Page 30 of The Princess Sister Swap

But, of course, returning to Cornwall meant leaving Akil. And if that thought had been difficultbeforethe trip out on the boat, it was almost unbearable now. She continued to see him nearly every day, although as summer drew to the end so his responsibilities grew, like a warning sign their time was nearly up. The need for discretion was as high as ever; the last thing either of them wanted was speculation about who Clem was or, worse, for people to start gossiping about how much time he spent at the palais with Arrosa. So she continued leaving the estate in one outfit and changing in a discreet location, and when they did venture out they mingled with tourists and sightseers far away from anywhere where Akil might meet friends or colleagues.

Clem wriggled again, trying to get comfortable. What had been fun at the beginning, an amusing subterfuge, was beginning to lose its charm. A reminder of why their relationship had to be secret, and that an end date was in sight. Fun as it was for them to lie in bed building castles in the air about a life sailing around Cornwall, she knew that leaving Asturia was not an option for him, just as staying was not an option for her. All she had ever wanted was someone to love her, to see her, to put her first. Ironic really that she had found someone who fitted the first two but couldn’t fulfil the third.

At least neither of them had been foolish enough to mention love again. It didn’t stop her thinking it though. Feeling it.

She closed her eyes, resolutely pushing the thoughts away although she knew that their reckoning was coming. They still had nearly a week. Maybe they would think of a solution before then. Maybe he’d ask her to stay, or she could suggest it. No one knew who she was. What did Clem Beaumont from England have to do with the royal family? Did he want more than a holiday romance? Did she? They had never discussed it.

She did her best to concentrate on the sensuous warmth of the sun across her body, the sound of the birds singing overhead and the distant drone of an aeroplane. Occasionally she heard voices from outside the villa gardens as the palais gardeners moved around, a burst of radio from one of the guards and his reply, footsteps coming down her path.

Hang on?Footsteps.Clem peeled her eyes open, suddenly alert. She wasn’t expecting anybody. Akil was working this morning and nobody else ever came to see her. Feeling a little vulnerable in just her bikini, she sat up and grabbed her wrap, turning towards the path and the figure striding down it.

‘There you are, Clemence.’

She blinked, myriad emotions whirlpooling through her, the way they always did on the rare occasions she saw her father, the less rare occasions she thought about him.

Sitting back, she peered over her sunglasses, deliberately cool and collected. ‘Hello, Zorien. I wasn’t expecting you. I must have missed your message.’

It was a long time since she’d called himDaddy; it had been made very clear to her that the word was not for her to use, not even in private, in case they were ever overheard. Safety trumped reality every time.

‘You look well,’ she added. ‘Would you like to sit down? I’m sure I can manage some coffee.’

It had been several years since she’d last seen him, but he looked exactly the same, tall, slim and straight-backed, his hair not yet silvering. The hazel eyes so similar to hers and Arrosa’s were cool and assessing, his expression inscrutable.

‘Your sister stands when I first enter a room, curtseys, saysYour Majestyand waits for me to speak.’

It was like that, was it? Clem smiled, affecting an insouciance she didn’t feel. ‘I missed the day my local comprehensive taught court manners. But on the other hand, we’re outside so this isn’t actually a room and you’re notMyMajesty. I’m not an Asturian citizen, remember?’

One of many points of contention. Zorien wasn’t named on her birth certificate so she had no claim to citizenship although thanks to her mother she held French as well as British citizenship.

‘But any guard or member of staff could see you not adhering to protocol. You should know better than to let your guard down, Clemence.’

‘No one’s looking. Besides, what will they do? Arrest me for lack of courtesy and take me to the tower?’

‘You are always so argumentative, Clemence.’ The first time they’d met in years and already they were at odds, the same old pattern. It was like the time he’d come to see her on her eighteenth birthday, and they had managed about fifteen minutes before she’d crashed out of the house in a rage, angry that he wouldn’t be there for her last school play, one she had helped direct as well as starred in, a labour of love she had wanted to share with both her parents. Angry that he wouldn’t even come for a walk with her in case they were seen. Angry that he’d refused her request to spend the summer in Asturia. She’d said bitter words, a lifetime of resentment and hurt spilling out, and in the end he had simply walked away. Soon after he’d made it clear it was no longer safe for Arrosa to spend her summers in Cornwall.

Their relationship had never really recovered; it had never had the opportunity. It wasn’t as if they ever spent time together to repair it, his calls infrequent, his visits even more so.

Zorien Artega had done his duty materially. Her trust fund had been set up before she was born, more money was deposited in her account every birthday and Christmas and upon her mother’s death she’d found out the house had been held in trust for her. There were times when she’d wanted to throw her trust fund back at him, to tell him that she needed nothing from him. But without it she had nothing. No family, no security net, no proof of who she was and that anyone had ever cared about her.

But he was here now, and this was what she had wanted, had hoped for. She couldn’t allow her temper and age-old hurt to get in the way. ‘I’m going to make coffee,’ she said in as conciliatory a manner as she could manage. ‘Sure you don’t want some?’

He continued to survey her for another long moment, then nodded. ‘Coffee would be nice.’

They didn’t speak again until Clem had set the coffee pot onto the table, quickly ducking into the bedroom and throwing a dress over her bikini and pulling a comb through her hair. After a moment’s hesitation she added a wrap, a dash of lipstick and some mascara. It wasn’t that she wanted to impress her father, but she did want the protection of respectability. She returned to the kitchen, pouring the milk into a jug and tipping some biscuits onto a plate, carrying the lot outside. She took a seat opposite him and handed him a cup.

‘It’s beautiful here. I always thought the house in Cornwall the most perfect setting, and I do like to be beside the sea, but if I can’t have the sea then a lake is certainly a good substitute.’

‘Your sister seems happy here,’ Zorien said. ‘I had my doubts when she wanted to move out of her apartments in the palais, but this seemed like a good compromise. She is still protected by the palais guards, still looked after by the staff but she has some independence.’

Somewas the relevant word here; Clem knew her sister’s comings and goings were recorded and scrutinised but it was a compromise Arrosa had made and it wasn’t for her to comment.

Zorien sipped his coffee then set his cup down. ‘How are you, Clem? It can’t have been easy for you the last few months.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘Aren’t I always? Stay out of trouble and need nothing, that’s my role.’

But he didn’t rise to the bait, looking her over with eyes that were suddenly kind, and she blinked; kindness was almost more than she could bear. ‘You shouldn’t have had to deal with your mother’s illness alone,’ he said. ‘I’m more sorry about that than you can know.’

‘The nurses you paid for were more than helpful.’ The least she could do was give credit where credit was due. ‘And Maman loved the gifts you sent. You always seemed to know what would cheer her up.’ Every day something new would arrive, her mother’s favourite flowers, gloriously soft cashmere socks and wraps, fresh baskets of fruit, luxury creams and lotions, delicate cakes to tempt a disappearing appetite.

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