The Prince's Bride Page 17

  Cindy stayed calm. “I was afraid of that. It’s the first time she’ll be on her own at a big function since her husband left, poor woman. She’s been compensating by helping.”

  “Interfering,” muttered Natalya.

  “Trying to help,” allowed Cindy. “But she won’t have a role from now on. We’ll need a rota so she’s always got someone in hand-holding distance if she feels a wobbly coming on. The ushers will help out.”

  But after the wedding rehearsal that evening, it became clear that the ushers were not a reliable source of assistance.

  “A flake and a geek and two husbands,” said Natalya in despair. “Any chance of calling in your jogger, Hope?”

  Hope’s stomach dropped sixty floors in two seconds, picked itself up, did a double somersault and then shot off into space whistling a merry tune. “He did offer,” she admitted. “I suppose I could call him.”

  She did, apologetically. “I know you’re moving in this weekend. But if you could spare a couple of hours ...”

  “I’ll be down tonight.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll take me an hour and a half, tops. I’ll take my suitcases round to the new apartment and come straight from there. Say nine o’clock. Where shall I find you? At the B&B?”

  “No. There’s a pre-wedding buffet supper for friends and relations who have had to travel. It’s at the hotel where a lot of them are staying.” She gave him the address. “I’ll keep some food for you.”

  She reported her success. “He’ll need a room for the night.”

  Natalya began, “Won’t he share your –?” but a look from Cindy shut her up.

  “I’ll get him a room at the hotel,” Cindy said firmly. “What’s his name?”

  “Jonas Reval,” said Hope without thinking.

  Cindy wrote it down, then looked at it. “How do you spell that?”

  Too late, Hope remembered – Cindy had been a diplomat’s wife. Unlike Hope, she’d probably recognize the name at once. Still, there was nothing else to do but spell it out.

  Hope did.

  She held her breath.

  But all Cindy said was, “Fine. Leave it with me.” But her eyes were sharp.

  When Jonas arrived, Hope was prowling in the gardens outside the main entrance. Waiting for him? He couldn’t be sure. She was frowning and clutching a clipboard. She didn’t look up as he drove past.

  He parked and went over to her. “Hi.”

  She jumped and swung round. “Jonas. Oh, thank heavens.” He could see she looked frantic unless it was a trick of the summer twilight.

  “What’s up?”

  It poured out in sort of breathless gabble. He understood that she had betrayed him, that she’d put him in danger and that the gods were attacking her with thunderbolts. None of which seemed likely or, indeed, possible.

  “Hey,” he said, as she showed no sign of either clarifying or falling silent. “I’m lost. What’s the problem? Don’t you want me after all?”

  For a moment he thought she would actually cry. Then she swallowed and said, “Breathe, Hope. Breathe.”

  “I think that should be my line,” he said, amused. “Do you want me to go away again? Or shall we go to wherever I’m staying? And then we can talk about whatever is bothering you.”

  “No.” It was halfway to a scream. She caught herself and did some more careful breathing. “I mean neither. The thing is, you’re staying here.”

  “Great. I’ll check in, then.”

  She moaned. “That’s the trouble. You’re registered here as Jason Rebel.”

  “What?”

  “It was my fault. Cindy asked me what your name was and I said ...”

  Jonas began to laugh. “You were economical with the truth? You? I’m shocked,” he said when he could speak.

  She pushed a harassed hand through her hair. “I deserve that,” she said ruefully. “But no, I wasn’t. Well, not exactly. I said you were Jonas Reval all right. But then ...”

  He wanted to hug her. “You overlooked my dignities and titles. It’s easily done. I forgive you.”

  She met his eyes and flushed faintly. “You have every right to rub it in,” she conceded.

  He did hug her then, though quite lightly.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. I kept you in the dark for much too long.”

  She gave his arm a grateful squeeze. “But if the hotel knows who I am, I don’t understand the need for a nom de guerre.”

  “The hotel doesn’t know. It’s my Aunt Cindy. She was making up a rota and that’s the name she put on it. Jason Rebel.”

  “She’s dyslexic?”

  “She’s an operator,” said Hope sourly. She was recovering by the minute. “I’ve only just found out. She knows who you are. She recognized the name and then she did a Google search, to be sure.”

  “Most people do,” he said comfortingly. He put his arm round her waist. “Come on, it’s not the end of the world. Actually, it’s funny if you look at it the right way. I take it I’m Jason for the duration? To everyone?”

  “Yes. And she said people will be taking lots of pictures to post on the bride and groom’s website. So avoid cameras if you can.”

  He pulled a face. “Been doing that all my life. Not a problem.”

  She stared. “All your life?”

  “I’ll tell you about it some time. Is that it?”

  Hope nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  The hotel reception didn’t need a credit card, as his room would go on the wedding planners’ bill but they asked for his driving licence or passport. It was only what Jonas expected, after Hope’s revelation.

  He patted his pockets convincingly and then discovered that he’d left his driving licence behind when he hired the car. “It was all such a rush,” he explained.

  Well, the hotel, who had been asked for the room less than two hours before, already knew that. The receptionist was sympathetic.

  “And I did make a note of the car registration number for your car park attendant.” He handed across a scrubby bit of paper.

  The receptionist decided that he was well-meaning but a bit thick. She smiled forgivingly, gave him a key card and wished him a successful stay.

  “You’re very plausible.” Hope accompanied him to the lift, clipboard in hand.

  The poor darling was clearly torn. The upright citizen in her obviously felt that she should deplore the practised ease of his deception. But she was a realist and she must be only too aware that she was in no position to take the moral high ground, since he was lying at her instigation.

  “Must be tough,” he sympathized.

  “What?” Hope looked at him with suspicion.

  “Being an accessory before the fact.”

  She snorted. “Blasted lawyer!” But he could see that she was having to fight down laughter.

  His heart lifted. “Just doing my best,” he said mock-injured.

  She did laugh then. “Stop winding me up, you!”

  She peered at the little envelope containing his key card and made a note of the number before giving him an envelope from the boss woman.

  “That’s the running order for tonight and tomorrow plus maps of the village and the venues. There’s a meeting in Cindy’s room after dinner this evening. Details are all in there. Come down to the garden room and eat when you’re ready.”

  The buffet supper was good and the thirty or so guests seemed to be getting along together fine, sitting at a couple of long tables. Jonas was used to a whole range of events and recognized the meticulous organization that had gone into making a disparate group of strangers feel this comfortable with each other.

  “I’m impressed,” he told Hope as they said goodnight before she and Natalya went back to their B&B in the village.

  She chuckled. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I’m not. You’d make a success of anything you choose to do. You pay attention.”

  Hope looked astonished, then e
ndearingly confused by the compliment. “I just do what I’m told. I’m working for experts,” she said gruffly, and hurried off into the dark, probably in case he tried to kiss her, Jonas thought, disappointed.

  He found her Aunt Cindy looking at him beadily. He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to comment.

  But she just wished him good night and hurried off.

  The wedding went off perfectly. Hope could hardly believe it. Even the temperamental mother of the bridegroom had a good time. She turned out to be a talented dancer, once Jonas had persuaded her onto the dance floor. Thereafter she danced with all her son’s friends and several of her own generation as well and finally left with an airy wave in the direction of her ex-husband. For Hope it was the crowning triumph of an extraordinary weekend.

  “How did you do that?” Hope asked him over an early breakfast next day, marvelling.

  “Dancing is Chapter Three of the Prince’s Handbook. My grandmother started me on lessons when I was eight.”

  “Yes, but she was so jumpy about meeting new people! I never dreamed she’d come out from behind the flower arrangements and dance.”

  Jonas pulled a face. “That’s Chapter One. ‘Your job is to ensure that people feel they have been recognized and respected as individuals.’” He was clearly quoting. The self-mockery was evident.

  She frowned. “But you didn’t just make her feel respected. You gave her confidence. No, more than that. You made her feel that if she did get the dance wrong, then it would just add to the fun, somehow.”

  He shrugged. “Same thing.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  But he brushed it aside. “What do we have to do today?”

  “Just take the flower boxes to the recycling collection point. Preferably getting them out of the vestry before the family service at eleven o’clock. If that’s OK?”

  He grinned. “I’m awake. You’re awake. The conservationist in me is dancing a jig with delight. Very much OK, I’d say.”

  She’d thought it would take hours but he made short work of the pile, even though it had filled half the church vestry. He ripped open the thickly glued corners that she and the flower ladies had struggled with in vain on Friday, and then flattened and folded the stiff cardboard as if it were newspaper.

  “Jump on that,” he invited, as he began to build a pile. “This stuff fights back.”

  Choirboys, arriving for the morning service, joined in too. Even the Vicar took an experimental bounce or two, at Jonas’s suggestion.

  “Great team work here,” said Jonas, smiling at Hope.

  She found herself smiling back, happy. Working together again filled her with an overwhelming sense of rightness. Jonas too, if she was any judge.

  He drove her back to London via the recycling bank. They were so close, their shoulders almost touching, that she couldn’t help remembering San Michele, when they were happy. She sighed.

  Jonas sent her a quick look. “Glad it’s over?”

  “Glad it went well,” she corrected.

  “Does it get to you, though? Wedding organization looked like a high anxiety activity to me.”

  “You plan as much as you can, and prepare for things to go wrong. There’s always something. I quite enjoy that aspect of it.”

  “Yes, I can see that you would. All those different jobs. You’ve got a lot of experience to draw on.”

  Hope considered. “I suppose you’re right. And I’m good in a crisis.”

  “I remember.” He looked serious. He said suddenly, “Do you still want to duck whenever anyone points a camera at you?”

  Hope was startled. “Did I say that?”

  “Yes. You looked really sick when you talked about it. That’s why –” He broke off.

  Hope was intrigued. “Why what?”

  Jonas said uncomfortably, “Why I vetoed Klaus naming you in the Rangers’ report on the rescue.”

  “You vetoed it? But you said ...”

  “I know what I said. Another instance of me telling you less than the truth, I’m afraid.”

  She was shaken. “Did I ask you to? I don’t remember.”

  “No,” he said swiftly. “No, it was all my idea. It was obvious that the press release worried you. You didn’t deserve to be worried. You’d done enough, going down that rope. So I pulled rank and said, we keep the prince and the prince’s girlfriend out of the story.”

  Prince’s girlfriend?

  “Oh.”

  “And then afterwards, when you told me about people spitting at you in the street ...” His hands clenched on the wheel. “I’d do it again,” he said fiercely.

  Girlfriend. Really?

  “Dealing with the press is something I’ve done all my life. Unlike you, I’ve never had to face actual hostility. They’ve always been rather kind. But I know them. They don’t let up. Give them a story and they have to dig. Even if Klaus had just said that a member of the public helped with the rescue, it wouldn’t have kept you out of the story for long. Some journalist would have identified you. Then they’d have got to your father and what he did. Then they’d have had a story.” He sounded weary. “It wasn’t fair.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Hope was still wrestling with the fact that he called her his girlfriend. As if it was accepted fact.

  “You weren’t supposed to.”

  She burst out, “Why did you tell Klaus I was your girlfriend?”

  “What?” He sounded utterly blank.

  She repeated it.

  He cast her a quick look of disbelief. “You’re joking, right? I didn’t have to tell Klaus. The Rangers could all see how hard I’d fallen for you. And we were meeting every day. For heaven’s sake, it was obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  They were coming off the motorway and into London traffic. Jonas said in evident desperation, “I can’t have this conversation and drive properly. Come back with me to the flat.”

  Hope jumped in her seat as if he had stuck a needle into her spine. An ice-cold needle. Her mouth dried. She knew she could say no, insist on going back to her own place, close the door on him and regroup her defences. Half of her wanted to. But the other half, the one that had taken her travelling in the first place and knew that there was no peace until you turned and faced your demons, said: this is it, then.

  “All right,” she said faintly. She had never felt so scared in her life.

  Jonas was a realist, he told himself. He knew that Hope agreeing to come home with him was not a full declaration of trust. But he still treasured the memory of Hope’s undisguised joy when she caught sight of him in Green Park. And now they were talking properly, too.

  It was progress. Not a whole new start. But progress, nevertheless. So he had to go carefully, he thought. Stick to practicalities. No emotional pressure.

  He said, “I haven’t moved in properly. I can’t even give you a cup of coffee until I’ve picked up the basics.”

  “There’s a big supermarket coming up,” Hope suggested. “We can park and shop.”

  They did. They went round like a couple of students, tossing whatever took their fancy into the shopping trolley. Jonas bought coffee, pasta, wine, a wide selection from the delicatessen counter and a kaleidoscope of cheeses. Hope bought salad, bread, milk and tea. And a lot of cleaning materials.

  They eyed each other’s choices at the checkout. Jonas raised an eyebrow.

  “You’ll need washing-up liquid,” said Hope defensively. “And I bet you haven’t got tea towels.”

  They had both bought candles.

  Their eyes met. Jonas couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh. Hope smiled reluctantly. Then succumbed.

  “Oh, how ridiculous,” she gasped, holding her side. “Don’t make me laugh any more. It hurts.”

  But when they were back in the car, Jonas started again. “You know what Nico would say? Nice try, but next time be more lavish.”

  Hope mopped her eyes. “Your brother Nico?”

  “My heartthrob brother.
He’s big on romantic gestures. Soft music, dancing by starlight under palm trees on a tropical beach.”

  Hope sniffed. “Sounds like an advert for middle market chocolates.”

  Jonas looked at her affectionately. He nearly said that he knew exactly what her romantic idyll involved – a makeshift bed on the floor, a blazing fire and a night of thunder and lightning outside. Maybe not yet, he thought.

  And oh the morning, with her tousled hair, the covers slipping off her shoulder and her eyes full of the night’s delights, as she teased him and ate apple crumble for breakfast! He shifted sharply. This was not a productive line of thought at this stage.

  Rewarding though. His lips twitched.

  He turned the engine on. “Last leg. Let’s go home.”

  The really odd thing was that Hope did treat the empty apartment as if it were home. The moment he let them into the entrance hall, she was looking round as if she were taking mental notes. She quartered the floor space like a general.

  “Plenty of light, nice layout, bit bland. Needs cushions. But that’s OK, you get to pick your own colours.”

  “When I get round to it, maybe.” Jonas began to unpack their shopping.

  Hope sat on the smart leather sofa and kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet under her. “It’s nice having a blank canvas. I’m really house sitting rather than renting, so I’m surrounded by someone else’s collected life.”

  She sounds wistful, he thought.

  “Surely you’re used to that, travelling as you do? The Antons’ villa must have been the same.”

  “Yes,” she agreed at once. “Of course, you’re right. Or maybe I’m just tired of perching and want to nest-build.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  He saw her jump, as if she had suddenly realized what she had said and wished she hadn’t. After a fractional pause she said, “My parents weren’t really home-makers. So no role model.”

  He surprised himself by saying, “I suppose I’m the same, in a way.” He looked at the packet of ground coffee in his hands, turning it over and over. “When I came to the villa and you made me supper, I used to think that must be what coming home would feel like.”

  Hope stilled, staring at him. “But you must have done it. Lots of times. Come home I mean.”