on them.’
‘I…’
‘Things will work out, Melinda. For the best.’
He sounded all calm and reassuring, but there was an undercurrent. An undercurrent that told her he was having doubts—about her, about the way she felt about him. She needed to get back to Penhally and straighten this out. She’d stay for the funeral, but then she’d be on the first possible flight back to England. She’d go home to the man she loved—and make him see that she loved him. ‘I’m coming home as soon as I can after the funeral,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk when I get back.’
‘Sure.’
‘I love you, Dragan. And I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He hadn’t said he loved her, too. Her stomach turned to water. Please, don’t let her lose him. Don’t let him walk away from her under some misguided notion that he was helping her do the right thing—because ruling the country would be so very much the wrong thing for her and for Contarini. ‘And, Dragan? About the press—’
‘I told them I was your friend,’ he cut in. ‘Your neighbour.’
‘They drag things up,’ she said. ‘So don’t believe whatever you read in the papers or what they say to you. It might not be true. There might be a spin on it to make a story. And don’t let them rile you either—just smile politely and say “No comment” to absolutely everything, and they’ll leave you alone pretty quickly because they’ll realise they won’t get anything. Otherwise they’ll hound you and push you into doing or saying something you’ll regret. But I’ll be home soon and I’ll take the heat off you. I promise. And I love you.’
‘OK.’
One tiny word. Two syllables. And it was untrue: everything was very far from being OK.
And he hadn’t said he still loved her.
She had to get home to Penhally and fix this.
Fast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DRAGAN was halfway through his breakfast the following morning when his mobile phone beeped.
Melinda.
He flicked through to the message.
Am flying home tonight. I love you. M x
He loved her, too. But he’d spent a lot of the previous night thinking. And he still didn’t have any answers. It was her duty to go back to Contarini and rule. Her family needed her. But he would have no place in the life of Queen Melinda: he was standing in her way. It wasn’t fair to make her choose between him and her family. He was going to have to do the honourable thing.
Even though the thought of losing her ripped his heart into shreds.
Be thinking of you today. D x, he texted back.
His phone beeped again within seconds. I miss you. M x
He missed her, too. But playing text-tennis wasn’t going to help either of them right now. Due in surgery. Turning phone off now. D x
As soon as he left the house, he saw the paparazzi. And he was well aware that he was being followed all the way to the surgery.
There were stares from the patients, little speculative murmurs and whispers behind hands as he walked in to the waiting room.
‘Well, well. You and Melinda,’ Hazel said, a knowing look on her face.
Oh, great. So Nick had spotted him last night, leapt to conclusions and speculated in the staffroom. Just what he could do without this morning. ‘What did Nick say?’
‘Nick?’ She looked surprised. ‘Nothing. He’s too busy with that pushy bottle blonde to notice anything.’ She shook her head. ‘That woman’s no good for him.’
‘He needs someone with a heart,’ Dragan agreed.
‘Someone like our Kate. She’s such a lovely girl.’
‘Absolutely.’ Dragan’s smile was genuine; he liked the midwife. ‘Though maybe we shouldn’t be matchmaking.’
‘Matchmaking.’
Uh-oh. Wrong choice of word. He’d clearly just reminded Hazel about a choice piece of gossip, because the practice manager tapped the side of her nose. ‘You kept it quiet about Melinda.’
He sighed. ‘Because we both prefer things to be private. Not that there’s much chance of that around here,’ he said ruefully. ‘And the village grapevine’s not on form because that’s very old news.’
‘No, not about you two seeing each other. Everyone’s known that for ages,’ Hazel said impatiently. ‘I mean about who she really is. Of course, the papers got some of it wrong because it’s not a secret about you two around here.’
Papers?
Even as it sank in, she fished under her desk and handed him the paper. The headline was enormous.
ROYAL VET’S SECRET LOVER
Underneath, there was a picture of him—a photograph that had clearly been taken outside Melinda’s flat the previous evening.
‘I had no idea she was royalty,’ Hazel said, looking interested. ‘I mean, she’s always had that air of quality about her, but I thought she was the Penhally vet.’
‘She is,’ Dragan said. ‘Hazel, forgive me for being rude, but I really don’t think this is the time or place discuss this.’ And he most definitely didn’t want any speculation getting back to the paparazzi. ‘Excuse me. I’m keeping everyone waiting. I’ll be ready for surgery in five minutes.’
He managed to field awkward questions from his patients, but the paparazzi were still there when he left the surgery at lunchtime, posing as tourists: sitting at one of the little pavement tables outside the café, looking out to sea or reading a newspaper; browsing in the window of the surf shop or the little souvenir place; apparently studying the collection times listed above the post box set in the post-office wall.
If he ignored them, they’d probably follow him to all his house calls and compromise his patients’ confidentiality. But he couldn’t not do his house calls and compromise his patients’ health.
Just smile politely and say ‘No comment’ to absolutely everything, and they’ll leave you alone.
He’d never had to deal with the press. So he’d have to rely on Melinda’s advice for this one.
For the first time ever, he found himself sympathising with the celebrities who complained about the invasion of their privacy. He’d had barely a day of it, but it was already grating on his nerves.
‘What’s wrong with these people, Bramble?’ he asked. ‘I’m just an ordinary man.’
The
