by Liz Fielding
“Why did you go?”
“I thought that if I was one of them, people would stop giving Hope a hard time. Teenage girls can be vile.” She looked up at the stars. There had been none that night. It had been overcast, dark as pitch. “She lived a couple of miles away in Upper Combe but she told me if I waited in the Three Bells car park they’d pick me up at nine o’clock. I was already nervous, wishing I was safely home but even more afraid of looking a fool, knowing that if I copped out it would be ten times worse at school.”
As if he knew what that had felt like, Fredrik held out a hand and gratefully, she took it, held it.
“I hid out of sight in the darkest corner of the car park for what seemed like hours. I’d just about given up, relieved that I could go home, when someone reached out and grabbed my shoulder. My nerves were in shreds by then and I let out an almighty scream. The next thing I knew there was a hand over my mouth, I was pinned to the wall, there was this voice in my ear growling at me to be quiet and there was a hand ...”
She swallowed. Every sound, every touch, the way her heart had jumped as he’d grabbed her was imprinted on her memory, the raw terror as vivid now as it had been in the dark of the car park.
“I bit him and kicked out, trying to bring my heel down his shin. He backed off to avoid me but lost his balance, falling against one of the bins, taking me down with him.”
Fredrik’s hand tightened around hers as if he could give her his strength. He had been through far worse than her and survived.
She had survived.
“How did you escape?”
“How do you know I did?”
“Because if he’d assaulted you there would have been records. They would have shown up when I ran my security check.”
“Only if I reported it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
She looked at him. “Because it would have got my parents involved; everyone would have known what happened. Can you imagine what that would have been like? At school, in the village?”
The gossip, the smirks, the innuendo.
“We’ll never know what he might have done because Flora and Hope came charging out of the pub kitchen like the seventh cavalry.”
“Flora?”
“She was working as assistant chef at the Three Bells back then. She thought it was a fox at the bins but when she realized what was happening she laid about him with the stainless steel ladle she was holding with Hope right behind her with a saucepan.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No. Scared witless, shaking like a jelly, but not hurt. He was just a stupid boy, Fredrik. It was his sister I was supposed to be meeting. He knew she wasn’t coming ...”
A teenage boy whose hormones were out of control.
“Flora took me into the kitchen, gave me a cup of sweet tea and, when I’d stopped shaking, something to eat. When they finished work Flora walked us both back to the Hall and I spent the night with Hope.”
“What about the boy? Did they just let him go?”
“They debagged him, took photos with their phones and warned him they would pin them to the village hall noticeboard if he said one word about what had happened. If he ever so much as looked at a girl the wrong way. Then they sent him home with his backside freezing and crying like a baby.”
“He knew you’d be alone, Ally. He grabbed you out of the dark and you shivered this morning when I helped you on with your coat. I thought you were cold, but I’d put my hand on your shoulder ...”
“I was a bit unnerved by your unexpected arrival,” she admitted. By a kiss that had come out of the blue and for which she was unprepared. It had slipped past an emotional guard of which, until that moment, she had been scarcely aware.
“I’m sorry, Ally. I hope you know that I would never hurt you.” He shook his head. “No. Of course you don’t know that. How would you?”
She squeezed his hand hoping to reassure him. “I ... We were both taken by surprise this morning.”
“Yes ...” He stood up, helped her to her feet and then, when she was standing beside him, he tucked her hand beneath his arm and they walked slowly up the hill to her parents’ cottage.
“I sometimes wonder how he explained his missing trousers,” she said after a while.
“Not your worry.”
“No.” She looked sideways at him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Talking it through with someone neutral, someone who wasn’t angry at what happened, has helped.” He glanced at her. “It was the trousers. Thinking about him walking home, ducking into a hedge whenever a car came by, praying that no one would see him,” she said. “It made me realize that he probably has nightmares about it, too.”
“The difference being that in his case he deserves them. We all have to take responsibility for what we do.”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “If you ever want someone to talk to, Fredrik, I’m a good listener, too and I have more secrets in my head than you can ever know.” When he didn’t reply – why would he spill his terrors to a woman who had written for a gossip rag? – she said, “You’d better take the torch.”
“You’ll need it tomorrow if you’re going to work before dark. I’ll use the one on my phone.”
She took her key from her pocket, slid it into the lock then turned back to him. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”
“After I’ve talked to the Chief Constable.”
“My email address and phone number are in the file I gave you. If you need anything ... information ...” She stopped. Call me, sounded needy.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “And I’ll see you in San Michele three weeks from now.”
“I’ll hold you to that dance,” she said. “Travel safely, Fredrik.”
He took the hand she offered, held it. “You do realize that if anyone sees us shaking hands it’s going to blow the ‘us’ scandal right out of the water?”
She swallowed. “Are you suggesting that we should go for another kiss? Just to preserve the fantasy?”
“In security, when you’re playing a role, you have to stay in character and it was you who told me that in a village everyone knows your business.”
She swallowed, not able to remember the last time she had so longed for someone to kiss her. “It would be fatal to destroy the legend,” she agreed.
“Goodnight, Ally.” There was a touch of warmth as he brushed his lips to her cheek and then as he raised her hand to his lips, the church clock began to chime the hour.
Before she could think of anything to say, he’d reached up, turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, waiting until she had stepped inside before he turned and walked away into the darkness.
“Thanks,” Ally said as Flora handed her a mug of coffee, but she shook her head at the temptation of cake. “Better not if I’m going to fit into my dress.”
Flora joined her at the window where she was enjoying the drifts of snowdrops whitening the grass beneath the yellow fuzz of the witch hazel in the Hasebury Hall garden.
“I can’t believe that tomorrow we’ll be guests of the San Michele royal family. Staying in a palace,” she said. “What did you tell your mum and dad?”
Ally turned from the window. “The truth. That Hope has fixed me up with a PR gig.”
“You got away with that?”
“She didn’t press for details but that’s because she thinks that I’m actually off for a few days of hot sex with the mysterious Fredrik.” A thought that sent a tingle of anticipation whispering through her veins. “The fact that she offered to iron some stuff for me suggests she’s hoping for something more permanent.”
Flora grinned. “Wait until she finds out he’s a count.”
The three weeks since Fredrik’s visit had flown. Max had found her a large room upstairs at the back of the house. It must once have been a sitting room and was furnished with a sofa, an armchair and not much else. He’d moved in a table that she was using as a desk, ha
d found her a long trestle table that was now piled up with media packs and an old fold-out screen that she’d used for her layout ideas for the diary.
She’d scanned the mock-ups and loaded them onto her tablet to show Hope when they were in San Michele. She just had to decide which she liked best and she’d be ready to go.
She had a huge planner across one wall with everything she had to do marked off. Jeff Thomas had been booked – he hadn’t cared about the occasion, just about his deposit. Tick. The vicar had booked the church under the impression that there was going to be some kind of craft exhibition that week. Max could do a very good ‘vague’.
“Are you all ready, Floradear?” Ally asked. “I can’t wait to see you in the dress you bought for the ball. Max’s eyes will be out on stalks.”
Colour flashed across Flora’s cheeks. “I’m dreading wearing those heels. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Just stand up straight and think of England.”
She pulled a face. “I’ll probably fall into someone’s lap. How are you getting to the airport? I wish we could have offered you a lift but you do not ever want to ride in the back with the children. Holly is a sweetheart, but Ben bounces. He couldn’t sit still for five seconds.”
“Actually ...” Ally cleared her throat and Flora looked up. “Fredrik has arranged for a car to pick me up.”
“Fredrik?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, aware that it was her turn to blush. “Neither of us has a partner so the Crown Princess has put us together. Protocol, appearances ...” She rolled her eyes. “It seems that a woman can’t go into dinner or to a ball without a man on her arm. We’re just like you and Max.” Although, on reflection, Flora and Max seemed rather closer than convenient partners these days so that might not be the best comparison. “I guess, as my official ‘date’ he’s taking his role seriously,” she rushed on.
“More likely her Serene Highness wants to keep you safely out of the reach of Prince Nico. She won’t want any more village maidens running off with the San Michele princes.”
“I’ve met Nico.”
“No! What’s he like?”
“Absolutely gorgeous. Film star looks, great sense of humour ...”
“That sounds promising.”
“He’s also a playboy who can’t see a pretty woman without falling in love. Fun, but not to be taken seriously.”
“You could do with some fun. I can’t see Fredrik providing that.” When she didn’t immediately agree, Flora looked at her thoughtfully. “Unless something happened on that long walk home in the dark that you’re not telling me about?”
“He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Really? How disappointing,” she said and they both burst out laughing.
Chapter Six
Ally had flown in private jets before, but that had been work. She’d been the journalist writing up a WAG’s hen trip to a spa resort in the Far East, or covering a spread about some fabulous celebrity home in the Caribbean. An observer, an outsider who, once the photo shoot was done, flew home cattle class.
This trip was a world away from that.
She would be staying at the palace in San Michele’s capital, Liburno. A guest of the royal family and, as if to emphasize that difference, Hope and Jonas were waiting on the tarmac as the plane taxied to a halt a little distance from the terminal building.
She looked around, then forgot her disappointment that Fredrik wasn’t there, as Hope hugged her, Jonas kissed her cheek. Flora, Max and the children were loaded into one limousine and within minutes she was being driven through the quaint, colourful streets of Liburno with Hope and her prince.
People turned as they saw the flag fluttering above the windscreen, waved. She and Hope exchanged a glance as Jonas waved back, then burst into giggles.
“Shouldn’t you be doing that?” she asked Hope, but she shook her head.
“Not until after the announcement. Not then if I can help it.”
“They’ll think you’re stuck-up. You have to be a people’s princess these days,” she said, meaning it as a joke, but Hope looked away, the moment of silliness over. Without the smile the strain of what must be a nerve-racking few days clearly showed. Ally grasped her hand, squeezed it and got a grateful smile in return.
“I’ve got some mock-ups of the diary for you to look at,” Ally said. “And I’ve made a start with photographs. When you’ve got a moment.”
“It’s a bit late today. You’ll need time to settle in and get ready for the reception. Tomorrow morning?”
“Perfect.” She looked up as they approached the castle and although she’d seen photographs online she still gasped. “It’s amazing.”
“The State Rooms are impressive,” Jonas said, “and the guest suites. They’re maintained by the Government. Once you get further back to the offices and the family apartments there’s rather more functionality and comfort than glamour.”
“I imagine all palaces are the same,” Ally said. “I did a tour of Buckingham Palace last year and those State Rooms aren’t exactly built for comfort. I mean you couldn’t put your feet up and relax.”
Jonas was grinning as he climbed from the car and offered a hand to both her and Hope. That was the thing about princes: they had such lovely manners.
The car with Flora, Max and the children drew up behind them and as Jonas went back to welcome them to the palace, Hope hugged Ally again.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, a touch of desperation in her voice.
“Hope? Is everything okay?”
“What? Oh, absolutely. Fine,” she said, but her smile seemed forced. “It’s all just a bit ... you know.”
Actually she did. She’d been in the background at numerous high-profile weddings and seen the tension rise to cracking point. A royal wedding had to be that magnified a dozen times over.
“Breathing helps,” she said. “And gin. Lots of gin.”
Hope laughed, shook her head and, leaving them in the hands of a footman, gathered up Holly and Ben and announced that she was taking them to meet Jonas’s nephews and niece. “I’ll see you all later.”
Ally, more concerned than her flippant advice suggested, decided to talk to Flora and see if the royal itinerary would allow time for the three of them to get together.
Then, as the footman opened the door to her room fit for a prince she momentarily forgot Hope as she let out a very uncool, “Wow.”
There was a magnificent marble fireplace that, before the installation of central heating, would have blazed with logs piled up to warm the royal tootsies.
The ceiling was massively high, as were windows – swagged with a rich ruby red velvet – that looked out over the palace gardens to the ancient town and harbour. The furniture gleamed with the patina of centuries of use, the rugs were Persian and there was a four-poster bed that she was going to need a stepladder to climb into.
A knock distracted her and her heart lifted a beat. “Come in.”
It was not Fredrik, but a footman with her luggage. “Do you require help unpacking, ma’am?” he asked.
“I can manage, thank you,” she said.
“Of course. If you need anything just ring the bell.”
He indicated a damask bell pull with a large gold tassel that hung beside the fireplace and then, with the merest suggestion of a bow, left her to explore.
On a table near the window there was a tray with a bowl of fruit, a bottle of water, glasses. And a square, cream envelope. Written across the front in a clear, bold hand was “Miss Alice Parker”.
Heart seriously pounding now she picked it up, turned it over. It bore a coat of arms on the flap – not the Reval family coat of arms – with a Latin motto beneath it. Ex fortitudine patria ...
She opened it and slid out a card that read simply, “A footman will collect you at 1815 hrs and escort you to the main hall. Drinks in the Green Drawing Room at 1830 hrs precisely. Fredrik.”
&
nbsp; A footman? 1815 hrs?
Could it be any colder?
She swallowed down her disappointment.
They’d exchanged a few emails, all very businesslike and impersonal, but he’d kissed her hand and she’d expected ... What? That he’d be so impatient to see her he’d be waiting at the airport?
This was Fredrik Jensson. He didn’t do excited and clearly she’d misread the personal.
He’d listened as she’d spilled out her night of shame but no doubt that was all part of the security chief’s job. Getting close to those who might be a problem, discovering all their little weaknesses. And she’d made it so easy for him.
She closed the hand he’d kissed, tightening it into a fist. Was that part of the job, too? Like the car?
He hadn’t asked her how she was getting to the airport, he’d simply sent details of the booking he’d made for a car to pick her up. Not the local taxi, but a limousine driven by a uniformed chauffeur. She would have thought it part of the travel arrangements organized by Jonas, but Max, Flora and the children had gone to the airport in Max’s Range Rover.
She’d thought, hoped, that it had been a personal kindness. Clearly not. He was her official ‘date’ for the weekend – by royal appointment.
There was another knock and despite the card in her hand her heart lifted as she turned and the door opened.
It was a maid with a tray. “Miss Kennard thought you would like tea, ma’am,” the young woman said, setting down the tray in front of her. “Is there anything else you need? Would you like me to press the dress you’ll be wearing this evening?”
She was an experienced packer. Her dress would emerge from the layers of tissue with scarcely a crease but the girl was so eager to do something that she found a smile from somewhere. “That would be very kind. What’s your name?”
“Luisa, ma’am.”
“Thank you for the tea, Luisa. Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m not the queen. I’m Ally. Now, shall we see what the damage is?”
She opened her case, found the dress she’d chosen for the evening. Her working wardrobe was largely of the LBD variety, nothing cut too low – she took great care not to appear a threat to the celebrities she interviewed – but she had a few choice pieces picked up in a vintage store run by a woman who owed her many favours. She’d chosen a wrap-around knee-length dress from the 50s in teal crepe. The V-neck plunged, but discreetly and the dress hugged her figure without looking vulgar. It emerged from her case with scarcely a wrinkle, nothing that an hour on a hanger wouldn’t have sorted, but Luisa tutted and bore it away, promising to return it in plenty of time for the reception.
