Another picture showed her with a good-looking man. Corran read the caption. Wedding Rumours for Prince Philippe, it read.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked Lotty, who was still trying to clear her throat.
‘What? Oh!’ She tried to pull the magazine away. ‘Oh, nothing. I was just surprised. She… she reminds me of someone I used to know, that’s all.’
‘Pretty girl,’ Corran commented, studying the photo. He was still absently rubbing Lotty’s back. ‘At least she looks like she’s got some personality, unlike most celebrities.’
Caro certainly had personality, thought Lotty. She was desperately aware of his warm hand moving over her, and she couldn’t resist leaning back into it as she wiped her eyes.
She wished she could tell Corran about her friend. She would have liked to have explained how Caro worried about her weight and wore the oddest clothes, like that old dinner jacket of her father’s, and how much she would laugh to hear herself described as a style icon.
It would be nice to tell him what a special friend Caro was, and how she had stepped in to give Lotty herself a chance to escape from Montluce for a while. Caro would say that it had suited her too, but Lotty knew that it was a lot to ask her friend to give up two months of her life.
But how could she tell Corran all that without telling him that she was a princess? Without changing everything.
They had so little time left. Why risk spoiling it? They were going to have to say goodbye anyway, Lotty reasoned. She wanted Corran to remember her as a woman, not as a princess pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
Unaware of her thoughts, Corran was still looking at the picture of Caro and Philippe. ‘What an awful life, though,’ he said. ‘Who’d want it? I can’t see the point of these tinpot monarchies, other than to fill the pages of trashy magazines.’
Tinpot monarchy? Lotty stiffened, unable to let the insult pass. ‘I’m from Montluce,’ she reminded him in an icy voice. ‘We don’t think of it as a tinpot monarchy.’
‘Oh, come on, Lotty! You’re not telling me you believe the monarchy in a tiny place like Montluce isn’t an anachronism?’ Taking his hand from her shoulder, he flicked the picture of Philippe dismissively. ‘What does this guy actually do other than get himself photographed? It’s not as if any of them do any work.’
Lotty thought of the long days smiling and standing until her back ached, of putting people at their ease and making them feel as if they had been part of something special even if they had just shaken hands with her. At the end of the day her hand was sometimes so sore she had to soak it in iced water to reduce the swelling.
Abruptly, she pushed back her chair so that Corran had to move out of the way. She carried her mug over to the sink. ‘I didn’t realise you were such an expert on European monarchies,’ she said coldly.
‘I’m not, but I’ve got several mates who became bodyguards after leaving the Army. It’s good money, I gather, but God, what a life, trailing around after obscure royals! Some of the stories they tell about the pampered brats they have to babysit would make your hair stand on end. They spend their entire day following these people around from shop to restaurant to party.’
‘Really?’ said Lotty, who had spent her entire life being shadowed by a member of the royal close protection team.
Montluce had few political problems, at least until the recent furore about the proposed gas pipeline, but it was an important financial centre, and the royal family’s wealth was enough to make them a target. Lotty’s first companions were lean, expressionless men whose eyes moved constantly and who were always on the alert to the slightest sound or movement.
‘It’s not much fun being trailed after either,’ she pointed out, and then, as Corran raised his brows, ‘I imagine.’
Rinsing out the mug, she set it upside down on the draining board and wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ she said.
Corran frowned. ‘Haven’t you finished for the day?’
‘I’ve just a bit of tidying up to do.’
‘The midges will be out soon,’ he warned.
‘I won’t be long.’
Lotty needed to be alone for a while. It had been odd seeing Caro and Philippe in that magazine, and she hadn’t been able to help laughing at the idea of Caro’s unconventional dress style coming into fashion, but Corran’s attitude to the Montlucian monarchy had stung. That was her family he had dismissed as being lazy, pointless and out of touch.
It was ironic that Philippe was probably the person who would most agree with him.
The conversation had depressed her, underlining as it did the gulf between them. It had left her feeling disloyal and guilty for being so happy at Loch Mhoraigh.
Calling for Pookie, she walked down to the cottages, her hands stuffed into her pockets. The little dog frolicked around her ankles and she thought about how much she would miss him when she left. The loch was grey and choppy under sullen clouds, and there was a rawness to the air that made Lotty zip up the collar of her fleece. On a day like this, it ought to be easy to feel nostalgic for the green hills and serene lakes of Montluce but there was an elemental grandeur to the Scottish mountains that caught at Lotty’s throat, no matter what the weather.
That made her feel bad too. She was a Princess Charlotte of Montluce. She loved her country. She shouldn’t feel like this about another one, as if Scotland was where she belonged. As if it was going to tear her heart out when she left.
Lotty vented her confused feelings on the floorboards, getting down on her knees to scrub them vigorously. She didn’t want things to change, but they couldn’t stay like this for ever.
She should start giving some thought to leaving soon. She had saved most of her housekeeper’s wage, derisory though it was. She had enough to move on, and maybe get a job somewhere else for her last month of freedom.
Or perhaps she should just go home to Montluce. That was where she belonged, after all. Her grandmother might be autocratic, but Lotty was her only real family now and she would need her granddaughter’s support.
Philippe would be leaving Montluce as soon as his father was well enough to take over his duties once more, and then Lotty would have to be ready to step back into the role she had been born for. But she couldn’t go back to the way she had been before. Not after being here with Corran. Somehow she was going to have to do something to make her life bearable when she got home.
Then she caught herself up. Bearable? What kind of self-pitying nonsense was that? Lotty flinched inwardly, ashamed of herself. She had more money than she knew what to do with. Everyone loved her—the papers were always saying so. She never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from. Millions of people would love to be in her position.
They’d love to have nothing to do all day except be shown around factories and community projects. They’d love to shake hands and smile, no matter how fed up they were feeling. They’d love to have to be careful about everything they wore and everything they said and everything they did. They’d love to spend their lives living up to other people’s expectations.
But
