by Liz Fielding
It wasn’t a room in which you were going to sit down and put your feet up; it was a room created to impress and it did. Totally.
Fredrik stopped a passing footman, took two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. It took a will of iron not to swig it straight down and take another. Instead she took a sip then put it on the nearest available surface as Fredrik introduced her to a royal cousin.
She began to relax as they small-talked their way around the room, Ally conscious only of Fredrik at her side, the obvious respect in which everyone held him.
“Ally ...” She turned as Hope joined them, gave her a hug. “The Crown Princess has asked to meet you.”
Ally swallowed. Working a cocktail party was what she did – had done – for a living, but this was different and she was ridiculously glad to feel Fredrik’s hand in the small of her back as Hope led the way to the icy pale, scarily slender Crown Princess. The slightly less scary Crown Prince smiled at her.
Fredrik presented her and she pulled off the curtsey bob that she’d practised without wobbling on her heels.
“Your Serene Highness ...”
“Miss Parker ...” Princess Anna gave her a long, cool look, assessing her clothes, judging them. Was the dress too sexy? The V-neck too plunging? “Did you have a good journey?”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am.”
“And you have everything you need?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She wasn’t allowed to ask a direct question so this could be a very stilted and one-sided conversation unless she took the initiative. “I took a walk into the city early this evening. I was hoping to see the statue of King Alonso but I ran out of time.”
“I do hope you were not alone.”
“No, ma’am. Count Fredrik was kind enough to escort me.”
She nodded, apparently satisfied. “I understand that you are creating a wedding diary for Miss Kennard? It will be –” she searched for a word to express her reservations “– fitting, I hope.”
“I have some sample pages on my tablet, ma’am,” she replied. “I brought them to show Hope, but if you could spare a few minutes tomorrow, I would be happy to show you what I have in mind.” Realizing that the Crown Princess could veto the whole idea if she didn’t approve, that she needed her onside, she added, “I would welcome any comments.”
“My secretary will call you in the morning.” She turned to Fredrik. “What entertainment have you arranged for Miss Parker, Count?”
“A little sightseeing tomorrow, lunch in one of the restaurants in the harbour.”
“You aren’t taking her to see your mountains?”
There was the slightest pause before Prince Carlo intervened. “It will be very cold at this time of year, Anna.” He turned to her. “You must come back in the summer, Miss Parker. We can arrange a picnic in one the alpine meadows.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dismissed, they returned to the party and she would have been hard put to say which of them was the most relieved to escape but when, instinctively, she put out her hand, Fredrik took it, held it tightly for a moment. He was about to say something when an elegant, dark-haired woman approached them.
“Celina ...”
He released her hand to greet the woman warmly with a kiss on both cheeks, one of his rare smiles.
“Hello, Fredrik, how are you?”
Celina’s accent was unexpectedly American but then she remembered Hope telling her that the formidable Dowager Princess had an American social secretary.
“Celina, may I introduce Alice Parker? Ally, Celina Harris.”
“Hi, Ally, I’ve heard all about you from Hope. I’m sorry to drag you away but the Dowager Princess has asked to meet you.”
“I think I’m supposed to say that I’m honoured but frankly, I’m terrified.”
Celina laughed, exchanged a glance with Fredrik, then said, “Right answer. Are you coming, Fredrik?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
They clearly knew each other well. It was to be expected. They both worked in the palace, probably saw each other every day and were friends. More? Ally found herself having to contain a spasm of something very much like jealousy as they walked towards the sofa where Her Serene Highness, the Dowager Princess Margaret, was holding court. This time Ally missed the comfort of Fredrik’s reassuring hand at her back.
“Your Highness, may I present Miss Alice Parker. You will recall that she is going to be one of Hope’s bridesmaids.”
Ally repeated her curtsey.
“Another giraffe,” the Dowager said, grumpily. “What on earth do they feed girls these days?” Not expecting an answer, she said, “Oh, well, I suppose you’ll be a match for that other girl but for goodness’ sake sit down so I don’t have to crane my neck to look at you.”
Ally sat and the Princess waved Celina and Fredrik away.
“You work for one of those gossip magazines I understand,” she said, getting straight to the point. “Are we going to see candid photographs of the wedding party all over the media?”
“No, Your Highness. I haven’t worked for Celebrity for several months, but I have no doubt Prince Jonas will be approached by all the major lifestyle magazines with a generous offer for exclusive coverage of the wedding.”
“They are not film stars.”
“No, and Hope has already told me that they both want the wedding to be a private, family affair.”
“So what’s all this nonsense I hear about a diary?”
“The diary is about Hope’s journey,” she replied, patiently. “It’s provisionally entitled Becoming a Princess.” Hope hated it – becoming a princess was the last thing she wanted – but she’d accepted that it would grab the interest of the media, which would help it to sell. “Princess Anna has kindly agreed to take a look at some pages I’ve prepared and offer her comments.”
“Don’t think you can get anything sleazy past her,” the Dowager warned.
“I’m doing this for a woman I’ve known since I was three years old, ma’am. Who is one of my very best friends.” She was getting very tired of having to defend herself to everyone. “I would do nothing to hurt her.”
“One of them. How many ‘best friends’ do you have?”
“Two. I believe you have already met Flora Deare.”
“Who is also getting married. It seems Miss Parker that you going to be the perennial bridesmaid.”
Flora was marrying Max? Ally glanced across the room at Flora, who seemed a little flushed. At Max, who looked ... He was looking at Flora and there was absolutely no doubt what he was thinking.
“Yes,” she said, grinning. “And I couldn’t be more pleased.” She took a breath. “Maybe I could show you the diary pages too, ma’am?”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it,” she said, making a gesture.
Celina and Fredrik, who she had seen talking together, just out of the corner of her eye, reappeared, and aware that she’d been dismissed Ally stood up and repeated her curtsey. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“How did that go?” Fredrik asked but before she could answer there was a general movement. Some people made their farewells while those who remained made their way through to the dining room.
“I’m surprised you weren’t partnered with Celina for this gig,” Ally said. “You seem to get on well.”
“Princess Margaret needs her.” He glanced at her. “We did go out a couple of times, a concert, dinner, but there was no chemistry.”
“Really? I would have thought you were perfectly suited,” she said, as if it mattered not a jot. It shouldn’t. This, whatever this was, wasn’t going anywhere. At best it could be an interesting fling but there was a warm ache tempting her to step up and take a ride on the roundabout.
“I agree. It should have worked,” Fredrik replied. “On paper it was perfect. We have a lot in common, we’re good friends, but Celina isn’t over her ex and I’m ...” He shrugged.
“What?” she prompted, but they were at the entrance to
the dining room and the moment passed as Fredrik checked the seating plan.
When he turned away, took her arm, it was if she was looking at a different man. He hadn’t been smiling before but now his face was expressionless, his eyes shuttered as he escorted her to her seat then, without a word, took his own place on the far side of the table. Flora and Max were both miles away, as were Hope and Jonas. There was nothing to do but turn to the man on her right and introduce herself. And she found herself looking at a face she knew.
She glanced at the card in front him. Flt Lt the Hon Dominic Jensson.
Fredrik’s brother?
She looked across at Fredrik but his attention had been claimed by Princess Anna’s sister, Lady Katya, who was seated to his right.
“How is my big brother?” Dominic asked, following her gaze. “I wouldn’t ask but our mother worries about him.” When she turned to look at him he held out his hand. “Dominic Jensson.”
“Alice Parker. Ally ...” Her first thought, that if his mother was worried she should call him, died unspoken. Fredrik hadn’t introduced her to his brother even though he’d been standing right beside him. Hadn’t acknowledged him. “I’m afraid I don’t know Fredrik well enough to comment on his health,” she said.
She realized that while she’d opened up to Fredrik, all he’d told her about himself was that he’d suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and he’d only done that to persuade her to talk. She didn’t know him at all.
“You don’t?” He seemed surprised. “I thought, hoped ...” He coloured a little. “I was told that you seemed close.”
Told? By who? “I didn’t see you at the reception,” she said.
“I’ve only just come off duty. Barely had time to scramble into the penguin suit. I don’t usually get invited to palace dos. They must be a man down.”
“I understand the Crown Princess is very hot on keeping things tidy,” she said.
“A bit of stickler ... sergeant major type.” Ally smiled and encouraged he said, “How is he?”
“Why doesn’t your mother ask him, herself?”
“She would if he would see her, answer her calls. She sat at his bedside, holding his hand, praying for him, when he was injured. When we thought he would lose his leg but once he was conscious ...”
Fredrik didn’t see his mother? Didn’t talk to her?
Ally tried to imagine what it must be like to have a son come home from a war zone with the possibility of life-changing injuries. A son you couldn’t hold, comfort ...
Dominic was being incredibly indiscreet considering they’d only just met. Or angry. Or maybe just desperate.
Was it coincidence that she had been seated next to him?
“What happened?” she asked, hoping to draw him out.
“He was on a UN peacekeeping mission. You know the drill, observe, be neutral, don’t get involved, but a school was in the way. He went in, got the kids out. The head count was one short and he’d gone back to look for the missing child when a rocket hit the building. Total bloody hero ...”
Yes there was anger, but he was desperate enough to reach out to a stranger who might, just might, be able to reach him.
“What about the child?” she asked.
He shook his head and she looked across at Fredrik. The narrow silk ribbon on his lapel was public recognition of his bravery but that one failure must surely haunt him.
He was talking to Lady Katya, but as if he felt her eyes on him he looked up, his face all shadows in the flickering candlelight.
She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, comfort him, but he turned away.
“You can see how he is,” she said to Dominic. “There’s scarcely any suggestion of a limp.”
“His body healed.”
The statement was loaded with a mute appeal but she ignored the invitation to discuss Fredrik’s state of mind. “You’re wearing wings so I’m guessing you’re a pilot,” she said. “Army? Air force?”
“Army,” he replied, relieved – she thought – at the firm change of subject. “It’s the family business. Long story.”
He grinned so easily but then he was younger than his brother, hadn’t heard the sound of an inbound shell, failed to save the life of a child.
“Why don’t you tell me the short version,” she suggested.
“It all started with a multi-times great-grandfather who stowed away on a cargo vessel leaving Denmark. Details are sketchy but it seems he had been serving his master’s wife in more ways than one and he had to flee for his life.”
Denmark? That fit Fredrik’s Nordic colouring. His name.
“How did he end up here?” she asked.
“When he was discovered by the crew he was put to work on basic rations and the first chance he got he jumped ship. San Michele was at war with one of their neighbours and, penniless, he signed on as a mercenary.” He paused as a plate was placed in front of him. “Didn’t Fredrik tell you any of this?”
“I told you, I barely know him. We’ve been paired by Princess Anna because we were both spares. She likes things tidy.” She picked up a fork but, no longer hungry, began to toy with something pretty on her plate. “It’s a bit of a leap from mercenary to Count. Where did the title come from?”
“He saved the life of the Crown Prince, carrying him from the battlefield despite his own wounds. He was a rogue, but he didn’t lack courage. He was feted as a hero and taken to the palace to recover where he reverted to type and seduced one of the younger, more impressionable princesses.”
“He lived dangerously.”
Dominic laughed. “You’re right. Under normal circumstances he would have been executed and the pregnant princess would have been sent to a convent to hide her shame. But he’d been proclaimed a national hero at a time when the country needed heroes and a royal wedding is always good PR, so a priest was summoned, our heroic ancestor was given a title and they lived, so the story goes, happily ever after.”
“Ex fortitudine patria ... Out of courage, a country.”
Dominic grinned. “He was a total chancer but the Jenssons have served the royal family ever since.”
“Do they have to sacrifice more than one son?” she asked, thinking of the mother who had seen one son badly wounded. A son who wouldn’t answer her calls.
“No, but all I ever wanted to do was fly. Suzanna has joined the diplomatic service. Katerina and Alessandro are still at school, but Alessandro has already decided he wants to be an architect, like his father.” Catching her questioning look he said, “Our father died when Fredrik was eleven. He was never the same afterwards. Never really with us and when Mother remarried three years later ...” He looked across the table. “He’s never forgiven her for that.”
Anger, desperation and a hurt he was too young to hide.
Fredrik exchanged the usual pleasantries with Lady Katya, but his mind was totally fixed on Ally. He could feel her questioning eyes on him but the shock of seeing Dominic’s name on the table plan had wiped all the basic courtesies from his mind.
What on earth was he doing here and sitting next to Ally? This was an occasion for the closest family and advisors ...
He glanced at the Dowager, who’d been a close friend of his grandmother’s, suspecting that she’d had a hand in this. He anticipated an answering challenge, but she was talking to Max and either didn’t notice his look, or chose not to.
His gaze was drawn back to Ally.
“Hope’s friend is lovely,” Lady Katya said.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, she is.” When she walked across the palace lobby towards him he thought his heart had stopped. She was wearing a dress in some soft, clinging fabric that draped around her, hugging her figure. A silver pendant rested just above a hint of cleavage and her legs were accentuated by a pair of heels so high, so slender, that it was a wonder they could support her.
She had twisted her hair up, fastening it with a silver and turquoise pin. It looked as if all it would take was one tug
to have it all tumbling around her shoulders and, God help him, that was all he’d wanted to do all evening.
“Would you like me to change places with her, Fredrik?” she asked, laughing.
Yes ... “No.” It was too late. She was already deep in conversation with his brother and would be hearing all the things he should have told her from his brother’s point of view. “Thank you, ma’am, but while you might be brave enough to mess with your sister’s seating plan, I am not.”
He made an attempt at civilized conversation, asking after her children, but he could hear Ally laughing at something the man on her right had said to her.
At least it wasn’t Nico. He was further up the table flirting like mad with Flora who appeared to be flirting back with rather more enthusiasm than you’d expect from a recently engaged woman.
Ally wasn’t flirting. She was being the perfect dinner guest: attentive, charming as she engaged with those around her. Ignoring her wine glass in favour of water. If her plan was to keep her wits about her in the hope of picking up gossip, she would have been well rewarded. Not that Celebrity would be interested in his miserable story.
For a moment he caught her eye; she did not look away, clearly waiting for something, anything by way of response from him. He had nothing, merely the endless emptiness that had only disappeared high in the mountains until he’d met her. He had never been more relieved to see Prince Carlo rise to his feet to say a few words of welcome to their guests from England.
He was mercifully brief. The moment he had finished, Princess Anna stood, a signal for the women to leave the room.
He watched Ally leave, then turned to his brother, wondering what he’d said to her. But while he’d been watching Ally, Dominic had slipped away through the door that led to the lift down to the kitchens. No doubt the way he had arrived.
When they joined the women in the white drawing room, Ally and Hope were settled on a sofa, deep in conversation, then Flora buttonholed her. Ignoring the coffee – he was already so wired that he would find it hard to sleep – he went straight for the brandy.
