Barbara Hannay - A Royal Proposal

Charlie didn’t answer this specifically.

Have a safe flight, she wrote. Sending my love to you and to Skye and Isla. All’s well here. C xxx.

She’d crossed so many time zones, she didn’t even try to calculate where they might be by now. It was just good to know Isla was on her way and, at this point, all was well. Charlie sent up a prayer.

Keep Isla safe. Hang in there, sweetheart.

The last text message was from Rafe.

Good morning. I hope you’ve slept well. My secretary, Mathilde, would like to meet with you at eleven. Is this suitable?

Quickly she typed back that this would be fine.

Great, wrote Rafe. Any problems, give me a call.

Charlie wondered where he was. Then her tummy rumbled. She needed breakfast. Rather nervously, she lifted the phone beside the bed.

Immediately a woman’s voice at the other end said, ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlie. ‘Bonjour.’ In her best French she asked, ‘Could I please have some coffee in my room?’

‘Certainly, mademoiselle. Would you also like breakfast? An omelette perhaps?’

‘An omelette would be lovely. Merci.’

‘It will be with you very soon, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

‘Thank you.’

This done, Charlie heaved a huge sigh of relief. Her first hurdle might have been a rather low bar in the scheme of things, but at least she’d cleared it without mishap.

* * *

A much higher hurdle came later, after the secretary Mathilde had given Charlie her engagement itinerary. She was expected to start clothes shopping this very day.

Not only did Charlie need a warmer overcoat, a new outfit was required for dinner this evening, another to wear for a daytime engagement the next day and a special gown for a gala event to be held in the castle in two evenings’ time.

Charlie almost whimpered when she saw the list. She knew Rafe never dreamed that she would be paying for these clothes out of her own money, but she felt she had no other option. The problem was, her bank account wouldn’t stretch to four expensive items of clothing, all fit for a princess. She would be lucky if she could afford one of these outfits, which meant she had no alternative but to get a cash advance on her credit card.

Ouch.

* * *

Shivering inside her inadequate coat, Charlie stepped out of the castle to find that fresh snow had fallen during the night. Now, in the early afternoon, it was clear and sunny, but the air was freezing. A chauffeur was waiting for her at the foot of the steps.

He was understandably surprised when Charlie asked him to take her to a bank before delivering her to Belle Robe, but he discreetly refrained from making any comment. Fortunately, the bank teller didn’t seem to recognise her as the Prince’s intended bride. Her cards were accepted without a hitch and she was able to withdraw a sickening amount of money.

Belle Robe was around the next corner.

Gulp.

Charlie had seen expensive clothing boutiques in Sydney, so she was used to store windows decorated with elegant mannequins dressed in glamorous gowns, but she’d never been inside one of these places before. Now she tried hard not to be overawed by the top-hatted doorman, the wide expanses of cream carpet, the gilt-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Madame Monique, who’d been assigned to attend to Charlie’s needs, was pencil thin with cut-glass cheekbones and she was dressed in a severely straight black dress of fine wool. She also wore glasses with trendy black and white frames and her iron-grey hair was pulled tightly back into a low ponytail.

Another woman might have looked plain in such restrained attire but Monique managed to look incredibly elegant. No doubt her bright scarlet lipstick and nail polish helped.

Charlie supposed she should have painted her nails, too. She wondered if Olivia had always worn nail polish. It was another detail she should have checked with Rafe.

Monique was very organised and had a page set aside for Charlie in a thick gold-edged notebook. ‘Welcome back again, Mademoiselle Olivia,’ she said with a careful smile.

‘Thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘How are you, Monique?’

Surprise flashed briefly in the woman’s eyes, as if she hadn’t expected this question. ‘I’m very well, thank you, mademoiselle.’ Her smile brightened. ‘And now, His Highness has ordered quite a few more items for you, I believe.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

Monique looked a little puzzled at this and Charlie winced. Afraid so? Had she really said that? What an idiot she was. She would have to behave far more confidently if she wanted to convince the people of Montaigne that she was Olivia Belaire. She was supposed to adore shopping.

She laughed quickly to try to cover her gaffe. ‘So,’ she said, brightly. ‘I’m sure you have some wonderful suggestions.’

‘Of course,’ said Monique. ‘I have a very good idea what suits you now, so I’ve made a few selections to get us started.’

‘Lovely,’ Charlie enthused. ‘I can’t wait to try them on.’

* * *

They started with the coats and it was so hard to choose between a beautiful long red coat with a leather belt and another in black and white houndstooth. Eventually, with a little prompting from Monique, Charlie settled on the red.

For this evening’s dinner, she chose a timelessly styled blue dress made from exquisitely fine wool. It was rather figure-hugging and designed to catch the eye, but Charlie supposed it was the sort of thing Rafe wanted her to wear. She tried not to blush when she saw her reflection in the mirror, but, heavens, she’d had no idea she could look so glamorous.

‘Do you know what the daytime event for tomorrow will be?’ asked Madame Monique, watching Charlie closely.

Charlie was relieved that she could answer this. ‘I believe I’ll be visiting the children’s hospital.’

The woman’s eyebrows rose, but she made no comment as she showed Charlie a rather demure dress in grey with a box neckline and a wide band around the waist.

‘Hmm,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s lovely, but do you have anything that’s a bit more—fun?’

‘Fun, Mademoiselle Olivia?’ Madame Monique was clearly surprised.

Charlie wondered if she’d used the wrong French word. ‘Something more appealing to the children, something a little more—relaxed?’

‘Oh, I see, of course.’ Monique went back to her racks, frowning.

Charlie followed her. The clothes were extremely elegant, but there were rather a lot of beiges and greys and blacks. She was wondering if she would be better off just wearing a pair of jeans and one of her own sweaters when something caught her eye.

‘What about this?’ she said, lifting out a hanger to inspect the dress more closely. It was a feminine shift dress with elbow-length sleeves and a delicate all-over print of little red sail boats with white sails on a navy-blue background. ‘This would be perfect. Do you have it in my size?’

Now Monique looked worried. ‘But, mademoiselle, don’t you remember? You already have this dress. You bought it two weeks ago.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie wished she could sink through the floor. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said shakily. ‘How silly of me. I—I took it home to Saint-Tropez, you see, when I—when I visited my mother—and I—’

It was awful to lie so blatantly and just saying the word ‘mother’ felt terribly wrong. She couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but if Monique was baffled, and Charlie was sure that she had to be, she discreetly covered the reaction.

‘What about this?’ Monique lifted out a white dress with black polka dots and a short black jacket. ‘I think this would suit you beautifully. And it certainly looks...détendu.’