Page 77 of The Impossible Princess
The prime minister’s office is quiet, and I fear they’re waiting for Max’s return to begin an inquiry that will damage us both. Reporters shout questions as I come and go from each event, but NewsNook eventually wraps up their exhaustive series on my love life. A group of royalists attached to the Queen’s Day parade committee starts a letter-writing campaign to censure the government-sponsored news show, and the network issues a tepid apology. I absorb the hits and learn to appreciate, better than ever, Mama’s strategy of steadiness and silence.
One morning, Ella bursts through the doorway of my suite. I snap my fingers frantically to quiet her as I wrap up the phone call with one of my brother’s friends who also happens to be the head of a tech company.
“Many of the residents once worked on the water as fishermen or messed about with boats on holiday. We’ve sourced an old ship—a Norwegian sloop with a wheelhouse and everything—and gotten a construction company to donate time and materials to cut it down and situate it on the grounds with a wheelchair ramp. Noah informed me your company is looking for opportunities to give back to the Handsel community. I’d like to set up a time to meet to discuss it. The old ship would be a wonder if we could get the front windows fitted with a VR screen showing ocean views, responsive to the touch of the wheel.”
His answer is warm. “Yes, yes,” I nod, jotting down details. “Thank you, Marc. I look forward to our meeting.”
I hang up and give Ella a high five. “Yes!”
“Pleased?”
“Very. That boat is going to be the centerpiece of the new gardens. The hospital director has been yearning for something like this for years. The tech will be a surprise—an ocean view, sounds piped in over the speakers, a retro radio tuned to popular music from fifty years ago.” I bask. After weeks of hard work—including hauling around an Emotional Frigate—I deserve a bask.
“What brings you to my lair?” I ask.
“You haven’t seen the news?” Ella has a glint in her eye. “Oh, this will be fun.”
She leans across and pulls up the tab for the midday news. The live video feed shows a huge ship navigating into port.
My breath catches, and a flush blooms up my neck. Max. Max is home. Before anything else—before the worry about how we left things and the stress about the prime minister’s office—I feel elated. After a month of missing him and filling every second up with work, I am starved for the sight of him.
Before sense takes hold of me, I’m doing the math. A quick trip to the kitchens for ingredients, then twenty minutes to the cottage, an hour of cooking…
“Clara?” Ella’s voice yanks me out of my daydream. I broke up with Max. Going to the cottage and preparing his dinner is impossible. Anxiety and frustration drop into my stomach like paratroopers.
“Why is this news?”
“Read the caption,” she says, tapping the text banner at the bottom of the screen.
“Rescue at Sea Involving Princess Clara’s Partner.” Partner. Ick. The word is bloodless. Worse, it isn’t even true anymore. Lower still, the crawling text reads, “Doomed Vorburg expedition owes all to brave efforts of the Sondmark Navy. Lieutenant Commander Andersen gets commendation following accident at sea.”
“Accident?” I shout, finger spinning furiously on the mouse. “What accident?”
Ella’s hand covers mine and guides it to a block of text in an article below the video.
“He got a head wound while wading through the cargo hold to save the ship’s navigation system or something. It’s not very clear. But he’s fine, Clara. Max is fine.”
I read the sparse sentences twenty times over, trying to wring more information from them. Finally, I pound my fists against the desk and sit back. He’s fine. Max is fine. I don’t care if he’s been horribly disfigured and has to lurk in the sewers of Handsel as long as he’s safe.
“They haven’t even properly docked yet,” I say, hoping Max will get some peace before the press comes after him. “How did the network news find out about this?”
Ella’s brow arches, leaving me to connect the dots.
Who would know a ship was coming in? Top brass, obviously. But why would they want to leak a thing like this? Who else? I fumble for clues and then realization starts deep in my bones. Who gets regular updates from every branch of government including the military?
“Mama.”
Ella nods. “Very few people could have access to the story already, but she’s one of them.”
“She isn’t the sort of person to ring up the newspapers and tell them her business,” I say, eyes narrowing. “But her henchman might.”
“Caroline?” Ella laughs.
“Bingo,” I say, pushing past her and out of the suite. Ella calls for me, but I’m too intent to stop. If Caroline knows what happened to Max, I have to ask.
I burst into her office and, though I am unannounced, Caroline doesn’t have to scramble to smarten up her appearance. She is unspectacular but sits with her ankles together, the hem of her grey skirt skimming her knees, and glances up from her screen.
Our eyes meet and I wonder if this is an enemy or an ally. I don’t know. She always seems to be standing in front of my mother like some bloody-minded angel, sword in hand, waiting to strike down all who trespass. But there have been moments when I felt something like sympathy between us. Adversary or friend? I don’t have time to do a diplomatic dance.
