CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Melissa was running blindly and sobbing when Louis found her.

Returning to the lodge for lunch after a solitary morning rock climbing, he was in a far better mood than at any time since his wedding day. The arduous exercise had dissipated his rage, and he had decided it was childish to go on venting his anger against Melissa. After all, he had been the one to go to England and propose, and though she had turned him down at first, he could not blame her for changing her mind. Most girls would have jumped at the chance of marrying him. The fact that he had believed her to be different did not make her more culpable; it only showed him to have been a fool. No, for better or worse she was his wife for the next few years and he must come to terms with this—as she had bluntly suggested. At least he still had Elise. Thank heaven she had not turned against him—he would not have blamed her if she had—but had agreed to remain discreetly in the background until they could openly declare their love in marriage.

What would his people think of it all? he wondered as he sat on the top of a rugged escarpment and gazed down at the hazy blue plain far below. They had accepted Melissa with delight; seeing her elevation from commoner to princess as a sign of democracy and the hope that their own children might have the same good fortune. The fact that she was English had only added to her popularity, for the majority of his countrymen still remembered past ties with Britain, and preferred to think of an alliance with the West rather than the East.

How would his marriage to Elise be regarded? Divorce, though not forbidden, was still looked on askance by many Motavians, and this in itself would make it an unpopular move. Apart from which, it would be all too easy to put the blame for the break-up of his marriage—when it came— upon the shoulders of another beautiful woman. Not that Melissa was lacking in beauty herself. In her own way she was as lovely as Elise. It was strange that he had never noticed it until their wedding day, when she had walked towards him in the Cathedral. The fear in her eyes had made him appreciate their golden-brown depths, while the visible tremble of her limbs had made him all too aware of her body. She did not have the obvious voluptuousness of Elise, but a quieter attraction that was nonetheless potent.

He frowned. Obvious was the wrong word to apply to Elise. It smacked of criticism and should not have come into his mind. Pushing aside thoughts of both women, he made a careful descent of the rugged path and reached the lodge in time to shower and change before lunch.

Entering the dining room he was surprised not to find Melissa waiting for him, and after fifteen minutes sent one of the servants to see why she was late. Learning that she had not returned, he irritably ate his own, and when he reached the coffee stage and she had still not come in, he sent word to the stables to find out where she had gone. Only then did he learn she had eluded the groom and gone riding by herself.

Anger at her foolishness had been tempered by fears for her safety. Didn't she know how dangerous these rocky paths were? He pictured her thrown from her horse and lying unconscious, and the image of it made him shout for his guards as he ran out of the lodge to search for her.

Accompanied by half a dozen men he began a systematic scouring of the countryside, and his mounting fears crystallized when he encountered a riderless horse cantering towards him as they reached the forest—the direction which the groom said Melissa had taken. More than ever he was convinced she had been thrown and was lying unconscious, unseen and unable to help herself.

After three hours' searching they decided to fan out in different directions, using their walkie-talkies to maintain contact.

'If we do not find Her Highness within the next hour,' he announced over his transmitter, 'I will call in the helicopters.'

It was not something he wished to do, for he knew that such an action could not be prevented from reaching the newspapers. His personal bodyguards could be trusted to hold their tongues, but he could not vouch for the helicopter pilots and other personnel who would have to be engaged if a more detailed search were carried out. But unless Melissa was found soon he had no option. Better to face publicity than to run the risk of not finding her before nightfall.

Anxiously he set his horse in the direction of the steepest mountain path. In the normal course of events no one who knew the terrain would venture this way, but in view of Melissa's ignorance of the land she might well have done so.

He had just decided she had not come this way after all when he rounded a boulder and saw a figure in front of him. For an instant he was not sure if the bedraggled creature tottering towards him was anyone he knew. Then she came closer and he saw it was Melissa. But not the composed Melissa he so disliked but a whimpering, bedraggled girl who moaned like a wounded animal as he jumped from his horse and ran over to her.

Wordlessly he picked her up and put her in the saddle; then climbed behind, her and pulled her back to rest against him. How small and slight she was; she could not weigh more than seven stone. Urging his horse forward, he placed his arms around her to make sure she did not fall off. She appeared too exhausted to help herself, and lay quiescent in his hold, shivering intermittently as though with fever.

'You're safe now,' he murmured in her ear, and pushed away a wet strand of her hair that flapped against his cheek.

She was soaked to the skin. She would be lucky if she came out of this with only a cold. More than likely she would end up with a temperature too. As if echoing his thoughts she started to shake more violently and to cough, and he slowed the horse down until the bout had ceased.

Eventually the lights of the lodge gleamed out at them in the swiftly descending dusk, and as they reached the front steps, guards ran forward to help him. Melissa was taken from him and he gave orders for her to be carried directly to her room where he knew she would be attended by her maid.

Then he strode into the living room and put through a call to Alexi.

'Get Doctor Veery up here at once,' he said as his equerry came on the line.

'No, Her Highness is not injured,' he explained at the man's anxious questions, 'but she's suffering from exposure and she has a temperature.'

Abruptly he put down the telephone and paced the room, too restless to eat or to change into other clothes. Never had time passed more slowly. Several times he bent his ear to his watch to make sure it was still going, and once he went up to Melissa's room to ask the maid how she was.

'She has had a bath and is in bed,' the woman said, rushing to the door at his knock and curtsying in agitation. 'If Your Highness wishes to come in ‑'

'No,' he said abruptly. 'I do not wish to disturb my wife. I will wait until the doctor arrives.'

Downstairs again he resumed his pacing, and an hour later he heard the chop-chop of a helicopter's approach. But it was not until the physician came into the living room to see him, after having examined Melissa, that his anxiety abated.

'You have no need to worry, sir. Her Highness should be perfectly well within a few days. She might develop a temperature, but I do not anticipate anything worse.'

'Thank heaven for that! If I hadn't found her when I did ‑'

'Don't dwell on the might-have-beens. I have brought a nurse with me—a precaution only you understand—and she will call me if she thinks I am needed.'

Louis gave a sigh of relief. 'I can always rely on you to calm me down.'

'I have had much practice,' Doctor Veery said smoothly. 'You have been my patient since you were a child. And if I may prescribe for you, I would suggest a good stiff drink and a meal.'

Obeying the physician's instructions, Louis went to his room to change, and later—sitting moodily by the fire—he accepted the fact that his fear for Melissa's health came from a sense of guilt at having left her alone since they had come to the lodge. The worried hours during which he had searched for her had made him see the folly of his behaviour all too clearly, and though he could not pretend to love her, he knew that the least he could do was to try to maintain some semblance of a relationship for as long as they were forced to be together.

How fantastic it would be if Motavia did indeed rest on an enormous bed of oil. Such a discovery would establish their position and, with a stable economy, they could assume their rightful place in Europe.

He thought of Krassky's offer of help. Acceptance would have made his marriage to Elise possible, but it would have meant the end of his country. Sooner or later the country that paid the piper always tried to call the tune, and the tune in this case would have been the death march to freedom.

Sighing, he got to his feet and went upstairs. Outside the door of his wife's room he stopped. His wife. It was the first time he had applied these words to Melissa. Always they had evoked thoughts of Elise, and the memory of her tear-washed eyes as she had clung to him the night before his marriage came back to him with such force that, even with his hand on the door, he had to stop and fight down his despair before he could bring himself to knock and enter the room.

Melissa was in bed, looking particularly small beneath the huge expanse of down-filled coverlet. Anticipating the same transparent nightclothes that Elise favoured, he was surprised by the prim cotton and demure style. She sat up as he came towards her and he found it to be not as demure as he had thought, for the contours of her body were clearly outlined through the thin material. Yet she still looked a child, with her long hair pulled back from her forehead by a narrow white ribbon and her face devoid of make-up: as flushed and shiny as an excited schoolgirl.

'I want to thank you for rescuing me,' her voice was as young as her appearance and more breathless than usual.

'You gave us quite a fright.' He stopped at the foot of the bed, and his eyes travelled up its length. They had to travel a long way before they reached the outline of her feet. She really was tiny; funny he had never realised it until now; but then she had such spirit and such a sharp tongue that had he been pressed into describing her, he would have given her the attributes of an Amazon—and a militant one at that!

'Why are you smiling?' she asked.

'Was I?' He decided it was wiser not to give her the reason. 'Let us say it's from relief. If I had not found you when I did, you would have had a very cold night on a bare mountain!'

She hummed a few bars of the melody to show she followed his train of thought. 'But now I'm safe and none the worse for my stupidity. I should have tethered the horse more securely.'

'You shouldn't have gone riding alone.'

'I know, and I'm truly sorry.' She sighed. 'But I'm paying for it now. I hate staying in bed. It's such a waste of time.'

'Only if you are in bed alone.' Louis spoke without thinking, and he was surprised by the bright red colour that came into her cheeks. Used to the innuendoes of his courtiers—which had become more noticeable in the year of his association with Elise—he had not expected a modern young woman to be embarrassed by such a remark.

'You are very innocent,' he said abruptly. 'I assumed that someone in your position would know a great many men.'

'I do. But as friends—not lovers.'

'Have you never been in love?'

She took her time answering. 'Not really. It's difficult for someone in my position. I'm a bit like you, I suppose. I wanted to feel I was being loved for myself.'

'Yet you chose to marry a man who made no secret of wanting you for your bank account!' He leaned against one of the bed posts and studied her. Her creamy lids lowered and two circles of long lashes masked her eyes. He had never seen such straight thick lashes before, and he was reminded of a doll. The lids lifted and the ridiculously long lashes swept up.

'You offered me more than any of my other suitors,' she said coolly. 'The title of Princess and a throne to go with it.'

'Does it mean so much to you then?'

'Of course.'

He found the remark chilling, and his dislike of her—which had abated—rose again. She moved against the pillows and the bedside lamp shone full on her face. Despite her flushed skin, there were shadows under her eyes, and he knew she had been more frightened by her experience on the mountain than she would have him believe. It was not fair to judge her too harshly. Although she was twenty-three she had led such a sheltered life that she was probably years younger in experience. How little he actually knew of her upbringing. He put his hands into the pockets of his trousers, enjoying the slight pull of the material across his flat stomach.

'Did you have any family apart from Henry Benton?'

'A few cousins, but I never saw much of them. Uncle Henry was not a great one for his relatives.'

'But he was devoted to you.'

'Because he brought me up and moulded me.'

'Did he succeed?'

The pink mouth curved, showing small, pearly teeth. 'He taught me that the best way for me to get what I wanted was to pretend I always did as he wanted!'

'Did it involve much pretence?'

'Quite a bit in the last few years of his life.' Her smile faded. 'He wouldn't see anyone except Clemmie and myself.'

'It must have made life difficult for you.'

'It wasn't easy,' she admitted. 'He became paranoic about everyone. In the last year of his life, I was the only person allowed to be with him. We lived on an island off Scotland. It was guarded like a fortress.'

'His death must have come as a relief to you,' Louis said, trying but failing to imagine the life she had led.

'It was a relief to my uncle,' she replied, 'and it made me vow never to let money become so important to me that it blinded me to reality.'

'What is reality?' Louis demanded.

'Health and friendship. The ability to know yourself as well as others. It isn't easy to do that when you've got a fortune. Money acts as a barrier !'

'So does a throne,' Louis replied. 'And now you've got that too—as well as your money!'

She looked stricken, and angry for being the cause of it, he lashed out at her again. 'I don't blame you for forgetting your ideals, Melissa. Buying yourself a prince must have been an irresistible temptation!'

'Yes, it was,' she whispered, and closed her eyes. 'I'm tired, Louis. I would like to go to sleep.'

Knowing she was still hurt by his remark, he murmured 'goodnight' and went to his room. Their conversation—though brief—made him even more puzzled by her behaviour. He could have sworn she had been genuine when she had said she didn't want her money to spoil her relationship with people, yet she had cold-bloodedly married him, knowing he loved another woman.

As always, the thought of Elise made him ache to hold her. What would she say if he telephoned her now? The temptation to do so was great, but he fought against it. Though she was discreet, she was also proud, and he was not sure she wouldn't deliberately tell her friends that he had called her during his honeymoon. To see her immediately after he returned to the Palace would excite enough comment without his running the risk of adding to it.

Too restless to sleep, he put on his dressing-gown and went down to the living room for nightcap. Perhaps he would find peaceful oblivion in the arms of alcohol.

He was reaching for the whisky when he noticed a light coming from the far end of the room. Someone was in his private kitchen. Quietly he tiptoed over. The light was coming from the large refrigerator in the corner. Its door was open wide, and behind it he glimpsed a pair of small bare feet.

Unable to stop himself, he burst out laughing. There was a gasp and the door shut swiftly, disclosing Melissa clutching a piece of chocolate cake in her hand.

'Catching up on your calories?' he asked solemnly.

She looked at the cake. 'I'm starving.'

'You should eat something more nourishing than that.'

'Why?' She took a bite. 'It's delicious.'

He eyed her bare feet. 'Then go and eat it on the settee and take your feet off the floor. You had no business coming down without slippers.'

'I couldn't find them and I didn't want to search around in case I woke up the nurse.'

'She shouldn't be asleep,' he said sharply. 'When I see her in the morning I'll –'

'It wasn't her fault,' Melissa interrupted. 'I couldn't bear her sitting up with me, so I told her to go to her room.'

Louis was still unappeased. 'She takes her orders from the doctor, not you.'

'I'm afraid I pulled rank on her.'

Louis's mouth twitched as he saw the mischief in the large brown eyes. 'You did, did you?'

'Naturally. There's no point being a princess if you can't give orders!' She curtsied low. 'Your wish is my command, Your Highness.' Melissa giggled. 'So I commanded!'

It was the giggle more than anything else that made him realise something was wrong. He came a step closer and stared at her. What he had mistaken for a glint in the brown eyes was the sparkle of fever, and the pink of her cheeks was a distinct burning flush. He put his hand to her brow. The skin was dry and hot, and with a muttered exclamation he snatched the cake away from her and set it on the counter. Midnight snacks might be fun, but if she did not get to bed at once she would end up with pneumonia—if she didn't already have it.

'You must go back to bed, Melissa. You are ill.'

'I feel fine.' She started to sing tunelessly and began to dance in front of him, her short nightdress bobbing around her.

With an exclamation he caught her up in his arms and, ignoring her protests, carried her to her room. Unceremoniously he dumped her on the bed and pressed the bell to summon the nurse, keeping his finger on it until she rushed into the room.

'Her Highness has a fever,' he grated. 'You are not to leave her alone again.'

'But Her Highness ordered ‑'

'When my wife is ill,' he stormed, 'she is your patient—not your Princess! If you leave her alone again, I will dismiss you!'

Furiously he marched out, and went at once to his room, his need for a drink forgotten in his anxiety for Melissa. With her defences broken down by her high temperature, she had shown an artlessness that had disarmed him, and he found himself at a loss to equate the two different aspects of her personality: the one he was seeing for himself and the one he believed her to be. Yet perhaps she was a mixture of both.

Muttering to himself, he got into bed. He did not bother to turn off the light and instead stared through the window, watching as the stars paled and the black velvet sky turned first to grey and then to blue.

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