His to Command: the Housekeeper. Sharon Kendrick
shortcomings of her meagre wardrobe.
She spent the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment and the following morning she was up pacing the floor, her stomach a knot of anxiety, when the car arrived. It was the same dark, bullet-proofed limousine which she’d ridden in with Xaviero on their one proper ‘date’ to the polo club. It seemed like an age ago. Another life.
They sped with miraculous ease through the traffic—never seeming to be challenged until Cathy noticed the diplomatic flag fluttering on the vast and shiny bonnet and realised why. And then on to an airfield where a private plane was waiting, along with several hefty-looking officials who scanned her passport—was it her imagination, or were they looking at her askance?—before whisking her aboard the luxury jet.
She refused most of the fancy foods and drinks offered by two sleek female cabin crew, and the journey passed Cathy by in something of a blur. She felt a bit as she’d done after a general anaesthetic when she’d had her tonsils removed—all whoozy and disorientated—and it wasn’t until the plane began to descend towards a crescent-shaped island set in a sapphire sea that apprehension began to set in once more.
Her heart began to pound as the aircraft passed over deep green cypress forests towards a small airport. Would Xaviero be waiting there to meet her with some kind of explanation about why she had been rushed out here like this? She peered out of the porthole window at a small cluster of people who were assembled on the tarmac, presumably waiting for her to land. But she couldn’t see any sign of him—just a large car with dark-tinted windows at the front of several other similar, assorted vehicles.
Warm, scented air washed over her as she walked carefully down the steps and onto the tarmac where a smart woman of around forty, dressed in cream linen, detached herself from the group and came towards her, hand outstretched in greeting.
‘Catherine?’ She smiled. ‘We are delighted you are here. My name is Flavia Simoni and I am the wife of Prince Xaviero’s political secretary. Did you have a pleasant flight?’
Cathy wanted to say to the woman that she was never called ‘Catherine’—but maybe now wasn’t the right time.
‘It was fine. Thank you. How’s Casimiro?’ she asked, wondering if she’d imagined the momentary look of disapproval which crossed the woman’s face.
‘I am sure that the Prince Xaviero will wish to speak to you in person about his brother, the King,’ Flavia replied coolly.
Yes, definitely disapproval. Cathy felt slightly desperate now—aware of the beads of sweat which were prickling her forehead and the sudden dawning that she hadn’t realised how hot it would be. Surreptiously wiping the back of her hand over her brow, she looked around. Surely he was here to meet her? Perhaps sitting in the back of one of those dark-windowed cars. ‘And is he here? Xav—Prince Xaviero, I mean,’ she amended hastily.
‘Unfortunately, he is not. The Prince is tied up with affairs of state,’ said Flavia. ‘Which is why he asked me to accompany you to the palace. So if you would like to come with me, we’ll waste no more time.’
As she slid onto the back seat Cathy tried desperately to smooth down a floral dress which looked so cheap when compared to Flavia’s cool, creamy linen. A million questions warred in her head, but the one which screamed out with utter clarity was the most fundamental of all. Having flown her out here without any kind of explanation—why on earth wasn’t he here to meet her?
She stared out of the window, trying to take in the beauty of this foreign land. Thick palm trees lined a surprisingly wide road—their succulent fronds outlined against a sky of breathtaking blue and the air was light from the glitter of sun on the distant sapphire sea. After a while, she could see the cluster of buildings in the distance and she leaned forward to get a closer look.
‘We are approaching our capital city of Ghalazamba,’ said Flavia, with a note of unmistakable pride in her voice. ‘A city which has been ruled by the di Cesere family for centuries.’
Flavia’s statement only served to increase Cathy’s growing sense of unease.Yes, she knew that Xaviero was a prince, but, despite the fancy car and the discreet presence of his bodyguards, his royal status had not really intruded on the time they’d spent together in England. But here…why, it was as if the sheer magnitude of his royal inheritance had hit her for the very first time.
As they passed through the city walls Cathy thought the beautiful buildings looked like pictures she’d seen of Venice—while the dark, labyrinth lanes emphasised that she was essentially in an unknown and secretive place. But then everything became greener—she could discern a verdant sweep of unexpectedly lush grass through the tallest gates she had ever seen. Gates which gleamed a gold as bright as Xaviero’s eyes and which swung open to allow the car through.
‘And this, the royal palace of Zaffirinthos,’ announced Flavia quietly.
The palms of her hands growing clammy with nerves, Cathy stared up at a huge, stately white building with tall columns and elegant, arch-shaped windows. She was aware of unfamiliar trees and plants—flowers she’d never seen before—and the scent of their perfume was overpowering. There was a stately statue of a nymph standing in the centre of a fountain—a small globe held in her hands, over which cool water flowed, and Cathy wished she could go and splash some over her heated brow.
Gesturing to a sweep of marble stairs which lined the main entrance and was guarded by a row of solemnfaced men in uniform, Flavia indicated that Cathy should follow her. ‘The Prince has requested that I take you immediately to his private office,’ she said.
Cathy’s heart began to race as, suddenly, a wave of uncertainty swept over her. What was she doing here in this mighty and magnificent palace where, all around, inscrutable guards failed to meet her eyes? But there was no time to think or to wonder because long marble corridors were echoing to the sound of their footsteps and minutes later she was being ushered into a room so elaborate and glittering that it momentarily took her breath away.
But only momentarily—because her attention was immediately drawn to the tall figure who stood by one of the long windows. His face and powerful body were shadowed by the light behind him, but just seeing him again made Cathy realise how much she had missed him and how she had longed and craved to feel his embrace.
‘Xaviero!’ she cried, and impetuously started to move towards him until the brief elevation of an imperious palm stopped her in her tracks and the words dried on her lips.
He stepped out of the shadows then and, with a shock, she could see that he had lost weight. The flesh was stretched tightly over the autocratic bones of his face and his golden eyes were darkened by lack of sleep. But more than that—they were cold and distant. Gleaming out a warning so distinct that he might as well have held up a placard saying: Do not come near me. The only thing she could compare it to was that time when he had told her that their affair was over and he was going to South America. Back then, as now, it had been as if he’d flicked a switch to make himself icily inaccessible—and a sudden feeling of foreboding made her heart miss a beat.
‘It is good to see you again, Catherine,’ he said, in a voice she’d never heard him use before. Cool and diplomatic—it made her feel as if she were little more than a stranger to him.
And Catherine? What was it with all this ‘Catherine’? First Flavia and now him. Dazed by the sheer magnificence of her surroundings and more than a little intimidated by Xaviero’s daunting presence, she stood before him mutely and waited for some kind of explanation which might clear this confusing fog she seemed to be standing in. ‘It is good to see you too,Your Highness,’ she said, echoing his formal tone.
Xaviero looked at her. Wearing some crumpled and cheap little dress, she could not have looked more out of place in the splendour of the palace setting and for a moment he wondered if he had undergone some kind of temporary insanity by bringing her out here.
But what choice did he have in a situation which showed no sign of ceasing? What was it they said? he thought bitterly. Be careful what you wish for…