Page 2 of The Royal Governess
She squinted up at the gray skies. “In the morning?”
“I think so. We moved ahead five or six hours crossing the Atlantic.”
Lexi turned away, flipping up the collar of her jacket.
The last month of school had been a frantic jumble. Paging through a professional magazine during my seventh hour prep period, I’d seen the ad for a governess for a high school junior on an island. My heart had lifted. I could pry my daughter away for the summer. Long ago I’d read about an actress who’d moved to Scotland with her daughter to get her away from peer pressure and bad decisions. The plan had worked. If we were away on our own, I’d have some parental control. At least, that was my plan.
When Mr. Napolitano wrote in response to my inquiry, his requirements had been demanding. And the royal stationary had been intimidating. He might be a king, but nothing was going to stop me. I kind of went overboard with my resume, but what’s a desperate mother to do? Lexi was slipping away. My only child. The girl who supposedly would comfort me in my old age.
Behind the boat, gray water churned before peeling back in a white-flecked wake we left far behind. Nothing appeared on the horizon to quiet my fears. Jamming my fingers into my pockets, I found some cellophane packets and pulled them out. “Look, sweetheart. Food.”
Biscuits. That’s what the flight attendant had called the cookies when she came down the aisle toward the end of the flight. Mr. Napolitano had generously booked us in business class. That had seemed promising. The flight attendants actually paid attention to people in that section, although two packets of biscuits weren’t exactly extravagant. Last night’s late dinner had consisted of freeze-dried chicken on flattened beds of lettuce with some sort of creamy dressing. I took a pass.
Lexi opened her packet and slid a biscuit out. I did the same and we began to munch. The cookies tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Spying something up ahead, I pointed. “Look.” On the edge of the horizon, a blueish gray image had materialized. Turning to Milo, I asked, “Is that the island?”
“Napolitano? Yes, yes.” He pulled out a phone.
My spirits lifted. The fog had dissipated, and a weak sun struggled to break through the clouds.Sunblock. I’d forgotten to bring sunblock but certainly there would be stores on the island. As the sun grew stronger, the water took on a pleasing aquamarine tint. My tense muscles eased.
Slipping the scarf from my head, I ran a hand over the hair I’d yanked into a ponytail before the delayed last leg of our three flights. After all, I wanted to make a good impression.
Although I’d searched online, I couldn't find much about King Marco Napolitano and his son Gregorio. They kept a low profile. The family was involved in making wine, but that had been on the fourth page of my search.
Oh, I couldn't wait to meet them. Now I was delighted by the shoreline. Fitting snugly together, pretty pastel buildings peeked from the dark green foliage. My earlier fears faded along with the morning fog. At the dock, men bustled about their boats. Shouting and laughter carried across the water along with the smell of fish. “Yuk,” Lexi muttered.
“Local color, Lexi. Isn’t it charming?” Just as I was searching the crowds along the pier, the boat veered to the right. I grabbed the railing with my left hand and Lexi’s arm with my right. Lips pursed, she shook me off.
The scenic village receded. Next to me, Lexi sighed. Turning back to Milo, I shouted, “Where are we going?” I wanted to go back to the wharf with the cute little cottages.
Apparently, Milo hadn’t heard me. “When will we be there?” I asked in a louder voice.
Studying his phone, he shook his head. “Soon.”
A man of few words. But at least we could see a shoreline.
Behind us the town grew smaller and smaller. The sun had strengthened, glancing off the water in sharp rays. Yes, I really should have brought sunblock.
And maybe a handgun. Not that I knew how to use one.
Before too long we approached a boathouse that looked as if it had been there for ages. Some kind of red and green crest adorned the weathered tan stucco.
“Look at that,” Lexi breathed beside me. “Just like in the movies.”
Right. In murder mysteries, someone was always getting killed in a boathouse. I rubbed my arms to keep warm.
The roar of the motor cut back and the boat glided into an enclosure of silent, dark shadows. A chill snaked down my spine. “Well. I guess we’re almost there.” My voice echoed from the rafters, where doves sat cooing. Next to our slip sat a larger boat, painted green and red with gold detailing.
Men scrambled to briskly tie up the boat. I couldn’t understand a thing they said with Milo as they tossed heavy ropes around. Throwing covert glances our way, they mumbled together. Were they saying, “You take the young one and I’ll take the old bat”?
English teachers have wild imaginations. The next few minutes were blurred by activity.
Lexi’s eyes widened with wonder. Two burly men dropped a walkway between the boat and the pier with a clatter I felt in my teeth. Getting off with a rolling gait, Milo motioned to us and we marched off behind him. As we walked toward the sunlight pouring through an open doorway, I lifted my eyes to what looked like a crest––the same as the one outside. Two swords crossed beneath an eagle, talons spread. Lots of gilded scrolling. Was the word Napolitano scripted under the crest? When I stumbled, Lexi grabbed me.
Outside, the sun felt warm and reassuring. Our luggage appeared on the dock. Glancing around at the tropical abundance of orange and red flowers, I felt my sanity return. Any uneasy thoughts about that crest were left behind. Probably every island in the Mediterranean sported its own. What had the ad said? “Come to an island in the Mediterranean for your next exciting governess position.”
So far, this had been more than exciting. It has been hair-raising. Another limo sat waiting. Milo opened the back door and avoided my eyes. I crawled inside and Lexi followed. We both sighed as we sank into the deep leather seats.
