CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

The weeks before the wedding merged into a colourful kaleidoscope of functions. Melissa went from one to another, meeting so many different people that she could not remember any of them. There were lunches, afternoon teas and formal dinners, many of them attended by Elise, who seemed to hold a special position in the Court.

Melissa was rarely alone with Louis. She still found it embarrassing to call him by his first name, and though she did so when other people were present, she never did it when they were alone. Apart from this, the atmosphere between them was not unpleasant. Because he believed she was marrying him for his title and position, he assumed she was enjoying all the formalities of life in the Palace—a life which, despite their impending marriage— went on at its own pace.

The mornings were filled with visits from various officials from outlying towns; these frequently culminated in luncheon, though they ended promptly by two o'clock. There was then an hour's interval, when Melissa and the Dowager Princess Helene were free to retire while Prince Louis saw one or other of his Ministers. At three o'clock a further round of visitors arrived, though Princess Helene was usually whisked away in a car to carry out some external duty. From four until five—when the Prince was closeted with the Prime Minister— Melissa studied with her professor and afterwards joined the other members of the Court in the Palace drawing room.

Most evenings there was an official dinner, the majority of the guests being foreign nationals of varying degrees of importance, though their importance became significantly greater as the time of the wedding drew nearer.

Melissa felt she was living in a goldfish bowl and hoped desperately that life would not always be like this. One evening she was unsure enough to voice her thoughts to Louis, and his sarcastic rejoinder that this was the life she was buying for herself reminded her to be careful how she spoke to him.

'I'm buying your title,' she replied, 'not the tedium that goes with it.'

'The two are indispensable.'

'For you maybe. Not for me.'

'For you as well,' he said. 'Once you are my wife you will have a duty to my people. They will be your people then.'

'Only for as long as our marriage lasts.'

'I wish it need never begin!' He banged one hand against the other. 'I can't understand you, Melissa. Marrying me is just a game to you, yet you insist on playing it and ruining my life.'

'You're being overdramatic.'

'I love Elise!' he cried. 'I hate the thought of tying myself to you.'

'You were the one who proposed marriage,' she said tartly.

'I had no option. If you had turned me down....'

'Then my company would never have financed the whole of the mining project. It was only when they knew I was going to marry you that they agreed to do it.'

'And what will happen when you become tired of playing princess—what then?'

'By then they will have realised what a lucrative investment they have here!'

His lower lip jutted out mutinously, the fingers of one long hand drumming the table beside him.

'Do you consider it so worthwhile to have a title?' he demanded.

She avoided his eyes. 'It isn't every girl who can buy a kingdom!'

'What is the point of having a kingdom if you don't love the people in it?'

'I love what it means to the people,' she lied. 'The glamour—the pomp.'

'And the bowing and scraping too, no doubt.'

'Why should that surprise you?'

'Because I never thought you were a snob. You seem to like people for what they are, regardless of their background or importance. In that respect you are like me.'

'But you enjoy your position! I haven't noticed you offering to abdicate!'

'Unfortunately I can't. If I gave up the Crown, half a dozen other political parties would start fighting for power, and inevitably Slovenia would march in and take control over all of them.' He pulled at his lower lip. 'Still, if they did, at least my countrymen would have food in their bellies!'

'But they'd starve for freedom,' she cried in protest and, remembering Sir Donald's injunction to find out all she could about Louis's political bias, said: 'You once told me it was only your grandmother who stopped you from turning to the East. Is that true?'

'It is pointless to discuss it. My grandmother is alive and my decision has been made. Let us not talk of it again.' Without another word he swung on his heel and walked out.

Later, as she pondered on their conversation, Melissa felt a vague sense of disquiet that he had not been as vehement against Krassky as she had hoped. In this respect he did not take after Princess Helene, whose dislike of her neighbours and the revolutionary element in her own country was well known.

The following day Melissa had a chance to test this out, at the same time learning some disturbing facts about Elise.

After a final fitting for her wedding dress she had taken the French couturier to the Salon for him to see the Motavian Crown Jewels which Princess Helene had promised to have brought from the vaults. They were set out on a large table, and looking at the glittering stones Melissa could see why there were armed guards posted outside the room. Motavia might be a poor country, but a great deal of its wealth lay in the black leather cases in front of her: entire suites of pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

'I would suggest you wear this with your wedding dress,' the couturier said, lifting out a row of perfectly matched pink pearls.

'No,' Melissa replied at once, remembering the triple row which Elise always wore. 'Pearls don't do anything for me.'

'Try the rubies,' Princess Helene said.

Melissa picked up the necklace and clasped it round her throat. Staring at her reflection she knew the suggestion had been an inspired one, for the gleaming red of the jewels took on a deeper fire against her golden skin. They gave fire to her hair too, finding unexpected tinges of red in the glossy brown strands and emphasising the warmth of her sherry-gold eyes.

'Yes indeed,' the Frenchman murmured. 'But the necklace only. Nothing more.'

'I'm too small to wear anything more,' Melissa smiled. 'Otherwise I'd look like a Christmas tree!'

'Mademoiselle has too good a taste to be overdressed,' came the gallant reply.

Acknowledging the compliment, she walked with the couturier to the door, where he kissed her hand and promised to return the following morning to help her dress.

Only as the door closed behind him did a tremor of fear shoot through her body. This time tomorrow she would be Louis's wife and Princess of Motavia. The thought was so staggering that she paled, and seeing it Princess Helene gave an exclamation.

'What is the matter, my dear?'

'An attack of cold feet! I can't believe it's my wedding day tomorrow.'

'You cannot change your mind now. You are essential to our country's wellbeing.'

'You mean my money is,' Melissa said quietly.

Colour suffused the lined face, turning it to pink parchment. 'I wasn't thinking of my country but of my grandson. He needs you.'

Melissa wondered if the old lady's mind could be wandering, and as if guessing the thought, Princess Helene shook her head reprovingly.

'I am not deranged, my child. I know exactly what I am saying. If Louis marries you, he cannot marry that—that ‑'

Diplomatically Melissa kept silent. It was strange that this autocratic matriarch should consider her— a foreign girl and a commoner to boot—to be more worthy of her grandson than a Motavian countess.

Carefully she said: 'Countess Breen is very beautiful and she is also free. What have you got against her?'

'Her political beliefs. She sees Krassky as a friend of our country.'

'Don't you?'

'I do not!'

Melissa perched on the arm of a settee and tried to look nonchalant. 'Louis isn't as convinced as you are.'

The bright eyes narrowed. 'Has he said so, or are you guessing?'

'A bit of both. I don't think he sees Krassky as a friend, but he doesn't see him as an enemy either.'

'That's because of Elise,' the old lady snapped. 'She has confused him so much that he can't think straight! Love can do that to a man—if you can call it love?'

'Wouldn't you?' Melissa asked.

The black eyes flashed. 'We do not have the word love in Motavian. We use the word "unity" and "oneness".'

'I know.'

'Then what unity of spirit can my grandson have with a woman like Elise? You are beginning to know the sort of man he is. Do you believe he can ever feel oneness with a woman who thinks only of herself?'

Melissa hesitated, afraid to give her opinion in case the Princess repeated it to Louis. His dislike of her burned fiercely enough without her adding fuel to it by commenting on the woman he loved.

'I would rather not answer you, Your Highness,' she murmured. 'I do not want to become involved in family affairs.'

'By tomorrow you will be part of the family. What excuse will you give then for not replying?'

Melissa smiled. 'Discretion has kept me quiet tonight and loyalty to my husband will keep me quiet tomorrow!'

The Princess snorted and banged her cane on the floor. 'You are a clever girl. There is much to be said for a plebian upbringing; it gives one a realistic outlook!' The grey head tilted. 'You have the same forthright manner as your uncle.'

'I didn't realise you knew him,' Melissa said in surprise.

'Many years ago—before you were born—he was a frequent visitor to the Palace. My husband enjoyed his company—as I did. It is a pity he became a recluse.'

'He didn't. Not in the real sense of the word. But he preferred the world to come to his door—rather than the other way around. Even though he never left his home, he knew everything that was going on.'

'Were you happy living with him?'

Melissa frowned thoughtfully. 'Most of the time. We fought a lot, but I loved him.'

'He could be very lovable,' the Princess acknowledged, 'when he was not being obnoxious!'

Melissa laughed, the sound echoing across the room like an arpeggio.

Coming in to collect some papers he had inadvertently left on the desk, Louis heard it and stopped. It was odd that until this moment he had never heard Melissa laugh. It made him look at her closely, something he had not done since the day she had arrived. Though he knew her to be a small girl with a tanned skin and brown hair, he would not—had he seen her in the streets of his capital— have recognised her from any other girl. Looking at her now, he saw how delicately formed she was. Though barely five feet tall, she was so perfectly proportioned that one only realised her slightness when standing close to her. Today she was wearing a misty green dress, the bodice loose yet showing the small, pointed breasts, the waist tight and the skirt swirling around her beautifully shaped legs. Inexplicably she reminded him of Cinderella. The thought was so ludicrous that he smiled. The only dust Melissa would ever sweep was gold dust! His glance rested on her again. She did look waiflike, though. Was it because her skin was so translucent and her eyes unusually large and luminous? Or was it her vibrant chestnut hair that made her neck look too slender to support its weight? He saw she was watching him carefully, her hands clasped nervously together but her eyes fearless, glowing warm and brown like the heart of a pansy.

'What do you want, Louis?' his grandmother demanded.

'I left some documents here.' He picked them up. 'I didn't realise I was interrupting you.'

'You aren't. Come and keep us company.'

'I have too much to do. There's a pile of papers to be dealt with and then Claud wants to see me.'

'So late?'

'He assumes I won't want to be interrupted during my honeymoon,' he replied, and stared directly at Melissa.

She gave no sign of emotion and he was annoyed. Elise would have blushed or smiled, despite being his mistress for more than a year; but this autocratic young girl was too much in possession of herself to consider being possessed by anyone else. Angrily he swung round and walked out.

As the door closed on him, Melissa looked at Princess Helene. 'I suppose we have to go on a honeymoon?'

'It would look strange if you didn't. Besides, it will be good for you and Louis to be alone for a few weeks. It will give you a chance to know each other.'

'Our marriage isn't going to be real one,' Melissa said swiftly. These words had trembled on her lips for a long time, but until today she had not had the opportunity of saying them. 'We are marrying for reasons which you already know. Love doesn't come into it.'

'I am aware of that—as I am aware of other things too.' The black eyes were sharper than ever. 'Don't fight your feelings, child—and don't be ashamed of them.'

'I have never been ashamed of my feelings.'

'Then when you know what they are—show them!'

The words made no sense to Melissa, and even later that night when she thought of them again, they were still meaningless. Yet Princess Helene was not the type to speak for the sake of hearing her own voice and one day she would have to explain what she had meant.

With a half sigh Melissa pushed aside the bedclothes and wandered over to the window. Already dawn was tinging the sky, heralding a new day: her wedding day. It was an incredible thought, not so much because she was getting married but because of her reasons for doing so. She had never considered herself a sentimentalist, but now she wished with all her heart that she could have meant the vows she would be making in the cathedral. Instead the whole thing was a farce, both for her and Louis.

His face appeared like an image in front of her: his sun-bronzed skin, his blond hair with a quiff that constantly fell forward on to his brow, and the heavy-lidded blue eyes that looked at her with so many different expressions: dislike, curiosity, speculation, but never with anything remotely akin to warmth. The future was suddenly so frightening that it seemed to be crushing her, squeezing her ribs and making it impossible to fill her lungs with air! She flung up her arms, as though to avert the horror that threatened her, and her hands struck against the window ledge. Pain tingled through her fingers, making her cry out, and the sound of her voice—loud and clear—brought the present into focus and dimmed the future.

With a shudder she leaned against the window pane and felt it cool against her fevered brow. Was Louis wakeful too, fearing what the future held for him, or was he warmed by the knowledge that he was acting in the best interests of his people, and sleeping the sleep of the just?

Even as the question came into her mind she heard the soft purr of an engine, and a silver grey sports car glided into the palace courtyard. A man got out from behind the wheel and stretched his arms to the sky. It was Louis, his face set in lines of bitterness. He lifted his hands higher—almost in a gesture of despair—and then disappeared between the massive stone portals into the palace.

Shaken, she turned back into the room. No need to wonder where he had been or with whom. The look of anguish on his face told her all too clearly.

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