Tabloid Princess, page 18
“Mm.”
“Mm, what?” Nana had a pretty astute mental grip for a woman of advancing years.
“Well, I don’t know. Look at you, Leia. Your face is flushed. I can’t remember the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t a digestive biscuit dunked in tea.”
“It’s a new slimming approach.”
“It’s lovesick. That’s what it is.”
My eyeshadow slipped out of my hand and bounced along the carpet. “Well, as this is only the second time you’ve babysat for me to go out, we both know it’s not that. That would be ridiculous.”
The monster who now never slept snorted.
“You aren’t like other women, Leia. You are either one hundred percent committed or not in it at all.”
“Nana, stop analysing everything! Maybe I’m just having some fun.”
She shrugged, but her gaze still lingered. “Maybe.”
“Are you okay to have Daisy?” I turned then. “I hate leaving her. And if it’s a problem for you, then I won’t go.”
“Leia! It’s not a problem. I’m just making sense of what’s going on. Last week you were devastated because you had the press camped outside the house all because of some silly mistake and now you are going out again.”
I dropped next to her on the mattress. “Maybe last week made me realise some things.”
“Like what?”
“That maybe I’ve been telling myself I’ve been protecting Daisy all this time, but really I’ve been protecting myself. I didn’t give her the best start in life, but I gave her all that I could. Maybe it’s time I stopped beating myself up about it and just let us live.”
She nodded slowly. “I think that’s incredibly wise.”
“Oh, now hold on, let’s not take this too far.”
“Just have fun, Leia. Live life like a twenty-two-year-old with the world at her feet. Have dates, breakups. That’s part of the growing process.”
I considered her words once she’d left to check Daisy still played happily in the lounge.
In some ways she was right.
But in others she was far off the mark.
What I was about to do had nothing to do with normal dating. There couldn’t be such a thing.
There would be no waiting for phone calls, no will we won’t we. His world didn’t work like that.
If people found out about the prince and I there would be no small breakup. It would be worldwide everywhere.
I didn’t know what this could be.
All I knew was that to keep it secret for as long as possible was paramount.
The air seemed cooler, the Indian summer had finally loosened its grip. I searched the pathway from the house checking for cameras and journalists, but the restraining order seemed to be holding its weight.
I told myself to believe what Nana had said. I was just any other twenty-two-year-old going for a night on the town.
I chuckled to myself under my breath.
Most twenty-two-years-olds going a date in the city would at least know where they were going.
Bill sat in the black car one street along from mine. His anxious glance peered through the windscreen as I walked along. I gave him a small wave and slipped into the back of the car.
“Why are you frowning?” I glanced about trying to see what was wrong.
“I don’t like not collecting you from the door.”
“Bill, thank you. But you know I’ve walked up and down this street a fair few times and nothing has ever happened to me.”
His glance met one in the rear-view mirror. “That will change.”
His words kicked my nerves up a notch.
“Where are we going anyway?”
“I couldn’t possibly say.”
I watched through the window as the roads slipped past. At eight o’clock, most of the city’s workers were either home or on their way, but in a town as big as London nothing was very quiet. The daytime workers had given way to night-time revellers.
When we pulled alongside St Martin in the Fields at Trafalgar Square, I looked about in surprise. We were in tourist headquarters here. Even I didn’t like coming into this area of town. Too many people, most of them utter idiots.
The car kept cruising around the darkening streets, and I craned my neck to spy the top of Nelson’s column. I couldn’t see the top from where I was but knowing it was up there in the sky, the same as it had always been, unmoving and unchanging settled my nerves a little. This moment I was on was just fleeting. The evening would end, one way or the other, but things would still stay the same, unchanging around it.
Bill guided the car to a small entrance alongside the National Gallery, a car park barrier lifted, and we went behind the building.
My legs shook as Bill opened the door and waited for me to step out.
I was really going to do this.
Heart over head.
The monster purred with satisfaction.
I paused there, grasping onto some reality. “How come you’re the only security staff I ever see?”
Bill smiled. “That you see.”
“Oh.”
A woman stood near a single black door, her uniform blending in with the woodwork. “Miss Lawrence, I’m Sally Gibbons. Welcome to the National Gallery. Have you been before?”
“Uh. Yes, once on a school trip.” I glanced around at the private car park. “This isn’t how we arrived though.”
She smiled, her face friendly, no judgement or criticism. “I think you’ll like this tour much better.”
Tour?
I followed her through the door, Bill walking a short distance behind. Everything echoed with quietness. The click of her heels, my own shuffling feet.
This couldn’t be real.
A small elevator stood inside a sterile lobby and she pressed the button.
“The gallery is shut isn’t it?” I asked, twitching the hemline of my dress. I’d gone for the black and silver ferns—I was about to meet the prince in Primark’s finest.
And he couldn’t see the problems facing us? Clearly, he lived in delusion.
“Oh yes.” She smiled but I couldn’t grasp the meaning. The elevator took us from the car park to the main lobby. Now this I remembered. Wide steps lifted from either side of a huge reception area. Benches lined either wall, for all the many visitors the gallery received on a daily basis to sit on.
“This way please, Ma’am.” Sally gestured me up the first flight of stairs and then hooked around to the right.
Black curtains hung from the ceiling creating a vacuum within the bigger room. My gaze travelled to where masterpieces hung on the wall. This place held paintings that were considered national treasures, purchases and gifts that now brought millions of visitors to see them.
I remembered my younger self standing in front of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and wondering why it wasn’t bigger.
“Through here please.” Sally pulled back the curtain and then stood to one side so I could pass. I turned, searching for Bill who gave me a nod and a very small smile.
The curtains were thick and heavy. I doubted sound or light would travel through them very far.
With a deep inhalation of breath, I stepped through, the curtain dropping almost as soon as I walked into the small area.
On the wall a huge painting lit the darkened space, small warm coloured lights ensured it wasn’t too dark, but it wasn’t the painting I looked at.
Stood before the canvas in a pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his hands in navy suit trouser pockets was the prince.
And he took away every molecule of air I had.
In front of a masterpiece he looked as exquisite as a freshly painted work of art. His dark hair tousled into messy knots, his eyes skimmed with intensity across the surface of my face.
“You came.” He seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
I glanced at the small secluded area. The curtains provided a private room within a room. Next to Oliver a small table with a white tablecloth held silver cutlery and a wine cooler with a bottle with a gold foil top.
“This is a lot of effort if you weren’t sure I’d come.”
He shrugged. “I was willing to take the chance.” Stepping closer, his fingers slipped along my bare elbows, caressing my skin with his light fingertip touch. “Thank you for coming.”
“Well it’s not dinner down the local.”
His answering smile was brilliant and wide. “It’s true. I have issues going down the local.”
I shook my head, trying to calm my pulse. “It’s a dump. You aren’t missing much.”
I held my breath as he shifted forward and pressed his lips against my cheek. I could have turned then, seeking his lips with my own, but I held back. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” Leaning back, I met his gaze.
“For coming.”
“Well, you know, you made me feel so bad for you, I figured it was the least I could do to help you out.”
His answering smile all but killed me on the spot. “Then I’m eternally grateful.”
I turned then and looked at the painting. “Why have you brought me to have dinner in front of a painting of an execution?”
“Here, come and sit.” He motioned me over to the table and pulled out a chair for me. “Champagne?”
“Just one. I’ve got to do the school run in the morning.”
“Is it worse with a hangover?” His lips quirked and I decided it was my favourite smile.
“Everything is worse with a hangover.”
“Where does Daisy go to school?”
Were we really going to sit here and discuss mundane things like this? “Why?”
He chuckled low and once he’d finished pouring the drinks, he handed me a delicate flute. Soft bubbles rose to the surface and when I lifted it to my lips, the bubbles tickled my nose.
“Isn’t that what people do? They find out things about each other on these things called dates?”
I shrugged which effectively summed up my knowledge of the matter. “She goes to Winterborn which is not that far from where we live.” I scrunched my face up.
“What? You don’t like it?”
“No.” I put my glass down. “It’s not that. The school is as good as an inner London is going to get. We were lucky really. It’s just a nightmare getting her there. Daisy has severe asthma. She was born a few weeks early, and while the doctors tell me that her asthma has nothing to do with the complications of her birth, I don’t quite believe it.”
“What’s that got to do with school?” He leant forward and my own body shifted in response.
“We have to walk along the main road to get there. It’s awful with the fumes of the cars and the buses. I worry for children who have to take that trip to school. This town can’t take much more I don’t think.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You wouldn’t consider moving out of the city?”
“I’d love to. If I thought it would help her, I’d try in a heartbeat.” My cheeks heated. “It’s just not that easy. We are on the waitlist for new housing, but her asthma isn’t a priority. There isn’t any proof that where we live is affecting her health, and the house we have is considered actually quite lucky for a single mother with only one child.”
“I see,” he said this, but I knew he didn’t—not really. “And what about Nana?”
I glanced up in surprise, meeting his gaze. He remembered her name even though I’d only mentioned her once. “She doesn’t live too far away. Close enough to be able to help me with childcare.” I lifted my glass with shaking hands and took a deep sip. “But when I made my choice to keep Daisy, I wanted to prove I could do it by myself. I knew if I lived with Nana, who I loved instantly despite us only just finding one another, I knew it would be easy to give the responsibility over to her. I mean I wasn’t even an adult myself.”
Why was I talking so much?
His questions drew too much information from me.
Another one fired straight away. “What was it like?”
“Which bit?”
I squirmed at his intense expression. “Being responsible for something even when you didn’t know what it meant.”
“Hard. Very hard.” My words got lodged in my throat.
“My brother, sister, and I. We are expected to be responsible, to set an example, but I don’t think any of us even have the foggiest idea of what true responsibility is.”
“One day you will be king. Won’t you know then?”
“Won’t that be too late?”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s just something you learn. I would never have guessed what it would be like to be a mother, until I did it. It wouldn’t have mattered if I was sixteen or thirty-six.”
He nodded, distracted. I wanted to see him smile again.
“Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about.” I flashed him a grin, wanting to lift the oppressive atmosphere. First dates weren’t supposed to feel like this I was sure.
“Yes?” He picked up his glass and took a sip.
“I’ve been thinking about your birthday.”
“My present?” His flashing smile nearly distracted me.
“No. The fact you were thirty. I’m twenty-two. That’s a bit of an age gap.”
That quirk of his lips made my heart soar. I distracted myself with a sip of the smooth champagne. “So are you are saying I’m a dirty old man?”
The bubbles hit the back of my throat and I coughed, somehow making the liquid sting my nostrils.
“Jesus.” I coughed again and grabbed at a napkin off the table holding it to my face. Once I’d calmed down, I lowered it to find him watching me, one side of his lips quirked at the corner. “How dirty?” My cheeks warmed, hotter than they already were.
“Very.”
We watched one another, my gaze drifting to his fingers, wondering just what they would do to fulfil the ‘dirty’ promise.
Breaking the moment, he turned for a small cabinet which he opened, pulling out two plates. They both had beautifully carved and arranged smoked salmon, the layers so thin the pale pink was almost translucent. “I hope you don’t mind cold food. I didn’t want any staff in here.”
I nodded, almost dumb.
“And I took a gamble on the salmon.”
“It’s fine, thank you.” He placed a plate in front of me. “Honestly, I’ve only managed biscuits the last few days.”
“You too?”
“Nana thinks I’m lovesick.” I met his eyes.
“Are you?”
“I’m waiting for the doctor’s official diagnosis.”
He rewarded my lame joke with a beautiful smile, a slow stretch from the quirk I loved into brilliant whiteness.
I speared a piece of salmon and popped it into my mouth, my stomach grumbling a little as I did. “Why here?” I asked pointing to the painting with my fork. “It’s very macabre.”
“It’s my favourite painting.” He turned slightly so he could look at it better. “I often used to come and sit on the bench here once the gallery shut.”
“Do you get after hours privileges most places?”
“I think they’d rather I came when it was shut than during the day when all their priceless works could get destroyed in a crush.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A crush?”
Another quirk. My heartbeat sped. “You know what I mean.”
I turned for the painting again, somehow forcing my attention away from him. Beautiful and rich, the subject was dark and depressing. Women stood either side of the canvas, their faces agony, as a young girl, her dress simple and white, a blindfold across her eyes, was lowered onto a wooden block. The executioner stood ready with his axe.
The fabric of the dresses held such detail the painting looked more like a photograph. Light and shadow played across rose coloured silk.
“It’s the execution of Lady Jane Grey,” he said.
“She’s little more than a child.”
“She was sixteen when she was considered a threat to the throne. Her and her husband were both executed because of the plots of her father.”
“Her husband?”
Oliver nodded, his forest gaze wandering across my face. “Same age as you had Daisy.”
“Why this painting though? The murder of a child is a depressing subject.”
“It reminds me that people lived and died to be where I am. Things have changed. The monarchy no longer rules the land, but we are still the head of the commonwealth. Lives have been lost in the story that has made me the next king.”
I swallowed and put my fork down on the plate. My stomach had no interest in smoked salmon, no matter how fine.
“Whatever I do there will always be an expectation on me.” I cringed under his intense gaze. “Every choice I make, I make living in the shadow of this painting. What would I be willing to go to the block for? Where is my line?”
His words sliced at me.
“This is what I said the other night. It’s why I don’t think this can work, Oliver. No matter what you say. I’d never want to be a line you have to draw.”
“Maybe it’s too late for that?”
“Don’t be silly. We don’t even know each other.”
“Maybe I know what I need to.” He sighed. “I know this isn’t the way normal first dates go…”
“But?”
His gaze when it met mine made me want to melt into a puddle.
“I think I found my line the first time you were rude to me.”
I slumped a little.
“There’s a chance I might know what I’d face the executioner’s block for now.”
“Oliver, please. Don’t.”
“I’d face it for you.”
This was insane. It was a date. Just one date.
He didn’t know a single thing about my real existence.
It didn’t matter though.
Because I knew it too. I’d walk with him to that executioner’s block and kneel at his side.
And that was the scariest thought I’d ever had.
Nineteen
The knock on the front door woke me, which was good considering I had a glass of wine balanced precariously on my knee.
