Her Royal Baby. Marion Lennox
like doing.
‘Take me to Henry.’
‘You don’t want to clean up first?’
She glared at him then. Really glared. ‘How old did you tell me Henry was?’
‘Ten months.’
‘You think he’s going to judge me because of a little dirt?’
‘I…no.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
The concierge was still hovering, holding the door for them to enter, but by his expression Tammy could tell that given half a hint he’d grab her and haul her away. She looked the type who’d be annoying the customers, not paying to be here.
‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘I’m not about to mug His Royal Highness. I just want to see my nephew.’ She heaved her pack up over her shoulder and stomped through into the plush foyer, leaving Marc to follow.
Marc stared after her for a long moment—and then shrugged and followed.
The suite Henry and his nanny were occupying was on the sixth floor. Marc knocked once, knocked again, and the door finally swung wide.
Most people’s first instinct would be to glance at the view—from this position it was spectacular—but Sydney’s Opera House and the Harbour Bridge beyond held no interest for Tammy. Her eyes were all on Henry. She brushed past Marc and was in the room before he was.
He was just like Lara!
Lara had been the loveliest baby. Tammy’s sister had been born with a fuzz of dark curls and huge brown eyes that had seemed to take over her entire face. She’d had a smile that could light up a room.
And here was Henry, and Henry was just the same. The only difference was that this little boy wasn’t smiling. He was seated in his cot beside the window, watching the harbour below. His eyes were wide and wary, but there was no trace of the smile his mother seemed to have been born with. As Tammy and Marc came through the door he turned to see who was entering his world, but there was no hint of expectation in his eyes.
He looked like a child who had no one.
The nanny had been reading, Tammy saw. A paperback had been hastily thrust aside and a daytime television programme was blaring. The little boy was wide awake but he was simply sitting in his cot. There wasn’t a toy in sight. His only distraction was the window.
And the nanny had been watching television and reading. Dear heaven…
Tammy dropped her pack and was across the room in seconds, gathering the little boy into her arms as if he was her own. As her face nestled into the familiar curls, as she smelled the familiar scent of baby powder and…well, just baby…it was all too much. Until this minute what Marc was telling her had been a fairy tale. But this was real. Henry was real.
For the first time in years she burst into tears.
The child didn’t respond. He held himself stiffly against her, his small body rigid. His expression didn’t change at all.
Slowly Tammy pulled herself together. She was aware that the other adults were watching her without comment—the nanny, who looked about sixteen, and Marc. Their expressions were wary, as if they didn’t know where they’d go from here.
Which was maybe just as well, as Tammy didn’t know where she was going either.
There was a vast armchair beside her. She sank into it, perching Henry on her lap so she could look at him properly.
The little boy gazed back up at her, and then his gaze returned to the window. Windows were more important than people, his expression said.
‘Henry?’ It was a faint whisper against his cheek, but the child didn’t respond.
‘He doesn’t answer to his name,’ the nanny said, as if it was something Tammy should know. ‘He’s only ten months old.’
That didn’t make sense. ‘He’s sitting up,’ Tammy said. He’d been sitting in his cot as they entered. ‘Is he crawling?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then surely he should know his name. If he’s crawling that means he’s developing fine.’
‘I guess,’ the nanny said indifferently. ‘He’s pretty advanced.’
‘But he still doesn’t respond. Does he say anything?’
‘No. Why should he?’
Why should he indeed? The little boy’s stare was lack-lustre, as if he was bored with what was before him. Maybe if Tammy had been staring at the same view for weeks on end…
‘Do you play with him?’ Tammy asked, and watched as the girl cast a furtive glance at her novel.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Of course nothing.’ Her fury was mounting, until she felt like hitting out. She was hugging the little boy to her, and that stopped her raising her voice, but her fury was barely disguised in her whisper. ‘This isn’t normal.’
‘I’ll get him a proper full-time nanny when we return to Broitenburg,’ Marc told her, and Tammy could hear the uneasiness in his own voice. He knew what the problem was. ‘Kylie was employed via an agency and the situation was urgent. I was lucky to get her at short notice.’
‘So he’s been with Kylie, or someone like her, since his parents died?’ Tammy was stroking the little boy’s curls, trying to find some sort of response from him. ‘Or longer. Has he been with nannies since birth?’
‘I’d imagine so,’ Marc told her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Does anyone know?’ She rose then, standing to her full five feet six inches and glaring at the pair of them. She held the baby against her as if she was prepared to battle the world on his behalf. ‘Does anyone know anything about how my nephew has been cared for? He’s obviously been fed and clothed. Has anything else been done?’
‘I…’
‘Anything at all?’ Tammy’s rage was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘Have you ever seen anyone give this little boy a hug? Has anyone ever played peek-a-boo with him? Has anyone loved him?’
Marc bit his lip. He was on the back foot here, and he knew it. ‘He’ll be looked after when he gets home.’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Or at least not by you he won’t. Nor any of your nannies—even if you have nannies by the thousand. If Lara’s named me legal guardian then I can only be thankful. Henry’s at home right now. He’s staying in Australia and he’s staying with me. Thank you very much for bringing his situation to my attention, Prince Whatever-Your-Name-Is, but I don’t think we need trouble you further. If I can just collect his things, I’ll take him now.’
‘But—’
‘I’m his legal guardian. The rest of you can go to hell!’
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