by Janet Gover
Nicolas laughed, and this time she did too.
‘You could let him loose on the pack of vultures outside my front door,’ Lauren suggested.
Nicolas suddenly understood. She was feeling trapped in her own home. He could do something about that.
‘You stay right there until you hear from me.’
‘Don’t take too long,’ she said before hanging up.
Nicolas put the phone down, and turned to the two men in his office.
‘I’m going to get her.’
‘With all due respect, sir, I think that would be ill-advised,’ said Leo Falconer. The press officer was showing signs of a sleepless night spent answering press phone calls. His hair and clothes were rumpled. More than ever, he looked like one of the paparazzi his job was to defend against. ‘You would never be able to avoid the press outside. That would only make matters worse.’
Nicolas cast a quick glance at Courtauld. The man was impeccably groomed as always and showing no signs of lost sleep. He would never offer an opinion and the prince would never ask, but Nicolas knew the man well enough to sense that he agreed with Falconer. Nicolas had come to trust Courtauld’s judgement on many things. Perhaps he should trust him on this.
‘Then what do you advise? That we do and say nothing, as in the past?’
‘Not at all.’ The press officer ignored the prince’s angry tone. ‘This is far more serious. We shall have to issue a statement. I am also organising an interview for Miss Phelps, with a journalist who can be trusted to present a balanced story.’
‘Have you thought to ask Miss Phelps if she is willing to do an interview?’
‘Sir?’
Like so many palace officials, it had never occurred to Falconer that someone might say no to an official request. Nicolas thought the man might be in for a surprise when he spoke to Lauren about it. He wanted to witness that conversation. In the meantime, he had a more pressing problem.
‘Courtauld, tell Sergeant Lawry I’d like to speak to him, please.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Nicolas turned to the press officer. ‘Thank you, Falconer. Don’t confirm that interview yet.’
‘Sir, perhaps I should get in touch with Miss Phelps.’
‘No. Leave that to me. I will let you know about the interview.’
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Nicolas’s bodyguard. The press officer looked concerned. ‘Sir …’
‘Thank you, Falconer.’ Nicolas gave the man no chance. After a moment’s hesitation, the press secretary left.
‘Thomas, I’m going to get her out of that building.’ Nicolas knew his bodyguard would have been briefed on what was going on.
‘No, sir. You are not.’
Nicolas was surprised. Protection officers were among the few people who ever said no to a member of the royal family. They had absolute control over issues of security, but Nicolas didn’t think this qualified.
‘She’s trapped in her flat. She can’t stay there.’
‘No, she can’t,’ Lawry agreed. ‘But you won’t be the one to get her out. You would be recognised by the press pack and that would only make it worse …’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Worse for Miss Phelps.’
Thomas had used the only words that could stop Nicolas in his tracks. He ran his hands through his hair and gave way.
‘Can you get her here without anyone knowing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
Lawry didn’t answer. Nicolas realised that for a man with the sergeant’s distinguished military background, the question was almost an insult.
‘Take good care of her, Thomas.’
‘I will.’
The bodyguard left. At a nod from his master, Courtauld followed. For the first time in many hours, Nicolas was alone. He paced the room, almost quivering with pent-up energy. It was unbelievably hard to stand by and do nothing when every fibre of his being urged him to go to Lauren. To protect her. He thought about heading for the stables, or at least into the grounds for some exercise, but he didn’t want to be far from the phone. He wondered how long it would take Thomas to effect his rescue plan. He strode twice more around the room, then sat at his desk and opened his computer. That proved to be a mistake.
Nick’s Punk Princess.
Prince’s Pink Punk.
The internet was awash with the images and with speculation ranging from the laughable to the criminal. A hot wave of anger seethed through Nicolas as he recalled the nervous tremor in Lauren’s voice. For the first time since leaving the military, Nicolas felt the deep-seated rage that led to violence.
* * *
‘Are you going to tell me?’ Maria asked.
‘I thought I had.’ Over coffee around the kitchen table, Lauren had told Maria all about her unwitting interview with the Herald reporter.
‘I don’t mean that.’
‘Oh.’ Lauren knew what she meant. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘If I remember correctly there has been kissing. That sounds like something to me.’
Lauren buried her face in her hands. ‘He had organised payment of my bills at the art shop. I kissed him on the cheek to thank him.’
‘But he didn’t kiss you on the cheek.’
‘No,’ Lauren whispered, her voice echoing the intense rush of emotion that the memory brought. ‘He didn’t kiss me on the cheek.’
‘Was that the first time?’
Lauren shook her head.
‘He kissed you at the party, didn’t he? Of course he did. You looked so fabulous he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t kiss you. This is great.’
‘No it isn’t,’ Lauren responded.
‘It is, you know.’ Maria pulled Lauren’s hands away from her face. ‘Look at me.’
Lauren looked up.
‘How many times have we sat around this table talking about men?’ Maria asked. ‘Dozens. Every time, it was me who was in love or in lust or just plain confused. Never you. Not even Pastor Josef has merited a single comment.’
‘But Josef’s just a friend,’ Lauren protested.
‘A friend who is crazy about you and you know it.’
Lauren couldn’t deny it.
‘I know what your problem is,’ Maria continued. ‘Your prince has come, my friend, and you are smitten.’
‘And look where it’s got me,’ Lauren retorted. ‘I can’t leave my flat because of those vultures outside. I made of a fool of myself for everyone to see. He’s a prince, for goodness’ sake. I don’t belong in his world. Maria, you of all people know enough about me and my past to know that I never will.’
Any response Maria might have offered was interrupted by the ringing of her telephone. She leaped up to answer it. Lauren watched her go, her mind lost in misery. She wished there was some place she could just curl up and hide. She had accused Nicolas of thinking he was better than everyone else, but deep down she knew she wasn’t good enough for his world and that was a bitter pill to swallow.
From the living room, she could hear Maria’s voice as she talked to someone. It must be Nicolas. Good. Lauren could finish this now. She didn’t know how her life could get worse, but she wasn’t going to give it a chance. No commission was worth this. Lauren walked into the living room, mustering her courage for the conversation she knew she had to have.
‘It will take about forty-five minutes, I guess,’ Maria told the person on the end of the telephone. She listened to a response. ‘All right. See you then.’
She dropped the phone back in its cradle.
‘Was that Nicolas?’ Lauren asked. ‘I wanted to talk to him.’
‘No, it wasn’t. It was that cute bodyguard. He has a plan to get you safely away from here.’
‘I’m not getting involved in any crazy plan. I’m in enough trouble already.’
‘Yes, you are in trouble. Tell me, how long do you plan to stay trapped in your flat? That crowd outside will wait forever if they have to. You’v
e got to get out of here and go somewhere they can’t find you. Do you think you can manage that without some help? I don’t think you can. Stop being stupid and let me help. Let him help. He knows what he’s doing.’
Lauren gave in grudgingly. Maria was right. She was in no shape to handle this alone. Her relationship with Nicolas had brought her to this terrible mess. The least he could do was help her get out of it.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What’s this plan?’
‘I don’t know any details,’ Maria said. ‘I have to go and meet Sergeant Lawry. I suppose he’ll tell me all about it then.’
‘That doesn’t sound too promising,’ Lauren said.
‘Give him a chance,’ Maria replied, turning towards her bedroom. ‘First, I have to change.’
Maria vanished into her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later with a large colourful shoulder bag and a red jacket over her jeans. She was holding a pair of sunglasses. Her brown hair was rumpled.
‘How do I look?’
‘Bright,’ Lauren replied. ‘You’ll be easy to spot in a crowd.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Maria said gaily. ‘I’m off now, to meet the attractive Sergeant Lawry.’
‘Wait a second.’ Lauren had a sudden thought. ‘How do you know it’s really him? It could be some journalist trying to trick you.’
‘Oh, it’s him all right.’ Maria grinned wickedly and winked. ‘I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, you should slip downstairs and throw some things in a bag. Enough for a few days. Bring it back here and wait for me – for us.’
Lauren felt very alone when the door closed behind Maria. Her friend’s flat was as familiar to her as her own, yet today it seemed a cold and unfriendly place. Or perhaps it was the whole world that had suddenly become unfriendly. Lauren didn’t dare look out the window to see how Maria fared getting past the crowd outside. The interview that caused all this trouble was supposed to give Maria’s salon some publicity, yet neither Maria nor the salon had been mentioned in any of the reports. Lauren was grateful for that now. At least her friend had some measure of freedom.
Lauren paced the flat. She didn’t want to turn on the television or go online. She was too afraid of what they might be saying about her. The hands of her watch seemed stuck in concrete as one minute crawled towards the next.
At last her feet stilled. With a deep sigh, she turned to the door. With nothing else to do, she walked down the stairs to her own flat to pack a bag as Maria had instructed. It didn’t take long. Lauren gave no thought to what she threw into her bag. She had no idea what the next few days would hold, and cared even less about what she might want to wear as she faced it.
She was soon back in Maria’s flat. It felt is if she’d been staring at the walls for hours when she heard a key in the lock.
‘What took you so long?’ Lauren leaped to her feet as Maria walked in the door. ‘I’ve been … Oh!’ She took a step back in fear as a strange man followed her friend into the flat. ‘Who …?
‘It’s all right, Lauren,’ Maria hastened to reassure her. ‘This is Detective Girard. He’s your bodyguard.’
‘Good morning, Miss Phelps. I’ve been instructed to assist you to avoid the press below.’ The detective moved towards the window and carefully glanced out. He was a reassuringly big man, with an aura of competence. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket and sporting longish hair, he didn’t really look like a royal bodyguard.
‘Instructed … by Nic—Prince Nicolas?’ Lauren asked.
‘By Sergeant Lawry. I’m part of his detail.’
‘Oh.’ Lauren was disappointed by the answer. Still, she chided herself, she shouldn’t expect too much. After this morning’s headlines, she could hardly ask Nicolas to personally race to her rescue. In fact, she suddenly realised, she shouldn’t be surprised if her commission was cancelled. The palace would want to put an end to the press speculation quickly and quietly. Dismissing her would be the easiest way. Nicolas would just accept it. She could hardly expect a couple of kisses, no matter how devastating, to change reality. And the reality was that she was expendable – to the royal household, and to His Royal Highness.
‘Why didn’t Sergeant Lawry come?’ she asked.
‘Because he is too well known as the prince’s bodyguard.’ The detective seemed unsurprised by the question. ‘I won’t be recognised.’
The look on his face told Lauren not to ask why. Was he an undercover agent? she wondered. Or some sort of spy? What was she doing involved with someone like that? She fought down a momentary panic and simply nodded her understanding.
‘First, we have to do something about the way you look.’ The detective was all business.
‘The way I look? What do you expect me to do … put on some disguise?’
‘More or less,’ Maria jumped in. ‘They’ll spot that hair a mile away. It’s famous now. That’s the first thing we have to hide.’
‘Not another dye job?’ The idea was too much for Lauren to face today.
‘Not this time. Voilà!’ With a flourish Maria pulled something that looked like a dead animal from the depths of her shoulder bag.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a wig. I picked it up from the salon while I was out. We’ve got to hide that hair. Come here.’
Lauren perched on the arm of Maria’s sofa while her friend tucked and tugged and teased. At last, Maria was satisfied.
‘It won’t win me any prizes, but it should do the job.’
‘That’s excellent.’ The detective looked closely from one woman to the other. ‘You’re close enough in height and build. All you need to do now is swap clothes.’
‘What!’
‘It makes sense, Lauren.’ Maria hastened to calm her. ‘The crowd outside have seen me come and go and they barely looked at me just now. If you look like me, they’ll ignore you too.’
‘But we don’t look anything alike.’
‘You don’t really need to,’ the detective said. ‘Your hair and clothes will be the same. You’ll be with me, again. They’re looking for someone with pink hair and, shall we say, more outlandish clothes.’
‘It sounds so simple.’ Lauren was sceptical.
‘Sometimes the simple plans are the best.’
Faced with the detective’s calm determination, Lauren had no choice but to comply. The exchange took only a couple of minutes. When the two women emerged from the bedroom, the detective nodded in approval.
‘I think we’ll be fine.’ He reached into his jacket for his phone and moved to the window as he dialled.
‘Are you going to be OK?’ Maria took Lauren’s hand, her face creased with concern.
‘I guess so.’ Lauren tried to smile. ‘After all, how much worse can things get?’
Maria didn’t look at all convinced. ‘You be careful. And I don’t just mean of that pack outside the door.’
Lauren gave her friend a quick hug. ‘I will,’ she whispered.
Detective Girard had finished his call. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked Lauren.
‘As ready as I ever will be. What happens now?’
‘We head downstairs. When we go through the front door, keep looking at me. Talking to me. Just ignore the media. Hopefully they won’t realise we’ve made the switch.’
‘And if they do realize?’
‘Stay close to me. There’s a car waiting. One way or another, you are getting out of here.’
The detective’s voice exuded a quiet and professional confidence. Lauren tried to take some comfort from that, and almost succeeded.
‘Well, here goes.’ She bent to pick up her bag of things.
‘Sorry, Miss Phelps, you can’t take that,’ Girard said. ‘That will draw attention to you, and we don’t want that at any cost. Someone will bring it to you later.’
Lauren shrugged. Her life was totally out of her control – so what did a bag of clothes matter. She stepped to the door.
‘Good luck!’ Maria’s voice sent Lauren and the detective on thei
r way down the stairs.
Lauren’s steps didn’t falter as she passed the door to her own apartment. There was no shelter for her there. But when she looked down and saw the front door, she caught her breath and stopped moving.
‘Here, take my hand.’ The detective clasped her hand in his. ‘Now look at me.’
Lauren felt her eyes drawn to his face by the sheer force of his command.
‘It’s going to be fine. They saw me come into the building, hand in hand with a woman who wasn’t the one they are looking for. Now they’ll see me leave hand in hand with the same woman. Just don’t look at them. Keep your eyes on me, as if we are lovers. Understand?’
Lauren nodded, too scared to speak.
‘Try to smile. And whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand,’ Girard ordered as he opened the door.
Lauren took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. She turned her face towards the detective as she heard a sudden flurry of movement from the pavement.
‘Is that her?’
‘Lauren …?’
‘Quick, get the camera rolling …’
Lauren’s courage almost failed her.
‘Come on.’ The detective leaned towards her in an intimate manner and whispered in her ear. ‘They don’t know it’s you.’
Even as he spoke, one of the assembled media scrum confirmed his words.
‘It’s not her.’
‘Stand down, guys, it’s only that other girl.’
Lauren forced her feet to take the next step. Then the next. Gripping the detective’s hand like a lifeline, she looked up at his face. He smiled his encouragement. They were down the steps and turning away up the street.
Lauren gathered herself, desperate to run and escape the media scrum.
‘No, don’t start running. Just keep walking as if there’s nothing wrong.’
Lauren swallowed her panic and nodded. Each step she took seemed to take forever, as if her feet were mired in molasses. The next intersection seemed to be as distant as the moon, and as hard to reach.
‘You’re doing great,’ Girard told her. ‘Just around the corner there’ll be a black sedan. The engine will be running. Sergeant Lawry is driving. Only a few more yards and you’ll be safe.’
