Marion Lennox - Royal Marriage Of Convenience

She just looked like…Rose.

She stepped into the cabin, laughing at something Griswold said behind her, speaking in a language Nick recognised.

She saw him and she stopped short. Her smile faded, and she looked suddenly uncertain. Maybe even a little scared.

‘Um…Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi.’ As a response to the occasion it lacked a certain sophistication, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a more intelligent response.

‘You don’t mind sharing a cabin with Hoppy?’ she asked.

‘Hoppy?’

‘Because of the leg,’ she said kindly, as if he was a bit thick. She smiled down at the little dog in her arms and then checked out the plane. She seemed almost overwhelmed by its opulence, swallowing a couple of times like she was trying to dredge up courage. But somehow she made her voice light and smiley. ‘Wow,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve hardly ever flown before. Surely they can’t all be like this?’

‘No,’ Nick said. They certainly weren’t. The two double settees that were the airline’s only passenger seats were more luxurious than any seat he’d ever been in. They were fitted with seat belts, but that was their only concession to airline strictures. There was white shag-pile carpet. There were tiny side-tables with indents to hold wine glasses-all carved from the one magnificent piece of mahogany. A partition at the rear led to a bedroom-he could see a magnificent bed set up, ready for use. The entire interior was painted white with muted pinks, with soft hangings disguising the harsh outer casing of the airline’s metal cabin.

This was definitely not cattle class.

But Rose had moved on, shrugging off her discomfort with her coat. She placed the little dog on the seat beside him. Griswold-who’d spoken hardly at all since Nick had come aboard-took her coat and smiled down at Hoppy.

‘Le chien a faim? Peut-être il voudrait un petit morceau de biftek?’

‘Hoppy would very much like a biftek ,’ Rose said, and beamed at the man. ‘Moi aussi. Oui. Merci beaucoup.’

‘Et pour la madame, du champagne?’

‘Ooh, yes. Oui. Merci, merci, merci. ’ She lifted her dog back into her arms, sank down into the seat beside Nick and giggled. ‘Isn’t this fabulous?’

The dog only had three legs. Hoppy. Yep, he had it. He was right on the ball today. If only she didn’t smile so much.

‘Do you suppose there’d be caviar if I asked for it?’ she said, and he decided to stop the fatuousness and try and be serious.

‘I thought the plan was to stop extravagant spending by the royal family.’

‘Oh,’ she said, and her face fell. ‘Does that have to start today? I thought maybe we could have a little bit of fun first.’ Her laughter disappeared as if he’d reprimanded her. She sank back into the sumptuous upholstery, clipped her seat belt and hugged her dog.

He felt bad. He hadn’t meant to stop her smiling.

She stayed looking defensive. He went on feeling bad. And more.

More? Yes, more. Because suddenly he was hit with this really dumb urge to kiss her better.

Or just to kiss her.

Which was really dumb, he told himself, startled by the intensity of his urge as well as the unexpectedness of it. That would be really stupid.

As was her reaction, he thought, struggling for an even keel. She was acting like he’d slapped her. He was starting to feel like he was always apologising to this woman. She made him feel he was permanently on the back foot.

But if he was going to apologise he might as well get it over with.

‘Maybe I was out of order,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s a concession,’ she said. ‘But of course you’re right. This is a serious business. A marriage of convenience. There’s not a lot to smile about in that.’

They didn’t speak again as the plane took off. The two settees-cum-airline-seats were forward facing, set in a V, so up to four occupants could talk together. There was a silk-hung divider in front which hid the service compartment and the entrance to the cockpit, but they were essentially alone.

They were sitting side by side, and he felt…weird. She was very close.

But not for long. The plane rose smoothly and the seat-belt sign clicked off. The moment it did Rose gathered Hoppy, unclipped her seat belt and moved herself sharply across the aisle to the other double seat. To the furthest side of the far seat.

It was like she’d slapped him. Even Hoppy was looking balefully across at him, like he’d offended the dog too.

‘I have offended you,’ he said, frowning, and she shook her head.

‘No. I just decided you’re right. It’s formal, the stuff we’ll be doing, so I may as well start being formal now.’

‘You could have caviar if you want. If it’s aboard.’

‘I don’t really want it.’

‘But you asked…’

‘I just thought maybe it’d be fun to play the princess a little,’ she said, and then looked ruefully down at her faded jeans and her three-legged dog. ‘But I’m not princess material. I never have been.’

‘Cinderella before the godmother?’

‘Yeah, well, the godmother’s the money thing,’ she said. ‘Bane of my life.’ Griswold came through, bearing a tray carrying one crystal flute, the champagne bubbling deliciously. She looked at the champagne with regret.

‘Do you think I should ask for it to be put back in the bottle?’

‘I don’t think it can be,’ he said weakly. Hell, how to make a man feel bad…

‘You mean I just have to drink it?’ She cheered up. ‘To save its life? Hooray.’ Griswold smiled as she buried her nose in bubbles. ‘Are you having one?’

‘I’ll have a glass of wine with my meal.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘And more than one never touches your lips?’

‘I believe it’d be good if at least one of us kept our wits about us.’ Um… He hadn’t meant to say that. It was just that she made him feel old . No. Defensive, he decided, but he didn’t know why.

And she seemed to agree with him.

‘Of course,’ she said, and raised her glass in his direction. ‘How very wise. You stay on watch. You keep all your wits while I stick my nose into champagne.’

Why had he said that?

He sounded about a hundred. Talk about a killjoy…

He thought of what Erhard had told him about this woman. She’d had it tough for the past few years. No wonder she’d been talked into accepting her heritage. No wonder she wanted to escape to a little fantasy.

He glanced across to the other seat. In between sipping champagne she was hugging her little dog to her like a shield. She looked about ten years old.

‘I’m really sorry I was mean,’ he said, and she flashed him a suspicious look.

‘Lawyers don’t apologise. If you acknowledge fault, then I get to sue.’

So maybe she wasn’t ten years old.

‘Tell me about your dog.’

‘He’s Hoppy.’

‘We’ve done that. I was hoping for a little more information.’

She looked at him suspiciously over the rim of her champagne glass.

‘Hoppy’s two years old,’ she said at last. ‘He got squashed by a tractor when he was five weeks old. I was helping deliver a foal, and the farmer was driving his tractor through the yard. Mud everywhere. This little one darted out to meet me, and went straight under the tractor wheel. When the tractor moved on we couldn’t see a sign of him. Then thirty seconds later I found him buried completely in mud. One leg was broken so badly it had to come off, but otherwise he was perfect. He even wiggled his tail when I patted him, smashed leg and all.’

‘So you bought him?’

‘I was given him. The farmer’s reaction to the accident was that it was a shame he hadn’t been killed outright. Hoppy’s so small he’s useless for ratting. That’s why he’d been bred. So I have my semi-useless, non-ratting Hoppy, and I love him to bits.’