Page 95 of The Heir Apparent
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry to drop in unannounced.”
Annabelle didn’t curtsy and I didn’t expect her to. She sat on the sofa opposite me and ran her hands over her knees. “Well, I assumed you’d turn up here at one point or another.”
The same servant who had opened the door to me came in with a tray of tea and shortbread. Annabelle and I studied each other silently while the woman poured out our cups and fussed with napkins.
“You should have some shortbread,” Annabelle said when the servant closed the door behind her. “You’re looking thin.”
I took a piece and put it on my plate, though the idea of it sliding down my throat in gritty clumps was enough to make me want to gag.
“I’m here because I have some problems.”
She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that, though it’s not unexpected.”
“Why? Because you don’t think I’m cut out for this?” I snapped and then silently admonished myself.
She took a sip of her tea. “No. Because you’ve been swimming in shark-infested waters.”
With a shaky breath, I told her about Richard, Davide Rossi and the private investigator. It was the second time I had unburdened myself in a month, and it still had the same effect. I felt like I had pulled up my skirt and revealed an oozing, gangrenous limb. I was hideous and should be shunned. But there was something about exposing this horror that was like salt water, a salve to the wound.
When I stopped talking, Annabelle had a strange expression on her face. She poured more tea for both of us, taking her time. We both drank. “This would be most upsetting for your father,” she finally said.
“Yes, well…”
“Perhaps you should know that in the month before your father died, he was extremely distressed. It seems that Richard had come into some information and was threatening to use it against him. We never found out how, but I suppose a private investigator makes the most sense. All they’d have had to do was wait outside Sherbourne House and follow Louis to know where he was spending his nights,” she said.
My chest began to ache. “Richard knew about Louis and Kris?”
“I’m afraid so. We tried rather hard to keep it under wraps over the years. The Queen doesn’t know—though I’m sure she suspected. But we never felt we could trust the family to keep the secret, and unfortunately we were right.” She took a long sip of tea. “The Duke of Clarence has always enjoyed a certain lifestyle. I’m sure you’ve heard about the jets and the helicopters and the chateaus. Over the years, he has overextended himself—debts that are much too large to ask the Queen to step in and deal with. She does adore him, but we’re talking serious money—and not all of it was borrowed from what you’d call legitimate sources.”
I thought of Papa’s strange behaviour in those final days, a certain recklessness that pushed him off the trail and down the mountain that would kill him. “Was Papa going to pay him?”
“Yes, I think so,” she said. “I wasn’t happy about it, to be honest. Not because I wanted Louis exposed. But my fear was that Richard would simply come back for more. He knew about your father and me in the nineties, and he wielded that over Freddy too. I worried if we gave in, we’d forever have him shadowing our doorstep. It was a very tense Christmas last year.”
This problem of mine was like a puzzle box I’d been trying to solve for months. Now, I’d finally figured out the correct sequence of twists and movements, so that it clicked and sprang open in my hands.
“When Richard and I talked in August, he gave me until the end of the year to decide what I’m going to do,” I said.“I’ve always thought that was strange. If he wants what I have so badly, why wait?”
“Why do you think?”
“Davide Rossi won’t come forward for free, I’m sure of it. But where would Richard get the money? Papa died before he could pay him. Maybe he needs time to raise the funds—or maybe he thinks the threat is enough to make me leave.”
A pine cone popped in the fire and its forest-floor scent rose up. Annabelle clasped her hands in her lap.
“Richard used to have a lot of friends in London, a lot of benefactors who liked being around royalty,” she said. “But when the war in Ukraine began, they all left, and his situation became… precarious. His friends’ assets are frozen or hidden, and they’re in no position to help him. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I nodded. The UK had once flung open its doors to wealthy foreigners—no questions asked—as long as they were willing to invest in British companies. Belgravia was nicknamed “the Red Square” for its sudden influx of wealthy Russians. The palace had implored the family to be careful around outsiders, but suddenly there were oligarchs everywhere, and they were all so friendly and magnanimous and charming. For working royals, the line between “official” gifts and “personal” ones had always been murky at best and, for Richard, easily ignored. But then came the invasion of Ukraine, and his friends fled while they could, off to new lives in Istanbul and Monaco. Once they were gone, the upper classes simply pretended they hadn’t spent the past decade drinking champagne paid for with looted Russian funds.
“I’ve heard the rumours,” I said.
“Cash is the one thing Richard doesn’t have right now,” Annabelle said. “I’m sure he’s promised to pay this Italian man once he’s the heir and he’s got access to the Duchy of Exeter’s funds.”
“I have money.” I cleared my throat, my voice failing me. “Or, at least, I can borrow some. A lot.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I believe you have your solution then.”
The fire was making me hot. Or maybe it was the fear of what I was about to become.
“Annabelle,” I asked, “what do you think I should do?”
