The Royal Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
an anachronism?’ Taking his hand from her shoulder, he flicked the picture of Philippe dismissively. ‘What does this guy actually do other than get himself photographed? It’s not as if any of them do any work.’
Lotty thought of the long days smiling and standing until her back ached, of putting people at their ease and making them feel as if they had been part of something special even if they had just shaken hands with her. At the end of the day her hand was sometimes so sore she had to soak it in iced water to reduce the swelling.
Abruptly, she pushed back her chair so that Corran had to move out of the way. She carried her mug over to the sink. ‘I didn’t realise you were such an expert on European monarchies,’ she said coldly.
‘I’m not, but I’ve got several mates who became bodyguards after leaving the Army. It’s good money, I gather, but God, what a life, trailing around after obscure royals! Some of the stories they tell about the pampered brats they have to babysit would make your hair stand on end. They spend their entire day following these people around from shop to restaurant to party.’
‘Really?’ said Lotty, who had spent her entire life being shadowed by a member of the royal close protection team.
Montluce had few political problems, at least until the recent furore about the proposed gas pipeline, but it was an important financial centre, and the royal family’s wealth was enough to make them a target. Lotty’s first companions were lean, expressionless men whose eyes moved constantly and who were always on the alert to the slightest sound or movement.
‘It’s not much fun being trailed after either,’ she pointed out, and then, as Corran raised his brows, ‘I imagine.’
Rinsing out the mug, she set it upside down on the draining board and wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ she said.
Corran frowned. ‘Haven’t you finished for the day?’
‘I’ve just a bit of tidying up to do.’
‘The midges will be out soon,’ he warned.
‘I won’t be long.’
Lotty needed to be alone for a while. It had been odd seeing Caro and Philippe in that magazine, and she hadn’t been able to help laughing at the idea of Caro’s unconventional dress style coming into fashion, but Corran’s attitude to the Montlucian monarchy had stung. That was her family he had dismissed as being lazy, pointless and out of touch.
It was ironic that Philippe was probably the person who would most agree with him.
The conversation had depressed her, underlining as it did the gulf between them. It had left her feeling disloyal and guilty for being so happy at Loch Mhoraigh.
Calling for Pookie, she walked down to the cottages, her hands stuffed into her pockets. The little dog frolicked around her ankles and she thought about how much she would miss him when she left. The loch was grey and choppy under sullen clouds, and there was a rawness to the air that made Lotty zip up the collar of her fleece. On a day like this, it ought to be easy to feel nostalgic for the green hills and serene lakes of Montluce but there was an elemental grandeur to the Scottish mountains that caught at Lotty’s throat, no matter what the weather.
That made her feel bad too. She was a Princess Charlotte of Montluce. She loved her country. She shouldn’t feel like this about another one, as if Scotland was where she belonged. As if it was going to tear her heart out when she left.
Lotty vented her confused feelings on the floorboards, getting down on her knees to scrub them vigorously. She didn’t want things to change, but they couldn’t stay like this for ever.
She should start giving some thought to leaving soon. She had saved most of her housekeeper’s wage, derisory though it was. She had enough to move on, and maybe get a job somewhere else for her last month of freedom.
Or perhaps she should just go home to Montluce. That was where she belonged, after all. Her grandmother might be autocratic, but Lotty was her only real family now and she would need her granddaughter’s support.
Philippe would be leaving Montluce as soon as his father was well enough to take over his duties once more, and then Lotty would have to be ready to step back into the role she had been born for. But she couldn’t go back to the way she had been before. Not after being here with Corran. Somehow she was going to have to do something to make her life bearable when she got home.
Then she caught herself up. Bearable? What kind of self-pitying nonsense was that? Lotty flinched inwardly, ashamed of herself. She had more money than she knew what to do with. Everyone loved her—the papers were always saying so. She never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from. Millions of people would love to be in her position.
They’d love to have nothing to do all day except be shown around factories and community projects. They’d love to shake hands and smile, no matter how fed up they were feeling. They’d love to have to be careful about everything they wore and everything they said and everything they did. They’d love to spend their lives living up to other people’s expectations.
But she was the one going to have to do it.
And she would, Lotty vowed. As for the time she had left here with Corran, she would make the most of it and refuse to let herself have any regrets.
Corran had been right about the midges. Lotty had to run back to the house, frenziedly batting them away from her ears while Pookie scampered beside her, unclear about the reason for all the urgency but barking with excitement anyway.
In the kitchen, Corran had papers spread all over the table.
‘Oh.’ Lotty stopped, slapping the last few midges from her hands and neck. It was all very well to decide to make the most of things, but all at once the atmosphere seemed awkward. ‘I was going to start the supper. Will I disturb you?’
‘No, you carry on,’ said Corran. ‘I thought it would be easier to do this here than on the computer, but I can move if I’m going to be in your way.’
Why were they suddenly being so polite to each other? Lotty hated it. She washed her hands at the sink.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I heard back from the finance company I approached about investing in the estate this morning,’ he told her. ‘It just so happens that Dick Rowland, one of the directors, is coming up to the Highlands with his wife. He suggested calling in on their way to Skye to have a look round the estate.’
‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’ It was difficult to tell from his expression.
Corran straightened the page of figures in front of him as if trying to decide. ‘It goes against the grain to ask for help,’ he said after a moment, ‘but the fact is, I’m going to need extra money to get the estate up and running again, and I’m lucky to get any interest at all from investors in the current market. So yes, it’s good news—but Rowland won’t make up his mind until he’s seen what we’re doing.’
‘I thought the idea was that income from the cottages would be ploughed back into the estate?’ Lotty dug in the vegetable basket for an onion.
‘It will be, but it’s going to take a while for the money to start coming through. We might pick up one or two Christmas lets but, realistically, we won’t get many takers until next Easter. I need to be investing in breeding stock this autumn. If Dick Rowland is prepared to invest in the estate, I can get going.’
Lotty picked up a knife and sliced the top off the onion. She was getting better at cooking basic meals, or perhaps she was just getting more practice. She was never going to be a master chef, but at least she didn’t need to follow a recipe now to make shepherd’s pie.
‘So we need to impress him when he comes?’
Corran nodded. ‘It won’t be easy. Rowland’s a famously hard-headed businessman. He says it’ll just be an informal visit, but when I mentioned it to the bank manager