you to feel that way. Not by me.’
‘You’d never make me feel trapped,’ he said. ‘But Jenny, I can’t expect…’
‘Then don’t expect,’ she said. ‘Senor Rodriguez told me all about Philippe. No, don’t look like that. The poor man never had a chance; I practically sat on him to make him explain things in detail. Philippe’s your cousin’s son. Everyone thought he stood to inherit, only when his parents died it turned out they weren’t actually married. According to royal rules, he’s illegitimate. Now he has nothing.’
‘He’s well cared for. He has lovely foster parents.’
‘Sofia says you’ve been visiting him every week since you got here.’
‘It’s the least I can do when he’s lost his home as well as his parents.’
‘He can’t stay here?’
‘No,’ he said bleakly. ‘If he’s here he’ll be in the middle of servants who’ll either treat him like royalty-and this country hates royalty-or they’ll treat him as an illegitimate nothing.’
‘Yet you still think he should be here,’ Jenny said softly.
‘No.’
‘Because this is where you were when your father died?’
‘What the…?’
‘Sofia,’ she said simply. ‘I asked, she told me. Ramon, I’m so sorry. It must have been dreadful. But that was then. Now is now. Can I meet him?’
‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said, feeling totally winded. ‘And he’s the same age your little boy would have been…’
‘Ramon, can we take this one step at a time?’ she asked. ‘Let’s just go visit this little boy-who’s not Matty. Let’s just leave it at that.’
So they went and for the first five miles or so they didn’t speak. Ramon didn’t know where to take this.
There were so many things in this country that needed his attention but over and over his thoughts kept turning to one little boy. Consuela and Ernesto were lovely but they were in their sixties. To expect them to take Philippe long-term…
He glanced across at Jenny and found she was watching him. He had the top down on his Boxster coupe. The warm breeze was blowing Jenny’s curls around her face. She looked young and beautiful and free. He remembered the trapped woman he’d met over three months ago and the change seemed extraordinary.
How could he trap her again? He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. He didn’t intend to.
Yet-she’d asked to come. Was she really opening herself up to be hurt again?
‘I can’t believe this country,’ she said, smiling, and he knew she was making an attempt to keep the conversation neutral. Steering away from undertones that were everywhere. ‘It’s like something on a calendar.’
‘There’s a deep description.’
‘It’s true. There’s a calendar in the bathroom of Seaport Coffee ’n’ Cakes and it has a fairy tale palace on it. All white turrets and battlements and moats, surrounded by little stone houses with ancient tiled roofs, and mountains in the background, and just a hint of snow.’
‘There’s no snow here,’ he said, forced to smile back. ‘We’re on the Mediterranean.’
‘Please,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You’re messing with my calendar. So, as I was saying…’
But then, as he turned the car onto a dirt track leading to a farmhouse, she stopped with the imagery and simply stared. ‘Where are we?’
‘This is where Philippe lives.’
‘But it’s lovely,’ she whispered, gazing out over grassy meadows where a flock of alpacas grazed placidly in the morning sun. ‘It’s the perfect place for a child to live.’
‘He’s not happy.’
‘I imagine that might well be because his parents are dead,’ she said, suddenly sharp. ‘It’ll take him for ever to adjust to their loss. If ever.’
‘I don’t think his parents were exactly hands-on,’ Ramon told her. ‘My uncle and my cousin liked to gamble, and so did Maria Therese. They spent three-quarters of their lives in Monaco and they never took Philippe. They were on their way there when their plane crashed.’
‘So who took care of Philippe?’
‘He’s had a series of nannies. The palace hasn’t exactly been a happy place to work. Neither my uncle nor my cousin thought paying servants was a priority, and I gather as a mother Maria Therese was…difficult. Nannies have come and gone.’
‘So Philippe’s only security has been the palace itself,’ Jenny ventured.
‘He’s getting used to these foster parents,’ Ramon said, but he wasn’t convincing himself. ‘They’re great.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’
‘I’ll be interested to hear your judgement.’ Then he paused.
‘Gianetta, are you sure you want to do this? Philippe’s distressed and there’s little I can do about it. It won’t help to make you distressed as well. Would you like to turn back?’
‘Well, that’d be stupid,’ Jenny said. ‘Philippe will already know you’re on your way. To turn back now would be cruel.’
‘But what about you?’
‘This isn’t about me,’ she said, gently but inexorably. ‘Let’s go meet Philippe.’
He was the quietest little boy Jenny had ever met. He looked just like Ramon.
The family resemblance was amazing, she thought. Same dark hair. Same amazing eyes. Same sense of trouble, kept under wraps.
His foster parents, Consuela and Ernesto, were voluble and friendly. They seemed honoured to have Ramon visit, but not so overawed that it kept them silent. That was just as well, as their happy small talk covered up the deathly silence emanating from Philippe.
They sat at the farmhouse table eating Consuela’s amazing strawberry cake. Consuela and Ernesto chatted, Ramon answered as best he could, and Jenny watched Philippe.
He was clutching a little ginger cat as if his life depended on it. He was too thin. His eyes were too big for his face.
He was watching his big cousin as if he was hungry.
I feel like that, she thought, and recognized what she’d thought and intensified her scrutiny. She had the time and the space to do it. Consuela and Ernesto were friendly but they were totally focused on Ramon. Philippe had greeted Jenny with courtesy but now he, too, was totally focused on Ramon.
Of course. Ramon was the Crown Prince.
Only Ramon’s title didn’t explain things completely, Jenny decided. Ramon was here in his casual clothes. He didn’t look spectacular-or any more spectacular than he usually did-and a child wouldn’t respond to an adult this way unless there was a fair bit of hero worship going on.
‘Does Prince Ramon really come every week?’ she asked Consuela as she helped clear the table.
‘Every week since he’s been back in the country,’ the woman said. ‘We’re so grateful. Ernesto and I have had many foster children-some from very troubled homes-but Philippe’s so quiet we don’t seem to get through to him. He never says a thing unless he must. He hardly eats unless he’s forced, and he certainly doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. But once a week Ramon…I mean Crown Prince Ramon…comes and takes him out in his car and it’s as if he lights up. He comes home happy, he eats, he tells us what he’s done and he goes to bed and sleeps all night. Then he wakes and Ramon’s not here, and his parents aren’t here, and it all starts again. His Highness brought him his cat from the palace and that’s made things better but now…we’re starting to wonder if it’s His Highness himself the child pines for.’
‘He can’t have become attached to Ramon so fast,’ Jenny said, startled, and Consuela looked at her with eyes that had seen a lot in her lifetime, and she smiled.
‘
Oh, help, was she so obvious? She glanced back to where Ernesto and Ramon were engaged in a deep conversation about some obscure football match, with Philippe listening to every word as if it was the meaning of life-and she found herself blushing from the toes up.
‘We’re hearing rumours,’ Consuela said, seemingly satisfied with Jenny’s reaction. ‘How lovely.’
