One Silver Summer Page 11

  “I dare you to come in!”

  “No way! I don’t have a bathing suit!” She gestured at her dress.

  “Take it off. I won’t look. I promise!”

  She hovered for a second as if making up her mind. “Turn around, then,” she called.

  He obeyed, holding his nose comically as he ducked under the water, and suddenly, she was alongside him, catching her breath, splashing and laughing. Treading water, their feet and knees bumped.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I followed you,” she said. Tentative now. “I got back early and saw you. I called out, but you didn’t hear.”

  Her eyes were sparkling. She made his head spin. It might have been the freezing water.

  “Maybe I was just pretending not to hear you.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “And why would you do that?”

  He grinned. “So I could do this.” He scooped up a handful of water and went to splash her, but with a neat duck dive and a flick of her toes, she swam out of his reach. Coming up for air, Sass turned on her back, flicking water with her pointed toes.

  “You’ll have to catch me first!”

  She was a good swimmer.

  But so was he.

  Sass sat on a rock, her knees drawn up, as they dried off in the shelter of the cliff. She was glowing inside. The dull sickness had gone, replaced by a bright feeling that nothing else existed. She was a beacon across water, her every sense lit from this one sandy spot.

  She stole a glance at Alex, who was leaning back on his elbows with a physical ease that was at odds with his normal reserve. She wondered how many people got to know him like this, then remembered there was an entire side of him she’d never seen. Alexander the prince. Third in line to the throne. She could barely imagine it. All she knew about that world came from history, gossip, and TV.

  “Alex? How did this happen?”

  “What?”

  “This. Y’know. Us?”

  “Beats me.” He sat up and looked across at her with a halfway grin. “Perhaps I have a thing for American girls with a careless disregard for Crown property.” He reached over and pulled her to him, so she was resting her head against his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you could swim like that?”

  Sass opened her eyes, suddenly aware of the subject they were circling. “I started swimming lessons really young. My mom never let me give up …” Her voice trailed away and the sand beneath her sank a little deeper. Should she tell him about Mom?

  “Well, you’re bloody good.”

  Whoosh. The moment went.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But tell me something about you. What’s your life like when you’re out there being a … prince, away from Trist and the horses?”

  “I don’t think about it like that. I just get on with being who I am. Born that way. Like having freckles.”

  “I hate having those.”

  “That’s tough because I like them very much, and especially that one.” He touched her face.

  “But it’s hard, right? Having all that responsibility?”

  “Yes, and no. It’s a privilege, just one that I don’t quite feel ready for. It’s just me, you see, making it up?”

  “At least nobody gets to vote you out!”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not moaning, not really. I have a whole team of people to help, but my mistakes, my personal mistakes, don’t go unnoticed. They get picked over, twisted and turned by the press until they’re these monsters that even I don’t recognize.”

  “So you hide,” she said softly, “down here?”

  A pulse was beating at his temple. She hadn’t meant it to say it like that; she knew how it felt to hide. He was frowning.

  “I’m me down here. I don’t want any special treatment.”

  Sass swallowed, wanting to make things right. “I know. I’m just saying that I get what it’s like to feel lonely even being surrounded by people.”

  She scrunched her face at the sudden glare of an SUV riding the curb of a city street. And shivered.

  Alex had seen. He walked over to where she’d stepped out of her dress: a puddle of silk on the sand. Gathering it up, he brought it over to her. He didn’t have to turn; it wasn’t like she was naked in her underwear, though Sass felt suddenly self-conscious. How come underwear didn’t feel like a bikini? One felt like freedom and the other a secret. She shook her dress out and slipped it on, a shell of mother-of-pearl around her freckled skin.

  “I’m starving,” Alex announced, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Are you?”

  “Yes!”

  “What shall we eat?”

  Sass held out her arms out wide. “Chocolate and pizza. Together. Right now. Can you snap your fingers?”

  Alex laughed. “Sorry! That’s something else I can’t do.”

  “What? Princes aren’t allowed to eat pizza?”

  “No. Go out for pizza.”

  “Don’t worry! It’s overrated, but you can do chocolate, right?”

  “Our cook, Mrs. C, makes the best chocolate cake in the world.”

  Alex had a chef? Sass tried not to let surprise show on her face. “Hey, nothing compares to the American brownie. We invented those and they’re the best.”

  “I beg to differ, madam.” He did a curly thing with his hand and bowed, all hot musketeer.

  “So …” Sass wrinkled her nose. “Being a prince isn’t just cake, palaces, and shaking hands with presidents?”

  Alex reached across and shook her hand. She felt the grip, then the rub of his thumb.

  “Feel that? Years of practice, but yes, that’s correct.”

  He turned her palm over, kissed her knuckles, and looked up.

  “So shall we go out next week? I mean, why stop at one gallop on the beach?”

  Sass gulped.

  He grinned. “Hello? Riding, Sass. On Monday? Me on Dancer. You on Bo.”

  “Yes, yes. I’d love that.”

  They were close. So close.

  “Early?”

  Brown eyes tugging her to him.

  “Early,” she breathed.

  “You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”

  He traced her collarbone with a fingertip.

  “No. Nothing! Who would I tell?”

  “We can’t be too careful. Believe me, I know.”

  Sass opened and shut her mouth. A tiny last fish gasp, caught on the end of a line.

  Neither heard the click and whir of a camera, or saw the flash of a photographer slip away like a snake in the grass.

  Alex walked back up to Trist. He couldn’t wait for Monday. He didn’t care what Grandma thought. Bo would look after Sass and he’d look after Bo. That was all that mattered.

  The gray mare had been small for a jump-racer, not much more than a pony. She’d had courage and in her day, she’d been the best: a champion. They all rode; it was in the blood. His other granny loved flat racing best. He hadn’t seen her since his parents’ split, but she sent him frequent notes on thick gold-crested paper. As girls, his grandmothers had been friends, but then something had happened that couldn’t be discussed, and now they didn’t speak.

  Making his way up the back stairs to his bedroom, he stepped out of his wet shorts, toweled his hair, and pulled on tracksuit bottoms. He threw open the window and climbed out. He wanted to look back at the sea. Nothing could ruin his good mood.

  Alex heard it before he saw it. The distinctive sound of a rotor blade in the distance. Visitors. He groaned: not twice in one day. A black private-charter helicopter buzzed into view and hovered like a persistent horsefly. It landed on the front lawn, blowing up a mound of mown grass that poor Roberts had raked up that morning. Three people stepped out, stooping under the revolving blades: his mother in white, holding on to a large hat and a smug-looking polo player, followed by a man in a suit with a long face, and two briefcases. Not good. Polo guy and his mother walked up the front steps, laughing as they went. He noticed how
she leaned into him. Why didn’t she ever come on her own? Deflated, Alex sat down, his feet dangling, but eventually he had to go in. Not wanting to see her with the others, he waited almost until dinner before knocking on her door.

  “Come.”

  She was sitting at her dressing table mirror in a silky dressing gown with droopy sleeves, struggling with the clasp of a gold-and-diamond bracelet. It was impossible to be angry with her; she was still his mum.

  She looked up. “Darling, it’s you! I wondered where you were.” She discarded her jewelry and held out her arms. Who else was she expecting? Alex let himself be engulfed by her perfume. Chanel. He remembered the name from the jars and bottles in her dressing room back in Kensington. When he was little, he’d sometimes sneak out of bed and fall asleep on the floor waiting for his parents to come home.

  “What have you been doing? You’ve grown so much in the last few months. Almost a man.”

  He wanted to tell her; there was so much he could say, but he paused too long and she filled the space with chatter.

  “It’s been so awful in town since it got out about Daddy and me. Paparazzi everywhere. I can’t even have a quiet dinner at L’Auberge anymore. Everyone has been very understanding and I’ve simply thrown myself into work.”

  She looked thinner. She always looked thin but this time she was the size of a stick. The pressure his father was putting her under wasn’t fair. It would be so easy to break her.

  “You’re here now, Mum. You can relax, no one will follow you.” He meant it. He’d look after her.

  “Oh lord, darling.” Her eyes flashed. “I’m not staying here; this place would simply kill me. I’d die of boredom. I just wanted to come and see you, and Mother. A flying visit.” Her laugh sounded like a twig snapping.

  “So who’s that with you, then?” Alex asked, an edge creeping into his own voice.

  “Don’t be cross. I’ve brought Eduardo to meet you. He’s the most marvelous polo player. I expect you’ve heard of him. He trounced your father a few weeks ago. I thought it would be a treat; he’s terribly suave and a little homesick for Argentina. Oh, and the other one is Michael Balding, bit of a bore. A lawyer.”

  “What’s he here for, the sale?” He didn’t want to think about the other thing. The Divorce.

  “Naughty. You know very well, nothing has been decided about Trist yet. But this …” She waved her hand around the room. “Is just too much for Grandma and you wouldn’t want to be buried down here for long, because let’s not forget …” She paused with a bittersweet smile. “One day, you’ll have your other, rather larger inheritance.”

  Alex looked away. She was right, Trist would be hers to sell, not that he could imagine Grandma ever gone.

  A shadow of doubt, crossed his mother’s face and she reached out and touched his arm.

  “Alex, darling, how have you been? I miss you so much when you’re away. Have you been dreadfully bored on your own with just Grandma?”

  She didn’t get it. She really didn’t. He wanted to be here.

  His mother looked up at him with her hooded eyes. He caved for a second, and just as he was about to explain, she flicked her attention away. A split second when she could have waited and listened.

  “I heard you behaved rather dreadfully with your father?” Triumph in her voice.

  “Yes,” he said coolly, more than he felt. “I told him what I thought of him, you, school … everything.”

  Her fleeting sympathy was replaced by the tip-tap of her nails and then the stab and swish of a makeup brush.

  Helena, Countess of Tremayne, watched Seraphina, her lovely, selfish daughter, drop a bomb on her son. They were sitting in the drawing room after dinner, Helena smoking one of her rare, gold-tipped cigarettes by the open French windows.

  Eduardo the Argentine had gone up, exhausted by his own ego, and Seraphina had taken off her heels. Barefoot, she seemed slighter, though her fragility was an illusion only men fell for. She loved her daughter, but Helena was no fool. Seraphina had shimmered at dinner in topaz satin, the center of attention like the prima donna she always was. Helena wondered if the price of such attention would prove too much.

  “Alex, my darling, I have something to ask you,” Seraphina began softly at first and then, when she failed to catch his attention, “… to tell you.” She frowned, the lines on her forehead unnaturally faint.

  “What is it?” Alex replied. He cared. Helena could see it written on his face, although he tried to cover up and pretend he didn’t.

  “We’d like you to come back to London. Daddy and I. We have to make a formal announcement and may need you there for a friendly photo-call.”

  Hardly a family day out, was Helena’s immediate thought. Alex’s face simply dropped.

  “What announcement?”

  “Darling. The divorce. I’m afraid it’s happening. It’s being announced officially. Decree nisi.”

  Alex looked confused, then hurt, and finally angry.

  “Well, you don’t need me, then, do you?”

  “I need you; you’re my strength.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. A skill that she’d practiced since she was a child.

  “And Father?”

  “He needs you too. You’re his son and heir.”

  “I see …”

  Alexander stood there helplessly for a few seconds; then he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him so hard that the photographs on the shelves rattled and fell down.

  “Darling, you handled that so well.” Helena was cross. Her sarcasm hit hard. Wasn’t the boy dealing with enough?

  “Mummy, you’ve no idea how awful it’s been,” breathed Seraphina as she wriggled her way out.

  David pushed open the back door of the cottage. He and Jess had left before the evening party but still, they were longer than they’d intended. Harry was curled up by Sass, who was reading on the couch by the stove. The terrier slipped down and stretched, his tail ticking like a metronome. Sass put her book down.

  “Hey, did you have a good time?”

  He made a face and got a prod from Jess.

  “Yes, he did. They’re good friends of ours.”

  In the space of looking, Sass reminded David of a girl from long ago. Without thinking, he reached for his sketchbook on the side and the pencil that never left his top pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Sass had noticed.

  “Sorry, I should’ve asked.” David put the pencil down. “Occupational hazard, living with artists.”

  “Well, then … I guess it’s okay.” Sass grinned happily, any trace of sickness gone. “No one’s wanted to sketch me before. Better make me look good.”

  “So how are you after driving off in that Bentley?” Jessie put a hand to Sass’s forehead.

  “If that’s what it was, I never want to go in another one ever again. I was nearly sick on the carpet. Imagine?”

  “You’ve got your color back at least. I …” Jessie bit her lip. “I didn’t know if I should’ve gone with you, but I know that sometimes … you’re happier by yourself.”

  “Honestly, Jessie. I’m fine now.”

  “So what was she like, the countess?”

  “Who?”

  David drew her quickly: a few light pencil strokes, a dot for a mole, a line for a nose, the curved dark brows and spider eyelashes, and the smudges of sadness still visible below them. He’d seen her only once as a baby almost sixteen years ago. One look at her crying face in his sister’s arms before he took off. Now he wanted to protect her. It had crept up on him, this strange but not unwelcome feeling. Not a parent exactly and not a friend either, but someone in between who would take care of things when Sass needed him.

  “The Countess of Tremayne. We’re doing her painting.” Jess demonstrated with a brushstroke and quick curtsy. David snorted. Sass’s face was shining too. If she was sick before, she wasn’t now.

  “She called herself Helena. I thought you knew her?”

  “W
ell, yes and no. I mean, she’s a client and collects art, but the Tremaynes are one of Cornwall’s most landed families. Different league to us. Her daughter is the Princess of Wales; you know, lovely clothes, amazing hair, married to the son of the queen, always on the front of Seen magazine.”

  “Oh. She was just sort of … kind to me. A little frosty and wearing funny clothes for such a hot day.”

  Sass’s face had taken on a kind of dreamy quality. David was curious to know why, but glad. She looked happier than he’d ever seen her. He tuned out of their chatter and reached for Harry’s lead. Time for a quiet smoke.

  Sass could have danced on water. She looked out the window at the sinking sun in its indigo sky. A yacht was coming in for the night, its lowered sails billowing and rattling. Where had it come from? And did it matter so much as where it was going to?

  After her unexpected and wonderful swim with Alex, she’d let herself in with the key from under the flowerpot. She’d greeted Harry and then gone and showered, the sand sticking to her in ow-ow, sunburned places. Peeling off her dress, she’d hung it on the back of the bathroom door and caught sight of herself in the mirror. The same girl looked back, only this time flushed and covered in goose bumps, happy with a boy who liked her … who just happened to be a prince!

  On her way back down, her robe wrapped tight, Sass had noticed that the door to David and Jess’s room was ajar. She’d nudged it a little farther with her toe. The low ceiling of the light-filled room sloped on two sides to a window that slid up and looked out to sea. It was filled with the heady scent of a sprig of lilac set in a glass jar on the windowsill. Piles of books made makeshift tables beside an unmade bed. Sass looked away, as if she was intruding on their privacy, and was about to back out when a photo in a frame caught her eye. It was an old one, sort of browny black and white. Not much more than a snapshot of a group of soldiers in uniform. The center guy was lounging in a leather jacket against something she couldn’t quite make out, his peaked cap set at an angle and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was nice-looking. Young. But it was the shape of his face that caught her attention. It was hers. Almost like looking in the misty bathroom mirror. Who was he?