She showered, and in deference to the kids’ decree she donned her church clothes-a neat black skirt and a pretty pink twin-set. It was a bit priggish, she thought, staring into the mirror, but it was the best she had, and she wasn’t out to impress Max.
But she did shampoo her hair and blow-dry her curls, brushing until they shone. She did apply just a little powder and lipstick. But that was all.
She turned from her reflection with a rueful grimace. Once upon a time she and Gina had spent hour upon giggly hour getting ready for special evenings. Now Gina was dead and the only cosmetics Pippa possessed were a compact for a shiny nose and a worn lipstick. And the only good outfit she had was her church gear.
Enough. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She headed back to the kitchen, but paused before she entered. There was the sound of kids giggling and Max’s deep voice talking to them.
On impulse she deviated to the office.
The office was a bit of a misnomer. It was a tiny space enclosed at the end of the veranda. Pippa stored the farm paperwork here, and she had an ancient computer with dial-up internet connection-as long as the phone lines weren’t down. They weren’t. She typed in Alp d’Estella and found out what it had to say.
Of the group of four alpine nations-Alp Quattro-in southern Europe, Alp d’Estella is the largest. The four countries depend heavily on tourists; and indeed each country has stunning scenery. Alp d’Estella is known throughout the world for its magnificent shoe trade. Alp d’Estella’s skilled tradesmen supply exquisitely made handmade shoes to the catwalks of London, Paris, New York and Rome.
Politically, however, there is trouble in paradise. Each of the Alp Quattro countries is a Principality and their constitutions leave absolute power in the hands of the Crown Prince. Alp d’ Azuri, a neighbouring country, has with the help of the current Crown Prince, moved to revoke these powers and is now seen as politically stable. Alp d’Estella, however, is a country in crisis.
The death of the Crown Prince a month ago with no clear successor has left the country more corrupt than when the Prince was alive. Prince Bernard led a puppet government which, if no one claims the throne, will become the de-facto government. Poverty is widespread, as is corruption. The nation’s only industries are being taxed to the hilt and are now threatened with bankruptcy. The succession must be sorted, and sorted quickly, in order to restore order.
This was why Max was here. To organise the succession.
To an eight-year-old.
What did Marc know about running a country?
Nothing. It was ridiculous. But there was no time to discover more.
She took a deep breath, disconnected and went to tell Max how ridiculous it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
PIPPA couldn’t tell Max anything for a while, for the children had decreed tonight a party.
Pippa could hardly believe the transformation. They’d all just recovered from world’s worst cold virus, with Marc sickest of all. The last few weeks had been dank and miserable. Cold seemed to have seeped into their bones, but now she couldn’t hear so much as a residual cough. With the warmth and with the wonderful food-and maybe with the excitement of Max’s visit?-they’d found a new lease of life. The twins had put on their best dresses. They’d tied a huge red bow around Dolores’ neck-she looked very festive fast asleep by the stove. And, from a sad, coughing little boy, Marc was transformed into master of ceremonies, bossing everyone.
‘Give Mr de Gautier red lemonade,’ he ordered Pippa when they sat down to eat, and when Pippa didn’t move fast enough he sighed and started pouring himself.
‘He’s bought wine,’ Pippa said mildly, but the children stared at her as if she had to be joking-wine when there was red lemonade?-and Max accepted his red lemonade with every semblance of pleasure and raised a glass in crimson toast.
‘You see what it’s like?’ Pippa demanded, smiling and raising her glass in turn. ‘I try to be in charge…’
‘Pippa’s no good at being bossy,’ Marc told Max, and Max grinned.
‘She was pretty non-bossy in the dairy. I’m thinking she’s more an opera singer than a dairy maid.’
The operatic singer blushed crimson. ‘There’s no need…’
‘Now, don’t defend yourself,’ he said, ladling pie onto the twins’ plates. ‘There’s no need. It was truly marvellous singing. It’s a wonder the milk didn’t turn to curds and whey all by itself.’
‘You…’
‘What?’
She stared at him. He kept right on smiling and she kept right on staring. The table stilled around them.
‘Would you like some pie?’ he asked gently and she gasped and reached for the pie dish with her bare hands. Which was dumb. There was a dish cloth lying ready but she hadn’t used it. The pie dish was very hot. She yelped.
He was up in a flash, tugging her chair back. Propelling her to the sink.
‘I’m fine,’ she managed, but he had her hands under the tap and it was already running cold.
‘I hardly touched it.’
‘You yelped.’ His hands were holding hers under the water, brooking no opposition.
‘I did not yelp.’
‘You did so,’ Marc volunteered from behind them. ‘Are you burned?’
‘Do you need a bandage?’ Claire demanded, then slipped off her chair and headed for the bathroom without waiting for a response. ‘You always need a bandage,’ she said wisely.
‘I hardly touched it,’ she said again, and Max lifted her fingers from the water and inspected them one by one. There was a faint red line on one hand, following the curve of her fingers.
‘Ouch?’ he said gently and he smiled.
There was that smile. Only it changed every time he used it, she thought. He was like a chameleon, fitting to her moods. Using his smile to make her insides do strange things. She looked up at him, helpless, and Sophie sighed dramatically in the face of adult stupidity and handed her the dishcloth.
‘Dry your hands,’ she said and edged Max away. ‘We don’t need bandages,’ she called to her twin. ‘There’s no blood. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’ she told Pippa. ‘There’s chocolate ice cream for dessert.’
‘You guys are amazing,’ Max said. ‘You take it in turns to play boss.’
‘It works for us.’ Pippa tugged her hands away-which took some doing-and returned to her place at the table with what she hoped was a semblance of dignity. ‘Everything’s fine.’
But everything wasn’t fine. Everything was…odd. Max was still smiling as he ladled her pie without being asked.
Her insides felt funny.
It was hunger, she told herself.
She knew it was no such thing.
The rest of dinner passed uneventfully, which was just as well for Pippa’s state of mind. She ate in silence. The children chattered to Max, excited by the food, the festive occasion and the fact that this big stranger seemed interested in everything they said. He seemed really nice, she thought, but she tried to keep her attention solidly on food.
‘I need to put the kids to bed,’ she said when the last of the chocolate ice cream had been demolished. ‘Don’t wash up until I get back.’
‘I’m helping Max wash up,’ Marc said and Pippa practically gaped.
‘You’re offering?’
‘If Max can do dishes then I can.’
She gazed at him, doubtfully-this little boy who was growing to be a man.
She knew nothing of raising boys, she thought. She knew nothing of…men. She had nothing to do with them. There was not a single inch of room in her life for anything approaching romance.
Romance? Where had that thought come from?
From right here, she told herself as she ordered the twins to bed. For some dumb reason she was really attracted to Max.
Well, any woman would be, she told herself. It’s not such a stupid idea. He’s connected to royalty, he has a yummy accent and he’s drop-dead gorgeous.
So you’re not
dumb thinking he’s attractive. You’re just dumb thinking anything could come of it.
Dumb or not, she read the twins a really long book and tucked them in with extra cuddles. She called Marc and did the same for him. When she finally finished, Max was in the living room, ensconced in an armchair by the fire, with Dolores draped over his feet.
Pippa had hardly been in this room since summer. It was cold and unwelcoming and slightly damp. Now however the fire had been roaring in the firestove for hours. Max was cooking crumpets on a toasting fork. He’d loaded a side-table with plates and butter and three types of jam. The whole scene was so domestic it made Pippa blink.
‘Haven’t we just had dinner?’
‘Yes, but I saw the toasting fork and I need to try it. And now I’m feeling like crumpets, too.’
The fire was blazing. ‘How much wood are you using?’ she said before she thought about it and Max cast her a look of soulful reproach.
‘There’s more where it came from and the least you can do is make a guest feel warm.’
‘You’re no guest.’ She was feeling desperate and desperate times called for desperate measures. Or bluntness at least. ‘You’re here to take Marc.’
‘Don’t dramatise. You know I can’t do that. You’re Marc’s guardian. Well done?’
She blinked. ‘Sorry?’
‘How do you like your crumpet?’ he asked patiently. ‘I’m getting good at this. The first crumpets ended up in the fire-this toasting fork has no holding power. But the last one I made was excellent. You can have this one. Do you like it slightly singed or charcoal-black?’
‘We’ll be out of wood again by the end of the week, and I’m not letting you buy more.’
‘I’m hoping you’ll be in Alp d’Estella by the end of the week.’
Pippa took a deep breath. Things were happening way too fast.
‘We’re not going to Alp d’Estella. You can’t have Marc.’
‘He has a birthright,’ Max said, flipping his crumpet.
‘Maybe he has, but it’s here.’ She closed her eyes. The effort she’d been making since Max had arrived slipped a little. Her vocals in the dairy had been a last-ditch attempt to find control and it hadn’t worked.
She felt so tired she wanted to sleep for a month.
‘Pippa, this is impossible,’ Max said, laying his crumpet down, rising and pushing her into the chair he’d just vacated. ‘Tell me why you’re doing this?’
‘Doing…what?’
‘Trying to keep this farm going against impossible odds.’
‘It’s all the children have,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all I have.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He shifted the sleeping Dolores sideways. Dolores didn’t so much as open an eye. He hauled another chair up beside her and sat down. ‘I need background.’
‘It’s none-’
‘It is my business,’ he said gently. ‘It seems to me that I’m the only relation these kids have. Now that doesn’t give me any rights,’ he said hurriedly as he saw alarm flit across her face. ‘But it does make me concerned, succession to the throne or not. Tell me about you. About this whole family.’
She hesitated. She shouldn’t tell him. What good would it do? But he was looking at her with eyes that said he was trying to understand, that he might even want to help. The sensation was so novel that she was suddenly close to tears.
She fought them back. No way was she crying in front of him.
‘Why is the farm so poor?’ he asked.
‘I told you,’ she said, rattled. ‘The vats are contaminated.’
‘You were poor before that.’
‘It’s not a wealthy farm.’
‘And?’
‘And Gina and Donald didn’t have insurance. They couldn’t afford it. Then the medical costs for Gina and the twins were exorbitant, as was paying someone to keep this place going until I could cope. I’m paying that off still.’
‘Is the farm freehold?’
‘There are still debts.’
‘But a sizeable chunk is paid for?’
‘Yes.’
‘According to the ladies in the Tanbarook supermarket you could sell it tomorrow.’
‘I could,’ she said and bit her lip. ‘Actually I have two buyers. The developers who want to use it as a road, or the Land for Wildlife Foundation. There’s a project going to make a wilderness corridor from the coast to the mountains north of here, and this place would be an important link.’ She managed a smile. ‘They’d pay less but if it was up to me I’d sell the land to them.’ Her smile faded. ‘But of course it’s not up to me.’
‘Why not?’ He frowned. ‘You could sell, to whoever you choose to sell to, and you could take another nursing job.’ Then as she started to protest he placed his finger on her lips. It was a weird gesture of intimacy that felt strangely right for here. For now. ‘Hush,’ he told her. ‘I’m not stupid. I accept you won’t leave the children. But I’d assume you could get a reasonable income from nursing, and the farm would bring in something. That must mean you could have a life where you’d at least be warm and well fed.’
‘The kids’ inheritance is the farm. That’s all they have.’
‘I disagree. They have you. An inheritance isn’t worth starving for.’
‘You don’t think it’s important?’
‘Not that much.’
‘Then why are you going to this trouble to make sure Marc inherits this principality?’
He hesitated. Then he spread his hands, as if deciding to tell all. ‘There are lives at stake.’
She stared. ‘That sounds ridiculous.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Why?’
‘If there’s no Crown Prince then the country reverts to political rule, which at the moment would practically be a dictatorship. That’s why you haven’t heard of Marc’s inheritance before this. The politicians want nothing more than for the royal succession to die and for them to be in sole charge. The local farmers are being bled dry with taxes as it is. If it gets worse…well, I’m not overstating it when I say there will be starvation.’
‘But that’s…that’s crazy. Marc can’t have anything to do with that.’
‘He doesn’t need to. He simply needs to be allowed to take on the title. The rest can be managed around him.’ He hesitated, and then forged on. ‘Because my mother was still married to Edouard when I was born and because I was half-brother to Thiérry, I can accept the role of Prince Regent. That means until Marc is twenty-one, I can make decisions for him. We can get the country back on track.’
‘But…’ she shook her head ‘…this is nonsense. How can I possibly expose Marc to something so weird?’
‘It’s not so weird,’ he said and smiled. ‘It’s lovely. You could come for a holiday and see. When did you last have a holiday?’
She stared at him blankly.
His smile faded. ‘When, Pippa?’
‘I…when I was nursing I’d come here sometimes and help.’
‘Have you ever taken the children on a holiday?’
‘No, but-’
‘Alp d’Estella’s in the middle of summer right now,’ he said persuasively. ‘The castle’s great.’
‘Claire says it’ll have dragons.’
‘Dragons?’
‘All castles have dragons,’ she said, distracted. ‘Or at least something scary.’ She shook her head as if trying to clear fog. ‘You want Marc to be Crown Prince? He’s far too young to be anything of the kind.’
‘It’s Crown Prince in name only. Until he’s of age the responsibility is mine.’ He hesitated. ‘Pippa, I know Alice didn’t trust the royal family, but the old line is dead. Marc represents the new line. A new hope for the future.’
She took a deep breath. ‘It sounds nonsensical,’ she whispered. ‘How can I possibly trust you?’
‘You don’t need to trust me,’ Max said, steadily, as if he wasn’t offended and
had in fact anticipated her qualms. ‘I’ve set my credentials before your Minister of International Affairs and he’ll vouch for my integrity. My mother also knows your countrywoman, Jessica, who married my neighbour, Raoul, Crown Prince of Alp d’ Azuri. I believe your women’s magazines have written her up, so maybe you’ve heard of her? Jessie’s pregnant and blissfully happy, but she’s not so tied up in her own contentment that she doesn’t interest herself in the affairs of her neighbours. Both she and her husband have sent their personal assurance that Marc will be safe. They guarantee that if you don’t think it’s satisfactory then you’re free to take Marc and leave. At any time.’
She blinked. She had indeed heard of Jessica, the Australian fashion designer who by all reports was living happily ever after in her fairy-tale palace with her handsome prince. The Princess Jessica had written her an assurance? The whole thing was unbelievable.
There were so many questions. She could only manage a little one. An important one. ‘It’s warm?’
He smiled. ‘It’s warm,’ he said softly. ‘Not only that, we have three swimming pools-a lap pool, an outdoor recreational pool and one indoors and heated for inclement weather. Not that it’ll be inclement at this time of the year. It’ll be beautiful.’
He was seducing her with sunshine. She had to keep her head.
‘You would be able to leave,’ he added, gently but definitely, and his big hands came out and covered hers. ‘I promise, Pippa. I’m asking that you come for a month. One month. Then you’ll know the facts. You’ll know what’s on offer. You can make up your mind from a position of knowledge.’
‘But the cost,’ Pippa said weakly. She should pull her hands away but she couldn’t make herself do it.
‘It’s taken care of already.’ Then as she looked startled the pressure on her hands intensified. There was no way it should make her feel secure and safe, but stupidly it did. ‘Pippa, I know I’m pushing you,’ he said. ‘But I’m in a hurry. The succession has to be worked out fast. Yes, you have some thinking to do but you can’t think without having seen what’s on offer. A sensible woman would come.’
‘Sometimes I’m not sensible,’ she said and she glowered and his smile changed a little, genuine amusement behind his eyes.
The Prince’s Outback Bride Page 7
