needs have nothing to do with them, and neither do I. They’re corrupt and they’re evil. It’s a wonder the country hasn’t overthrown them with force. Anyway I refuse to look back. I’ll only look forward.’
Alice had died too young, Pippa thought sadly-a lovely, gracious lady who’d made Pippa’s life so much happier since Gina had brought home her ‘best friend from school’.
Pippa owed them everything. She and Gina had been so close they were almost sisters. They were both only children of single mothers, but Gina’s mother had cared, whereas Pippa’s…
‘Gina and Alice were my family,’ Pippa told herself as she squelched through the mud on her way back to the house. ‘And Gina’s kids are now my kids. If Max What’s-His-Name thinks he can step in and take over…’
She shook herself, literally, and a shower of water sprayed out around her. Dratted men. Men meant trouble and Maxsim de Gautier meant more trouble than most. She knew it.
But right now he was back in the dairy and she’d reached home.
She poked her nose through the back door and warmth met her and the smell of the makings of her pie simmering on the stove and the sound of Sophie and Claire giggling. They were sitting in front of the fireguard playing with their dolls. Dolores had nosed the fireguard aside and was acting as a buffer between twins and fire, soaking up all the heat in the process.
She was a great watchdog, Pippa thought fondly, and then she thought: Max has done this.
But if he thinks he can seduce me…
Wrong word, she thought, suddenly confused. It was a dopey word. It should have been if he thinks he can influence me with money…
The seduce word stayed in her mind, though, refusing to be banished.
Marc had been setting the table-with their best crockery, she noted with astonishment. When he saw Pippa alone in the doorway his face drooped in disappointment.
‘He’s gone.’
‘He’s coming after me. He’s sluicing the dairy.’
The droop turned into a grin. He laid cutlery at the head of the table-a position they never used. ‘Have a shower and put something pretty on,’ he told her.
‘I don’t have something pretty.’
‘Yes, you do. The stuff you wear to church.’
‘The pink cardigan,’ Sophie volunteered.
‘It’s a bit old,’ Claire added. ‘But it’s still pretty.’
But he’s dangerous, she thought.
But she didn’t say it. She couldn’t. She was being ridiculous.
She was the children’s legal guardian. Max had no rights at all where they were concerned.
And he had no right to make her feel that he was…dangerous…where she was concerned.
She showered, and in deference to the kids’ decree she donned her church clothes-a neat black skirt and a pretty pink twin-set. It was a bit priggish, she thought, staring into the mirror, but it was the best she had, and she wasn’t out to impress Max.
But she did shampoo her hair and blow-dry her curls, brushing until they shone. She did apply just a little powder and lipstick. But that was all.
She turned from her reflection with a rueful grimace. Once upon a time she and Gina had spent hour upon giggly hour getting ready for special evenings. Now Gina was dead and the only cosmetics Pippa possessed were a compact for a shiny nose and a worn lipstick. And the only good outfit she had was her church gear.
Enough. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She headed back to the kitchen, but paused before she entered. There was the sound of kids giggling and Max’s deep voice talking to them.
On impulse she deviated to the office.
The office was a bit of a misnomer. It was a tiny space enclosed at the end of the veranda. Pippa stored the farm paperwork here, and she had an ancient computer with dial-up internet connection-as long as the phone lines weren’t down. They weren’t. She typed in Alp d’Estella and found out what it had to say.
Of the group of four alpine nations-Alp Quattro-in southern Europe, Alp d’Estella is the largest. The four countries depend heavily on tourists; and indeed each country has stunning scenery. Alp d’Estella is known throughout the world for its magnificent shoe trade. Alp d’Estella’s skilled tradesmen supply exquisitely made handmade shoes to the catwalks of London, Paris, New York and Rome.
Politically, however, there is trouble in paradise. Each of the Alp Quattro countries is a Principality and their constitutions leave absolute power in the hands of the Crown Prince. Alp d’ Azuri, a neighbouring country, has with the help of the current Crown Prince, moved to revoke these powers and is now seen as politically stable. Alp d’Estella, however, is a country in crisis.
The death of the Crown Prince a month ago with no clear successor has left the country more corrupt than when the Prince was alive. Prince Bernard led a puppet government which, if no one claims the throne, will become the de-facto government. Poverty is widespread, as is corruption. The nation’s only industries are being taxed to the hilt and are now threatened with bankruptcy. The succession must be sorted, and sorted quickly, in order to restore order.
This was why Max was here. To organise the succession.
To an eight-year-old.
What did Marc know about running a country?
Nothing. It was ridiculous. But there was no time to discover more.
She took a deep breath, disconnected and went to tell Max how ridiculous it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
PIPPA couldn’t tell Max anything for a while, for the children had decreed tonight a party.
Pippa could hardly believe the transformation. They’d all just recovered from world’s worst cold virus, with Marc sickest of all. The last few weeks had been dank and miserable. Cold seemed to have seeped into their bones, but now she couldn’t hear so much as a residual cough. With the warmth and with the wonderful food-and maybe with the excitement of Max’s visit?-they’d found a new lease of life. The twins had put on their best dresses. They’d tied a huge red bow around Dolores’ neck-she looked very festive fast asleep by the stove. And, from a sad, coughing little boy, Marc was transformed into master of ceremonies, bossing everyone.
‘Give Mr de Gautier red lemonade,’ he ordered Pippa when they sat down to eat, and when Pippa didn’t move fast enough he sighed and started pouring himself.
‘He’s bought wine,’ Pippa said mildly, but the children stared at her as if she had to be joking-wine when there was red lemonade?-and Max accepted his red lemonade with every semblance of pleasure and raised a glass in crimson toast.
‘You see what it’s like?’ Pippa demanded, smiling and raising her glass in turn. ‘I try to be in charge…’
‘Pippa’s no good at being bossy,’ Marc told Max, and Max grinned.
‘She was pretty non-bossy in the dairy. I’m thinking she’s more an opera singer than a dairy maid.’
The operatic singer blushed crimson. ‘There’s no need…’
‘Now, don’t defend yourself,’ he said, ladling pie onto the twins’ plates. ‘There’s no need. It was truly marvellous singing. It’s a wonder the milk didn’t turn to curds and whey all by itself.’
‘You…’
‘What?’
She stared at him. He kept right on smiling and she kept right on staring. The table stilled around them.
‘Would you like some pie?’ he asked gently and she gasped and reached for the pie dish with her bare hands. Which was dumb. There was a dish cloth lying ready but she hadn’t used it. The pie dish was very hot. She yelped.
He was up in a flash, tugging her chair back. Propelling her to the sink.
‘I’m fine,’ she managed, but he had her hands under the tap and it was already running cold.
‘I hardly touched it.’
‘You yelped.’ His hands were holding hers under the water, brooking no opposition.
