One Silver Summer Page 8

  Angry?

  “Your hair looks good,” he countered, hoping his unreliable girl radar was playing up. “You’ve changed it?”

  “You like it?” she cut back, sharper than a pointed knife.

  “Yeah, I like it.” Cautious now.

  “Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?”

  “Find out what?” he stalled.

  “Don’t lie to me, Alex. It’s not fair.” A dark bead of blood had welled up on her lip where she’d bitten it.

  She knew who he was. He could see it written on her face.

  “I never lied. I mean, at first, I thought you knew who I was. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who didn’t.” He held his ground. It wasn’t all his fault. He’d explain, if she gave him a chance.

  “What! Like the rules don’t apply to you? That you’re so very special because you were born … royal?” She set fire to his insides.

  “Since you mention it quite so dismissively. Yes.”

  Her face hardened. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve had more important things to think about than keeping up on my celebrity gossip.”

  Had she really just said that?

  “Ah. I see. More important things! A girl on holiday who can do anything she wants; ordinary things, everyday things whenever she wants, was just curious to see how the people in the big house lived.”

  The look on her face made his stomach flip.

  “No! You are … so wrong. I couldn’t care less about how famous you are, or your house! We got over royalty in the States a long time ago.”

  Alex tensed. She’d used “we” like she stood for a nation, the whole of America united behind her. It wasn’t easy being him. He was proud of who he was, that was for sure!

  “So you came all the way here just to tell me that?” He stepped into her space, breathing hard. Her hands went to his chest and she pushed him away. Dancer spooked and jerked at the reins.

  “What? No … Yes! I came to say … to tell you … that I never, ever want to see you again.”

  Alex stared. Who was this girl to tell him to get lost? This girl who’d caused him nothing but trouble since the first day they met.

  “Fine! Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. You were the one who forced your way into my life.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m gone!” And that was it. She walked away, stumbling over her feet in the sand.

  Alex took Dancer’s reins and vaulted into the saddle. He spurred him on and the horse kicked out, then bucked again, but Alex sat him and sent him forward. Turning for home, Dancer jumped the stream in a clatter of shingle, ignored the twisted roots and low-hanging branches on the bridle path, the scent of pine needles never sharper.

  Home. As Trist loomed into view, Alex pulled Dancer up so the horse could catch his breath. He leaned forward and stroked his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  What else was there to say? He’d lost her. He’d let Sass go.

  Sass found her way to the rocky point where she’d seen Alex galloping that first time on the beach. She didn’t care who he was, only who he became when they were together. She’d gone there to find out and had finished it. Over before it began. His arrogance made her blood boil. His assumption that she was some clueless, bored girl on vacation was all wrong. And it hurt. It hurt because her heart was so sore already. This prince didn’t want a girl like her. Of course he hadn’t said as much, but she could see the truth from a mile away. She’d read the rest of that magazine. He was “linked” to some other girl named Plum who wasn’t ordinary, but beautiful, talented, and rich. Sass lay back against a rough tussock of grass and let the tears run into her ears as above her, the sky turned a dip-dyed blue.

  A shower of pebbles landed at her feet. That was all she needed: a sheep going baaa in her face. But the patter of loose shingle hadn’t come from above. In the muddled space between anger and hurt, Sass heard the sound again: a splatter of grit this time. She wriggled forward to the edge and peeked down.

  It was Alex. He was back. At first, she thought he’d come on foot, but then she heard the clink of stirrups: Dancer’s hooves, silenced by the sand. She slid on her backside a little closer and reached down with one foot. Withdrew it. Told herself off. Breathe, Sass. Breathe.

  She looked again. Alex was dismounted, raking his hair back from his face. Tall. Stern. Determined. He strode over to the foot of the outcrop and looked up, his eyes a little … reckless.

  “I’ve come because there’s so much to say. That I should have told you before.” His voice, loud at first, trailed to nothing.

  Sass looked at her toes and scooched up to the edge, wriggled them while she made up her mind. He’d come back! She counted to sixty, plus thirty seconds more. A minute and a half to choose between going forward or back. The answer was so simple in the end. What did she have to lose?

  When she jumped, a leap of hope, he caught her, Dancer spinning around, and she fell against him, knocking the breath from them both. He steadied them. His eyes locked on hers, but she spoke first.

  “So who are you, then, horse boy?”

  “I should have told you, Sass, but I couldn’t believe that you didn’t know me. And then it was too late.”

  “So you’re a prince, for real?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled a face. “Alex. Alexander. Frederick. George. Third in line to the throne. Top of the family tree.”

  “So your other grandma’s, what? The queen?”

  “Yes, my father’s mother.”

  “Wow. Some nana.”

  “Yes.” He paused. “She is extraordinary.” Alex clearly meant it, and something inside of Sass softened. He hadn’t chosen his family, or the complicated life that came with it. He was doing the best he could, and he’d made a mistake. She could forgive him for it. She had to. It wasn’t as if she was exactly open. She stood in front of him and pressed a knuckle to his chest, as if knocking on his heart, and his arms went around her.

  “My family,” she whispered into his collar, “is the smallest, most stunted family tree in the whole world. More potted plant. A cactus, maybe. Spiky and in need of water.” She stopped, unable to go on, and laughed instead, too brightly. Had he noticed? Alex pushed her gently back and touched the place where she’d bitten her lip earlier. His finger slid to the freckle by her mouth that she’d never hate again.

  “My parents are divorcing. You’ve probably seen. They used to argue with each other, but now they’re so bored with that, their lawyers do it for them.”

  “I’m sorry. What are they like, your parents? I’ve seen stuff written about them …” It felt strange to ask him about his parents like they were regular people, not the Prince and Princess of Wales. Though in truth, they were just people, weren’t they? And right now, he looked less like a prince and more like a regular boy with muddy boots and messed-up hair.

  “My mother”—he paused as if he’d never discussed his parents before—“is very beautiful. She’s fun. She’s generous. She wants to make a difference. She needs people around her all the time. Not like me.”

  “And your dad?”

  “He’s so serious. Wants to be taken so very seriously, but if everyone just agrees with you and tells you what you want to hear, what’s the point? It’s not as if they’re listening, are they?”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to be like them, do you? You can do it differently.”

  He regarded her with serious eyes, as if it sounded possible coming from her.

  “What about you, Sass? Wanting to gallop? What happened to taking things slowly?”

  “No time. Bad stuff catches you if you stop too long.”

  He looked at her as if he sort of understood.

  “Well, then, come on.” Alex swung himself up on Dancer and reached down.

  “What do you mean?” Her heart beat faster.

  “You wanted to gallop, so let’s do it. Only fear’s holding you back. I dare you!” He beckoned with his fingers.

  “I can’t. Not on Dancer! I fell off
Bo.”

  “Nonsense.” He reached down and pulled her up into the saddle. “You can hold on to me.”

  Without another word, she scrambled behind him. Dancer shifted uneasily with the unfamiliar weight, but Alex stroked his neck and Sass pressed closer. When the horse began jogging, Alex’s hand covered hers, her fingers tightening at his touch. He whispered something. She thought he said “steady,” but it might have been “ready.” Oh god, he had. Too late, she felt Dancer gather himself up and then Alex let him go. She was a limpet clinging to a rock as they flew down the beach in a shower of shells, pebbles, and sand, Dancer stretching ahead, his hooves on fire. Sass couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t cry. The months, the weeks, the days rushed by and there was only this moment, this single, incredible moment, her heart singing with every thrusting, pounding hoofbeat.

  They were heading for the waves. When they reached the water’s edge, Dancer snorted and thought about shying away, but Alex sat up and pulled Sass into him, kicking the horse on, and they splashed on through the sea, soaked to the skin in foam and salt spray.

  At last, Alex brought Dancer back to a gentler rhythm. Sass was shaking, but she was laughing too. It felt good. So good. It was the best feeling in the world.

  They got down and her legs gave way as she leaned into the horse to catch her breath. Side by side with Alex, their shoulders were still touching as a cat’s paw of a breeze came down over the beach. Dancer spun around and they were wrenched apart, and Alex only just held him.

  Sass wanted to say something, but what? It was as if the invisible cord between them had snagged.

  “I guess it’s getting late?” said Alex.

  “Oh!” She looked at him, twining a strand of hair around a bitten fingernail. “Yeah, I guess so … I’m kind of soaked.”

  Sass felt a cold trickle of seawater run down her cheek and her lips begin to shiver; she couldn’t let this moment go. She stepped forward, right up to Alex, until there was no space left. For a second, he seemed to just breathe her in, when all she could think about was kissing him. Sass put her hands on his waist and kept them very still. They were so close that surely he could feel her heart beating?

  In reply, his fingers crept around the top of her hips, until his fingertips met over her spine. Then he was pulling her to him as if his hands had given up on directions from his brain. She closed her eyes and as his weight shifted, she followed, and her face tilted to his, by some instinct missing his nose. When at last they kissed, his lips were hard, then soft, and sweet, and salty on hers.

  “I didn’t think that was going to happen,” she murmured, breaking away.

  “You made it happen.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Mmm … I still haven’t quite decided; better show me again.”

  It was minutes later when they parted.

  “Meet me again tomorrow?” Alex’s eyes held hers.

  “Here?”

  “Yes, right here in this exact spot. I command it.” He squeezed her shoulders.

  Sass paused; she couldn’t. Not tomorrow. It was the wedding of Jessie and David’s friends. Her heart sank.

  “I can’t.”

  “Really?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Can I call you?”

  “Yes! No. I … mean I have a cell phone, but it doesn’t work here in England.” It lay like a dead fish in her bedside drawer. “Besides, there’s no signal down here without climbing a hill. Do you get one where you are?”

  “No, you’re right. Maybe if we set out to find a signal at the same time, we might just meet in the middle?” A smile, like that was an idea.

  “If you wanted to … or you had to, you could send me a note at my uncle’s gallery, do you know it? The old chapel near the pub?”

  “Snail mail, really?”

  A boy used to getting his own way.

  “It’s …” Sass shrugged. “See it as romantic.”

  “Ride out with me again, then, after the weekend. On Monday?”

  “Okay,” she said, then shivered, cold now the sun had gone.

  He took off his sweatshirt, the one with WALES on the back.

  “Here, put this on, you’re shaking.”

  She touched the name tag sewn inside the label. Alexander Wales.

  “Is that your last name?”

  “Kind of.”

  The boy with not just a name or a title, but an entire nation on his back.

  And he reached forward and kissed her again.

  Helena looked down from her dressing room window. In the twilight, the garden looked almost magical, the scent of old roses drifting up through the open window, carried by the damp sea air. Statues on the lawn cast their shadows, and for a moment, Helena remembered a night when the garden was full of people. Laughing girls dressed in ball gowns and young men in uniform. It was the eighth of July ’43: the night of her eighteenth birthday. A band played Glenn Miller in the ballroom, everyone drank champagne, and the party had spilled its way outside. She closed her eyes. The war. The most exciting and terrible time of her life.

  A movement brought her back to the present. What was Alexander doing? She watched him walking up the path from the beach, leading Dancer. He’d grown taller since Christmas, still had his father’s critical eyes but his mother’s lovely hair: she’d had masses of it as a little girl. Thick, dark, and a little unruly. Like her own had once been. She touched the silver hairbrush and mirror on her dressing table, her finger tracing a line in the dust. Alex had Seraphina’s smile … when he smiled.

  She looked out again. He was closer now. Was he whistling? She wanted to shut her eyes and remember that other time when someone else had whistled “You’ll Never Know” beneath her window. She shook her head. Foolish old woman. As for Alexander, he was late for dinner.

  Alex led Dancer up through the pine trees to the house, the feel of Sass filling his mind. He touched his mouth. He could still smell her skin, remember the second she stepped up and he stopped holding back. She knew everything about him now, the important stuff, and it felt like the weight of a crown had been lifted off his head and chucked in the sea.

  Sass knew who he was. Was angry that he hadn’t told her sooner. He wasn’t proud of that, but he’d taken the chance to test her. He’d never got to know a girl first before; it was always the other way around. Now he had to keep her safe from prying eyes. Away from cameras. Even down here in Cornwall, he couldn’t be too careful.

  Dancer neighed; they were close to home. Complicated thoughts shoved to the side, Alex stepped out. He could see the whole summer ahead: he’d take Sass swimming, they’d fish and they’d … A root across the path tripped him up and he stumbled forward. Dancer snorted. He got to his feet and stroked the horse’s neck, which had cooled at last, the salt and sweat drying to a fine white dust.

  Alex would take Sass out on Bo. Trist was crisscrossed with bridle paths and hunt fences. Not that she was ready for those, but there was so much of the estate that he could show her. He thought of the last time he went hunting. It was the Boxing Day Meet. A frost had covered the ground and the air had been clouded with the breath of horses and hounds. Bo would love to be ridden again. Before Dancer, she’d carried him all day across fields and ditches. They’d take it slow and easy.

  As Alex walked through the stable arch, he looked up at the old clock. It was a quarter to eight and he’d forgotten about dinner. Ten sympathetic long faces looked over their stable doors. Alex looked around, half hoping Amy was there to take care of Dancer. When he’d left, admittedly a few hours ago, she’d said she’d come down.

  No time to bathe and change, he stripped off his top and stuck his head under the outside tap, the cold water stinging the sunburn on his neck. Leaving Dancer with hay and water, he went up to the house, his mind full of a girl with the sea in her eyes.

  Amy heard the hooves from her creaky bathtub in the upstairs bedsit. It was lukewarm now that the hot had run out, but after working all day, just lying th
ere was lovely. Bubble bath was the best. She’d get out in a minute; but out was colder than in, so she slid a bit lower until the water reached her ears.

  It’d taken ages sorting the horses this evening; always did when Figgy was off. Alex had still been on the yard when she left, fiddling about and acting strange. For a while, she’d wondered if he was waiting for her, too chicken to make the first move. If he were any other boy, she’d have teased him to see where it got her. She squeezed the sponge. Why shouldn’t they get together? How many girls had a chance with a boy like that, right there in front of them. He wasn’t as good-looking as in his photos, or on TV, but more normal. He was still posh, but polite and nice. He liked that she flirted a bit, or at least, he always used to, so what was the harm if they went a bit further? Bet posh girls did that too. Girls like Plum. She’d seen pictures of her with Alex on the Internet.

  Amy grabbed a towel and went over to the window. She rubbed a patch in the steamed-up glass. Alex stood below her, half in and half out of the shadow. He’d loosened Dancer’s girth and taken off his saddle. She heard the slight clink of spurs as he crouched down to check on his horse’s legs. The towel slipped a little as she rested her head against the window, watching him until her breath misted it up again. Alex wasn’t hers and never would be. She knew it really. She sighed and turned away. It was time to get dressed. Dancer had to be rugged and fed.

  Sass ran the whole way back. She could still taste salt on her lips and hear the wind in her ears. The tingling in her veins sent her faster, until she was laughing out loud and skipping down a yellow brick road with the sun behind her.

  But the road ran out. As she rounded the last corner of the headland, she crashed straight into David.

  “Sass! Where on earth have you been?” Her uncle was gray with worry. “We expected you back for supper two hours ago!”

  She stared at him. Maybe it was because he’d burst her bubble with what felt like a slap, but she overreacted big-time. “What do you mean, where have I been?” Sass felt herself tremble. “I mean, it’s not even dark. It’s up to me where I go. Isn’t it? I’m not a baby.”