by Lara Temple
Lady Albinia met her accusing gaze, her eyes softening.
‘Parents are still humans, Miss James. They cannot always be pillars of strength. Oswald and I took good care of Alexander until Arthur recovered his strength. Arthur met the present Lady Wentworth while he was at Harrogate and they were married a couple of years later. Once she was installed at the Hall she insisted on Alexander and I returning, though he continued to spend a portion of his holidays with Oswald. Eventually he came to care for his new mother very much. She is a good woman and has brought a great deal of warmth and calm to Stanton Hall.’
Christina turned to the ripening field, her eyes stinging. There was nothing apologetic about Lady Albinia’s words, nor should there be, but Christina could only think of the boy who had been betrayed and abandoned by both his parents and had only been invited back to his own home by the woman who had taken his mother’s place.
‘He is very lucky he had you and Sir Oswald,’ she murmured, surprised to see a flush rise over Lady Albinia’s pale cheeks. The older woman hesitated a moment as they proceeded down the path and for the first time Christina saw something revealing and very human under the placid surface.
‘It has not been easy. He was always so bright and handsome, so like his mother, the quintessential Sinclair. Everyone watched and talked behind his back, expecting him to make her mistakes, and he knew it. He kept himself deep inside. It was only with his friends he could be himself. Not even with me and his uncle, though I tried. Sometimes I wonder if that was why—’
She broke off as the ground shivered and Christina looked up, wondering if this was an earthquake like the minor shivers that sometimes caught Illiakos.
‘That’s Thunder,’ Lady Albinia remarked calmly, bending to pick some dandelions from the verge along the field.
Ari frowned and glanced up at the sky which had cleared during their visit and now sported no more than three stringy clouds drifting lazily above them.
‘I don’t think it can be thunder.’
‘Thunder. Alexander’s horse. He has probably been out around the estate with Mr Filbert, the steward.’
The sound was more evident now, just past the copse of trees at the edge of the harvested field. Now Christina could make out the pounding of the horse’s hooves over the shiver in the earth.
‘You can tell which horse it is just by the sound?’ she asked, annoyed at the way her heartbeat rose to match the tattoo of hooves.
‘Dear me, yes. No one else would dare ride hell for leather like that through the estate. It used to be the despair of his father.’
‘Not any more?’
‘Well, riding like a bat out of hell, as Arthur puts it, is marginally preferable to being kidnapped, shot at and generally disappearing for months on end without word. At least if something happens, we know where he is.’
‘Papa didn’t really kidnap him, you know. It was all a dreadful mistake,’ Ari asserted loyally as she scanned the hill behind the copse.
‘Oh, I wasn’t referring to that incident. We didn’t even know about that until much later. The last time he was kidnapped was three years ago while helping the American navy negotiate the release of slaves from the Berber King. Luckily by the time the news reached us, he had escaped and we had only a week to worry.’
It was years ago, but Christina’s heart constricted with fear at the thought of Alex in danger. And this had come after he had moved into the safer territory of diplomacy. Despite his protestations of sobriety and duty, she knew there was still a wild side to him that was in conflict with the rest of the dutiful façade and it both frightened and excited her, not least because it sounded an echo deep within her.
Just then the horse and rider appeared over the rise and she stood and watched alongside Ari and Lady Albinia. Even had she not known who it was she would have felt a thrill of excitement at the sight. Thunder was ebony black and he burst from between the trees like a giant raven about to soar into the sky. His hooves hardly scratched the ground, but the rumble reached them through the earth, climbing up Christina’s legs to merge with her rising pulse. Alex sat on the horse as if they were made of one element, like the mythical centaurs decorating the walls of the ancient temples on the far side of Illiakos. Then they disappeared behind a line of chestnut trees and slowly the ground settled. Her pulse took longer to calm.
‘I wish I knew how to ride.’ Ari sighed. ‘We only have donkeys on Illiakos, it is too rocky and steep for horses.’
Lady Albinia smiled at her.
‘Shall I ask Alexander to teach you?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t ask that. He is so very busy.’
‘Once the discussions are complete there will be a few days before you leave for Southampton. There is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you. Alexander taught both his sisters and Penny as well after she recovered from her fall. She was quite terrified of horses until Alexander took her in hand and now she has a pretty little pony of her own to take her around. I shall ask him.’
Ari’s natural modesty was clearly doing battle with her inclination and she finally grinned.
‘I should like that. You must come, too, Tina.’
She couldn’t help the images, of riding side by side with Alex, galloping across the fields, her hair torn loose by the wind, laughing with the joy of the speed and power of the horse beneath her. And then another image, his hands rising to grasp her waist, lowering her to the ground beside him, moving towards her...
She bent down to pick some poppies, hoping her flush would pale by comparison.
‘There is no need to include me, Ari. I rode often as a child at my uncle’s home and I dare say I can still hold my seat. You go.’
‘Dear me, it has grown quite hot today.’ Lady Albinia fanned herself with her handkerchief and resumed walking. ‘Good for my lavender, but the basil will need some extra care. Come along, we shall have some soothing mint tea just as you have shown me.’
Chapter Eight
‘Frigates...with an “i”. Ships! Not free gates, Stavros! This is impossible.’ The King’s raised voice heralded his return. Apparently all was not going smoothly downstairs.
‘I assure you, your Majesty—’ Stavros began to say, but the King’s voice cut him off.
‘Athena!’
‘What now?’ Ari murmured.
‘We shall soon find out,’ Christina replied as the parlour door burst open. ‘Yes, your Majesty?’
‘Athena, you are coming with me. Stavros here needs a rest from taking notes in English.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why do you look so shocked? You take notes for me at the castle when foreign dignitaries come to negotiate, no?’
‘Yes, but that is different. This is England.’
‘Exactly. This is England, you are English and the notes should be in English, not translated into Greek. It is my foolishness. The Russian and the Austrian sit there with their tame secretaries and I, whose whole future depends on ensuring it is all resolved just as it ought, must dig my way through these mistakes. It is too late to find someone I can trust who can act as secretary. Soon the Russians and Austrians leave and I must decide what will go into this treaty. I need someone I can trust. Now. So tidy your hair. You have half an hour before we continue downstairs.’
The door closed behind him and Ari sighed.
‘I wish I could come, too.’
‘I wish you could do this instead of me,’ Christina muttered, annoyed at her childish anticipation at the thought of seeing Alex.
* * *
Alex almost dropped the document he was holding as the King entered with Miss James in tow and guided her towards where the secretaries’ desks were set slightly apart from the main table where he sat with the other envoys.
‘My secretary has hurt his wrist so Miss James here will continue,’ the King said. ‘She often tak
es notes for me in English. You may sit at that desk there, Athena.’
The other secretaries looked even more shocked than the Russian and Austrian envoys. They were men like Stavros or Alex’s own secretary, Charles, whose livelihood it was to serve the political interests of their masters. The only one impervious to this unorthodox development was Sir Oswald, who smiled and addressed Miss James.
‘If there is anything you need or if you wish us to repeat anything, please do not hesitate to ask. Charles, do please ensure Miss James has whatever writing implements she needs.’
‘Thank you, Sir Oswald.’ Christina smiled at him, the tension about her mouth lessening.
‘You are most welcome, Miss James. Good. Shall we continue, your Excellencies?’
Alex sat, angling his chair so she would not be directly in his line of sight.
If the morning had been uphill work, the afternoon was a slog through knee-deep mud as he actually had to exert willpower to concentrate on the details being assessed. He never depended on Charles for remembering the details of an agreement, but as the afternoon progressed he realised he would have to review Charles’s notes to ensure he wasn’t missing anything. As they hammered out the particulars of naval rights and trade concessions he could have sworn he could distinguish the particular scrape of her pen on paper and even, under the oppressive smell of Razumov’s occasional cheroot and the smells of wine, ink and tension, the scent of wildflowers.
Finally Von Haas sighed and leaned back.
‘Mercy, your Majesty. We have made reasonable progress, Lord Stanton, but I believe I need to rest this ageing mind of mine. Perhaps this is a good point to adjourn until tomorrow?’
Alex tried not to show his own relief.
‘An excellent idea. It will give everyone an opportunity to review what has been achieved thus far. King Darius, if your secretary is not able to resume his duties, perhaps you would like for me to arrange for someone from the Foreign Office with the requisite skills? We are not far from town and they could be here first thing tomorrow morning.’
Christina stiffened in the act of gathering her papers, but other than the now-familiar tightening of her generous lips she showed no reaction to his suggestion. The King, however, frowned.
‘There is no need,’ the King stated. ‘Miss James is perfectly capable of taking notes and she is completely trustworthy. As you said, we will likely only need one more day.’
‘I am sure she is, I am not implying anything about her skills or trustworthiness, but secretaries are trained to be accurate and to note even the most minute of details. A great deal of damage can be done by the misplacing of a single digit. I believe someone who is experienced in ensuring all the particulars are registered would be more appropriate, for your own interests.’
And mine.
The King’s frown disappeared and Alex was surprised to see it replaced by a look of pure mischief.
‘You think so? I will wager that Miss James’s eye for particulars will surpass that of any of these men.’
That caught the attention of the others. The three secretaries stopped in mid-motion and Razumov’s bushy brows arced up towards his balding head.
‘A wager? What kind of wager?’
‘There is no need to—’ Alex began, watching the mix of consternation and anger darken Miss James’s blue eyes as she glared at her employer, but the King interrupted.
‘I wager that Miss James will remember more numbers on a written list in an allotted time than any of your secretaries. What say you?’
‘Your Majesty!’
The King turned at Miss James’s protest, his grin wholly unrepentant.
‘What? You must uphold the Illiakan pride, now, Athena. Razumov—you will write a list of random digits, let us say fifteen of them, on a sheet of paper, but do not let anyone see until we are ready. Then all of these fine young men, and woman...’ he bowed towards Christina ‘...will each write as much as they can remember. In order. The results are to be reviewed by us.’
‘What are we wagering over?’ Von Haas enquired, his mournful eyes brightening at the promise of sport. ‘Aside from honour and curiosity?’
‘I hardly think this is the right setting for wagers, your Excellencies.’ Alex tried to intervene, hoping his anger wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
‘Nonsense,’ Razumov dismissed, his eyes also alight. ‘Fifteen digits, you say? But there must be a limit in time.’
‘Naturally! Let us say a slow count to ten?’
Count Razumov laughed.
‘Done. Sit down, my fine fellows, and Miss James, of course,’ he ordered the secretaries. They complied, but Miss James was the last to obey, her eyes fixed firmly on her desk.
Alex suppressed a curse. Usually the foibles of the men he dealt with didn’t bother him. Men in power were notoriously quixotic and loved to parade, and the King’s conceit was an unusually mild one compared to some of the scenes Stanton had had to witness over his years of diplomatic dealings. There was no reason whatsoever to feel so furious.
He directed a glance at his uncle, hoping he would somehow think of a way to stop this nonsense, but Sir Oswald responded with an almost infinitesimal shrug. The message was clear—as his uncle had said, this was as much an emotional as a practical decision for King Darius. If he wanted to play some games to relieve the tension as he readied himself to take the plunge, so be it.
‘I know what we should wager.’ Razumov announced, inspired. ‘A bottle of the finest vodka!’
‘If you win,’ the King concurred. ‘If I win, a bottle of ouzo.’
‘Cognac for me,’ Von Haas said. ‘Shall we?’
Alex abandoned the attempt to look away from Miss James. She wore the dress she had worn earlier that day when he had seen her and the Princess through the stateroom windows returning from their walk. It was a pale-yellow gown with darker-yellow flounces and delicate lace-like embroidery all along the bosom and it struck a sapphire light into her eyes. Or perhaps that was the simmer of temper. Right now her gaze was no longer meekly lowered. It skimmed around the table and returned to the King without a word or gesture, but that calm assessment dimmed the jollity slightly and the men straightened in their chairs. This rise to attention didn’t calm Alex one bit. It wasn’t respect that commanded the response, but a very male fascination with the girl’s imperiousness. He felt it himself and would have been very glad if that was all he felt. It was becoming a nuisance, having his body rush into avid attention every time she entered a room. Hell, every time his mind wandered in search of her.
‘It is only a bottle of spirits and his Majesty’s pride, Miss James,’ Von Haas offered reassuringly. ‘So you needn’t feel the weight of the world on your charming shoulders.’
The King snorted and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Come, write down those numbers, Razumov.’
Razumov contemplated Christina, his dark eyes skimming over her before pulling a sheet of paper towards him.
‘All four of you, stand up and turn your backs,’ he said and there was a scuffling as the secretaries did as they were told.
Alex’s hand tightened on his glass as the room faded away, leaving just the sight of the girl standing with her back to them, her profile half-averted towards the window, swaying slightly as if listening to an internal tune, her lips parted, chin raised. She would stand like that waiting for a kiss, dreamy, expectant, already weaving passion into the air around her. Alex shifted as a shiver of something like fear contracted his muscles.
Razumov concluded his scribbling and raised the page.
‘Will you count, Sir Oswald? Good. You can all turn around now.’
The four turned. Stanton counted out the all-too-brief seconds in his mind until Sir Oswald raised his hand and Razumov lowered the page, placing it face down on the table.
‘Write down what you remember.’
The
King sat back with annoying smugness as Sir Oswald collected the four pages from the secretaries and Alex was caught between the conflicting wishes that she not be humiliated and the need to see the King humbled. He watched as the four sheets were placed face up on the table and Razumov turned over his own.
‘Ha! Did I not say so? Ouzo! There is nothing quite like it,’ came the King’s victorious cry.
Charles had come close, with thirteen out of the fifteen digits. Sir Oswald reviewed them again, quizzing glass extended as if there might yet prove to be some mistake.
The other men inspected Christina with an even greater intensity while she stared at some point on the wall, her lips still tight. In the silence Alex could feel the same frisson as had shook him pass like a wave around the table in the face of the woman on exhibition before them. There was nothing provocative in her stance, but the mere act of performing at their whim and for their pleasure was a flag to these bulls.
More than ever Alex wished he had never agreed to allow the King to come to Stanton Hall.
‘May I ask how you did that?’ Sir Oswald enquired.
The King waved his hand as if it was obvious.
‘Colours. Her father told me about this skill of hers. Very useful.’
‘Colours?’
‘Explain it to him, Athena.’
She turned towards Sir Oswald and the defiance in her eyes faded a little at the inviting smile in his.
‘Numbers and letters have colours when I see them in my mind. It makes memorising easier.’ Her voice was hardly above a murmur, like a child admitting to a misdemeanour. Alex wasn’t in the least surprised to see his uncle’s usually impassive face light up with interest.
‘Fascinating. And very useful. I met a musician once who said he saw musical notes in colour and that playing music was like watching a painting dance. Most fascinating indeed.’
‘It is indeed a peculiar talent, young woman,’ Razumov mused, his dark eyes roaming over her again. ‘Do you understand Russian, Miss James?’
