by Janet Gover
‘Is that …?’
Lauren nodded.
‘Wow.’
Lauren giggled softly as Maria raised her eyebrows.
‘Why the clothes?’
‘I’m taking them to Josef’s centre, and they can’t go dressed like that.’
Maria cast an appraising glance over both men. ‘Lauren, are you sure that’s a good idea?’
‘No. But it’s too late now to have an attack of common sense.’
Realising they had been in whispered conversation far too long, Lauren helped Maria drag the rucksack further into her living room.
‘Hi, I’m Maria. I live upstairs.’ Never shy, Maria wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass. ‘These things are my brother’s but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed them.’
‘That’s kind of you. Thank you.’ The prince’s words were formal but Lauren could see the amusement in his eyes.
‘You’re welcome. Why don’t I …’
Maria never got a chance to finish the sentence, as Lauren hustled her towards the doorway.
‘All right. I’m going,’ Maria whispered. ‘But I want a full report tomorrow. And do you think you can get that bodyguard to bring the clothes back. He’s cute.’
‘Out,’ Lauren hissed.
‘Bye!’ Maria waved irrepressibly to the two men before vanishing through the doorway.
Lauren leaned back against the door. This was proving much harder than she had anticipated.
‘If the two of you aren’t going to stand out like sore thumbs you have to lose the ties. The jackets as well. And let’s get some dust on your shoes. I can see my reflection in them. The people you’ll be meeting tonight don’t place a lot of store in shiny shoes.’
‘Sir, I really think …’ A gesture from the prince cut off his bodyguard before he could complete the sentence. The sergeant looked unhappy but proceeded to undo his tie.
Lauren dug around in the rucksack. The first thing to come to hand was a pair of faded blue jeans. They would probably fit Prince Nicolas, and would be a good start in disguising him. He could go into her bedroom and change out of those expensive slacks. No, he couldn’t. The thought of the man taking his clothes off in her bedroom was far too much for Lauren to handle. She stuffed the jeans to the bottom of the bag and quickly pulled out a college sweatshirt and a big hand-knitted jumper. Both were rumpled and well worn, but clean. She handed the jumper to the prince and the sweatshirt to the sergeant.
‘No.’ The bodyguard handed it back. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why …’ Then she remembered the gun. He needed a jacket to hide his weapon. She looked again and found a grey windbreaker. ‘Will this do?’
The sergeant took it gingerly. He looked unhappy but a quick glance from the prince silenced any protest.
In a few seconds, the men had shrugged on their new attire. Much to Lauren’s disappointment, in this case clothes did not make the man. Nothing, it seemed, could disguise royal blood.
‘What do you think?’ Prince Nicolas spun slowly for Lauren’s inspection, his face set in a wide grin. He was obviously enjoying the charade.
‘Don’t fold out your shirt collar,’ Lauren instructed him. ‘Tuck it in so people think you might be wearing a T-shirt.’
His Royal Highness followed her instruction. The more casual clothes did give him a less formal air, and the grin served to make him seem far less remote. In this man she could see a teenage boy in love with a fantasy woman in a painting. She dearly wanted to run her fingers through his red hair and ruffle the immaculate cut. But that was stepping way over the line.
Thomas Lawry still looked like a bodyguard.
‘Lighten up,’ Lauren advised him. ‘You look like a policeman, and where we’re going the police aren’t always the good guys.’
The sergeant frowned but said nothing.
They finally set out. Sergeant Lawry had flatly refused to allow the prince to walk, while Lauren argued a bigger risk lay in taking the prince’s highly polished and very expensive car. The agreed compromise involved driving to within a couple of blocks of the centre then walking. Lauren rode in the back of the car with the prince. It was a big car, but it seemed small. She was very conscious of the man just a few inches away. His borrowed clothes made him seem more human, more approachable. Almost within her reach.
‘So, tell me about this centre,’ he said as they moved through the dark streets.
Lauren hardly knew where to start. ‘It’s just a place I go. It’s a sort of self-help centre and refuge. There’s room for a few people to stay, but only for a night or two.’
‘What sort of people?’
‘The people who fall through the gaps. Sometimes it’s teenagers running away from home,’ Lauren said. ‘It’s a safe place to think about things. Hopefully they’ll then go back home, instead of onto the streets. Battered wives can go there when they’re trying to escape violent homes. Sometimes they have kids with them. We try to pass people like that on to other charities so they don’t have to go back to their partners.’
‘What do you do there?’ the prince wanted to know.
‘I just help out. There’s a kitchen, and an extra hand preparing food is always welcome. They distribute the food to street people.’
‘The street people don’t ask to stay on? To live there permanently?’
‘No. Mostly they don’t want to, for reasons that are sometimes difficult to understand. Some have mental health issues. Some are running away – hiding from something or someone in their past. We occasionally get a veteran who is struggling to cope with things they saw on active duty. If anyone does want to come in, they get a shower and some clean clothes before they move on to a shelter.’
‘Who runs the place?’
‘A pastor. Josef is the most amazing person.’ Lauren smiled into the semi-darkness. ‘He does everything from fundraising to patching minor wounds after street fights.’
‘It sounds like a tough job.’
‘It is,’ Lauren said. ‘Josef really cares about these people and they know it. It’s rare that anyone gives him a hard time.’
She glanced out of the car window. ‘We’re not far away now. We should go the rest of the way on foot. One thing – don’t ask too many questions. People come here to hide, and if they think you’re trying to identify them, they might never come back. And there aren’t many other places they can go.’
The three of them started walking with the sergeant in the lead, alert for any signs of trouble. Lauren could sense his unease. The buildings around them were shabby and covered with graffiti and there were few streetlights. Occasionally, a sudden crash of noise would cause the bodyguard to stiffen, searching for potential danger. Lauren doubted that either man had even been to this part of the city before. Yet her royal companion seemed unconcerned and far more interested in what she had to say.
‘How did you get involved with this centre?’ he asked.
‘I met a homeless man.’ Lauren smiled at the memory. ‘He had a great face, and I asked if I could sketch him. Later, he took me to the shelter when he went for food. I met Josef, and that was the start of it. He’s pretty hard to refuse. I go there a couple of times a week, helping out. And I draw there. You’ll recognise some of the people from the sketches in my flat. There’s so much in their faces – so much pain. Sometimes hope. Sometimes despair. Their whole life story is written there. It’s beautiful.’
The prince fell silent for the remainder of their short walk. Finally, Lauren stopped.
‘Here it is.’
They were standing in front of a nondescript red brick building, which showed signs of age and much use. The lower windows were barred. Lauren led the way up a short flight of crumbling brick stairs, into a large hall. The bare bulbs hanging from the high ceiling cast a dull and unflattering light on the room and its contents. The paint of the walls was dull grey and peeling and the wooden floor had long since lost its polish. A few battered wooden tables with mismatched chairs w
ere clustered at one end of the room, near an open door that revealed a small kitchen. Hard wooden benches lined the walls, with shabby sofas offering seating that might or might not be more comfortable than the bare wood. At the far end of the room, the small empty stage was a reminder of former glories.
Normally, when visitors entered the room they flinched as they took in the shabby surroundings. Their eyes registered distaste. Then, when their gaze settled on the room’s inhabitants, their true feelings were revealed. Sometimes she saw fear in their eyes. More often it was disgust. When she watched the prince’s eyes, she saw only compassion.
His Royal Highness watched an unshaven man about his own age using a crust of bread to wipe the last drops of food from his plate. He smiled a little at the old men playing a board game on a side table, making their own entertainment in a place too poor for television. He noted the teenagers in a huddle around a box of old magazines. His brow creased in a frown when he noticed the woman clutching a child, huddled in an old armchair as if she hoped no one would see her.
On the far side of the room, a man in a dark suit looked up from the tattered books he was stacking on shelves that seemed on the point of collapse. His face broke into a wide grin when he saw the newcomers and he waved.
‘I wasn’t expecting you, Lauren.’ He walked briskly over to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘I thought your royal appointment would take you away from us.’
Lauren stiffened. She didn’t realise word of her commission had made it this far. She shook her head. ‘Not likely. You’re stuck with me. Where else would I find so many people willing to sit for me for so many hours? And for free.’
The man laughed, then turned his attention to Lauren’s companions.
‘Hello there. I’m Josef Bauer, the pastor of St Benedict’s.’ He paused and glanced at Lauren, waiting for introductions.
Lauren was lost for words. She could hardly introduce Prince Nicolas as himself. Not here. How then was she to introduce him? She certainly could never call him Nick.
‘Please to meet you, Pastor.’ The prince held out his hand. ‘I’m Cole Edwards and this is Tom Lawry.’
‘Cole. Tom. Call me Josef.’ The pastor shook the offered hands, showing no sign of recognising one of the most photographed faces in Europe. ‘Did Lauren talk you into coming to give us a hand?’
‘Well, she did say there was something useful we could do with our evening.’ The corner of the prince’s mouth curled in a half smile, as his eyes glinted at Lauren. ‘So, here we are.’
‘Well, there’s always work to be done. In fact, I’ve been wanting to shift some new furniture donations into the hall. They’re too heavy for me on my own, but the three of us could get it done in no time at all.’
‘Of course, Josef. Just point the way.’ Prince Nicolas beamed down at Lauren. ‘We’ll be back soon, Lauren.’
‘Sure thing … Cole.’ The name sounded strange on Lauren lips, yet it somehow suited this less formal man who was walking away from her. Josef was patting him on the shoulder, no doubt holding forth with his usual enthusiasm about the work carried on at the shelter. The two men were of about the same height and age. At first glance, they might seem to be friends or even brothers, but they were worlds apart. The presence of the bodyguard walking with them and looking very uncomfortable was proof of just how far apart they were.
Suddenly the humour of it all hit Lauren full in the face. She started to chuckle, a deep throaty laugh that she liked much better than those nervous giggles that had beset her since the moment she had first set foot inside the palace. She ran her fingers through her blue and white hair, feeling more relaxed than she had since she had been offered the chance to paint a portrait of a prince. Lauren headed for the kitchen, where there was always work to do.
That evening, the shelter was relatively quiet. A handful of homeless men wandered in to eat, sitting quietly at the far end of the room. They seldom talked among themselves, and never to anyone else. The street kids were all very young. The shelter had a strict rule against drugs, which the kids respected. If they didn’t, they were soon evicted. Mostly they sat around talking and playing cards. Lauren didn’t see any mobile phones, for which she was grateful. That meant there wasn’t much chance of ‘Cole’ being photographed.
Lauren found herself able to withdraw to a quiet corner, as she had done many times before, with her sketch pad and pencils. The shelter and its visitors proved an endless source of inspiration for her, and this night was no different.
Well, a little different.
She had been working for about an hour when Pastor Josef came to sit with her. He gently took the pad from her hands, and studied the sketch.
‘Is he who I think he is?’ Josef placed the pad back on her lap.
Lauren looked down at the pad. The drawing showed a man, casually dressed with his sleeves rolled up leaning over a sink of dirty dishes. He was looking across at someone and laughing. Lauren turned the page. A second sketch showed the face of the same man, his dark hair falling across his forehead.
‘Please, Josef. Don’t say anything.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ the pastor reassured her. ‘I don’t think anyone else has made the connection. Most of our people don’t read the social pages. And even if they did, they’d hardly think to find him in this place. And I certainly don’t want the place to be invaded by the photographers who seem to follow him everywhere.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Why did you bring him here, Lauren?’
‘I … I’m not sure.’
Lauren paused and searched her heart. She had brought the prince here because she was angry. Angry about his arrogance and the lack of respect he showed for others. Angry too about the behaviour she’d witnessed on the television that morning. Angry and disappointed. If anyone had asked her a week ago, she would have told them she despised the front-page behaviour of the playboy prince. Maybe things were different now she’d met him. Perhaps deep down she hoped that the prince would be a better man than he seemed.
‘I thought that maybe if he saw a place like this, and met some of the people, he might be able to do something. To help.’
‘Maybe he can, Lauren.’ Josef’s gentle smile told Lauren he understood more than she had said. ‘But even a prince can’t solve all the world’s problems.’
Lauren smiled then impulsively leaned forward to kiss Josef’s cheek softly. ‘You’re a good man, Josef.’
‘It sort of goes with the territory.’ The pastor smiled back.
They sat in silence, watching Cole Edwards talking to a young woman with a child in her arms. The woman’s fair hair was straight and lank, her clothes shabby and a world of pain was written in the lines of her tired face. Lauren knew her. Her name was Else and she lived nearby, in a shabby flat. Her unemployed husband was a violent man when drunk and he was drunk most of the time. Pastor Josef had offered to protect both the woman and the child, if she ever chose to break away.
So far, she had shown no signs of accepting, but she did come to the shelter sometimes. Tonight, she seemed more relaxed than Lauren had ever seen her. She even smiled at something Prince Nicolas said to her. Quickly Lauren turned the page of her pad and started sketching again.
She didn’t really notice when Pastor Josef left.
* * *
‘Hello, Else. I see you’ve met Cole.’
The woman visibly started when Josef spoke to her. Nicolas wanted to catch her hand in his and hold it till it stopped shaking.
‘Hello, Pastor Josef,’ Else whispered uncertainly. ‘We were just talking,’ she added quickly, as if she needed to explain her actions.
‘I know.’ Josef’s voice was very gentle as he sat on the bench next to her. ‘How are you, Else?’
‘I’m fine, thanks, Pastor Josef.’
‘That’s great, Else. It’s good to see you and baby Claudette here. You should come by more often.’
The woman cast a quick glance unde
r her lank fringe of hair to Nicolas. ‘I will, Pastor Josef. But I’d better go now. He’ll be home soon, wanting his dinner.’
Nicolas got to his feet, as the woman gathered her shabby bag, and tucked the child more firmly under her arm.
‘You take care,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Thank you,’ Else stammered as she scuttled away blushing.
Nicolas resumed his seat. ‘That poor woman. Her husband should be shot.’
‘I’m afraid there are laws against that sort of thing.’ Josef’s frustration was clear in his voice. ‘It’s a tragic case. She won’t leave him. And when she’s a bit older, that poor child will also become a punching bag. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon around here.’
‘What about the police? Can’t they arrest him?’
‘Yes, but only if she reports him. She’s too afraid of him to do it.’
‘With good cause, I think.’
‘All I can do … all we can do … is make sure there is somewhere safe for her to come, and someone she can talk to. A sympathetic ear can help a lot. She needs to know that all men aren’t the same. You’ve helped her a little today. Thank you for that.’
The prince looked steadily at the figure by his side. Just a few minutes ago, Lauren had kissed Josef: a sisterly peck on the cheek that had caused Nicolas a moment’s difficulty in breathing. Nicolas could remember the affection in Lauren’s voice when she had talked about Josef on the journey here. That affection was obviously returned. Nicolas couldn’t help but compare himself to the man who Lauren clearly admired. Or … was it more than admiration?
They might be about the same height and age, but that’s where the physical resemblance ended. Josef’s hair was dark brown and badly cut. His clothes were well worn. The man’s hands were also well worn and callused. They were hands that had known years of hard work. Nicolas looked at his own hands. They were exactly as Lauren had drawn them: strong and smooth. But they were obviously the hands of a wealthy man. It must be very clear to even the casual observer that the two men lived very different lives.
