Читать книгу A Royal Proposal - Barbara Hannay - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMICHAEL MORISSET, WHO had the same curls and clear blue eyes that Charlie had inherited, looked as if he’d aged ten years when she met him at the hospital.
It was frightening to see her normally upbeat and carefree father looking so haggard and worn.
Skye looked even worse. Only a few short days ago, the happy mother had been glowing as she proudly showed off her sweet newborn daughter. Now Skye looked pale and gaunt, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders were stooped and even her normally glossy auburn hair hung in limp strands to her shoulders.
Charlie’s eyes stung as she hugged her stepmother. She couldn’t imagine how terrified Skye must be to know that her sweet little daughter had only the most tenuous hold on life.
‘Would you like to see Isla?’ Skye asked.
Charlie nodded, but her throat closed over as her father and Skye took her down the hospital corridor, and she had to breathe in deeply through her nose in an attempt to stay calm.
The baby was in a Humidicrib in a special isolation ward and they could only look at her through a glass window.
Isla was naked except for a disposable nappy, and she was lying on her side with her wrinkled hands folded together and tucked under her little chin. A tube had been inserted into her nose and was taped across her cheek to hold it in place. Monitor wires were taped to her tummy and her feet. Such a sad and scary sight.
‘Oh, poor darling.’ The cry burst from Charlie. She couldn’t help it. Her heart was breaking.
She tried to imagine a doctor operating on such a tiny wee thing. Thank heavens she had found the money for the very best surgeon possible. She suppressed a nervous shiver. This was hardly the time to dwell on the details of what earning that money entailed. Her baby sister was her focus.
As she watched, Isla gave a little stretch. One hand opened, tiny fingers fluttering, bumping herself on the chin so that she frowned, making deep furrows across her forehead. Now she looked like a little old lady.
‘Oh,’ Charlie cried again. ‘She’s so sweet. She’s gorgeous.’
She turned to her father and Skye, who were holding hands and gazing almost fearfully at their daughter.
‘I’ve found a way to raise the money,’ Charlie told them quickly.
Skye gasped. ‘Not enough to take her to Boston, surely?’
‘Yes.’
Skye gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘With a special nurse to accompany her?’
‘Yes, there’s money to cover all those costs.’
‘Oh, my God.’
Skye went white and clutched at her husband’s arm, looking as if she might faint.
‘Are you sure about this, Charlie?’ her father demanded tensely. ‘I don’t want Skye to get her hopes up and then be disappointed.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I have the cheque in my handbag.’ Nervously, she drew out the slim, astonishing slip of paper. ‘It might take a few days before the money’s deposited into your bank account, but it’s a proper bank cheque. It’s all above board.’
‘Good heavens.’ Her father stared at the cheque and then stared at his daughter in disbelief. ‘How on earth did you manage this? What’s this House of St Romain? Some kind of church group? Who could be so generous?’
This was the awkward bit. Charlie had no intention of telling her dad and Skye about Rafe and the fact that she’d agreed to be a stand-in as a European prince’s pretend fiancée. For starters, they wouldn’t believe her—they would think she’d taken drugs, or had been hit on the head and was hallucinating.
But also, telling them about Rafe would involve telling them about Olivia, and this wasn’t the right moment to bring up that particular can of worms. Charlie was angry about her father’s silence over such an important matter as her sister. On the way to the hospital she’d allowed herself a little weep about her absent mother and unknown twin sister, but she’d consoled herself that by accepting the role of fake fiancée she was actually taking a step closer to finding the truth.
For now, though, they had to stay focused on Isla.
‘Dad, you have my word this money is from a legitimate source and there’s nothing to worry about. But it’s complicated, I’ll admit that. You’ll have to trust me for now. You’ve got enough to worry about with Isla. Let me take care of the money side of things.’
‘I hope you haven’t gone into debt, Charlie. You know I won’t be able to pay this back.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that either. The only issue will be finding someone to run the gallery while I’m—’ Charlie quickly changed tack. ‘I’ll be—busy organising everything. Do you think Amy Thornton might be available?’
‘I’m pretty sure Amy’s free. But for heaven’s sake, Charlie—’ For a long moment her father stared at her. ‘If you don’t want to tell me, I’m not going to press you,’ he said finally. ‘I do trust you, darling. I know you won’t be breaking any laws.’
‘Of course not. I’ve managed to find a generous—’ Charlie swallowed. ‘A generous benefactor, who wishes to remain anonymous.’
‘How amazing. That’s—that’s wonderful.’
Charlie forced a bright smile. ‘So now your job is to get busy with talking to doctors and airlines and everything that’s involved with getting Isla well.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Tears glistened in her father’s eyes. ‘Thank you, Charlie.’ His voice was ragged and rough with emotion. ‘Not every girl would be so caring about a half-sister.’
The three of them hugged, and Skye was weeping, but to Charlie’s relief her father quickly broke away to find a nursing sister. In no time he and the nurse were making the necessary arrangements. Her dad was stepping up to the mark and adopting full responsibility.
She was free to go.
She’d never realised how scary that could be.
* * *
A frenetic hour later Charlie had rung Amy Thornton and secured her services at the gallery for the next month. She’d showered, changed into jeans and a sweater for the long flight, and had taken her cat, Dolly, next door to be minded by Edna, a kind and very accommodating elderly neighbour.
As she frantically packed, she couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. She didn’t dare to stop and think too hard about her sudden whirlwind decision—she knew she’d have second, third and fourth thoughts about the craziness of it all. The only safe way to keep her swirling emotions under control was to keep busy.
Finally, she was packed and ready with her passport, which was, fortunately, up to date.
Rafe arrived just as Charlie was sitting on her suitcase trying to get it closed. He shot a curious and approving glance around her tiny flat with its bright red walls and black and white furnishings, which she was quietly rather proud of, and which normally included her rather beautiful black and white cat.
Then he eyed her bulging luggage and frowned.
‘I know it’s winter in Montaigne,’ Charlie offered as her excuse. ‘So I threw in every warm thing I have. But I’m not sure that any of my stuff is really suitable for snowy weather.’
Or for an aspiring princess, she added silently.
Rafe passed this off with a shrug. ‘You can always buy new warm clothes when you get there.’
Yes, she could do that if she hadn’t already reallocated his generous payment. She felt a tad guilty as she snapped the locks on her suitcase shut.
Rafe picked it up. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’
‘Right.’ Charlie stifled a nervous ripple. This was going to work out. And it wasn’t a completely foolish thing to do. It was worthwhile. Really, it was. She would provide a front for Rafe while he got things sorted with Olivia and saved his country from some kind of economic ruin. And little Isla was getting a very important chance to have a healthy life.
Straightening her shoulders, she pinned on a brave smile. ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she told Rafe.
To her surprise, he didn’t immediately turn to head for the door. He took a step forward, leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave, felt the warm brush of his lips on her skin.
‘Thank you for doing this, Charlie.’ His eyes blazed with surprising emotion and warmth. ‘It means a lot to me.’
Charlie wasn’t sure what to say. When people did unexpectedly nice things she had a bad habit of crying. But she couldn’t allow herself to cry now, so she nodded brusquely. Then she followed him out, shut the door, and slipped the key under the mat outside Edna’s door, as they’d arranged.
As she did so, Edna’s door opened to reveal the old lady with Dolly in her arms.
‘We thought we’d wave you off,’ Edna said, beaming a jolly smile as she lifted one of Dolly’s white paws and waggled it. But then Edna saw Rafe and she forgot to wave or to smile. Instead she stood there, like a statue, eyes agog.
Great.
Charlie suppressed a groan. When she’d told her neighbour about her hastily arranged flight, she hadn’t mentioned a male companion. Now everyone in their block of flats would know that Charlie Morisset had taken off on reckless impulse with a tall, dark and extremely handsome stranger.
* * *
Conversation was limited as the taxi whizzed across Sydney, although Rafe did comment on the beauty of the harbour and the magnificent Opera House. In no time, they arrived at a private airport terminal that Charlie hadn’t even known existed.
There was no queue, no waiting, no taking her shoes off for Security, not even tickets to be checked. Her passport was carefully examined though, by a round little Customs man with a moustache, who did a lot of bowing and scraping and calling Rafe ‘Your Highness’. Then their luggage was trundled away and there was no more to do.
Rafe’s plane was ready and waiting.
Oh, boy. Charlie had been expecting a smallish aircraft that would probably need to make many stops between Australia and Europe. This plane was enormous.
‘Do you own this?’ she couldn’t help asking Rafe.
He chuckled. ‘I don’t need to own a jet. They’re very easy to charter, and I have a priority listing.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ she muttered under her breath.
At that point, she might have felt very nervous about flying off into the unknown with a man she’d only just met, but Rafe took her arm as they crossed the tarmac, tucking it companionably under his, and somehow everything felt a little better and safer. And he kept a firm steadying hand at her elbow as they mounted the steps and entered the plane.
Then Charlie forgot to be nervous. She was too busy being impressed. And overawed.
The interior of Rafe’s chartered jet was like no other plane she’d ever seen or imagined. It was more like a hotel suite—with padded armchairs and sofas, and a beautiful dining table.
Everything was exquisite, glamorous and tasteful, decorated in restful blues and golds. As they went deeper into the plane, there were wonderful double beds—two of them, Charlie was relieved to see—complete with banks of pillows, soft wall lamps, and beautiful gold quilts.
The only things to remind her that this was a jet were the narrowness of the space and the lines of porthole windows down each side.
‘OK,’ she said, sending Rafe a bright grin. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘I hope you have a comfortable flight.’
‘There’d have to be something wrong with me if I didn’t.’
He looked amused as he smiled. ‘Come and take a seat ready for take-off.’
Rafe’s bodyguards had boarded the plane as well, but they disappeared into a section behind closed doors, leaving Rafe and Charlie in total privacy as they strapped themselves into stupendously luxurious white leather chairs. An excessively polite, young female flight attendant appeared, dressed demurely in powder blue and carrying a tray with glasses of champagne, complete with strawberries and a platter with cheese and grapes and nuts.
Oh, my. Until now, Charlie had been too busy and preoccupied to give much thought to what being a prince’s fiancée involved, but it seemed this gig might be a ton of fun. Despite her worries about Isla and about all the unknowns that lay ahead of her, she should try to relax and enjoy it.
* * *
The flight was a breeze. First there was a scrumptious meal of roasted leek soup, followed by slow-cooked lamb and a tiny mousse made from white chocolate and cherries, and to drink there was wonderful French champagne.
Charlie gave Rafe a blissful smile as she patted her lips with the napkin. ‘This is so delicious,’ she said, for perhaps the third or fourth time.
He looked slightly bemused and she wondered if she’d gone a bit too far with her praise.
Of course, she’d been out with guys who’d fed her beautiful meals before this, but it was still an experience she could never get tired of. At home, she’d done most of the cooking before her father’s marriage, and she now cooked for herself in the flat, but she’d never seemed to have time to learn more than the basics. Fancy gourmet food was a treat.
After dinner, Rafe said he had business to attend to and was soon busy frowning at his laptop. Charlie, yawning and replete, changed into pyjamas and climbed into an incredibly comfortable bed.
She expected to lie awake for ages mulling over the amazing and slightly scary turn her life had taken in one short day, but with a full tummy, an awesomely comfy bed, and the pleasant, deep, throbbing drone of the plane’s engines, she fell asleep quickly.
* * *
Rafe suppressed a sigh as he watched Charlie fall asleep with almost childlike speed. Was that the sleep of innocence? He hadn’t slept well for weeks—since the night of his father’s death. There always seemed to be too much to worry about. First his guilt and despair that he’d been so caught up in his good-time life that he’d missed any chance to bid his father farewell. And then the weighty realities of assuming his sudden new responsibilities.
Now he scanned the emails he’d downloaded before boarding the plane, but there was still no good news about Olivia, or about the intelligence surveillance on Claude Pontier.
Rafe was confident that it wouldn’t be long now, before they caught Pontier out. Montaigne’s Head of Police, Chief Dameron, was a wise, grey-haired fellow, approaching retirement, so he had a wealth of experience. He’d come up through the ranks, earning his promotions through hard work and diligence, but he’d also been trained by the FBI.
Consequently, his combination of old-school police procedures with the latest technical surveillance savvy was invaluable. Rafe had every faith in him.
Now Rafe looked again towards the bed where Charlie slept, curled on her side with golden curls tumbling on the pillow, and he was surprised by the tenderness he felt towards this girl who’d so readily stepped into her sister’s shoes. He wondered if their similarities were more than skin deep.
He suspected that the two girls’ personalities were quite different, found himself hoping for this, in fact. And that made no sense at all.
* * *
When Charlie woke, the flight attendant was offering her a tray with orange juice and a pot of coffee.
‘We’ll be landing in Dubai in less than an hour,’ she was told.
Really?
A glance through the doorway showed Rafe, already up and dressed and sitting on one of the lounges, working on his computer again. Or perhaps he’d been working all night? Charlie downed her orange juice and hurried to her private bathroom to change out of her pyjamas and wash her face.
She took her tray with the coffee through to the lounge.
‘Good morning.’ Once again, Rafe’s smile held a hint of amusement. ‘You slept well?’
‘Unbelievably well,’ Charlie agreed.
She settled into a lounge and took a sip of coffee. ‘I didn’t realise we’d be landing in Dubai. I guess we need to refuel?’
‘It’s not a long stop,’ he said. ‘But yes, we need to refuel and my good friend, Sheikh Faysal Daood Taariq, wants to give us breakfast.’
‘Did you say a—a sheikh?’
‘That’s right.’
Charlie stared at Rafe in dismay. The thought of breakfast with a sheikh was even more confronting than stepping onto a private jet with a prince. She took a deeper sip of her coffee, as if it might somehow clear her head. ‘Are you sure I should come to this breakfast?’
‘Well, yes, of course,’ said Rafe. ‘You’re my fiancée.’
‘Oh, yes.’ This demanded more coffee. ‘Yes, of course.’ Charlie’s hand shook ever so slightly as she refilled her cup from the silver pot. The deeper ramifications of becoming her sister Olivia were only just sinking in.
This, now, was her reality check. When she stepped off this plane, she would no longer be Charlie Morisset.
‘You’ll like Faysal,’ Rafe told her with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve known him for years. We met when we were both at Oxford.’
‘I—I see. And he’s a proper sheikh, but you just call him Faysal?’
‘Yes, and you can call him Faysal, too. He’s very relaxed and used to westerners.’
‘But will I need to wear a headscarf, or curtsy or anything?’
Rafe grinned. ‘Not today. Not in his home.’
‘What about shaking hands? Is that OK?’
‘Offering your hand would be perfectly acceptable. You’ll find Faysal is a charming gentleman.’
‘Right.’ Charlie looked down at her hands and realised she should probably have painted her nails. She looked at her simple T-shirt and trousers. ‘I should probably change into something a bit dressier.’
‘Not at all. You’ll be fine, Charlie. Relax.’ Rafe closed his laptop and slipped it into an overhead locker. ‘It’s time to strap ourselves back into the seat belts for landing.’
The flight attendant collected their coffee trays, and, once they were belted, she disappeared as the plane began its descent.
In her seat beside Rafe, Charlie couldn’t resist asking more questions. ‘So, this Faysal—how many wives does he have?’
This brought another chuckle. ‘None at all so far. He’s still enjoying the life of a bachelor.’
‘Right. So he’s a playboy?’
‘Of course,’ Rafe said with a knowing smile.
And I suppose you were a playboy, too, before your father died.
This sudden realisation bothered Charlie more than it should have. Why should she care about Rafe’s sex life? It was none of her business—although it did make her wonder again about why Olivia had run away from him.
‘And for your information, Faysal’s father only has four wives,’ Rafe said.
‘Oh?’ she replied airily. ‘Only four?’
Rafe shrugged. ‘It’s a sign of the times. His grandfather had forty.’
Good grief.
* * *
After only a very short time in Dubai, Charlie realised how truly ignorant she was about this part of the world. Of course, she’d expected to see regal and haughty, dark-bearded men in flowing white robes, and she knew these men were extraordinarily wealthy and heavily into horse-racing and speed-cars and living the high life. But she hadn’t been prepared for the over-the-top opulence.
On the short journey from the airport to Sheikh Faysal Daood Taariq’s home, she saw a car painted in gold—and yes, Rafe assured her, it was real gold—and another studded with diamonds. And good grief, there was even, in one bright red sports car, a leopard!
A proper live, wild creature. Massive, with a glorious coat of spots and a silver lead around its neck. The leopard was sitting in a front passenger seat beside a handsome young man in white robes and dark sunglasses.
Gobsmacked, Charlie turned to Rafe. ‘That wasn’t really a leopard, was it?’
He grinned. ‘It was indeed.’
‘But it couldn’t be. How can they?’
Rafe shrugged. ‘Welcome to Dubai. Extravagance abounds here and dreadfully expensive exotic pets are all the rage.’
‘But surely—’ Charlie wanted to protest about the dangers. About animal rights, but she stopped herself just in time.
‘Listen, Charlie.’ They were in the back seat of a huge limousine and Rafe leaned a little closer, speaking quietly. ‘Try not to be too surprised by anything you see here.’ He waved his hand to the view beyond the car’s window, as they passed a grand palace at the end of an avenue lined on both sides with fountains and palm trees.
‘I can’t help being amazed,’ she said somewhat meekly. But she knew she had to try harder. ‘I guess Olivia’s used to all this,’ she said. ‘Her jaw wouldn’t be dropping every five minutes.’
Rafe nodded. ‘Exactly.’
In that moment, Charlie realised something else. ‘You’ve brought me here to your friend’s house as a test, haven’t you? It’s a kind of trial run for me?’
Rafe’s only answer was a smile, but Charlie knew she was right. Visiting his good friend, Faysal, was a kind of fast-track apprenticeship for her in her new role as Rafe’s fiancée. If she made any gross mistakes here, the errors would remain ‘in house’ so to speak.
But she wasn’t going to make mistakes. She could do this. In Sheikh Faysal’s home, she would ensure that she had perfect posture and perfect manners. She would remember to stand straight, sit with her knees together, and never cross her legs, always be polite and eat neatly, and—
And it would be exhausting to be a full-time princess.
But Charlie was determined to pass any test Rafe St Romain presented. Of course, she could hold her tongue and play the role she’d been assigned. After all, he was paying her very handsomely.
Now, with her thoughts sorted, she realised that their car was turning. Huge iron gates were rolling open to allow them entry to a gravelled drive and a tall, white, three-storeyed house decorated with arches.
The car stopped at a heavily embossed front door, which opened immediately to reveal a dark-haired, olive-skinned man almost as handsome as Rafe.
‘Rafe and Olivia!’ he cried, throwing wide his arms. ‘How lovely to see you both again. Welcome!’
* * *
Breakfast at Faysal’s was wonderful, as always, and to Rafe’s relief Charlie behaved admirably.
They dined on the terrace beside the swimming pool, where they were served Arabic coffee made from coffee beans ground with cardamom and saffron, as well as spicy chick peas and balabet, a dish of sweetened vermicelli mixed with eggs and spices. There were also delicious pancakes flavoured with cardamom and coloured with saffron and served with date syrup.
Charlie was on her best behaviour, and Rafe knew she was trying hard not to be too overly impressed by everything she saw and tasted. But he could also tell that she was enjoying the meal immensely, possibly even more than she’d enjoyed last evening’s meal on the plane.
Just the same, she managed not to gush over the food, and she only jumped once when Faysal called her Olivia.
She couldn’t quite hide her fascination with her surroundings, though. Her bright blue eyes widened with obvious delight at the fountains and the terraced gardens and the arcade decorated with exquisite blue and gold tiled mosaics. And Rafe thought she was just a little too impressed by Faysal, who was, as always, handsome and ultra-charming.
Nevertheless, the meeting went rather well, and Rafe was feeling relaxed when Charlie retired to the powder room.
As soon as she’d left, however, Faysal, who had dressed today in European trousers and a white polo shirt instead of his customary white robes, looked across the table to Rafe with a narrowed and sceptical dark gaze.
‘So,’ he said, his lips tilting with amusement. ‘Who the hell is that girl, Rafe?’
Inwardly groaning, Rafe feigned ignorance. ‘You know who she is. She’s my fiancée, Olivia. What game are you playing?’
‘That’s the very same question I want to ask you. You’re trying to pull a swift one over me, old boy.’ Faysal nodded to the corridor where Charlie had disappeared. ‘That girl is Olivia’s double, I’ll grant you that, but, unless she’s had a complete personality transplant, she is not the girl I met in Saint-Tropez and again at your engagement ball.’
Rafe sighed heavily as he remembered the extravagant ball he’d hosted. At the time he’d needed to make a big stir about his engagement and to show Chancellor Pontier how serious he was. He hoped there hadn’t been too many guests as astute as Faysal. ‘Is it really that obvious?’
Faysal’s smile was sympathetic as he nodded. ‘I’ll admit I observe women with a deeper interest than most.’
This was true, but still Rafe was afraid he had a problem.
‘Her name’s Charlie,’ he said. ‘Or rather, Charlotte. She’s Olivia’s twin sister. I tracked her down in Australia.’
‘Australia? So that was the accent.’
Rafe grimaced. ‘Is that what gave her away? Her accent?’
‘Not really.’ Faysal eyed Rafe with a level and serious gaze.
‘What, then?’ Rafe demanded impatiently.
‘Her sincerity.’
Hell.
Rafe knew exactly what Faysal meant. There was a genuineness about Charlie that had been totally absent in her sister. He gave a helpless shrug. ‘I can’t do much about that.’
‘No,’ Faysal observed quietly. Then he frowned. ‘So what happened to Olivia? She hasn’t been abducted, has she?’
‘No, I wouldn’t be sitting here passing the time of day with you if that was the case.’ Rafe shrugged. ‘She ran away.’
Faysal looked only mildly surprised. ‘She panicked, in other words.’
‘Yes, I think she must have.’
His friend gave a slow, thoughtful nod. ‘Getting engaged to that girl wasn’t your smartest move, my friend.’
‘I know.’ Rafe sighed again. ‘As you know, it was all about convenience. It was such a shock when my father died. So unexpected.’
‘The pressures of being an only child,’ Faysal mused. ‘If your mother had still been alive...’
Faysal didn’t finish the sentence, but Rafe knew exactly what he was implying. His mother had died three years ago, but if she’d still been alive she would have seen through Olivia Belaire in a heartbeat. And in no time at all, his mother would have produced a list of a dozen or more highly suitable young women for him to choose from.
These girls would have been from good schools and families. They would probably have all had university degrees and perfect deportment and grooming and impeccable manners and be interested in good works. The list of his mother’s requirements for a princess were numerous. She had never approved of the girls Rafe had dated.
His criteria for selecting a female companion had been quite different from his mother’s. But those carefree days were over.
‘If you can see through Charlie,’ he said, somewhat dispiritedly, ‘I’ve got a problem on my hands, haven’t I?’
His friend shook his head and smiled. ‘No, not a problem, Rafe. If you play your cards correctly, I’d say your Charlie could be quite an asset.’
No, Rafe thought, Faysal’s reading this wrong. His friend might have approved of Charlie’s prettiness and sincerity, but he hadn’t seen her horror at the thought of actually having to marry him.
‘She’s a temporary stopgap,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s all.’
