‘She’s not popular?’ Max queried.
‘She’s the only business in this town to make money,’ the woman said darkly. ‘The rest of us live hand to mouth but Daniella is a friend to the palace.’
That was said with such disdain that both Pippa and Max paused in their search and stared.
‘I didn’t mean you,’ the woman said, flushing a little. ‘We have such hopes, Your Highness,’ she told Max. ‘With you and your family settled in the palace…’
‘Just family,’ Pippa said. ‘Not him.’
‘Pippa, leave it,’ Max said shortly. ‘We came to find you a dress.’
‘So we did. Or I did. But I don’t need you to help me choose.’
‘I’d like to help.’
‘Yes, but I don’t want you to,’ she said, brightness fading. ‘I need to get used to working this thing out on my own. Go watch a play rehearsal.’
She emerged a half hour later carrying a really big parcel. She looked pleased, but as she emerged and saw Max waiting for her in the late-afternoon sunshine her smile died.
Why did she stop smiling when she saw him? He didn’t like it. ‘What did you find?’
‘Wait and see.’
Okay. He deserved this. He unfolded his long frame from the stone wall where he’d been sitting. They walked half a block to their car-and Daniella herself came bustling out of her shop to intercept them.
‘Your Highness,’ she called, and Max paused.
‘Get in the car, Pippa.’
‘Are you kidding?’ She summoned a smile. ‘I want to punch her lights out.’
‘You’re not allowed to punch anyone’s lights out.’
‘Really?’ she said, quasi hopeful.
‘Just because you walloped me doesn’t mean you can get used to it.’
‘No?’ She bit her lip, her entrancing twinkle back. ‘But I’m really sorry I walloped you.’
‘That’s fine. It was an entirely justifiable wallop.’
‘And walloping Daniella isn’t?’
‘Not if we don’t want a law suit.’
She signed theatrically, but she pinned on a smile as she turned to face the approaching Daniella.
Daniella was in her mid fifties, pencil slim, platinum blonde, dressed in sleek, expensive black. She was clicking hurriedly toward them on six-inch heels.
‘I need to apologise,’ she said, breathless and passionate, but she spoke only to Max. ‘If I’d realised she really had authority-’
‘She?’
Daniella motioned to Pippa. ‘This woman. You need to get an identification system for authorised servants, Your Highness. The old prince let us know clearly who could buy things on his behalf.’
‘Pippa is the guardian of the Crown Prince. She has the royal card.’
‘Yes, but she has no money on her own behalf,’ the woman said. ‘And the little prince is too small to have her in charge. I didn’t know what her credit limit was. Let me know and I’ll accommodate her.’
‘Hello? I’m right here,’ Pippa said, but she was ignored.
‘Pippa has authority to spend as much as she pleases,’ Max snapped.
‘The old prince never gave carte blanche to any of his servants.’
‘Pippa is not a servant,’ he roared, in a voice that startled them all. A toddler, being pushed in a stroller nearby, started to cry.
‘What is she, then?’ Daniella asked, looking at Pippa as if she were pond scum. Well, she had seen her in her bargain-basement knickers, Pippa conceded. She just knew Daniella wore kinky lace. But she couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
‘She’s Pippa,’ Max said through gritted teeth. ‘She’s part of the new order of things, so you’d better get used to it.’
They were building an audience. The players from the hall emerged as well. They’d obviously watched them leave and the sound of Max’s roar had been just too enticing. They were crowding onto the pavement to watch.
‘Pippa needs a tiara if she’s going to be part of the royal family,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘Come back and I’ll find you one.’
‘No, thanks,’ Pippa called. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly.’
‘Why wouldn’t it be seemly?’ Max demanded. ‘Why can’t you have a tiara?’
Pippa blinked, thrown off stride. ‘I’d look ridiculous.’
‘I’ll buy you a tiara.’
‘You do that,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘She should have a real tiara. Everyone says she loves the new little prince to bits.’
‘But she’s not part of the royal family,’ Daniella snapped.
‘Your part of the royal family is dead and gone,’ one of the players called. ‘The Levouts’ time is finished.’ Then, as Max and Pippa looked confused, he explained. ‘She’s Carver Levout’s mistress. She thinks she’s royal herself.’
Suddenly the atmosphere was nasty.
‘Can we get out of here?’ Pippa asked and Max nodded and held the car door open.
‘We need to go,’ he called. ‘Thanks for your help with the dress.’
‘Who helped with the dress?’ Daniella demanded, white-faced. Maybe she was realising she was missing out on a commission she just might need in the future.
‘We did,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘Ooh, it’s lovely. She’s going to look really royal.’
‘Especially beside him,’ one of the players added. ‘What a hunk.’
‘They make a lovely couple,’ the wardrobe mistress said mistily. ‘A real royal couple.’
‘We’re leaving,’ Max said, revolted, and slipped into the driver’s seat beside her. He gunned his little car into life, but they were surrounded by players, smiling and laughing and edging Daniella out of the picture.
‘We’re so glad you’re here,’ was the general message, though it came in many shapes and forms.
Max nosed the car forward.
‘A real family,’ the wardrobe mistress sighed.
‘Levout’s day is over,’ someone else called. ‘As of next Friday,’ they yelled. ‘We’re aching to see Levout’s face when those documents are finally signed.’
They drove in silence. Pippa stared straight ahead, her face expressionless.
Max was feeling ill.
What was happening here? Why was it such a mess?
He had to get back to Paris.
It had taken him twenty hard years to get where he was now, he thought dully. Some said he’d been lucky, and that was true. His former boss had been a fantastic craftsman and his skills, combined with Max’s business acumen, had been a winning combination. But Max had earned his luck. He worked seven days a week, always obliging, always learning, desperate to achieve a fortune in his own right. A fortune that wasn’t tainted by royalty.
He’d achieved his aim. He and his former boss had created one of the biggest construction firms in Europe. His mother had one of the finest apartments in Paris and the best of medical care.
None of it was paid for by royal money.
To abandon his career and come back here because of guilt.
No and no and no.
Marc would make a fine prince, he told himself. He and the twins would be happy here.
Only because Pippa would stay with them. Because he was forcing Pippa to stay. He was giving her no choice.
And he had a choice. He’d rejected becoming Crown Prince, but if it would take that look off Pippa’s face…
But would she go back to the farm? Would her sense of honour let her stay here?
‘What’s happening next Friday?’ Pippa asked, cutting across his thoughts. ‘What documents are being signed?’
