by Penny Jordan
Giselle had been pleased about that. She desperately wanted to see Saul crowned, and to be there for him on such an important once-in-a-lifetime occasion. Becoming the ruler of the country might not be what he had wanted—he wasn’t one for pomp and ceremony—but she knew that as soon as he could he would start gently but firmly steering the country towards democracy.
Saul himself came into the bedroom just as she was about to close her suitcase, frowning when he saw what she was doing.
‘You should have left that for me to do,’ he told her. ‘These next few days are going to be tiring enough for you as it is.’
‘I’m having a baby, Saul. I’m not an invalid,’ she reminded him. The maternity outfit she was wearing—soft stretchy layers of fine cashmere in shades of caramel and cream—would be perfect beneath her cashmere coat. Now, although it was April, there was still a definite bite in the air, despite the sunshine they had been having.
‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ Saul told her. ‘I’ll only be gone three days.’
‘Four, including tonight—and besides, I want to come,’ Giselle said, adding with a smile, ‘We both do. I can assure you that your son has been very good today—only half a dozen somersaults and a few kicks since I told him if he was overactive he wouldn’t be able to be there when his daddy is crowned.’
‘He won’t know what’s happening!’ Saul laughed.
‘He’ll know something’s happening,’ Giselle insisted. ‘He’ll be able to sense it and feel it. I want to be there, Saul.’ Her voice grew more serious. ‘When the Archbishop puts that crown on your head I know you will be thinking of Aldo, and all that could have been for him. It will be such a solemn and sacred moment—the final moment, perhaps, that you will feel him close to you.’
Saul turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘How is it that you always manage to vocalise exactly what I’m feeling when I can’t even formulate or make sense of those feelings myself?’
‘I’m a woman,’ Giselle told him. ‘We’re good at those things.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT when they finally let themselves into their apartments in the palace, and Giselle admitted to herself, although she wasn’t prepared to admit it to Saul, that she felt very tired indeed.
Saul, though, was obviously more percipient than she had thought, because once they were in bed, her head resting on his shoulder, he told her quietly, ‘I know you’ve arranged to drive over and see how things are progressing with the plans for the rebuilding work in the mining town, but I think we should cancel it. I don’t want you overdoing things.’
‘It’s a two-hour drive, Saul, that’s all. And all I shall be doing is sitting in the car and then walking a few yards.’
‘We’ll see,’ was all Saul would say.
Once Giselle’s even breathing told him that she was asleep he leaned back against his pillow in the darkness, contemplating the dramatic changes that fate had brought him. In his wallet, and normally close to his heart, was the first scan image they had seen of their baby—their son—and with it was a photograph of Giselle. As he closed his eyes his final thoughts of the day were as they were every day now—of his hope that Giselle would not suffer from the postnatal depression she feared so much.
‘I’d really prefer it if you didn’t go, Giselle. You say you slept well last night, but you still look tired, and since I can’t come with you because of the meetings I’ve got to attend, and the run-through for the coronation itself, I wouldn’t be happy about you going by yourself.’
‘I’m going, and nothing you can say will dissuade me,’ Giselle answered Saul as they sat eating their breakfast in their private quarters. The sunshine was bright, but the air outside was still too chilly for them to be able to eat in the courtyard.
Two peacocks had climbed up on top of the wall separating the courtyard from the main lawn of the palace gardens, and their curiosity was making Giselle smile.
‘I think we shall have to get a dog. Children need pets,’ she mused, laughing when she felt their son kick enthusiastically.
‘I always wanted a dog, but my parents wouldn’t let me have one because they travelled too much,’ said Saul.
A brief knock on the door heralded the arrival of the major-domo, a sheaf of papers under his arm.
‘I’ll have to go,’ Saul told Giselle, kissing her and patting the bulge of her stomach. ‘I do wish you’d reconsider visiting the town.’
‘Stop worrying. We shall be fine.’ She paused, and then told Saul quietly, whilst the major-domo waited discreetly out of earshot, ‘I want our son to know how lucky he is, Saul. I want him to know right from the beginning how you and I feel about those in need and about our duty to help them.’
The visit to the mining town had taken up more of the day than Giselle had expected. But, exhausted as she was as she thanked the driver who had escorted her and made her way to their apartments, she was glad that she had gone. Everyone involved in the rebuilding work had been so thrilled to see her, so grateful for everything that she and Saul had done, and so eager to tell her in halting English how happy they were to have Saul as their new ruler.
She had even seen the little girl she had held that day they had first gone there. Plump and smiling now, and dressed in the new clothes she and Saul had provided for all the children, the sight of her had warmed Giselle’s heart.
Now, though, she felt so tired that all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. But Saul would be upset if he realised how exhausted she felt, and, besides, she wanted to hear all about his day. She had taken a lot of photographs of the rebuilding work to store on her laptop, and she would be able to share them with Saul later, once the coronation was over.
It was disappointing to discover that he wasn’t in the apartments. He’d texted her half an hour earlier, to say that he’d almost finished for the day and that he’d organised supper for them both.
Giselle reached round to rub low down in the small of her back, where an ache had started during the morning drive to the town. The pain had been coming and going on and off ever since, and now was quite severe.
Saul came in just as she was massaging the niggling, aching spot where the pain was seated, and his pointed look caused her to stop and ask him, ‘How did the rehearsal go?’
‘Very well—well, mostly. They found a worn patch on the cloak, but since it’s right at the back no one is going to see it. There’s so much gold braid on the official royal uniform that it weights a ton—likewise the crown. I hadn’t really seen it close up before, although I attended Aldo’s coronation. It’s incredibly beautiful, and studded with pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds—you name it, they’re there. It was made in Florence, apparently, and is no doubt worth a king’s ransom, as they say. Likewise the orb and sceptre. I’m trying to persuade them to allow the State jewels to be displayed, so that the people can see them. Far better than sticking them back in some dark vault— What is it?’ he demanded, when Giselle made a sudden small sound.
‘Nothing,’ she assured him. ‘Just your son practising his football, or maybe agreeing with your plans.’
She gave Saul a reassuring smile, but the truth was that out of nowhere she had suddenly been seized by a very sharp surge of pain. Not that Saul needed to know that. He would only fuss. After all, she still had another five weeks of her pregnancy left, and everyone had said that it was perfectly safe for her to be here.
Half an hour later, when her waters broke as she stood in the bathroom cleaning her teeth, Giselle knew that it was too late to question the wisdom of that advice. Instead she called out to Saul, gripping the edge of the vanity unit when a fresh surge of pain engulfed her.
‘It’s the baby,’ she told Saul when he came in answer to her call. ‘I think—’ She broke off, caught up in another wave of pain.
‘Stay there. Don’t move. I’ll get the court physician.’
Moving was the last thing she felt like doing, but Giselle knew that s
he had to. Saul had only been gone for ten minutes, and in that time she’d had two more pains.
She’d just reached the bedroom when the door burst open, to admit a middle-aged woman with a purposeful look about her.
‘I am the court midwife,’ she told Giselle in broken English. ‘I examine you—if you will allow?’
Behind her, two maids rushed to get the bed ready, whilst Saul dashed off again in search of the doctor, whom he had still not tracked down.
Giselle was helped onto the bed, and the midwife gave her a reassuring smile before saying, ‘I go wash. One minute.’
One minute. Her pains were coming every two minutes now, deep and intense, and a very different matter from those pains she had been having earlier.
The midwife returned, but Giselle was barely aware of her presence other than for the reassurance it gave her. She followed the directions of her body and her instincts, and gave herself over to the task of bringing into the world the life that was so fiercely eager to be born.
‘Push. You push now.’ The midwife’s voice reached Giselle through a haze of pain and endurance as she wiped the sweat from Giselle’s forehead.
Saul had been banished from the bedroom. Birth plans that included the father’s presence at the bedside were apparently something that had not as yet reached the country. Giving birth was women’s work, according to the midwife, who had imparted this and a flood of other pieces of wisdom to Giselle as she accompanied her on her journey to give birth.
The effort of pushing had strained and corded the muscles in Giselle’s throat. She was so tired, and the pain was so unrelenting. She badly wanted to rest and escape them, but then an urge seized her to make an increased effort, with her whole heart and energy behind the push she gave. There was fresh, seizing pain, and then almost unbelievably a feeling of relief and release and then joy.
The midwife cried triumphantly, ‘He is born! Your son!’ and then handed the baby to her.
When Saul was finally allowed in, five minutes later, after the midwife had tidied up, Giselle was nursing their son with a look on her face of such transparent shimmering joy and love that Saul had to blink away his own tears at just watching them together.
They had already chosen a name for him—Lucas—and now, seeing Saul standing at the side of the bed, Giselle held the baby up to him and said softly, ‘Lucas, say hello to your daddy. He’s the image of you, Saul,’ she added emotionally. ‘He has your eyes and your nose. He is exactly like you.’
Saul wasn’t going to disagree. He was already as besotted with the small scrap of humanity he was holding in his arms as Giselle.
It was only later, when mother and baby were both asleep, resting after their shared act of birth, that Saul recognised the situation they were now in. Giselle had given birth. She and their son were safe and well. For now. But if she should develop postnatal depression, what then? All the safeguards they had put in place were in London. Giselle and the baby were here.
The coronation would have to be cancelled, Saul decided. Giselle was far more important to him. Her welfare came first.
‘Cancel the coronation?’ Shock filled her. ‘But you can’t possibly do that,’ Giselle protested to Saul. She had just finished feeding Lucas, and had handed him to Saul to put in the cot beside their bed. ‘If you want to know what I think, it’s that your son was in such a hurry to be born because he wants to be there for it,’ she insisted.
Saul gave her an indulgent look, but then said practically, ‘We have to get back to London, and the sooner the better. I don’t want to delay our return any longer than necessary. I’ve already spoken to the professor, and he agrees with me that it makes sense to get you back to London asap.’
‘Because neither of you trust me with Lucas?’ The accusation was out before Giselle could stop herself.
‘Of course I trust you with him,’ Saul insisted. ‘It’s you I’m concerned about, Giselle. You’ve said all along how much safer you feel with everything we’ve put in place.’
That was true, but what she hadn’t said to him was how imprisoned by those safeguards she had begun to feel. And that feeling had been increased tenfold by Lucas’s birth. Now all she wanted was to be alone with her baby and Saul. The thought of having to share Lucas’s care with anyone else set her heart sinking, and made her want to reach for her baby and hold him tightly.
‘I don’t want to go back, Saul. Not yet. Not before your coronation,’ Giselle insisted. ‘Three more days aren’t going to make very much difference. Ask the professor if you don’t believe me—or if you feel you can’t trust me with Lucas.’
Saul tried to soothe her. ‘Of course I can trust you with him.’
Giselle gave him an apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just…’ How could she tell him that his words had taken from her some of the joy she had felt in Lucas’s birth, reminding her of what she did not want to think about? Not now, in these precious first hours of their son’s life.
Twenty-four hours later Saul’s coronation took place, with Giselle sitting watching, Lucas in her arms, and a discreetly concealed buggy tucked close at hand. Saul looked magnificent, as she had known he would, and his speech to his people after the coronation, broadcast on the country’s television network and to those who had gathered in the square below the palace steps, made her eyes prickle with suppressed tears of pride in her husband.
She hadn’t missed the special private look Saul had given her and Lucas when he spoke about the importance of family life and the need for the country to work together as a family.
As soon as the formalities were over she was going to retreat to their apartments, leaving Saul to do the meeting and greeting and mixing with people whilst she rested—as the midwife had insisted that she must.
Although all the baby books she’d read had warned that three days or so after the birth she might expect to be hit by tears and the baby blues, and that this was quite natural and nothing to worry about, Giselle was relieved that it didn’t seem to be the case for her. Lucas was the most wonderful baby—strong and not too demanding, sleeping and feeding well—but he was already showing a strength of character that delighted them both.
Once she’d fed and changed Lucas, she put him down for his nap. They’d turned her dressing room into a temporary nursery, and Giselle left the door open when she went back to the bedroom for a rest herself, so that she would hear him if he woke up and cried for her.
Giselle looked as though she was still asleep, lying in bed with her eyes closed, when Saul walked into the bedroom two hours later, frowning as he listened to the professor, who had telephoned him.
‘Yes, of course I’m keeping a close eye on things, and on Giselle,’ he confirmed to the other man. ‘She is very emotional, as I’ve already told you.’
In the bed, where she had simply been lying with her eyes closed, thinking how lucky she was, Giselle tensed with apprehension. Saul was watching her, he had said. Because he didn’t trust her with their son. Giselle knew that the intensity of the pain that caused her was illogical, but her sense of separation from Saul, the feeling that she couldn’t talk to him openly and honestly about how she felt for fear of him thinking that what she said might be a sign of incipient postnatal depression, was making her feel defensive and very alone—as though Saul was no longer on her side.
Oddly, her own fear that she might harm her baby had disappeared the moment she had first held Lucas in her arms. She had known it instinctively and immediately, but of course other people couldn’t be expected to understand or trust in that. Other people like the professor—but surely not Saul as well? Surely he should be able to sense what she felt and believe in it?
Two days later they were back in London, where Giselle managed just over two weeks of what felt like having her every minute with Lucas and her every breath monitored by the professor’s nurse, whilst she had to watch the nanny taking over what she felt was her rightful role as Lucas’s mother, before she finally snapped. She turne
d on Saul one evening after they’d had dinner together and he was asking her solicitously how she felt. ‘You don’t care how I feel,’ she accused him angrily. ‘No one does. I’m sick of being watched all the time, of having twice-daily discussions with the nurse about my feelings, so that she can report them to the professor—as though I’m on probation as a mother. I can’t even take Lucas out in his buggy without either the nurse or the nanny fussing and looking at me as though they don’t trust me. I want them both to leave.’
She waited for Saul to protest, to warn her to remember why they were there, but instead to her astonishment he simply said, ‘Good.’
‘Good?’ Giselle repeated.
‘Yes, good,’ Saul agreed. ‘When I told the professor that in my view you are perfectly mentally and emotionally stable he agreed with me. But he said there was no point in telling you that, and that you would have to reach that conclusion yourself before we could remove from you the props that neither of us believe you need.’
‘Reach that conclusion myself? I knew the minute Lucas was born that I would be all right. You were the one who insisted on bringing me back here like a…a prisoner. You were the one who didn’t trust me.’
‘Not trust you? Of course I trusted you. Like you, I knew the first second I saw you with Lucas that you would never hurt him.’
They looked at one another for a minute, and then Giselle told him shakily, ‘I’ve felt so alone, Saul. As though we’ve been on different sides of something. I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I just wanted to hold back and give you time to make up your own mind about what was right for you.’
They both started to laugh.
Six weeks later, when both the professor and Giselle’s obstetrician pronounced her well and healthy, Giselle and Saul celebrated the news in one another’s arms—whilst their son, very thoughtfully, remained happily and contentedly asleep.
