Princess of Convenience

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‘Close guess?’ He smiled.

Close? He was too close. He shouldn’t smile when he was this close. It was very disconcerting.

What had he asked? It was taking her a lot of trouble to collect enough breath to answer.

‘Twenty-nine, if you don’t mind,’ she managed.

‘Twenty-nine. You run a hugely successful design business in Australia. Yet you come here alone, and when you’re injured you contact no one and you want no one contacted. No husband?’

‘No, I…’

‘Parents?’

‘Dead.’

‘Brothers? Sisters?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re alone in the world.’

‘Do you mind?’ she said, startled. ‘I’m an independent career woman. If we’re going to get personal, there are questions I’d like to ask you, too.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, you’re how old?’

‘Thirty-five, but—’

‘So why aren’t you married? Are you gay?’

‘No!’ The eyes creased into almost laughter.

‘Then—’

‘I’m not into marriage,’ he told her. ‘My parents’ marriage was foul and I remember enough of it to steer well clear.’

‘Until now. Until Sarah. Do you really think a marriage of convenience would have worked?’

‘Of course it would have worked. Why not?’

‘And if you met the girl of your dreams?’

‘Sarah wouldn’t have minded. She probably wouldn’t have even known. We’d have done the right thing in public—at least, that was the agreement—but if I met a woman I was attracted to then we’d have a passionate affair until the dream faded.’

She hesitated, strangely chilled. ‘Is that right?’ she said slowly. ‘Until the dream faded. Do dreams always fade?’

‘Of course they do,’ he told her, almost harshly, and there was that in his face that told her it wasn’t just his parents’ failed marriage he was basing his life choices on.

‘Bad love affair, huh?’ she said sympathetically. ‘Like me, you dreamed the wrong dream.’

‘Hell, Jess…’

‘I know. It’s none of my business.’ She released his hand from hers—almost reluctantly—and faced him square on. She was going nowhere probing further, and she had no right. ‘Raoul, I wish you all the best,’ she told him. ‘I’m really sorry for your troubles, but…it’s time I got back to my life and butted out of yours. Thank you for tonight. Thank you for my time out. But I’m going to bed now and I’ll leave at first light.’

‘Your car’s not ready.’

‘I’ll hire one in the town,’ she told him, and smiled. ‘You needn’t worry. One thing about being successful is that I’m not short of money.’ She hesitated. She shouldn’t ask more but she really wanted to know. ‘And you…you’ll go back to Paris?’

‘For a while,’ he told her. ‘Until my mother’s settled. I’ll try and organise access for her to Edouard. But after that, I’ll go back to Africa.’

‘Africa?’ She sounded astounded. Maybe because she was astounded. ‘What are you doing in Africa?’

‘I’m a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been working in Somalia for the past three years.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Why should I kid you?’

No reason. No reason at all. Except it required just a bit of readjusting.

‘So you’d given up your medicine,’ she said slowly, ‘to be a prince.’

‘If you think I wanted to…’ There was a sudden surge of anger, bitten back fast. He hesitated, striving for a reasonable answer to a question he clearly thought was unreasonable. Or a demand on him he clearly thought was unreasonable.

‘Jess, this country has been known as one of the most corrupt places in Europe,’ he told her, his voice calm again. Logical. But still she could hear the suppressed anger behind the words. ‘When Jean-Paul died I had a visit from no less than three heads of state of neighbouring countries. The ordinary citizens here have been bled dry. They’ve been taxed to the hilt and given nothing in return, so much so that there’s the threat of real revolt. The country has become a hotbed of illicit activity with corruption undermining neighbouring stability as well as ours. Change has to occur and it can only change through the constitution—through the ruling prince or regent. And Marcel is appalling. Which was why I was persuaded to marry Sarah and try and do some good. The idea was that I’d come, I’d accept the guardianship of my nephew and leave him with my mother, I’d set in place the changes that have to happen if this country’s citizens are not to be exploited—and then I’d leave again.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t think I want to be a prince?’

‘Most people would jump at the chance.’

‘I’m not most people,’ he said grimly. ‘Who was it said that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely? I watched my father and my brother and I want no part of it.’

‘Médecins Sans Frontières is hardly a life career,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Doctors Without Borders… They go to the most desperately needy places in the world. I’ve heard that most people burn out after one or two years. You’ve been doing it for three?’

‘It’s not long enough. I’m hardly burned out.’

‘Maybe you could stay here and work on the Alp’Azuri medical infrastructure,’ she said, and for a fraction of a moment she let her guard slip. ‘It’s hardly on a par with most western countries. In truth, it’s appalling.’

And he got it. He heard the pain of someone speaking from personal experience. She saw the recognition in his eyes. Recognition of tragedy.

‘There is that about you,’ he said softly, on a note of discovery. ‘You’re running.’

‘I am not running,’ she snapped, angry with herself for revealing more than she wanted. ‘Any more than you, practising medicine in Somalia when your people need you here.’

‘This is not my country. These are not my people.’

‘No?’

She took a deep breath. What was she doing? she thought suddenly. What drove this man was nothing to do with her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last while he stared at her with anger showing clearly on his face. ‘OK. This is not your country and you’ll be leaving it almost immediately.’ She hesitated, trying to find some safer ground. Her perceptions were swinging wildly. This man was a prince. This man was a doctor who fought for lives in third-world countries.

He’d make a wonderful doctor, she thought suddenly and glanced down at his hands. Big, caring, skilled…

Move on, she told herself fiercely. Once again there was that twisting inside that she scarcely understood. She had to find some safe ground.

‘And your mother?’ she managed. ‘What will she do?’

He smiled, albeit faintly. ‘My mother has an apartment on the Left Bank. And before you accuse me of deserting her as well as my country, she has Henri.’ He saw her look of surprise and explained. ‘Henri left the palace when my mother left my father thirty years ago. He’s been with my mother ever since, her loyal and devoted servant. Where she goes, Henri goes.’