The Prince's Proposal. Sophie Weston
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don’t need to,’ he said, ever rational. ‘You got out of bed before eight on a wet Saturday morning to blag me into it. That means you know I won’t agree willingly.’
‘You are so suspicious,’ mourned his grandfather. He pulled the gloves on and stamped his feet a bit to warm them. His highly polished shoes were not designed for the puddle-strewn concrete. They seemed to be letting in water.
‘Learned from experience,’ said Conrad drily.
He had a dark, secretive face. But, during these Saturday sessions, most of the time it looked as if it was on the edge of laughter. Just at the moment, it had tipped over the edge into outright amusement.
Amusement, Felix Domitio knew, did not bode well for his grand design. He banished thoughts of a warm fire, at least for the moment.
Instead he folded his newly gloved hands over his old-fashioned waistcoat and said virtuously, ‘But it’s such a good cause.’
‘Sure it is. That’s why I’m going out to Montassurro with the relief expedition just as soon as we can get that mobile hospital equipped.’
‘Well, then, my idea is such a tiny thing to do, in comparison,’ said Felix in triumph. ‘All you have to do is climb into the Mountain Hussars uniform and be polite to people.’
The dark face hardened. ‘You mean prance around like something out of a Strauss operetta wearing a lot of medals I’m not entitled to.’
When he wasn’t laughing Conrad Domitio could look quite forbidding, thought his grandfather.
‘You’re entitled,’ he protested. ‘I confer them on whomever I want.’
Conrad shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, do you? All right, Grandad. Medals I didn’t earn. Does that make it clearer?’
His grandfather hunched his shoulders pettishly. ‘You’re such a puritan.’
But Conrad was laughing again. ‘Sorry about that.’
Felix huddled his coat round him and stamped his feet some more.
‘Take this place, for example,’ he said, momentarily distracted. ‘You know your aunt offered you the big room in the house at Prince’s Gate for your class. You don’t have to trail out to a wretched housing estate. So dreary.’
There was a slightly dangerous pause. I wish I hadn’t said that, thought Felix.
‘You need to get out more,’ Conrad said at last. But he was not laughing any more. He spoke curtly. ‘It’s a perfectly OK housing estate. It’s where the children live. I teach them the language of their grandfathers. I know why I do it. I’m never quite sure why they do. They would much rather be watching television or playing computer games. If I didn’t come to them, if they had to struggle up to central London, it might just tip the balance. And then they wouldn’t come. OK?’
Felix backtracked fast. ‘Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Put it down to the early morning and wet feet. Now, about the people you need to be nice to. Peter Heller’s made me an offer to fund the mountain clinic for the first year—’
There was an odd silence. Felix found Conrad was looking at him in disbelief.
Eventually he said, ‘You do need to get out more. Heller’s as cunning as a fox. He never gives anything for nothing, least of all money.’
But Felix thought that was not the first thing he had intended to say.
‘Well, maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But this time I think he genuinely wants to help the relief effort.’
‘No, he doesn’t. Peter Heller has never had a disinterested urge in his life.’
The children were beginning to arrive. Conrad greeted them as they passed. He knew everyone by name, Felix saw. Some of the smaller girls gave a quick, shy bob in response to Conrad’s smile.
Felix gave a sharp sigh. What a king Conrad would have made, he thought wistfully. So shrewd, so tenacious, such an excellent judge of character. He pulled himself together. Might still make, if things turned out as Felix hoped and planned. As long as he could persuade Conrad, of course.
But Conrad was not thinking about his potential future subjects. Conrad was being as uncooperative as he knew how.
‘You can’t trust a word Heller says. If he’s signing a cheque he’ll want a damn sight more for it than a photograph of me in my gold trimmings, shaking his hand.’
Felix’s eyes slid away. Fortunately Conrad was looking at a couple of boys who had just arrived and were quartering the playground like secret-service agents, so he did not notice.
‘He’ll want to make money,’ Conrad said, following their progress with hawk-like vigilance. ‘What does he think we can do for him? Get him the inside track on the cigarette franchise?’
‘Er—no.’
‘Well, he’ll want something.’
Felix studied the grey sky as if he had just been appointed to the weekend-weather bureau.
‘Maybe he’s just a patriot,’ he suggested to the cloud cover.
Conrad was unimpressed. ‘Patriot? Peter Heller? He went through the patriots in London twenty years ago and left most of them poorer. He’s a fixer.’
‘A rich fixer,’ murmured the ex-king ruefully.
‘So he backed the right generals.’ Conrad shrugged. ‘He was a wide boy when he got out of Montassurro all those years ago. And he’s a wide boy now. We shouldn’t have anything to do with him.’
This was turning out more difficult even than Felix had expected.
‘That’s why I came over,’ he said craftily. ‘I really value your advice, you know. When you’ve heard the rest of my idea—’
But his grandson was one of the few people in the world ex-King Felix of Montassurro could not manipulate.
‘No,’ said Conrad briskly. ‘Whatever the rest of your idea is, the answer’s the same. No way. No. Now go away. I have work to do.’
Felix was undeterred.
‘No, you don’t. The children are perfectly happy.’ He waved a hand at the cheerful early-morning buzz.
‘That’s what worries me.’
Conrad swept the crowded urban school yard with a sector-by-sector surveillance. His eyes were narrowed in concentration. Not just vigilant, he was merciless as a hawk, too.
His eyes came to rest on the secret-service couple. At once the boys shoved their hands in their pockets and looked airily at the sky. Conrad’s eyes stayed on them, unwavering. They took their hands out of their pockets and tried hard to disappear into a chattering group.
His grandfather was rather relieved. It was easier to talk to Conrad when he was engaged in a power struggle with playground bullies. Ex-King Felix was not easily deflected from his argument but there was no doubt it was easier to set out your points when your grandson was not taking them to pieces one by one as you did so.
‘Think for a moment, my Conrad. What would it cost you?’ he said, his accent suddenly pronounced. ‘What would it really cost you to do this small thing for your country?’
Conrad did not take his eyes off the cauldron of the playground. ‘Don’t do your elderly-refugee act with me, Felix. Never forget, I can see the wires.’
His grandfather abandoned the heavy accent. ‘All right. But I only want one weekend out of your life. Is that so much to ask?’
‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘If it requires me to cosy up to Peter Heller. Absolutely too much.’
His grandfather made East European noises indicative of shock and disappointment.
Conrad