A Collector of Hearts (4 page)

           
“Well it looked like her. She said there was danger.”

           
“Really,” said Mrs Oakengate. Caroline did not like the
glance her employer exchanged with Blake. “Caroline I am so disappointed in
you.”

           
“So am I,” said Blake, grinning. “I thought you were
above such wild imaginings.”

           
Caroline folded her arms. “Well, thank you for coming to
my rescue, Mr Laurenson. Perhaps Mrs Oakengate and I should get some sleep
now.”

           
It was only when Caroline got into her bed, having
settled Mrs Oakengate down again, that she began to wonder how Blake Laurenson
had reached her door so quickly.

Chapter Four

Caroline sat alone in the
breakfast room, having had a bad night’s sleep, despite her drowsiness. She
felt how she sometimes felt if she had taken a sleeping pill but had failed to
properly sleep off its effects. All the other guests, including Mrs Oakengate,
had slept in, and for that she was grateful. She needed time alone to think
about what happened the night before. Not generally given to wild imaginings,
as Blake had said, she was slowly able to convince herself it was all a dream.
Clearly Lady Cassandra was a strong presence in the house, but only in an
abstract way. She existed as an entity only because the guests had heard so
much about her. Caroline reasoned that she too had heard so much about Lady
Cassandra that she must have had the abbey’s previous owner on her mind when
she dozed off to sleep.

           
“Boo,” said a voice softly from the door.

           
“I heard your footsteps, Mr Laurenson.”

           
“And you knew they were mine?” He walked into the room,
reminding Caroline of a sleek racehorse, with his long, lean legs, and helped
himself to some food off the side table.

           
“Of course I didn’t know they were yours. I assumed it
was one of the servants.”

           
“Not Lady Cassandra’s.”

           
“No. That, I’m sure, was just a nightmare. I’m sorry to
have disturbed you. If indeed I did.”

           
To Caroline’s consternation, instead of taking one of the
seats opposite, he came and sat down right next to her. “Now what can you mean
by that, Caroline?”

           
“Only that you got there very quickly.”

           
“You think perhaps I had time to change out of my Lady
Cassandra costume before I opened your door?”

           
Caroline laughed at that. “Probably not. Why are you
here? You’re not a friend of Jack Henderson’s. I worked that much out.”

           
“Did you? How?”

           
“Body language. You’re obviously not a close
acquaintance, and neither do I think you’re a runner for Hitchcock.”

           
“And you think I have some sinister motive for being
here?”

           
“I don’t know. If that were the case, then Mr Henderson
would be in on it too, unless you had deceived him in some way.”

           
“I’m a journalist.”

           
“Ah… and you wanted a look at how the rich and shameless
live.”

           
“No, I’m a political journalist, interested in recent
events in Cariastan. I wanted a look at our young prince.”

           
“Oh, I see. And Mr Henderson agreed?”

           
“In return for a good review for his next film in my
newspaper.”

           
“Which is?”

           
“
The Daily Diary.
You can check the by-lines in
this morning’s paper if you like. This week’s column is about Hitler and his
plans for the future of Germany.”

           
The newspapers lay on the sideboard, next to the food
dishes. Caroline stood up and went to look, finding the Daily Diary underneath
the times. Sure enough, on the political pages, there was an article by Blake
Laurenson, alongside a picture of the man who sat eating bacon and eggs across
the room from her.

           
“Why the subterfuge?” she asked, turning to him and
leaning on the sideboard. “Surely anyone reading this paper would see who you
are, including the prince.”

           
“Hardly anyone here reads the political pages.” Caroline
would probably have agreed with that. The majority of guests were from the
world of show business, apart from old Count Chlomsky and Prince Henri.

           
“I’m sure the prince would, given the political turmoil
in his own country.”

           
“I see you read them.”

           
“Sometimes. My aunt and uncle are very interested in
politics. I must admit I find them a bit boring. Someone told me about
Cariastan yesterday. I must admit I’d never heard of it before then.”

           
“Few people have. The name means Land of the Beloved.”

“That’s pretty.”

“The country is too. It’s
one of those tiny states in Europe surrounded by much bigger states. So small
one can walk across it in one day.”

           
“Then why do the Russians want it?”

           
“Because it’s on the way from Germany, and it would cut
off one of Hitler’s accesses should he decide to try to advance on Russia.”

           
“Is he going to do that?”

           
“He recently implemented a four year plan, to make
Germany ready for war. Cariastan is in a difficult situation. If the Russians
don’t take them, the Germans will. Unless a strong leader can be found.”

           
“And Prince Henri is that man?”

           
“What do you think?”

           
“Of Prince Henri?”

           
“Yes.”

           
“I don’t know. He isn’t what I expected.”

           
“All princes should be tall and handsome, I suppose.”

           
Caroline thought about it for a moment. “No, perhaps not.
But they should inspire confidence. Or have some presence. Prince Henri looks
like … well he looks like a bank clerk.”

           
“But they’re just people, like you and me, Caroline. They
eat, they sleep, and they have days when they feel down.”

           
“I don’t know what I mean then. Only that he wasn’t what
I expected, and since you ask, no, I’m not sure he’s the right person to lead
Cariastan. Having said that, I did only meet the man last night.” She walked
back to the table and sat down. “It seems to me you’re the best person to find
out, Mr Laurenson.”

           
Blake smiled. “Isn’t it time you called me Blake?
Especially as I’ve seen you in your nightdress. Very pretty it was too.”

The rest of Caroline’s day
was taken up with running errands for Mrs Oakengate. Once or twice she saw
Blake talking to other guests, but whenever he tried to talk to Prince Henri,
the prince quickly moved away. Blake was not the only one who had trouble
talking to the prince. Once in the afternoon, Count Chlomsky approached him.

           
“Your highness, if I may speak to you on a very important
matter.”

           
“Please, Chlomsky, not now. I am enjoying myself.” The
prince turned back to the dizzy actress. “Who wants to discuss affairs of state
when affairs of the heart are much more important.” As the prince spoke, Mrs
Oakengate entered the room, having returned from powdering her nose. The prince
very quickly forgot the dizzy blonde and dashed to Mrs Oakengate’s side. “My
dear lady. You are a vision of loveliness today.”

She wondered if the prince
had guessed Blake was a reporter, and did not want to be questioned. But that
did not explain his reluctance to talk to Count Chlomsky. The more she thought
about it, the more she felt that Blake’s explanation about allowing Jack
Henderson a good review in return for access to the prince was not much more
plausible than the ‘old friends’ excuse. Prince Henri seemed terrified of Blake
and Chlomsky, for reasons Caroline could not fathom. Perhaps, she thought, he
feared assassination. If what Blake said were true, Prince Henri was
Cariastan’s only hope of liberty from the Russians and the Germans. So it would
make him a prime target for an assassin from either side. Where, she thought,
did Blake’s loyalties lie? As for the Count, Caroline knew a little bit about
him from her aunt and uncle. He had once been a spy for the Russians, before
taking sides with the allies during the Great War and seeking asylum in another
country. A man who could change sides so easily might have no compunction in
going back to his old masters. If he had ever left them, that is.

Later that evening, there
was more informal dancing in the ballroom. The prince spent most of the evening
sitting next to Mrs Oakengate.

“You do me a great honour,
your highness, by spending time with an old woman.”

“You are nothing of the
sort, madam,” said the prince. “You are but a spring chicken. I can see why my
father fell in love with you.”

“Oh it was a grand affair,”
said Mrs Oakengate. “If not for his advisors telling him he could not marry an
actress, I am sure he would have asked for my hand. Instead he married a
chambermaid, which was rather perplexing under the circumstances,” she said,
pursing her lips. Then she remembered herself. “Of course, I’m sure your mother
was no ordinary chambermaid.”

“Did you know my mother?”
asked the prince.

“Well, only in that she
cleaned my room at the Cassandra.”

“The Cassandra?” Caroline
was suddenly alert.

“Yes, that was the name of
the hotel. Surely you’ve heard of the Cassandra chain of hotels, Caroline. Or
perhaps not. Millie and Jim are more prone to taking their holidays off the
beaten track, and among the lower classes, are they not?”

“Yes,” said Caroline. “We
once went to Tenby camping.”

“Good lord, what is the
world coming to? I’m sure you agree, your highness, being used to more
luxurious surroundings.”

“Exactly,” said the prince,
shaking his head sadly. “I do not understand all this hob-knobbing with the
lower classes. One should stick to one’s own kind.”

“How can you say that?”
asked Caroline. “When your mother was a chambermaid who married a prince?”

“Caroline!” Mrs Oakengate
only just fell short of slapping Caroline’s hand, moving her own hand away at
the last minute. “Please excuse her, your highness. The Haxbys are socialists
and have this silly idea that we are all equal.”

“We are all equal,” said
Caroline.

“Some of us are more equal
than others,” said Mrs Oakengate, with no trace of irony in her voice. “Now,
you will apologise to his highness for your insolence.”

“I apologise,” said Caroline,
“but it only seemed to me that…” She looked up and saw Blake standing nearby,
listening to the exchange with an amused expression on his face. “Never mind.
I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.”

“Yes, well I rather think
it’s time for bed, don’t you,” said Mrs Oakengate, yawning. “I find myself
utterly exhausted again. If you will give us your leave, your highness.”

“Are you going riding in the
morning, Mrs Oakengate?” asked the prince. “I desire more of your delightful
company. There is so much you can tell me about my father that I don’t know.”

“I’m afraid my riding days
are over,” said Mrs Oakengate. “But perhaps I shall see you at breakfast
afterwards.”

“I look forward to it.” The
prince stood up and made a courtly bow to Mrs Oakengate. Caroline he ignored.

Caroline helped her employer
to her feet, and led her towards the hallway. Mrs Oakengate stopped for a
moment to exchange pleasantries with Count Chlomsky.

“It is always good to see
you, Mrs Oakengate,” he said. His manner, though courtly, was more natural than
the prince’s and Caroline really did believe that he meant what he said to Mrs
Oakengate.

“I believe we haven’t seen
each other since Fazeby Hall,” said Mrs Oakengate, holding out her hand.
“Goodness, that must be sixteen years ago.”

“I believe that is so.”

“We all thought you were a
crook, and it turned out to be Caroline’s father.”

“Ah…” The Count smiled. “The
English always mistrust the foreigner first, dear lady.” He turned to Caroline.
“I met your mother. I even visited her in jail. Would you forgive me if I said
that I believed she was more sinned against than sinning?”

“Thank you, Count Chlomsky.
My Aunt Millie always says the same.”

“It is true. And her novels
still sell, do they not?”

“Yes, there’s money in
notoriety,” said Caroline, through tight-lips. “It paid my school fees if
nothing else.”

“Such is the world,” said
the count, sadly. “One must be notorious in able to attract attention.”
Caroline had the strange feeling he was talking about himself and Mrs
Oakengate, who was at that moment watching the prince walk up the stairs.

“I just need to have a
little word with his highness,” she said, before leaving Caroline and the Count
alone.

“You like Mrs Oakengate,
don’t you?” said Caroline, not unkindly.

“I find her directness and
general way of looking at the world charming. She is selfish and demanding, of
that I am sure – I see it in the way she treats you and the way she has treated
previous companions – but Victoria Oakengate is also able to weather storms
that would… What is the word you English use? Scupper? Yes, she is able to
weather storms that would scupper most of us, simply by not allowing herself to
be aware of them. That takes a special talent.”