, he finally made himself smile. ‘Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to look dreadful. It’s just because I haven’t shaved and haven’t slept. But she’s recovering. They’ve operated and they’ve repaired the damage. She’s woken, she’s spoken to me and I’ve left her to sleep.’

  She stared up at him, torn between disbelief and hope. Her eyes were vast pools of exhausted misery. Weariness had put her almost past hope.

  But, finally, hope won.

  ‘You mean…she’ll live?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. I wouldn’t have left her otherwise.’

  ‘Oh, Alastair.’

  It was too much. She put her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder and burst into tears.

  He didn’t let her stay there. Not for long anyway.

  For maybe a minute he let her weep, while wonder faded and her touch seeped into his soul. She was real. She was here.

  She was his.

  And he could wait no longer. He put her back from him, looked at her drowning face and smiled down into her eyes with a smile that held infinite tenderness, infinite wonder-and infinite love.

  ‘My Penny-Rose,’ he said softly. ‘My love.’

  And his mouth found hers, and he kissed her with a passion that threatened to last for ever.

  It was a kiss that made a marriage-a marriage that was from this moment forward.

  �
��How did you get here?’

  Neither of them knew how long it took before words were possible between them, but when they were, everything that needed to be said somehow already had been. The kiss had said it all. Penny-Rose was in her husband’s arms and it would take the strength of giants to tear her away. ‘How on earth did you do it?’

  ‘Magic.’ She smiled, and he chuckled.

  ‘I know. More of the fairy godmother stuff. But seriously…’

  ‘Seriously, the resort manager realised how much I wanted to go so he contacted your recluse with the helicopter and used all his charm to persuade him to take me as well. Of course, we didn’t make it to Suva in time for your flight, so I caught a flight back to Sydney, then flew to Singapore and on to Paris. I must have landed only about five or six hours after you.’

  He stared at her in astonishment. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  ‘No more than you.’ She was snuggled into him, settled and happy. Happy wasn’t a big enough word. Ecstatic!

  ‘But why did you come? You wanted the holiday so much.’

  ‘Do you think I wanted a holiday more than being here…with you?’ She was indignant. ‘And with Marguerite. If anything had happened to Marguerite and I hadn’t been here…’

  ‘For me?’

  Penny-Rose looked up at him, her face deadly serious. ‘For you,’ she agreed. But…Alastair, I love your mother.’

  ‘It’s your speciality,’ he said softly. ‘Giving and giving and giving.’

  That puzzled her. ‘I don’t have anything to give.’

  ‘And I do?’ His voice was incredulous-angry even. ‘Money, riches, power-sure, I have all of those things. I have so much to give. Just not the thing that counts. Love.’

  ‘But you can’t-’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ He kissed her again, because he couldn’t bear not to. Heavens, she still tasted like the sea. It’d be the salt of her tears, he knew, but the smell of her, the feel of her…

  She was like the sea and the sky and the heavens all rolled into one.

  How had he ever thought he could put her away from him after a year? How had he ever thought he could keep himself from her for a year?

  ‘I can love now,’ he said, and all the joy of the morning was in his voice. ‘I’ve learned. I’ve had the very best of teachers. Oh, Rose…my Penny-Rose…’