Princess of Convenience. Marion Lennox

them but Raoul shook his head. Firmly.

      ‘You’re the only one she’ll eat with, Henri. You know that. Though whether she’ll eat door-stop sandwiches…’

      ‘I suspect she’ll love them,’ Henri said, looking down at his inelegant pile with a faint smile. ‘Ever since we came back here she’s been served nothing but five-star cuisine and it gets tiring. I’ll tell her that her son made them for her, shall I?’

      ‘She’ll never believe you,’ Raoul told him. ‘But if it’ll make her eat them…’

      ‘Certainly tell her that her son made them,’ Jess said promptly. ‘And tell her that Prince Raoul is also turning out to be a whiz in the washing-up department. There’s a cast-iron pot outside, cracked from side to side, with his name on it.’

      ‘Hey, Jess cracked one, too,’ Raoul said and they actually giggled in unison—and Henri looked at the pair of them as if they’d taken leave of their senses. But like Raoul, he seemed to have too much on his mind to comment. He left them with his sandwiches and his wine and a bemused smile.

      Bemusement seemed to be the order of the day.

      ‘Now for toast and marmalade for us,’ Jess said as he left and Raoul looked at her in astonishment.

      ‘I thought you were joking. Where are you putting this?’

      ‘I’m making up for lost time,’ she said and then gave a rueful smile. ‘Like your mother, I’ve been off my food for a bit. Maybe I’ll be off my food again tomorrow but for tonight there’s toast and marmalade and I refuse to worry.’

      He gave her a strange look but asked no questions. They made and ate toast and marmalade. Jess made a couple of extra slices and went out to feed some to the hens, who were standing mournfully around the remains of the pots. They accepted her offering with gratitude and then clucked off to the henhouse.

      Raoul watched her all the time, as if stunned.

      Did she have two heads? she wondered. She was starting to be really self-conscious here.

      What next? she asked herself. What next, besides ignoring the strange looks Raoul was giving her?

      With the hens safely locked up for the night, she returned inside and crossed to the sink.

      ‘The servants will cope with the mess in the morning,’ Raoul told her but she was already running the water.

      ‘You might be a prince but I’m not. No servant’s going to clean up my mess.’

      ‘But…’

      ‘And you’ve been saying that you’re not really a prince,’ she told him. She lifted a tea towel and tossed it at him. ‘Prove it.’

      So she washed and he wiped, once more in silence, and then she drew breath and decided the night had to end.

      ‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘This was a great…time out.’

      ‘Time out from what, Jess?’ he asked softly, laying down his tea towel and turning to give her his undivided attention.

      She caught herself.

      ‘I mean, time out for you,’ she tried. ‘Time out from worrying.’

      ‘You were just as in need of time out as I was,’ he told her. Then, at her look of confusion, he took her hands in his, lifting them to stare down at her fingers. ‘You’re what, thirty?’

      ‘Hey! No!’ Not quite.

      ‘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