to me now,’ Roger said, but Mandy was hovering and Elias wanted to do this properly.
‘I’d rather speak on Monday.’
‘How about I come in at eight thirty?’ Roger suggested. ‘We can speak before you go home.
‘I’d like that.’ Elias said.
He walked through the department and around to the observation ward. Behind that was the staffroom and the on-call room.
An elderly gentleman who Elias had admitted to the observation ward a couple of hours earlier was singing ‘I Belong to Glasgow’, even though they were in the heart of London.
Elias shared a smile with the nurse sitting at the desk.
‘I need earplugs,’ she said. ‘I think he’ll be singing for a while.’
The singing followed him into the on-call room and Elias looked for the white-noise machine so that he could turn it on and block out the noise from outside.
He couldn’t find it but knew that it would be in here somewhere.
Sometimes, if a new cleaner started, they put it away so he checked the cupboards.
There it was.
Elias turned it on and flicked off the light.
He kept his runners on and just stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.
The white-noise machine was good but it didn’t completely block out the sound and he could hear the deep baritone voice.
‘I belong...’
He was starting to feel that maybe he belonged here.
He liked London.
Oh, he would always belong to Medrindos, as his parents frequently pointed out. But he was starting to think that perhaps he could juggle both.
Yes, Mandy or someone else would soon work out who he was but he was prepared for that. He would soon turn thirty and knew he wanted to specialise in Accident and Emergency. He had completed two years of military service for his country but had then pushed to study medicine in England.
His royal status meant that it was impossible to practise medicine in Medrindos.
Elias loved his country very much and his parents ran it well.
And therein lay the problem.
It was a wealthy principality and there was very little for the second in line to the throne to actually do. His father, Bruno, was sixty and, with their genes, was likely to rule for another thirty years. His errant brother, Andros, would then take over the throne.
Elias wanted to pursue his career in medicine; he wanted to test and stretch his skills. He was thinking of applying for a placement so that he could become a registrar in the department and work his way up to consultant.
He drifted off to sleep. No dreams, no nightmares, no thoughts.
At least, not at first.
But then he fell into a deeper sleep.
Perhaps it was the strong Scottish accent from the vocalist outside that guided his dreams because his mind wandered back to that night.
The night he had walked away from it all...
There he was, aboard the royal yacht after weeks spent cruising around the Greek islands. On this night he and Andros were hosting a lavish party.
Princess Sophie was there, and not by chance.
It had been suggested by Alvera, Head of Palace Public Relations, that they be seen dancing tonight and that tomorrow they could be spotted on shore, having breakfast.
Their people wanted a wedding and to see one of the young Princes settled down.
He looked over at Sophie and she appeared as excited at the prospect of getting things started as he.
She gave him a pale smile.
Both their countries wanted this union and were waiting with bated breath for it to start. Sophie and Elias knew that one dance, one kiss would mean that their relationship had begun. And even though it would all, for a while, be unofficial, to end things once they had begun would cause great embarrassment for Sophie and her family.
Better not to start things until they were sure.
And so, instead of walking towards her, Elias selected an unopened bottle of champagne and made a discreet exit.
No one noticed him leave and walk along the pier. He was dressed in black evening trousers and a fitted white shirt and was barefoot.
He walked onto the beach, enjoying the night and the feel of sand beneath his feet and the freedom. Not dancing with Sophie had bought him some time. Not much, as they were betrothed in their families’ eyes. It really was just a matter of time before it was made official.
Oh, there would be a price to pay for refusing to toe the line but he was more than used to that.
Really, he only spoke with his mother when there was a scandal that needed to be ironed out or a tradition that needed to be upheld. It had been the same growing up. Queen Margarita had rarely put in an appearance in her sons’ lives. There had been nannies to take care of all that. She might come into the nursery once the young Princes had been given supper to say goodnight.
His earliest memory was of his mother coming into the nursery. He had been so excited to see her that he had spilled his drink and she had recoiled.
‘Can someone deal with Elias?’ she had asked.
They had moved on from spilt milk but the sentiment was the same.
Elias, though, neither wanted nor needed to be dealt with.
His and Andros’s job was to stand by her side during public appearances.
Elias wanted more.
He didn’t want to marry and he was tired of partying and meaningless sex. He turned and looked out towards the yacht. The laughter drifted across the water and he was simply relieved to be away from it.
Yes, his mother would not be pleased that nothing had happened between him and Sophie but Elias refused to be compliant.
He was bored, he realised. He missed being part of a team and using his brain. His father had suggested an advisory role on the board of Medrindos Hospital and Elias could think of nothing worse.
He uncorked the champagne and it was then that he heard a voice.
‘Celebrating?’
He turned and saw that he did not have the beach to himself—there was a woman sitting beneath a tree with her legs stretched out and her hands behind her as if she was sunbathing beneath the moon.
‘I guess I am,’ Elias said, though he didn’t add that the champagne corks popped at lunchtime every
