‘But not as much as our prime minister and Marcel.’ Lionel sounded morose. ‘So it was a mistake. But now…’
Raoul stared grimly at the coffin. ‘I’ve done as much as I can. You’ll have to take over. Exert some influence over Marcel.’
His uncle forgot about looking bereft and just looked appalled. ‘Me? You have to be joking. I’m seventy-seven, Raoul, and Marcel hasn’t listened to me for forty years. You know he and his wife don’t want the boy. Sure, anyone who takes on the prince regent role has to be married, but married or not, Marcel and Marguerite are no more fit to be parents than…well, than your brother and his wife. Begging your pardon, Raoul.’
‘You don’t have to beg my pardon. Jean-Paul was a dissolute fool, just like my father.’
‘Your father was my nephew.’
‘Then you knew how inexcusable his conduct was,’ Raoul said savagely. ‘And what he left of the royal family were exactly the same. Jean-Paul, Cherie and Sarah. My brother, his wife and my cousin. Now they’re all dead, two from taking pure heroin instead of the normal dope they’ve been living on for years, and one from drunken speeding on her way to meet a lover. And now Sarah’s death means that Marcel takes control. God help this country and God help the crown prince. But there’s nothing more I can do now, Lionel. I want out.’
‘Your mother-’
‘My mother is the reason I agreed to marry Sarah. She wants the child.’ He hesitated. ‘But there’s nothing more I can do. She can’t have him.’
‘No,’ Lionel said reflectively and turned to where the dignitaries were attempting to reason with Sarah’s family. ‘It looks like Marcel will take him, and you know Marcel is a government puppet. They’ll never let your mother have access.’
‘I can’t help that,’ Raoul said roughly. ‘I’ve done my best.’
‘Choosing Sarah wasn’t your best.’
‘Lionel…’
‘OK, I helped choose. I concede she wasn’t a great choice but you hardly gave us time. Now we’ve got six days.’
‘To find a bride so I can stay on as Prince Regent? You have to be kidding.’
‘If she’d just waited to kill herself until the week after the wedding rather than the week before…’ Lionel sighed. ‘But she didn’t. We’re in a mess, boy.’
‘We are at that.’ Raoul grimaced and then put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, as if gaining support and strength from his elder. He almost visibly braced himself.
‘Enough. I’m going to put my flowers on Sarah’s coffin.’
‘Because you want to?’
‘Because her mother and her father and her ex-husband and two of her lovers are all out there threatening to kill each other if I don’t,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s time for a man to take a stand. I’ll put flowers on Sarah’s grave, I’ll do the best I can to see my mother has access to her grandson and then I’m going back to my medicine in Africa. Where I belong. This royalty business is for someone else. I resign.’
For the first two days after the accident Jessica was asked no questions. Concussion, shock and the anaesthetic she was given for a dislocated shoulder were enough to send her drifting into a space no one could reach.
After that she was aware of questions being softly asked. Not too many, but essentials for all that. The questions were asked first in English, and then as those around her realised she spoke their language, in the soft and lilting mix of French and Italian used throughout Alp’Azuri.
Who was she?
That was easy. ‘Jessica Devlin.’
Where was she from? Her passport said Australia. Was that right?
‘Yes. I’m Australian.’
Who did she want them to contact?
‘No one. Unless I’m dead, in which case my cousin, Cordelia, but don’t you dare let her know where I am if there’s the slightest chance that I might live. Please.’
After that they backed off a bit-these gentle people who nursed her. Who were they? She didn’t ask.
There was a woman with elegant clothes and silver hair and a worried look that seemed to be more worried every time she saw her. There was a silver-haired old gentleman who deferred to the lady. He called her ma’am and carried in trays and he also looked worried.
Who else? Two nurses-one at night, one during the day, and a doctor who patted her hand and said, ‘You’ll be fine, my dear. You’re young and you’re strong.’
Of course. She was young and strong.
The doctor asked the hardest question and that was the only one that she had real trouble making herself answer. When the nurses and the others were gone the doctor touched her gently on the hand and asked, ‘Girl, your child. Your family. I have to know. There was no sign of anyone else in the car. There’s no wedding ring on your finger, but there are signs on your body that tell me you’ve had a child. There wasn’t a little one in the car, was there?’ His face stilled as he prepared for the worst. ‘No one else went over the cliff?’
She fought to answer that. Fought to say the words. But they had to be said to stop this kindly old doctor panicking more. He had no need to fear the worst. The worst had already happened.
‘I only have… I’ve only
There was a pause. Then, ‘Maybe you’re not so young after all,’ he murmured. ‘My dear.’
But her eyes had closed and he let her be. He didn’t intrude. None of them did. They let her lie in this luxurious bed draped in crimson velvet and gold tassels, sinking into a mattress that felt like clouds, and they let her sleep.
She’d hardly slept since Dom died, she thought drearily in one of her tiny lucid moments. It was as if her body was now screaming at her that it had to catch up.
She slept and slept and slept.
On day six-or was it day seven?-she opened her eyes and for the first time she really looked around her. Until now she’d simply accepted this bed, this room, the astounding view through her casement windows as the next in a series of events fate was throwing at her. She’d been out of control for so long that she’d ceased asking questions.
Now, though, sunlight was streaming in over sumptuous furnishings and she gave herself up to astonishment. This was no hospital.
The nurses were no longer here. Now there was only this fairy-tale bedroom and an elderly lady, sitting by the window gazing out at the morning.
Was she crying?
‘What’s wrong?’ Jess asked and the lady turned, sadness replaced by concern in an instant.
‘Oh, my dear. It’s not you who should be asking that.’
Jess gazed cautiously around her. She’d been awake but not awake. In some dream world. Taking the time out she so desperately needed. ‘I guess I should have been asking questions before now,’ she tried. ‘Like…where am I?’
‘This is the royal palace of Alp’Azuri.’
‘Right.’ Jess let that sink in for a while. Alp’Azuri. She knew she was in Alp’Azuri. This tiny country was famous all over the world for its fabulous weavers and she’d come here because…
Because of fabric and yarns. She thought about it, remembering a long-ago conversation with her cousin, Cordelia. ‘You take the trip, dear. Research your suppliers on the ground. It’ll take your mind off things best forgotten.’
Things best forgotten. Dominic?
This wasn’t the time to be thinking of Dom.
‘Um…why am I in the royal palace instead of a hospital?’ she asked, and grief washed back over the older woman’s face.
‘Do you remember the accident?’
