His Majesty's Marriage

legend. Who else?’

‘But she never mentioned anything like this. And who’s to say it was her? Did this woman ever sign her full name?’

‘No, it was always “Liz”, but she’s the only possibility. The dates are very revealing. In August 1955 she wrote saying how much she had enjoyed seeing him again, and how sad she was to have left him. Dame Elizabeth was touring Voltavia in July 1955, and returned to England in the first week in August.’

‘That certainly looks likely. But why did she never tell me?’

‘If that’s meant to be a negotiating ploy, let me warn you that it isn’t a good one.’

‘Look, I knew nothing about this.’

‘Nonsense! You as good as admitted that you had them when we spoke in London.’

‘I-?’

‘All that talk about the value of personal letters. You stressed that your great-aunt knew King Alphonse as nobody else did, and that such knowledge was priceless. That was your exact word.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t mean-’

‘And I, you may remember, said that sooner or later a price could always be agreed. You have my grandfather’s letters and you’ve kept them to publish. It would be treasure-trove to a historian. But I don’t mean to see my family secrets bandied about for the world to laugh at. You will hand them over to me. I’ll pay a reasonable price, but I won’t be trifled with.’

The truth was dawning on Lizzie. ‘Is that the reason you brought me here-the only reason?’ she demanded, aghast.

‘What other reason could there be?’

She thought of his kiss, how giddy it had made her. And she’d rushed here, dreaming of more sweet delight. She could have screamed with vexation.

Instead she spoke with careful restraint. ‘We seem to have misunderstood each other. I don’t have your grandfather’s letters. I don’t even know that they exist. The Dame may have destroyed them. Have you thought of that?’

‘Please!’ he said dismissively. ‘A woman? Destroy love letters? Is any woman discreet enough for that?’

‘Is any man? Alphonse didn’t destroy his, did he? I don’t think you should get on your high horse about indiscretion.’

That annoyed him, she was glad to see. He flushed angrily and snapped, ‘This argument gets us nowhere. I know you have these letters-’

‘Rubbish! You know nothing of the kind!’

‘Do not interrupt me. I know you have these letters because you virtually offered them to me in London.’

‘I did not. I mentioned personal correspondence because that’s what a historian always wants to see. I didn’t know what you were reading into it.’

‘You went out of your way to assure me that Dame Elizabeth kept everything.’

‘But I didn’t mean this. How could I when I knew nothing about it? If they were in the house I’d have found them.’

‘A bank deposit box?’

‘She’d have told me.’

They glared at each other in frustration.

‘What are they like, these letters you found?’ Lizzie asked, trying to sound casual.

‘That doesn’t concern you.’

‘The hell it doesn’t! You drag me out here under false pretences and it doesn’t concern me? You’ll find out whether it does or not.’

‘If that’s a threat, Miss Boothe, let me warn you, don’t! People don’t cross swords with me.’

‘Time someone did! Frankly I wish I did have the letters you want, then I could enjoy telling you to whistle for them. As it is, I don’t have them, don’t know where they are, have never heard of them. Which rather takes the gilt off the gingerbread.’

His eyes were cold and narrow with displeasure, and if Lizzie had been easily afraid she would have started to quake now. But she was naturally impulsive, lost her temper, said too much, regretted it too late, and only realised the danger when it was long past. Daniel would have had to lock her in a dungeon before it dawned on Lizzie that just maybe she’d gone a little bit too far.

Possibly this occurred to him, because he relaxed and allowed his anger to fade into exasperation. ‘There’s nothing more to be gained tonight,’ he growled. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Unless I decide to leave before then,’ she said with spirit.

‘Well, if I find you gone I’ll know what to think,’ he said smoothly. ‘Goodnight, Miss Boothe.’

She was facing a closed door.

‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ she breathed. ‘Or tomorrow evening. Or the day after, if it suits you. Oh, no! I don’t think so.’

Moving fast, she dressed, hurled some clothes into a bag and headed for the outer door. Opening it slowly, quietly, she prepared to step outside.

But, instead of the empty corridor she’d seen earlier, she now discovered two beefy guards standing across the doorway, firmly blocking her exit.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS hard for Lizzie to maintain her indignation when the sun rose on a scene of glorious summer. The beautifully manicured gardens were spread before her, trees, shrubs, flowers, winding paths, and in the distance a gleam of water. She had seldom known such a beautiful day, or such enchanting surroundings.

But she was annoyed. She must remember that.

She showered and changed into a cream linen trouser suit with a sleeveless green sweater. She finished off with a chain about her neck plus matching earrings. She was pleased with the effect. The chain was gold, but the bulky earrings had been bought cheaply from a market stall.

It occurred to her that she was all dressed up with nowhere to go, effectively a prisoner in this apartment until Daniel chose to let her out. But before her temper had a chance to get started there was a knock on the outer door.

‘Come in,’ she called.

Frederick appeared, leading a footman pushing a trolley on which food was piled.

‘No,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘I want to see the King, right now.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be-’ He got no further. Lizzie was out of the door and darting down the corridor.

She ran, expecting every moment to be stopped, but nobody tried. She had a reasonable idea which direction she wanted because Frederick had led her past Daniel’s apartments the day before. After taking a couple of wrong turnings she found herself on the right corridor. At the far end was a large pair of oak doors with two guards standing outside. They moved together when they saw her, making it impossible for her to get between them, but she managed to knock loudly.

The door was answered by a man dressed in a neat grey suit. Everything else about him was grey also, including his demeanour.

‘I would like to see the King,’ Lizzie said as firmly as she could manage.

‘Your name, please?’

‘Elizabeth Boothe.’

The man looked puzzled. ‘But His Majesty is on his way to see you. He left only a moment ago.’

‘But Frederick said-never mind.’

She began to race back the way she’d come.