Читать книгу Princess of Convenience - Marion Lennox, Marion Lennox - Страница 9

THEY walked down a long corridor and through four arches. ‘You know, it’s amazing the soup was still warm by the time it reached the table,’ Jess said. ‘No wonder Henri’s thin. The poor man must walk a marathon every day.’

Raoul didn’t smile. He was preoccupied, Jess knew, and all she could do was try and keep it light.

When they finally reached the kitchen there wasn’t a conflagration, but there was Jess’s predicted mess. Henri had obviously just put the steak on when their unwelcome visitor had arrived. There were three plates laid out with a salad on the side, but now the steak was sending up clouds of black smoke and a saucepan of tiny potatoes had boiled dry. The potatoes were turning black from the bottom up, and they smelled disgusting.

‘Ugh.’ Jess looked around her, taking in the vast range built to cook for an army, the huge beams overhead, the massive wooden table and the ancient flagstones on the floor. This kitchen was the size of a normal house. It was fantastic. But right now it was horrid.

Still Raoul seemed bemused. He was thinking of tragedy, Jess thought, whereas right now was the time for thinking of right now. ‘You want to open a few windows and doors, Your Highness?’ she prodded, moving toward the frying-pan with a handful of dishcloths and a martial look. ‘I’ll get rid of this.’

Raoul stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand—and then crossed to the sink. ‘Shove it in here,’ he told her.

She raised her brows in incredulity. He really was distracted. ‘You’re proposing we pour cold water on red-hot cast iron?’

‘Well…’

She grinned. ‘What do you do in real life, Your Highness? Don’t tell me. You’re an engineer?’

‘I’m a doctor,’ he told her and she paused.

‘A doctor. A people doctor?’

‘That’s right.’ He frowned, almost as if he was hauling himself back to the here and now. ‘Why did you think I might be an engineer?’

That was easy. ‘On account of your practicality,’ she told him, grinning. ‘My cousin’s an engineer and he has a four-inch-diameter scar on his shoulder because of just the practicality you’re proposing.’

Raoul’s brows snapped down in confusion. ‘Pardon?’

‘Patrick’s brilliant,’ she told him, folding her dishcloths into a pad. She was trying not to stare at the way his eyebrows worked when he was confused. It was sort of…sort of very attractive. ‘One late night when he was still at university, Patrick got hungry—so he did what any brilliant engineer would do, faced with a can of baked beans and hunger. He heated them on his college-room gas heater. Without opening them. When he finally applied the can opener, the can hit his shoulder and darn near passed straight through.’ Her smile was easier now, less forced. ‘And here you are, proposing to stick a red-hot cast-iron pan into cold water. You figure.’ She twisted her cloth around the pan and lifted. Doctor or not, prince or not, there was work to be done. ‘Open the door,’ she ordered. ‘Now.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave her a bemused look and opened the door.

The cool air of early evening washed in—and smoke rushed out. Jess carried her pan with care straight past Raoul. He stared at her for a minute as if he couldn’t work her out.

‘Spuds,’ she told him, talking back over her shoulder.

‘Spuds?’

‘You might guess,’ she said kindly. ‘The little black balls with the disgusting smell.’

He caught himself—he even managed a smile—and he followed. With spuds.

After the smoke-filled kitchen, outside was lovely. A warm sea breeze was drifting across the kitchen garden, and the setting sun was leaving a lingering halo of colour over the distant mountains.

Jess paused on the bottom step and Raoul stopped beside her. Holding his pan.

Hesitating.

This was dumb, Jess thought. It was as if there was some sort of constraining force between them. Something she didn’t understand.

Move on, Jess, she told herself firmly. She set her pan down on the stone step and Raoul followed suit. A bunch of hens who looked as if they’d been about to head for the henhouse diverted and gathered round the pots.

Raoul looked at the hens—and then looked back at the pots with indecision.

‘These guys will attack these if we leave them here,’ he said.

‘I guess that’s fine,’ Jess told him. ‘Chooks generally clean off everything edible.’

‘Chooks?

‘Australian for hens.’ She put on her broadest Australian drawl. ‘Chook, chook, chook… It’s a much better descriptor than hen, d’ya reckon?’

‘Maybe,’ he said faintly, sounding stunned. ‘Um, the…chooks…aren’t going to do so much cleaning as you’d notice. There’s not a lot there that’s edible.’

‘No.’ She smiled down at the chickens and said, ‘Sorry, guys. I’ll give you some toast in a minute to make up for it.’

‘We should put them to soak,’ Raoul said doubtfully and she sighed and put her hands on her hips.

‘Typical male. Of course we should put them to soak. When they’re cool. But…did you say Marcel was taking control of this castle in five days?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then I suggest we leave them to soak for, ooh, I’d say about five days,’ she said, and she grinned.

He stared at her in something akin to amazement—and then the smile returned.

It was like the sun coming out. It was a killer smile. It made Jess stare up at him and feel something inside twist.

She did not want something inside her to twist.

There was a tentative cluck and a chicken stepped forward toward the pan. It was enough to divert her. Especially as she badly needed to be diverted.

‘Don’t do it, chook,’ she told the bird. ‘It’s really hot.’ She turned to Raoul. ‘You say you’re a doctor. Have you ever treated chook burns?’

‘Um…no.’

‘Chooks are pretty dumb,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And…you’re saying that as of Monday these pans are legally in Marcel’s control?’

‘For the next eighteen years,’ he said. ‘Until Edouard turns twenty-one.’

‘Hmm. And it’s my guess he won’t be into counting pots and pans. There’s nothing for it, then.’ Her smile widened. ‘Let’s do it.’

She wiped her hands on her skirt in the gesture of a woman preparing for hard work. ‘Stand back, all. In the interest of chook health there’s nothing else to do.’ She walked across to a hose attached to the tap by the back door.

Raoul watched her as if she was something that had appeared on a magic carpet.

‘Stand back,’ she told him again. ‘And whoosh those chooks away.’

‘Whoosh?’ he asked faintly and her grin deepened.

‘Like you did to Marcel,’ she told him. ‘Only don’t whoosh quite so hard.’

There was that smile again. Faint. Just.

She really liked it. They grinned at each other like fools. Then he whooshed the chooks.

She turned on the hose.

It was a very satisfying moment. The jet of cold water, seemingly coming straight from the distant snow-capped mountains, hit the pan with a really satisfactory hiss. The pan erupted in a cloud of steam—and then there was a solid crack as the cast-iron pan split clean in two.

‘Whoops,’ Jess said and tried to look contrite. Not very successfully.

Raoul was still looking at her as if she might sprout antennae. ‘Whoops?’

‘You want to do the spud pan?’ she demanded, proffering the hose, and he appeared to collect himself.

‘Absolutely,’ he told her. He took the hose from her grasp—and pointed.

Crack.

Another pot less for Edouard to inherit.

‘How truly satisfying,’ Jess said and rubbed her hands on her skirt again—job well done. ‘You reckon we could find some more pans to heat up?’

‘You’re not a designer. You’re a demolition expert,’ he said on a note of discovery.

‘Yep.’ She gazed round, considering. ‘This is fun. What else can we do here? If Marcel is going to own all this then maybe we could do some real damage.’

‘Not fair,’ Raoul said, though there was a note at the back of his voice that said he wouldn’t mind swinging an axe.

‘OK.’ She let her demolition work go with reluctance and moved on. ‘If we can’t demolish, let’s eat. But what?’ she demanded, returning to the kitchen with purpose. She gazed down at the plates of salad. Delicate. Mouthwatering. Small. ‘This won’t cut it. I’m hungry.’

‘I thought you were an invalid.’

‘Invalids need feeding,’ she told him. ‘Besides, I’m better. As of now. I’m leaving in the morning.’ Then as the lightness faded from his face she regrouped. ‘But first, food. Bread. Now. Search.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She turned her back on him—his look of bemusement was starting to disconcert her—and hauled open the huge refrigerator. That was enough to deflect her thoughts from the man behind her. Or almost. This wasn’t a fridge, it was a delicatessen. ‘There are six types of cheese in here!’ she exclaimed. ‘Wow!’

‘You’re in Alp’Azuri,’ he said, still obviously bemused. ‘Cheese-making is our speciality.’

‘Then the menu is toasted cheese sandwiches,’ she declared. ‘Followed—I trust—by toast and marmalade. Have you found the marmalade yet?’

‘No, I—’

‘Then search faster,’ she told him with exaggerated patience. ‘What sort of prince are you, after all?’

‘I have no idea,’ he said faintly. ‘I have no idea at all.’

It was a really strange meal. They made slabs of cheese sandwiches. They fried them until they were crispy gold, and then they sat at the vast kitchen table and ate them in companionable silence. Raoul continued to be bemused and Jess left him to it. This man had his problems. All she could do was feed him and keep her questions to herself.

Henri appeared just as they finished their second round of sandwiches. He’d come to search for something for Louise to eat. Raoul poured him a glass of wine and then he and Jess combined forces to cook him a mound of sandwiches. They then sent Henri off with another bottle of wine and the toasted sandwiches for Louise and himself to eat in the privacy of her apartments.

‘I can’t eat with her,’ Henri told them but Raoul shook his head. Firmly.

‘You’re the only one she’ll eat with, Henri. You know that. Though whether she’ll eat door-stop sandwiches…’

‘I suspect she’ll love them,’ Henri said, looking down at his inelegant pile with a faint smile. ‘Ever since we came back here she’s been served nothing but five-star cuisine and it gets tiring. I’ll tell her that her son made them for her, shall I?’

‘She’ll never believe you,’ Raoul told him. ‘But if it’ll make her eat them…’

‘Certainly tell her that her son made them,’ Jess said promptly. ‘And tell her that Prince Raoul is also turning out to be a whiz in the washing-up department. There’s a cast-iron pot outside, cracked from side to side, with his name on it.’

‘Hey, Jess cracked one, too,’ Raoul said and they actually giggled in unison—and Henri looked at the pair of them as if they’d taken leave of their senses. But like Raoul, he seemed to have too much on his mind to comment. He left them with his sandwiches and his wine and a bemused smile.

Bemusement seemed to be the order of the day.

‘Now for toast and marmalade for us,’ Jess said as he left and Raoul looked at her in astonishment.

‘I thought you were joking. Where are you putting this?’

‘I’m making up for lost time,’ she said and then gave a rueful smile. ‘Like your mother, I’ve been off my food for a bit. Maybe I’ll be off my food again tomorrow but for tonight there’s toast and marmalade and I refuse to worry.’

He gave her a strange look but asked no questions. They made and ate toast and marmalade. Jess made a couple of extra slices and went out to feed some to the hens, who were standing mournfully around the remains of the pots. They accepted her offering with gratitude and then clucked off to the henhouse.

Raoul watched her all the time, as if stunned.

Did she have two heads? she wondered. She was starting to be really self-conscious here.

What next? she asked herself. What next, besides ignoring the strange looks Raoul was giving her?

With the hens safely locked up for the night, she returned inside and crossed to the sink.

‘The servants will cope with the mess in the morning,’ Raoul told her but she was already running the water.

‘You might be a prince but I’m not. No servant’s going to clean up my mess.’

‘But…’

‘And you’ve been saying that you’re not really a prince,’ she told him. She lifted a tea towel and tossed it at him. ‘Prove it.’

So she washed and he wiped, once more in silence, and then she drew breath and decided the night had to end.

‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘This was a great…time out.’

‘Time out from what, Jess?’ he asked softly, laying down his tea towel and turning to give her his undivided attention.

She caught herself.

‘I mean, time out for you,’ she tried. ‘Time out from worrying.’

‘You were just as in need of time out as I was,’ he told her. Then, at her look of confusion, he took her hands in his, lifting them to stare down at her fingers. ‘You’re what, thirty?’

‘Hey! No!’ Not quite.

‘Close guess?’ He smiled.

Close? He was too close. He shouldn’t smile when he was this close. It was very disconcerting.

What had he asked? It was taking her a lot of trouble to collect enough breath to answer.

‘Twenty-nine, if you don’t mind,’ she managed.

‘Twenty-nine. You run a hugely successful design business in Australia. Yet you come here alone, and when you’re injured you contact no one and you want no one contacted. No husband?’

‘No, I…’

‘Parents?’

‘Dead.’

‘Brothers? Sisters?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re alone in the world.’

‘Do you mind?’ she said, startled. ‘I’m an independent career woman. If we’re going to get personal, there are questions I’d like to ask you, too.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, you’re how old?’

‘Thirty-five, but—’

‘So why aren’t you married? Are you gay?’

‘No!’ The eyes creased into almost laughter.

‘Then—’

‘I’m not into marriage,’ he told her. ‘My parents’ marriage was foul and I remember enough of it to steer well clear.’

‘Until now. Until Sarah. Do you really think a marriage of convenience would have worked?’

‘Of course it would have worked. Why not?’

‘And if you met the girl of your dreams?’

‘Sarah wouldn’t have minded. She probably wouldn’t have even known. We’d have done the right thing in public—at least, that was the agreement—but if I met a woman I was attracted to then we’d have a passionate affair until the dream faded.’

She hesitated, strangely chilled. ‘Is that right?’ she said slowly. ‘Until the dream faded. Do dreams always fade?’

‘Of course they do,’ he told her, almost harshly, and there was that in his face that told her it wasn’t just his parents’ failed marriage he was basing his life choices on.

‘Bad love affair, huh?’ she said sympathetically. ‘Like me, you dreamed the wrong dream.’

‘Hell, Jess…’

‘I know. It’s none of my business.’ She released his hand from hers—almost reluctantly—and faced him square on. She was going nowhere probing further, and she had no right. ‘Raoul, I wish you all the best,’ she told him. ‘I’m really sorry for your troubles, but…it’s time I got back to my life and butted out of yours. Thank you for tonight. Thank you for my time out. But I’m going to bed now and I’ll leave at first light.’

‘Your car’s not ready.’

‘I’ll hire one in the town,’ she told him, and smiled. ‘You needn’t worry. One thing about being successful is that I’m not short of money.’ She hesitated. She shouldn’t ask more but she really wanted to know. ‘And you…you’ll go back to Paris?’

‘For a while,’ he told her. ‘Until my mother’s settled. I’ll try and organise access for her to Edouard. But after that, I’ll go back to Africa.’

‘Africa?’ She sounded astounded. Maybe because she was astounded. ‘What are you doing in Africa?’

‘I’m a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been working in Somalia for the past three years.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Why should I kid you?’

No reason. No reason at all. Except it required just a bit of readjusting.

‘So you’d given up your medicine,’ she said slowly, ‘to be a prince.’

‘If you think I wanted to…’ There was a sudden surge of anger, bitten back fast. He hesitated, striving for a reasonable answer to a question he clearly thought was unreasonable. Or a demand on him he clearly thought was unreasonable.

‘Jess, this country has been known as one of the most corrupt places in Europe,’ he told her, his voice calm again. Logical. But still she could hear the suppressed anger behind the words. ‘When Jean-Paul died I had a visit from no less than three heads of state of neighbouring countries. The ordinary citizens here have been bled dry. They’ve been taxed to the hilt and given nothing in return, so much so that there’s the threat of real revolt. The country has become a hotbed of illicit activity with corruption undermining neighbouring stability as well as ours. Change has to occur and it can only change through the constitution—through the ruling prince or regent. And Marcel is appalling. Which was why I was persuaded to marry Sarah and try and do some good. The idea was that I’d come, I’d accept the guardianship of my nephew and leave him with my mother, I’d set in place the changes that have to happen if this country’s citizens are not to be exploited—and then I’d leave again.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t think I want to be a prince?’

‘Most people would jump at the chance.’

‘I’m not most people,’ he said grimly. ‘Who was it said that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely? I watched my father and my brother and I want no part of it.’

‘Médecins Sans Frontières is hardly a life career,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Doctors Without Borders… They go to the most desperately needy places in the world. I’ve heard that most people burn out after one or two years. You’ve been doing it for three?’

‘It’s not long enough. I’m hardly burned out.’

‘Maybe you could stay here and work on the Alp’Azuri medical infrastructure,’ she said, and for a fraction of a moment she let her guard slip. ‘It’s hardly on a par with most western countries. In truth, it’s appalling.’

And he got it. He heard the pain of someone speaking from personal experience. She saw the recognition in his eyes. Recognition of tragedy.

‘There is that about you,’ he said softly, on a note of discovery. ‘You’re running.’

‘I am not running,’ she snapped, angry with herself for revealing more than she wanted. ‘Any more than you, practising medicine in Somalia when your people need you here.’

‘This is not my country. These are not my people.’

‘No?’

She took a deep breath. What was she doing? she thought suddenly. What drove this man was nothing to do with her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last while he stared at her with anger showing clearly on his face. ‘OK. This is not your country and you’ll be leaving it almost immediately.’ She hesitated, trying to find some safer ground. Her perceptions were swinging wildly. This man was a prince. This man was a doctor who fought for lives in third-world countries.

He’d make a wonderful doctor, she thought suddenly and glanced down at his hands. Big, caring, skilled…

Move on, she told herself fiercely. Once again there was that twisting inside that she scarcely understood. She had to find some safe ground.

‘And your mother?’ she managed. ‘What will she do?’

He smiled, albeit faintly. ‘My mother has an apartment on the Left Bank. And before you accuse me of deserting her as well as my country, she has Henri.’ He saw her look of surprise and explained. ‘Henri left the palace when my mother left my father thirty years ago. He’s been with my mother ever since, her loyal and devoted servant. Where she goes, Henri goes.’