Кристина Холлис – His to Command: the Housekeeper: The Prince's Chambermaid / The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress / The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper (страница 19)

Yes, he was a prince, but in a way that was irrelevant—for the man with golden eyes had a power which he had exerted over her from the very start. Did he need her and wouldn’t that be the most glorious thing in the world—to be needed by Xaviero? Cathy swallowed. He wasn’t telling her anything and if she went to Zaffirinthos it would be on blind faith alone—a faith which might easily be misplaced and leave her as empty as a waterless well.

But there was no choice. Not when you felt the way she felt about Xaviero—no matter how many times she’d tried to tell herself that it was a complete waste of time. Sometimes you just had to follow your heart—to take a risk and leap into the unknown.

‘Yes, I’ll come to Zaffirinthos,’ she said.

Standing in the ornate splendour of one of the palace’s private offices, Xaviero expelled a long, low breath.

‘Have your passport ready,’he instructed softly. ‘A car will be sent to pick you up at ten tomorrow morning—’

‘Xaviero, I have a new job.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ he said impatiently as he saw the red light of another phone begin to flash on his desk. ‘I’ve had my people check it out.’

My people? For some reason the words jarred. It sounded scary—and more than a bit controlling. ‘I can’t just walk out and leave them in the lurch.’

‘Don’t worry—all that will be taken care of. The store will be adequately compensated and a replacement found for you, if necessary.’

He barely even needed to think about it, she realised. Such was his power and his influence that he could simply shift people around like chess pieces. He had done it first with Rupert and now he was doing it again. Could that be good for a person? Was it good for her to be at his beck and call like this? ‘And I’ve moved. I’m not living where you think I’m living any more.’

‘I know that, too. Cathy, these are just minor details which can easily be resolved.’

Minor details? These minor details were her life! Cathy swallowed. It sounded so humdrum to ask—but she needed to know, or risk making a fool of herself. ‘And what…what shall I bring?’

‘Bring very little.’ There was a pause. ‘All that will be taken care of as well.’

Again, that sense of utter influence and dominance—that newly emphatic timbre to his voice. Surely he had not sounded quite that oppressive in the past? Did that mean her stay was to be short? ‘Xaviero, I—’

‘Look, I told you—I can’t talk now. It’s… I’ll see you tomorrow—there will be time enough then.’ There was a pause. ‘Goodbye, Cathy.’

She was left holding a buzzing receiver as he terminated the connection and when she’d replaced the receiver she didn’t move for a moment or two. As if expecting her phone to ring again and for someone to say that it had all been a mistake. That the Prince had temporarily taken leave of his senses.

But no such phone call came, and instead Cathy realised that what he’d said must be true. Pulling herself together, she went into her bedroom and packed a small suitcase—hideously aware of the shortcomings of her meagre wardrobe.

She spent the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment and the following morning she was up pacing the floor, her stomach a knot of anxiety, when the car arrived. It was the same dark, bullet-proofed limousine which she’d ridden in with Xaviero on their one proper ‘date’ to the polo club. It seemed like an age ago. Another life.

They sped with miraculous ease through the traffic—never seeming to be challenged until Cathy noticed the diplomatic flag fluttering on the vast and shiny bonnet and realised why. And then on to an airfield where a private plane was waiting, along with several hefty-looking officials who scanned her passport—was it her imagination, or were they looking at her askance?—before whisking her aboard the luxury jet.

She refused most of the fancy foods and drinks offered by two sleek female cabin crew, and the journey passed Cathy by in something of a blur. She felt a bit as she’d done after a general anaesthetic when she’d had her tonsils removed—all whoozy and disorientated—and it wasn’t until the plane began to descend towards a crescent-shaped island set in a sapphire sea that apprehension began to set in once more.

Her heart began to pound as the aircraft passed over deep green cypress forests towards a small airport. Would Xaviero be waiting there to meet her with some kind of explanation about why she had been rushed out here like this? She peered out of the porthole window at a small cluster of people who were assembled on the tarmac, presumably waiting for her to land. But she couldn’t see any sign of him—just a large car with dark-tinted windows at the front of several other similar, assorted vehicles.

Warm, scented air washed over her as she walked carefully down the steps and onto the tarmac where a smart woman of around forty, dressed in cream linen, detached herself from the group and came towards her, hand outstretched in greeting.

‘Catherine?’ She smiled. ‘We are delighted you are here. My name is Flavia Simoni and I am the wife of Prince Xaviero’s political secretary. Did you have a pleasant flight?’

Cathy wanted to say to the woman that she was never called ‘Catherine’—but maybe now wasn’t the right time.

‘It was fine. Thank you. How’s Casimiro?’ she asked, wondering if she’d imagined the momentary look of disapproval which crossed the woman’s face.

‘I am sure that the Prince Xaviero will wish to speak to you in person about his brother, the King,’ Flavia replied coolly.

Yes, definitely disapproval. Cathy felt slightly desperate now—aware of the beads of sweat which were prickling her forehead and the sudden dawning that she hadn’t realised how hot it would be. Surreptiously wiping the back of her hand over her brow, she looked around. Surely he was here to meet her? Perhaps sitting in the back of one of those dark-windowed cars. ‘And is he here? Xav—Prince Xaviero, I mean,’ she amended hastily.

‘Unfortunately, he is not. The Prince is tied up with affairs of state,’ said Flavia. ‘Which is why he asked me to accompany you to the palace. So if you would like to come with me, we’ll waste no more time.’

As she slid onto the back seat Cathy tried desperately to smooth down a floral dress which looked so cheap when compared to Flavia’s cool, creamy linen. A million questions warred in her head, but the one which screamed out with utter clarity was the most fundamental of all. Having flown her out here without any kind of explanation—why on earth wasn’t he here to meet her?

She stared out of the window, trying to take in the beauty of this foreign land. Thick palm trees lined a surprisingly wide road—their succulent fronds outlined against a sky of breathtaking blue and the air was light from the glitter of sun on the distant sapphire sea. After a while, she could see the cluster of buildings in the distance and she leaned forward to get a closer look.

‘We are approaching our capital city of Ghalazamba,’ said Flavia, with a note of unmistakable pride in her voice. ‘A city which has been ruled by the di Cesere family for centuries.’

Flavia’s statement only served to increase Cathy’s growing sense of unease.Yes, she knew that Xaviero was a prince, but, despite the fancy car and the discreet presence of his bodyguards, his royal status had not really intruded on the time they’d spent together in England. But here…why, it was as if the sheer magnitude of his royal inheritance had hit her for the very first time.

As they passed through the city walls Cathy thought the beautiful buildings looked like pictures she’d seen of Venice—while the dark, labyrinth lanes emphasised that she was essentially in an unknown and secretive place. But then everything became greener—she could discern a verdant sweep of unexpectedly lush grass through the tallest gates she had ever seen. Gates which gleamed a gold as bright as Xaviero’s eyes and which swung open to allow the car through.

‘And this, the royal palace of Zaffirinthos,’ announced Flavia quietly.

The palms of her hands growing clammy with nerves, Cathy stared up at a huge, stately white building with tall columns and elegant, arch-shaped windows. She was aware of unfamiliar trees and plants—flowers she’d never seen before—and the scent of their perfume was overpowering. There was a stately statue of a nymph standing in the centre of a fountain—a small globe held in her hands, over which cool water flowed, and Cathy wished she could go and splash some over her heated brow.

Gesturing to a sweep of marble stairs which lined the main entrance and was guarded by a row of solemnfaced men in uniform, Flavia indicated that Cathy should follow her. ‘The Prince has requested that I take you immediately to his private office,’ she said.

Cathy’s heart began to race as, suddenly, a wave of uncertainty swept over her. What was she doing here in this mighty and magnificent palace where, all around, inscrutable guards failed to meet her eyes? But there was no time to think or to wonder because long marble corridors were echoing to the sound of their footsteps and minutes later she was being ushered into a room so elaborate and glittering that it momentarily took her breath away.