Page 96 of The Heir Apparent
She smiled kindly at me. I could see why Papa had been drawn to her. She was grounded and maternal and womanly.
“I’m not sure, dear. Money’s one thing, but the crown is quite another. That’s everything. That’s power, that’s your bloodline, that’s being told you’re God’s representative on Earth,” she said. “The question you need to ask yourself is whether you want it more than he does. If you do, act quickly. Remind this Italian man he’s bound by a non-disclosure agreement that Freddy’s estate would have no qualms about enforcing. Pay him as a gesture of goodwill for his continued silence. And then put it all behind you.”
“But then wouldn’t Richard shadow my doorstep forever?” I asked.
She looked sad. “Yes, dear, he would.”
We sipped our tea in silence for a while, listening to the snap and hiss of the fire, the wind outside rattling the windows.
“I actually have something for you—wait here,” Annabelle said, rising from her chair. She vanished from the room, and I sat in stunned silence until she returned with a Tesco bag. She pushed it across the coffee table to me and sank back down. “I’m sorry I didn’t give this to you sooner. I did go to get it from Elton Park as soon as he died, but then… I don’t know, I couldn’t part with it.”
I opened the bag and found a plank of wood inside. It was old and rough, and I held it up to the dim light from the window so I could see the lines scratched into one side. I ran my finger over it, remembering when I was three years old, and we sat on the bed while he pointed them out.
“I think I’ve violated a few laws dealing with the preservation of artefacts by ripping it out of what’s now government property,” she said. “But he did always say that when he went, he wanted you to have the witch marks from the bedroom floor.”
I held the wood in my hands and let the tears sting my eyes. I wanted it to hurt. I’d spent my life aching for his love. The reserves he had saved for his children were so meagre that I’d run away to punish him. I wondered about all the things I had done—fleeing to Australia, and now trying to be the princess he wanted. How much had I done in pursuit of his wholly inadequate love?
“He tried his best,” Annabelle said, as if reading my thoughts. “He did love you both very much. He just… didn’t always know how to show you.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
At the doorway, she watched as I buttoned myself back into my raincoat and pulled on my boots. I tucked the Tesco bag into my pocket. The storm had scattered slightly, and the sky reminded me of being underwater, watching from below as a great wave crashed against the surface.
“Are you sure you want to drive in this?” she asked. “You’re welcome to stay the night.”
I shook my head. “I should go. We’re on the first flight tomorrow. But thank you, really.”
She nodded and wrapped her cardigan around herself. “Everything will work out. This family will always protect its own. It’s different for Amira and me. But you’re a princess of the blood. The Queen wants it to be you. She knows what the monarchy needs right now is a pretty young woman, not an old man. You’ll look lovely on the front page of the papers, and you’ll have a wedding one day and then royal babies. That’s what the people want.”
I smiled and began to walk down the steps towards the car. But then I stopped. She wasn’t at all what I had thought she was.
“Annabelle, can I ask you one more thing?”
She nodded.
“The last time we spoke, you told me to watch out for Mary, my private secretary. What did you mean?”
Again, she swaddled herself in her cardigan and looked down at her feet. “I was angry then—I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you must have had a reason.”
She sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “From the outside looking in, she appears to be doing a good job for you, and that’s all that matters. But she waschosenfor you. The day of the avalanche, the Queen needed a plan to get you back and to keep you here. Amira suggested Mary go with Stewart when he fetched you from Australia. She knew you’d like her.”
An icy raindrop fell on my neck and slid down into the collar of my coat. “Amira?”
“Yes, well, she knew Mary from school, I think. She got her a job in Wolseley House writing press releases for Freddy. She is fine, I suppose. I just worry she’s a little too taken with the family—a bit of a superfan.”
Rita drove me back to the estate in the beating rain, and I ate toast and boiled eggs from a tray balanced on my lap. When I was done, I walked alone through the dark castle halls with the Tesco bag and climbed into Louis’s bed, where I held the wooden plank to my chest. I imagined the witch marks casting their wing of light above me. But I couldn’t rely on superstitions, or magic, or even my own father to keep me safe any longer, so I reached for my phone on the bedside table.
The number was already saved into my contacts. I hit the button before I could reconsider, and it rang for a long time. But then came a click, an intake of breath, and the quickening of my heart.
“Pronto,” the man said.
His sonorous voice had been hidden in the folds of my memory for twelve long years. Suddenly, the rancid stench ofbilge filled my room, and for one frightening moment, the bed lurched on an invisible sea.
“Davide Rossi?” I breathed.
He paused. “Si.”
