hungry because of it, then so much the better. Vengeance by Commerce. He almost managed a smile. ‘I’ve hardly started.’
‘Go tell Duncan to start loading wood,’ he told the ladies. ‘Now do you know where I can buy fish and chips? Oh, and a clothes dryer?’
‘He’ll probably abscond with my thirty-two dollars and fifty cents.’
Back at the farmhouse, the kids and Dolores were out on the veranda waiting for Max’s return and Pippa was starting to think she’d been a dope. What if he never came back? She hadn’t even taken the registration number of his car.
Who was he?
Max de Gautier. The royal side of the family.
Pippa smiled at that, remembering Gianetta’s pleasure in her royal background. Alice, Gina’s mother, had tried to play it down, but Gianetta had been proud of it.
‘My great-uncle is the Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella,’ she’d tell anyone who’d listen. After the old prince died, she’d had to change her story to: ‘I’m related to the Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella.’ It didn’t sound as impressive, but she’d still enjoyed saying it.
But it meant nothing. When Alice died there’d been no call from royalty claiming kinship. Gina had married her Australian dairy farmer, and, storytelling aside, she’d considered herself a true Australian. Royalty might have sounded fun but it hadn’t been real. Her beloved Donald had been real.
Marc came in then, searching for reassurance that Max would indeed return.
‘I don’t know why he’s so long,’ Pippa told him, and then hesitated. ‘Marc, you remember your mama showed us a family tree of the royal family she said you were related to?’
‘Mmm,’ Marc said. ‘Grandma drew it for us. I couldn’t read it then but I can now. It’s in my treasure box.’
‘Can we look at it?’
So they did. The tree that Alice had drawn was simple, first names only, wives or husbands, drawn in neat handwriting with a little childish script added later.
Marc spread it out on the kitchen table and both of them studied it. Marc was an intelligent little boy, made old beyond his years by the death of his parents. Sometimes Pippa thought she shouldn’t talk to him as an equal, but then who else could she talk to?
‘I wrote the twins and two thousand and two and stuff when I learned to write,’ Marc said and Pippa hugged him and kept reading.
‘Etienne was your great-great-grandfather,’ she told him, following the line back. ‘Look, there’s Max. His grandpa and your great-grandfather were the same. Louis. I guess Louis must have been a prince.’
‘Why aren’t I a prince?’
‘Because your grandma was a girl?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I think princes’ kids are princes but princesses’ kids aren’t.’ She hesitated and then admitted: ‘Actually, Marc, I’m not sure.’
Marc followed the lines himself, frowning in concentration. ‘Why is there a question mark beside Max’s name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is Max a prince?’
‘He didn’t say he was a prince.’
‘It’d be cool if he was.’
‘I hope he’s not. I don’t have a tiara to wear,’ Pippa said and Marc giggled.
Which Pippa liked. He was too serious, she thought, hugging him close. He’d had too many dramas for one small boy. She should treat him more as a child. It was just…she was so lonely.
And thinking about it didn’t help.
‘Will he come back?’ Marc said anxiously and she gave herself a mental shake.
‘Of course he will. I’ll sweep the floor while we wait.’
‘You’re always working.’
‘Working’s fun.’
Or not. But working stopped her thinking, and thinking was the harsher alternative.
Max finally returned, followed by Duncan with a trailer of firewood, followed by Bert Henges with his tractor. It had only taken a promise of cash to get Bert out in the rain. Three men and a tractor made short work of hauling the truck from the pit. They heaved planks over the broken grid and Bert departed—bearing cash—while Duncan and Max drove cautiously across to the house. The kids had been watching from the veranda but as soon as they drove closer they disappeared. Duncan began tossing wood up to Max, who started stacking it next to the back door.
They’d unpacked half a dozen bundles when Pippa emerged. She was holding her broom like a rifle, and the three children were close behind.
She looks cute, Max thought inconsequentially. Defensive—have broom will shoot!—but cute.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded; then as she saw what they were doing she gasped. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘My shed,’ Duncan said, unaccustomed profits making him cheerful. ‘Seems you’ve got a sugar-daddy, Pippa, love.’
‘I do not have a sugar-daddy,’ she said, revolted. ‘I can’t afford this.’
‘It’s paid for. You’ve struck a good’un here.’ He motioned to Max with a dirty thumb and tossed another bundle.
‘Will you cut it out?’ She looked poleaxed. ‘How did you get the vehicles here?’
‘Bert hauled your truck out of the pit.’ The wood merchant was obviously relishing enough gossip to keep a dreary country week enlivened until the rain stopped. ‘Courtesy of your young man.’
‘You didn’t get Bert out into the rain?’ she demanded of Max, appalled. She stepped into his line of tossing to stop the flow of wood. ‘He’ll charge a fortune and I can’t pay. Of all the stupid…It was just a matter of waiting.’
‘You don’t need to pay.’ Max handed her his bundle of wood. ‘I already have. Can you start the fire with this? There are firelighters and matches in the grocery sacks. Most of the groceries are in the trunk. I’ve backed right up so we can unpack without getting wet.’
‘Most of the groceries…’ She stared at him, speechless, and he placed his hands on her shoulders and put her aside so Duncan could toss him another bundle.
The feel of him…the strength of him…She felt as if she’d been lifted up and transported into another place.
She gasped and tugged away. ‘I can’t take this,’ she managed, staring down into the stuffed-full trunk of his car. There were
