The Prince's Chambermaid

His words brought Cathy snapping straight back into reality. Why on earth was she hesitating for more than a second? This was the man who had haunted her dreams and her waking hours. The man who had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. Who had made her realise what glorious highs there could be in life…and what crashing lows, too. But he had taught her how to feel alive.

Yes, he was a prince, but in a way that was irrelevant—for the man with golden eyes had a power which he had exerted over her from the very start. Did he need her and wouldn’t that be the most glorious thing in the world—to be needed by Xaviero? Cathy swallowed. He wasn’t telling her anything and if she went to Zaffirinthos it would be on blind faith alone—a faith which might easily be misplaced and leave her as empty as a waterless well.

But there was no choice. Not when you felt the way she felt about Xaviero—no matter how many times she’d tried to tell herself that it was a complete waste of time. Sometimes you just had to follow your heart—to take a risk and leap into the unknown.

‘Yes, I’ll come to Zaffirinthos,’ she said.

Standing in the ornate splendour of one of the palace’s private offices, Xaviero expelled a long, low breath.

‘Have your passport ready,’ he instructed softly. ‘A car will be sent to pick you up at ten tomorrow morning—’

‘Xaviero, I have a new job.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ he said impatiently as he saw the red light of another phone begin to flash on his desk. ‘I’ve had my people check it out.’

My people? For some reason the words jarred. It sounded scary—and more than a bit controlling. ‘I can’t just walk out and leave them in the lurch.’

‘Don’t worry—all that will be taken care of. The store will be adequately compensated and a replacement found for you, if necessary.’

He barely even needed to think about it, she realised. Such was his power and his influence that he could simply shift people around like chess pieces. He had done it first with Rupert and now he was doing it again. Could that be good for a person? Was it good for her to be at his beck and call like this? ‘And I’ve moved. I’m not living where you think I’m living any more.’

‘I know that, too. Cathy, these are just minor details which can easily be resolved.’

Minor details? These minor details were her life! Cathy swallowed. It sounded so humdrum to ask—but she needed to know, or risk making a fool of herself. ‘And what…what shall I bring?’

‘Bring very little.’ There was a pause. ‘All that will be taken care of as well.’

Again, that sense of utter influence and dominance—that newly emphatic timbre to his voice. Surely he had not sounded quite that oppressive in the past? Did that mean her stay was to be short? ‘Xaviero, I—’

‘Look, I told you—I can’t talk now. It’s…I’ll see you tomorrow—there will be time enough then.’ There was a pause. ‘Goodbye, Cathy.’

She was left holding a buzzing receiver as he terminated the connection and when she’d replaced the receiver she didn’t move for a moment or two. As if expecting her phone to ring again and for someone to say that it had all been a mistake. That the Prince had temporarily taken leave of his senses.

But no such phone call came, and instead Cathy realised that what he’d said must be true. Pulling herself together, she went into her bedroom and packed a small suitcase—hideously aware of the shortcomings of her meagre wardrobe.

She spent the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment and the following morning she was up pacing the floor, her stomach a knot of anxiety, when the car arrived. It was the same dark, bullet-proofed limousine which she’d ridden in with Xaviero on their one proper ‘date’ to the polo club. It seemed like an age ago. Another life.

They sped with miraculous ease through the traffic—never seeming to be challenged until Cathy noticed the diplomatic flag fluttering on the vast and shiny bonnet and realised why. And then on to an airfield where a private plane was waiting, along with several hefty-looking officials who scanned her passport—was it her imagination, or were they looking at her askance?—before whisking her aboard the luxury jet.

She refused most of the fancy foods and drinks offered by two sleek female cabin crew, and the journey passed Cathy by in something of a blur. She felt a bit as she’d done after a general anaesthetic when she’d had her tonsils removed—all whoozy and disorientated—and it wasn’t until the plane began to descend towards a crescent-shaped island set in a sapphire sea that apprehension began to set in once more.