‘It really was him? Really?’ Else was almost jumping up and down with excitement.
‘Yes, Else. It really was him,’ Lauren replied.
‘Wow. I thought he looked familiar, but you’d never think a prince would come down here. But, he was so nice. And handsome too. You are so lucky.’
Lauren smiled at the girl’s exuberance. Girl? Else was no girl. She was in her mid-twenties – about the same age as Lauren. Yet she always seemed younger and in need of protection. That was ridiculous of course. She was a grown woman, married and the mother of a child, while Lauren had never even been in love. She’d had one or two boyfriends, of course; but that wasn’t the same as being in love. Whenever she thought she had found someone to love, memories of her father came sweeping back and she’d turned away.
She still hoped one of these days she would find a man she could both trust and love. The two most important men in her life at the moment were a pastor and a prince. Josef she trusted; and Nicolas …
Lauren bit back those thoughts. She didn’t want to go there. Yet it seemed that she couldn’t stay away. Cinderella hadn’t lost a glass slipper at the ball, but perhaps she had lost something else. Her heart? Certainly her concentration. Apart from Nicolas and his portrait, nothing had been able to hold her attention for more than a few minutes. Since the palace reception, she had been forgetting things and neglecting her responsibilities, including her work here at the shelter. And all because of a kiss. A kiss couldn’t turn her whole world upside down. Could it? Lauren dragged her attention back to the woman sitting next to her on the old wooden pew.
‘I can’t believe he came here.’
‘He wanted to see the shelter.’ Lauren wasn’t going to destroy Else’s happiness by telling her the real story. ‘He wanted to meet the sort of people he doesn’t get to meet every day.’
‘Wow.’ Else almost blushed. ‘I never thought I’d get to meet a prince. Not someone like me.’
Lauren heard an echo of herself in those words. She’d been a girl ‘like that’. The daughter of a single mother and a criminal father, she’d doubted her own worth. She still did sometimes. Her mind told her that she was defined by her own actions, not those of others. That her mother was a good woman who loved her only child and had worked hard to give her a chance in life. She and Lauren had been the victims. But there were still times she hung her head; and there were still things she kept hidden.
‘Else, he should be honoured to meet someone like you,’ Lauren said. ‘You are a wonderful person and a great mother to little Claudette.’
The smile that met those words was faint. ‘Thank you. I try to be, but I know I’m not very clever. And I’m clumsy …’
‘No. That’s not true. You know it’s not.’
‘He says it all the time.’
‘Don’t listen to him.’ Lauren took a deep breath and decided it was time to say the words she had avoided all her life. ‘Else, my father was like that. He was cruel to my mother. He would have been to me too, but … well, he wasn’t around long enough. We got a second chance and we got a better life. You can do that too. You and Claudette. If you need help, all you have to do is tell Pastor Josef. You know he’ll do everything he can.’
Almost in response to her thought, Josef walked back in through the door, his arms laden with cardboard boxes. He nodded to the two women, and Else took that moment to stand up.
‘I have to go.’ She collected her daughter and hurried away.
Lauren felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought she was responsible for that hasty departure. But one day, Else would listen and find the strength she needed. At least Lauren hoped she would.
‘Hi, Josef.’
Josef deposited his boxes on the kitchen floor, and gave Lauren a quick hug.
‘Lauren, it’s good to see you.’ The smile on the pastor’s face proved the words were not simply a courtesy. ‘I’ve been worried about you.’
‘I’m sorry. After the other night I thought I should stay away in case anyone … well, you know.’
‘I know. But, Lauren, I don’t think anyone here is going to run to the papers to talk about you or that visit. Most of them are keen to avoid any sort of notice.’
‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘I was afraid someone would follow me here. I didn’t want to do that to you … or to them.’
‘By the way, I like the new hair colour.’ Josef had paused in his work to study her face. ‘Was that just to hide from the photographers?’
Lauren nodded, but even as she did, she knew Josef would see the lie. He had a remarkable ability to read people – especially her. ‘Not exactly,’ she said instead.
Josef listened while she relayed the tale of her attempt to change her hair colour, chuckling as she described her horror at the olive green result.
‘I got Maria to do it again the next day,’ Lauren said. She paused, then confessed. ‘I was invited to a reception at the palace, and wanted to look right.’
‘A reception? That’s very impressive. Did he invite you?’
‘No. Well, yes,’ Lauren corrected herself. ‘Sort of. His mother actually invited me.’
‘The Queen invited you?’ Josef whistled softly. ‘You’ll soon be far too grand for the likes of me and our little shelter.’
‘No, Josef.’ Lauren was instantly contrite. She could see something that looked like pain in Josef’s eyes and knew that she had put it there. ‘Never. As soon as the job is finished I’ll be back here, where I belong. Nothing’s really going to change just because I’m doing a portrait of Nicolas.’
Lauren saw something flash in Josef’s face as she spoke the prince’s name. He turned back to the boxes of food and continued to unpack them. ‘So, you’re on first-name terms with him now?’ His voice was very casual.
‘Josef! I’m painting him,’ Lauren responded. ‘I couldn’t keep calling him “Your Royal Highness”. You know I can’t work like that. I have to get close to my subjects.’
Josef kept his face averted, his attention on his work. Was he remembering, as Lauren suddenly was, how close they had become when she sketched him? Their friendship had gone no further, although she knew that Josef wanted it to.
‘Josef …’
The pastor put down his packets of food. ‘No. Lauren. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’ He reached out to take one of her hands, his face tight with concern. ‘I just want you to please be careful. I know he’s got a lot of good in him, but that doesn’t change who he is. I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘I know.’ Lauren paused. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for caring.’
Josef squeezed her hand, let it go and turned back to work.
‘Josef.’ Lauren had one last question. ‘What makes you say there’s good in him?’
Josef indicated the half unpacked supplies on the kitchen benches. ‘Where do you think this all came from?’
* * *
Lauren was still thinking about Josef’s words as she walked away from the shelter an hour later. Since their visit there just a few days ago, Nicolas had donated both food and money to the shelter. The biggest surprise was that he hadn’t told her. She wondered why. He had to know it would only make her think more highly of him. Lauren was still pondering the donation when she walked into the art supplies shop.
‘Lauren.’ Mr Haussmann greeted her as she walked through the door. ‘Anya,’ he called to his wife through the back door of the shop. ‘Lauren is here.’
‘Hello.’ Lauren barely had time to greet the shop owner before his wife joined them.
‘Tell me all about it,’ the smiling woman demanded. ‘Was it wonderful? Did you meet the Queen?’
‘Yes – to both,’ Lauren replied.
‘You met the Queen?’ Mrs Haussmann clapped her hands together. ‘So, did you curtsey?’
‘Yes, I did. Thanks to you.’ Lauren planted a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. During her frantic preparation for the reception, Lauren had approached Mrs Haussmann for advice. The older woman had been something of a socialite in her youth, and had often told Lauren stories of her ‘coming out’ season. Her advice had given Lauren the confidence to curtsey to the Queen, especially while wearing a close-fitting gown and high heels.
‘And the prince?’ Mrs Haussmann asked.
‘He was very handsome.’
‘Did you dance with him?’
‘No, Mrs Haussmann. There was a band, but no one danced.’
‘No dancing?’ Mr Haussmann was appalled. ‘In our young days there was always dancing.’
‘Tell me more about the prince,’ his wife interrupted. ‘He was with you, yes?’
‘Yes, he was.’ Lauren thought back to that wonderful night. ‘We didn’t stay long at the reception. After we spoke to his mother, we went out onto the terrace for a while.’
‘Ah. Then he kissed you?’
Lauren blushed.
‘So he did kiss you!’ Mrs Haussmann was triumphant. ‘I knew it.’
‘Anya, leave poor Lauren be,’ her husband chided gently. ‘Let her tell me about the painting.’
‘We walked in the gallery that night and looked at some paintings he liked. Then we went to the studio and I finally started work on the portrait.’
‘You painted?’ Mrs Haussmann was horrified. ‘Instead of dancing, you painted?’
‘And the painting …’ Her husband had different priorities.
‘It’s working, I think,’ Lauren said cautiously. ‘There’s a lot more to do, but I think I’ve decided how it’s going to be. And, I need more supplies.’
Lauren got her second surprise of the morning when she pulled out her credit card to pay for a large collection of supplies.
‘No,’ Mr Haussmann said. ‘There is nothing for you to pay.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A man came here. From the palace. He said I was to send the bills there to be paid.’
‘Oh.’ Lauren wasn’t sure how to react to that. She could only assume Nicolas was responsible. She was grateful that her meagre resources weren’t going to be further stretched, and both surprised and pleased by his thoughtfulness.
‘So …’ Mrs Haussmann smiled at Lauren ‘… you should treat yourself to something. A new palette perhaps? Maybe an easel?’
Lauren laughed. ‘Now, Mrs Haussmann. That wouldn’t be right.’ She paused and looked around in a furtive manner. ‘But … perhaps I might just get that sable brush,’ she whispered.
The sable brush tucked into her bag caused Lauren no guilt as she made her way towards the palace. She would need it to get the texture she wanted for the background in her royal portrait. As she approached the palace, her steps and heart became lighter. These past few days had been a joy. She wasn’t sure if the reason was her work or the man she was painting.
As she did every day, Lauren went straight to her easel when she entered the studio. In the middle of the canvas, Prince Nicolas sat in a casual pose on a high-backed chair, his crisp white shirt open at the neck, his tie hanging loose. The jacket of his dress uniform was just a splash of colour on the corner of the chair. The background was still bare canvas with only a few charcoal marks to show where Lauren planned a special private joke.
Although there was still much work to do, the portrait had already captured something of the man. Certainly, it faithfully represented his handsome face and form. There was something more as well. No trace of the cynic or the playboy hovered on the handsome face. She seemed to have imbued the man in the painting with honesty, almost with innocence. Or was it the painter’s innocence shining through her work? The painting was good, very good. But somehow she wasn’t completely happy with it.
Her heart lifted as she heard a familiar knock on the door, seconds before it opened.
‘You’re here at last.’ Nicolas crossed the room to stand beside her, also looking at the painting.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Lauren said. ‘I realised I haven’t been to the shelter since the night we both went. I thought I should drop by and see Josef and the folk down there.’
‘How is he?’
Nicolas’s voice was gruff. Lauren glanced up at his handsome face. As her eyes met his he smiled, and she decided she must have imagined his tension at the mention of Josef’s name.
‘They’re all fine,’ she said. ‘None of the press have found out where we were that night.’
‘I’m pleased about that. I wouldn’t want anything to cause trouble for Josef or the others.’ Nicolas turned back to the painting. ‘So, more work for us this morning.’
‘Of course.’ Lauren walked over to her workbench and began preparing paints and her palette. ‘Josef told me about your donation.’
‘That was supposed to be confidential.’
‘Don’t be annoyed,’ Lauren said. ‘I’m pretty sure I’m the only one he told.’
She couldn’t tell him the information had come with a warning. As she mixed her paints, Lauren found herself reliving those moments on the terrace. Her hand started to shake as she felt again the touch of his fingers on her bare skin, the taste of his lips and the warmth of his body so close to hers. Something cold and slimy slid across her hand. She looked down. While her mind was wandering, she had squeezed blue paint onto her hand instead of the palette. She reached for a cloth to wipe it away.
‘I picked up some art supplies this morning,’ she said as she moved towards the easel. ‘Mr Haussmann told me you had organised payment for my supplies.’
‘Courtauld organised everything.’ Nicolas hadn’t yet moved to his place on the high-backed chair. He was standing at the easel, waiting for her to resume her customary place in front of it.
‘How did you know where I bought my things?’ Lauren asked.
In answer, Nicolas lifted a paint tube from the table next to the easel. He held it up so Lauren could see the price label with the name of the Haussmanns’ shop printed below.
‘Oh, I see. That was very thoughtful. Thank you.’
Before the conscious thought had formed in her mind, Lauren took a step forward. She rose onto her toes and kissed Nicolas on the cheek to thank him. It was nothing more than a brush of her lips against his skin, but she pulled quickly away. What was she thinking? After their shared moments on the terrace, would he think she was asking for more? Would he think she expected more?
She began to turn away, but his fingers touched her arm. She looked up at him and her heart quivered. She didn’t move – couldn’t move – as Nicolas reached to take the paint palette from her suddenly shaking hands. The palette clattered to the tabletop. Lauren flinched like a startled deer as his hand touched hers. But when he drew her into his arms, it felt like she was coming home after a long lonely journey. As his lips touched hers, she leaned her body in to his, welcoming his arms as they slid around her. She wrapped her hands around his neck and gave herself up to the moment. She didn’t care what the kiss meant. She didn’t care what people might think. All she knew was that she didn’t want the kiss to ever end.
A screech of loud music cut through the air like a knife.
‘What the …’
‘It’s my phone.’ Silently cursing whoever it was, Lauren dragged herself away from Nicolas, and began digging through her large bag looking for the offending device. The ringing stopped and for a moment she thought about ignoring the missed call, and letting her heart take her where she so desperately longed to go.
The phone rang again, the strident tone sounding, if anything, even more demanding.
Lauren moved towards the far corner of the room as she placed the device to her ear.
‘Lauren, where the hell are you?’
* * *
Nicolas moved to the window to stare unseeingly out at the palace courtyard. He wanted to give Lauren privacy for that call, and he needed some for himself as well. The desire aroused by Lauren was so strong he was shaking. All he wanted to do was kiss her again and again. And much more than just kiss her! His mind was spinning with thoughts of the two of them alone and in private.
Nicolas had been with some of the world’s most beautiful women, but not one of them had made him feel like this. Not one of them had made him think beyond one night to the possibility of a week or a month or maybe much more. And not one of them had awoken the voice at the back of his mind that was telling him that he had to walk away now, before it was too late.
Lauren was not like the other women in his life. She was not a woman he could flirt with then forget. She didn’t play that sort of game. She was the sort of woman who would fall in love, and he had to let her go before that happened. Or worse … before he fell in love.
‘Damn it!’
She sounded angry. ‘Lauren …’ Nicolas started towards her.
‘I’ve got to go.’ Lauren ignored him and rushed to the bench to collect her things.
‘What do you mean, go? What’s wrong?’
‘There’s nothing wrong. Well there is. I’ve been an idiot. I haven’t got time to explain. I just have to go.’
‘But … at least give me a minute to talk …’
‘No.’ Lauren backed away. ‘I can’t explain now, but I have to go. We can talk …’
She turned and ran from the room.
Nicolas stood rooted to the spot for ten, perhaps twelve seconds.
‘Lauren!’ He darted to the door, and almost collided with Courtauld as he ushered the Queen into the room.
‘Mother. I’ve …’
‘Nicolas!’ It was the same tone she had used to chide him as a child.
Nicolas darted through the doorway, and looked down the corridor. Lauren was gone.
‘What have you done to send that poor child running away like that?’ Queen Charlotte asked as he walked back into the studio.
Courtauld bowed his way backwards out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
‘Nothing.’ Even to his own ears Nicolas sounded like a petulant child. He bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand what just happened.’
‘Nicolas, are you adopting the same proclivities as your artist?’ Queen Charlotte asked with a smile.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look in the mirror. Above your left ear.’
Intrigued, Nicolas walked over to the mirror. A streak of blue paint coloured the hair near his temple. Nicolas closed his eyes, feeling again the sensual touch of Lauren’s hands as they wove through his hair. Her hands must have been smeared with paint. Nicolas looked down. His own hands were also streaked with colour. It must have happened when he took the palette from Lauren’s hands. He reached for a cloth to clean them.
Meanwhile, his mother had taken up a position in front of the easel. She spent a few moments studying the half-finished portrait.
‘Are you sleeping with her?’
‘Mother!’
The Queen raised one well-groomed eyebrow. ‘Don’t sound so shocked. It’s not an unreasonable question.’ She paused for a few seconds. ‘Well, are you?’
‘No, Mother. I’m not sleeping with her,’ Nicolas protested.
Queen Charlotte shook her head and turned back to the easel. ‘Nicolas. I may be a widow and the ageing mother of two adult sons, but I do know what sex is all about. This painting glows with it.’
‘Mother!’ Nicolas didn’t know what shocked him more, the words or the fact that they came from his mother.
‘Have you looked at this painting?’ the Queen asked. ‘I mean really looked it.’
In response, Nicolas did look at the portrait. Closely. At first he saw only the figure of a man seated in a chair. Then the painting drew him in. Something in the texture of the work, in the lines and colours … After a few moments, he took a deep breath. ‘It’s very flattering.’
‘It’s more than flattering. It’s very good. But perhaps not what we want hanging in the portrait gallery.’
Nicolas had no answer.
His mother turned to him. ‘Nicolas, just what are you doing to this poor girl?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘You know exactly what I am talking about. The d’Arennes are easy to fall in love with – but they are difficult to love. No one knows that better than I.’
The cryptic words stopped Nicolas’s sarcastic reply. He frowned as his mother glanced at the closed door, her mask slipping just enough to show a hint of regret. Perhaps pain. There was something going on he didn’t understand.
‘Mother?’
‘We are born to this life Nicolas, but she is not.’
‘If you’re implying she’s not good enough …’
‘Did it occur to you I might be implying exactly the opposite? I like this girl. She’s bright and she’s immensely talented. Do you really want to clip her wings? Think about it.’
Before he could respond, his mother turned to go. As if by magic, the door was opened from the outside by Courtauld. Queen Charlotte walked through the door without a glance at either her son, or his equerry.
Nicolas turned back to the painting, his mother’s words running through his mind. This time, he looked at it differently. He saw Lauren in her work. He saw her joy in every splash of colour. Every swirl of thick paint reflected her humour and wicked smile. To Nicolas, even the choice of pose said more about her, than it did about him. The casual pose and the discarded jacket indicated a freedom of spirit … a freedom Nicolas didn’t really have.
That free spirit was so much a part of her, she would wither without it. Would he really risk that to make Lauren his? And would she … could she love a man like him? A man tainted by failure. A man with blood on his hands.
‘Sir.’ Courtauld’s voice was a welcome interruption. ‘May I remind you that you are scheduled to attend the Royal Horse Guards Dinner this evening. Full dress uniform is required.’
‘Very well.’
Nicolas heard the sound of the door closing softly. He was alone in the studio. Well, not really alone. Lauren’s presence was in every part of the room. He wandered around, touching the workbench, with its clutter of paints and pencils. Lauren had left a brush lying on the bench. That was uncharacteristic. She was normally meticulous about placing the brushes in cleaning solution. Nicolas performed the simple task, in the way that she had taught him, and wondered about the telephone call. Was there some emergency?
He realised he really knew very little about Lauren. He knew nothing about her family or friends. Somehow, they had never got around to talking about her. Their conversations had been very much of the here and now – and very much about him, Nicolas realised ruefully.
He went back to his own office, sat down at his desk, and reached for the phone.
With a single call, he could find out all about Lauren. The palace security office did a thorough check on everyone who worked within the high walls.
His hand stopped moving before he picked it up.
Nicolas was suddenly afraid that Lauren had run away – away from him and away from the kiss that even now lingered on his lips. The touch of her lips on his cheek had been too great an invitation to resist. At least, he’d assumed it was an invitation. What if he was wrong?
He remembered Lauren kissing Josef on the cheek just a few nights ago. Did he ever kiss her back? The mere thought was a torment that sent Nicolas to his feet to pace the room, wondering where Lauren had fled. Had she gone to the clergyman? To her hairdresser friend? Or perhaps there were family members also living nearby?
He wouldn’t make the call. He would not violate her privacy and risk driving her away.