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Philippe remembered quite clearly dismissing the idea that he might want to sleep with Caro. But that was before he’d kissed her. It didn’t seem nearly so unlikely now.
She had wandered over to the window and stood there looking out, hugging the jacket around her so that he could see the flare of her hips. Her legs were strong and straight in the jeans. There was nothing special about her, not really. Other girls had blue eyes and creamy skin and hair that felt like silk when he slid his fingers through it. Caro was lusher than most, warmer than most, more vibrant than most, but she was still just an ordinary girl, Philippe reminded himself. Not the sort of girl he desired at all.
‘I won’t lay a finger on you unless you ask me to,’ he said. ‘So you can relax.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Caro, turning from the window. ‘Great idea. Relax. After all, I’m in a strange country, living in a palace and I’ll be going to bed with a prince tonight. What on earth have I got to be nervous about?’
Philippe rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We’re friends, remember?’
He could see her remembering that had been her idea. ‘Yes,’ she conceded reluctantly at last.
‘And friends trust each other, don’t they?’ ‘Ye … es.’
‘So you’re going to have to trust me when I say you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
Caro stood there, chewing her lip. ‘You’re right,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, now we’ve got that sorted, we can get on,’ said Philippe briskly. ‘We’ve been summoned to an audience with the Dowager Blanche at four o’clock. Sadly, saying we’re busy is not an option. At some time I need to see my father’s equerry, too, but what would you like to do until then?’
Caro looked hopeful. ‘Have lunch?’ she said.
To: charlotte@palaisdemontvivennes.net
From: caro.cartwright@u2.com
Subject: I’m here … where are you?
Dear Lotty
I was going to ask where you are, but then it might be better if you didn’t tell me, as I might not be able to withstand your grandmother’s interrogation. She’s pretty scary, isn’t she?
Philippe took me to meet her today—oh, no, that’s right, I didn’t meet her, I was presented. And I had to learn how to curtsey! Philippe gave me a whole lesson on etiquette before we went. I suppose you take it all for granted, but I was completely bamboozled by everything I had to remember. I was really nervous, and I think Philippe was too. He had that aloof look on his face, the one that doesn’t give anything away, but I noticed that on the way there (a five mile trek along the palace corridors, or that’s what it felt like) he kept shooting his cuffs and running his finger around his collar as if it was too tight. He’d changed into a suit for the Dowager Blanche, and I must say he looked pretty good, although I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying that, of course. Philippe knows perfectly well how attractive he is, without me puffing him up any more.
Caro lifted her fingers from the keyboard and flexed them as she reread what she had written. Was there too much about Philippe in there? She didn’t want Lotty getting the wrong idea. But how could she not mention him? She’d better make it clear that they had a strictly platonic relationship.
We’ve decided to be friends, which is great because it means we don’t have to be polite to each other. He’s certainly not polite about me. I put on my best dress in honour of the occasion (you know, the apple-green tea dress I bought last year) and he was beastly about it. I won’t repeat what he said, but it was very rude. And I won’t repeat what I said to him in return, because that was even ruder!
There, that sounded suitably casual and friendly, didn’t it? Caro started typing again.
Anyway, back to the Dowager. She doesn’t exactly operate an open door policy, does she? When we finally made it to her apartments, we had to go through endless antechambers, each one bigger than the last, and naturally we never had to do anything demeaning like opening a door ourselves. Instead, there was a whole army of footmen whose sole job seems to be to fling open doors. Weird. (Or maybe it seems perfectly natural to you???)
We eventually found ourselves facing your grandmother across acres of polished parquet. Philippe didn’t tell me about that, and I’d worn my pink shoes, the ones with the kitten heels. BIG mistake! The floor was so slippy the best I could manage was a teeter and we’d just about made it when my foot skidded out beneath me. I would have fallen splat on my face if Philippe hadn’t grabbed my arm. He’s pretty quick when he wants to be, isn’t he? I was mortified, but then I looked at Philippe and I saw that he was trying not to laugh, and of course that set me off, and I got the giggles.
Caro felt her lips tugging at the memory, although it hadn’t been that funny at the time. There was nothing worse than trying not to laugh when you knew that you absolutely, definitely mustn’t. With the Dowager Blanche’s glacial eyes on her, she had had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheeks, and at one point she had been convinced that her eyeballs had been about to pop with the pressure of keeping the giggles in.
Still, I managed a curtsey, which I thought was pretty good under the circumstances but Philippe told me afterwards I looked as if I was laying an egg.
I wouldn’t say your grandmother gave me the warmest welcome I’ve ever had. In fact, a midwinter swim in the Antarctic would probably have seemed balmy in comparison, but it was obvious she blamed me for you leaving. Don’t worry, I played along and Philippe was brilliant! He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles and told your grandmother that he was in love with me and that he would only stay if he had my support, so he expected me to be treated with respect!!!! He almost had me fooled.
She had better not tell Lotty that her hand had tingled all evening from the impression of his fingers, or that she could still feel the graze of his lips against her knuckles.
I could tell your grandmother didn’t like it, but at least she didn’t seem to realise it was just an act, so that’s something. I had to sit through an icy interrogation about my family, friends, utter lack of connections (or job, come to that), but don’t worry, I only gave her my name, rank and serial number. Actually, Lotty, I felt a bit sorry for her. I think that beneath all the guff about duty and responsibility and behaving like a princess, she’s really worried about you. Can you get a message to her to say that you’re all right at least? Don’t say where you are, though, as she’s ready to send in the entire Montlucian army to bring you back if necessary! But I think she needs to know you’re safe—and I do too!
I suspect the grilling Philippe got was even worse, but it was in French so I didn’t understand it. But when our audience was finally at an end we were both very relieved to get out of there. I had to hang on to Philippe as we walked backwards (!!!!!!) across that floor, and he kept hold of me when we were allowed to turn our backs at last and escape. We started off walking sedately through the anterooms, but the further down the corridor we got, the faster we walked, and by the time we reached the staircase we were running and laughing. It was such a relief to be able to let all the giggles out, and somehow it didn’t seem so bad knowing that Philippe had had to grit his teeth to get through it too.
Caro paused, remembering how the two of them had run down the grand staircase, laughing. The steps were shallow and carpeted in red, and they swept round and down to the magnificent marble hall where an array of footmen watched impassively.
Philippe had let go of her hand by then, but his eyes had been warm and alight with laughter and that dark, sardonic look had disappeared altogether. Caro’s heart had stumbled for a moment when they’d reached the bottom of the stairs and she’d looked into his face. It had been like looking at an entirely different man, one whose brother hadn’t died, one whose father didn’t blame him.
Shaking the memory away, she went back to her email.
So, I’ve survived my first encounter with the Dowager Blanche. It wasn’t a complete disaster. For some reason her little pug—Apollo?—took a shine to me. He sure is one ugly dog! Difficult to know which end of him is less attractive. I was worried he was about to have a heart attack with all that wheezing, but he came to sit on my foot while your grandmother was lecturing Philippe in French about something, and I made the mistake of patting him. After that, he wouldn’t leave me alone. I said I’d take him for a walk sometimes, which Philippe thought was heroic of me, but he was quite cute really, I suppose, and besides, what else am I going to do with myself? Philippe seems to be lined up for royal duties, but there isn’t a lot for me to do except sit on the balcony and look at that beautiful lake (which isn’t such a bad plan, now I come to think of it.)
It’s beautiful here, Lotty. I don’t think I’ll ever find my way round the palace or get to grips with all the formality, but the setting is magical. Like being in a fairy tale kingdom, where nothing feels quite real.
I’d better stop. Philippe had to go to some reception for financiers, so I’ve had the evening to myself, and I thought it would be a good chance to drop you a line—or quite a few lines, as it’s turned out. It’s all so new to me, and there’s so much I’d love to talk to you about. Can’t wait to catch up properly when all this is over and compare notes!
Hope you’re having a fab time out there in reality, Lotty. Let me know, OK?
Lots +++++++++ of love
Caro
When Philippe came back later that night, Caro was already in bed. She was sitting up against the pillows, a book in her hands and a pair of glasses on her nose. Her face was scrubbed, the cloud of chestnut hair tucked behind her ears, and she was buttoned up to the throat in a pair of old-fashioned pyjamas, patterned with sprigged rosebuds so faded they were almost invisible.
No sheer negligees for Caro, Philippe realised. No wispy lace or dainty straps designed to slide seductively over a shoulder. He ought to be glad that she had so little interest in attracting him, so why did the sight of her make him feel so grouchy?
‘Don’t tell me, they’re vintage pyjamas?’ he said, loosening his tie and trying to roll the irritation from his shoulders.
‘As a matter of fact, I bought them when they were new.’
‘What, when you were twelve?’
‘I’ve had them a long time,’ she admitted with a defiant look over her glasses. ‘They’re comfortable.’
‘There couldn’t be any other reason for wearing them,’ said Philippe sardonically. She certainly hadn’t bought them with seduction in mind!
So it was annoying to realise how appealing she looked, there in bed. The modest pyjamas only drew attention to her lush curves, and the glow from the bedside lamp picked out golden lights in her hair. Seduction was clearly the last thing on Caro’s mind, but she looked warm and soft and inexplicably inviting all the same.
Philippe jerked his tie free from his collar with unnecessary force.
‘How was your evening?’ Caro asked.
‘Tedious. I shook hands, smiled, pretended to listen intelligently to someone droning on about financial forecasts. Welcome to the exciting world of royalty.’
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tugged off first one shoe, then the other and tossed them aside. ‘And that was just one evening! I’m not sure I can stand the thought of another six months of this. I’m going to expire of boredom by the end of the week!’
‘Lots of people have to put up with boring jobs,’ Caro pointed out as his socks followed the shoes.
‘Very true. But give me a night flight through a thunderstorm any day!’ Philippe swung his legs up onto the bed and made himself comfortable against the pillows, linking his arms behind his head.
Coming home to someone felt strange. Not as uncomfortable as he’d thought it would be. In fact, he’d even found his steps quickening as he said goodnight to Yan and approached the apartments, and he’d been glad to see the light on in the bedroom and to know that Caro was still awake.
He’d been surprised at how pleased he was to have her with him that afternoon too. Grimly enduring his great aunt’s tongue-lashing, he’d watched her tussling with that stupid dog and felt a smile quivering at the corners of his mouth. Once or twice she had met his eyes with a speaking look, or the tiniest roll of her eyes.
Funny how the Dowager’s lecture hadn’t seemed nearly so bad when there was someone there to sympathise, to be an ally. To escape with and run laughing down the great palace staircases.
Philippe rolled onto his side to face Caro and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘What about you? What have you been doing?’
‘I emailed Lotty.’ Abandoning the pretence of reading, she put her book on the bedside table and took off her glasses. ‘I’d feel better if I knew she was OK. Wherever she is, it’s going to be very different from here.’
‘She’ll be all right. Lotty’s tougher than she looks.’
Philippe stretched, yawned and rubbed the back of his head. It felt surprisingly comfortable to be lying here, chatting to Caro at the end of a long day. He’d never done this with a woman before. They’d been lovers, or he’d been leaving. They’d never been friends.
‘Did you have anything to eat?’ he asked her.
Caro laughed, that husky, faintly suggestive laugh that crisped every nerve and sinew in Philippe’s body. ‘Have you ever heard that expression involving bears and woods?’ she said. ‘Of course I did! I felt really lazy ringing the kitchen and asking them to send something up the way you told me. I can’t get used to not doing everything myself.
‘It’s weird with all these servants around,’ she said, pulling up her knees and shifting a little so that she could look at Philippe. ‘You must have half the population of Montluce working here!’
‘Hardly that.’ Aware of the swing of her breasts, her scent, Philippe was horrified to hear that his voice sounded hoarse.
‘They asked me what I wanted to eat, so I said could they let me try some Montlucian specialities? They sent up these amazing quenelles of trout from the lake, and the most wonderful tart made with apricots.’
Caro chattered on about food, and Philippe kept his gaze firmly fixed on her face so that he wouldn’t think about how close she was, or how it might feel to undo the buttons on her pyjama top very, very slowly, to slide his hands beneath the soft material, to roll her beneath him and press his lips to her throat and let them drift lower and lower until she stopped talking about food and what the head chef said and—
‘What?’ He sat up, tuning in belatedly. ‘You went to the kitchens?’
‘That’s what I’m telling you. I took the tray back so that I could ask the chef for the tart recipe and he was so nice. Jean-Michel … do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Philippe, who had never been to the kitchens in his life.
‘He wrote it out for me, but it’s in French, of course. I might have to get you to translate it. I can get the gist of it, I think, but—’
‘Caro,’ he interrupted her, clutching his hair, ‘what were you doing wandering around in the kitchens? The footman is supposed to take the tray away.’
‘Laurent?’ she said knowledgeably. ‘He did offer, but I said I’d rather go myself. I’m glad I did. I had much more fun down there.’
Philippe pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘It didn’t occur to you that it might be inappropriate for you to be sloping off to the kitchens and being on first name terms with the staff? Everyone’s watching to see if you’re going to be a suitable princess, and fraternising with the servants makes it look as if you don’t know how to behave.’
‘One, there’s no question of me being a princess, so it doesn’t matter how I behave,’ said Caro, ‘and two, it’s an absurd attitude in any case. This is the twenty-first century.’
‘This is also Montluce, which is an absurd place.’
Philippe sat up and began undoing the top buttons of his stiff dress shirt and Caro looked at him sharply.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting ready for bed.’ His voice was muffled as he took hold of his collar and pulled the shirt over his head.
‘Aren’t you going to use the bathroom?’
Philippe’s hands paused at the top of his zip. Caro was sitting straight up, the colour running high in her cheeks. ‘You don’t need to look,’ he said. ‘We’re stuck with each other for the next few weeks. Don’t you think we should at least get used to being comfortable together?’
‘There’s nothing comfortable about watching you strip off in front of me,’ she snapped. ‘I bet you don’t even have a pair of pyjamas!’
‘I can’t rival yours for style, I agree, but I’ve got these.’ He waved a pair of dark silk pyjama bottoms at her. ‘I’ve had to get used to wearing them in this damn place. People are wandering in and out the whole time.’
Alarmed, Caro pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Not in here?’
‘Not unless there’s a constitutional crisis, but you never know, so don’t worry, I’ll be decent,’ said Philippe. ‘But I’ll get changed in the bathroom if that makes you feel better.’
When he came out, Caro was lying under the cover, holding it tight under her nose. A pillow was wedged firmly down the middle of the bed.
‘I know what you said about having no trouble keeping your hands off me,’ she said, seeing his expression. ‘It’s just to stop me rolling against you in the night by mistake. I think we’ll both sleep better having it there.’
Philippe threw back the cover on his side of the bed and got in. ‘If you say so,’ he said.
To: caro.cartwright@u2.com
From: charlotte@palaisdemontvivennes.net
Subject: Re: I’m here … where are you?
I’m here, and loving it! Thank you so much for being there, Caro. Without you and Philippe, I’m not sure I would ever have had the courage to go. I won’t tell you where I am, but it’s wild and beautiful, and I’ve got a job!!! I’m doing all sorts of things I’ve never done before—peeling potatoes, answering the phone, writing a shopping list, making a pot of tea—and it’s fun! I know you’ll roll your eyes, but it’s exciting for me. By the time I go to bed, though, I’m exhausted, so I’d better be quick. Just so you know that I’m fine, and yes, I’ve sent a message to Grandmère as well.
I know she can be daunting, but her bark is really worse than her bite. And if Apollo liked you, that will be a big thing. Grandmère might not let on, but she adores that dog. He’s her only weakness, so I’m sure she’ll be impressed that he’s taken to you, as he hates everyone else and is always biting people.
I’m really glad you and Philippe are getting on so well. How well, exactly????? Should I be reading anything between the lines??? Tell me all!
Grosses bises
Lxxxxxxxxxxxx
Caro was smiling as she read Lotty’s message—only Lotty would be excited at peeling potatoes!—but her smile faded when she got to the end. How had Lotty got the idea that there might be anything between her and Philippe? She thought she’d been so careful to make it clear that they were just friends!
Not that there had been much friendliness that morning. Philippe had been crabby from the moment he woke up, and had stomped off to a meeting with the First Minister in a thoroughly bad mood. When Caro had told him she planned to take Apollo for a walk, he’d just grunted at her and told her to stick to the grounds—as if she’d risk taking the Dowager Blanche’s dog out into the city. She wasn’t stupid.
The truth was that Caro was feeling scratchy and out-of-sorts too. She hadn’t slept well. How could she be expected to sleep when Philippe was lying next to her half naked?
Yes, he’d had those low-slung pyjama bottoms on, but that had left his chest bare. Solid, brown, tautly muscled, it taunted Caro from the other side of the bed. Her hands had twitched and throbbed with the longing to reach out and touch him, to feel the flex of muscles beneath the smooth skin. She’d tried not to look, but it had been impossible not to notice the powerful shoulders, the fine dark hairs arrowing downwards.
Heart racing, blood pounding, Caro lay and imagined sliding her fingers through those hairs. His body would be hard, solid, warm. He was so close, too. It would be so easy to roll over and reach for him.
And that would have been a big mistake.
Thank God for that pillow.
