Chapter One #3
‘No, there were items sitting on the dressing table but I didn’t go over to them or touch anything. I cleaned, changed the bed and put fresh towels in the en suite,’ she recounted.
The young maid stalked in. ‘Have her trolley searched! She must’ve been in here while we were out,’ she condemned.
And then there was a whole fracas with Zia steadily proclaiming her blamelessness, various other guests appearing to ask what was going on and then finally the manager arrived looking world-weary and put upon.
‘My brooch has gone. The girl’s trolley should be searched,’ the guest insisted, treating Zia to a suspicious appraisal.
The manager told her to bring her trolley in and Zia retrieved it with resentment mounting high inside her small frame.
On request, she unloaded the trolley, stacking soiled towels into an untidy heap, and when she reached the final one, as she shook it out, something bright and glittering fell out and clinked on the polished floor.
It was a big brooch. Astonished, Zia froze while the manager stooped to pick it up and show it to the guest, who swiftly identified it and pinned it to her jacket.
As accusing eyes settled on Zia, she reddened. ‘I’ve never seen it before. I didn’t touch it or take it,’ she said through taut lips, her face as rigid as the rest of her.
‘We’ll discuss this downstairs in my office,’ the manager announced.
‘I want the police called. I want the thief to be arrested and punished,’ the guest declared fiercely. ‘What sort of hotel are you running that a guest’s jewellery can be stolen by one of your staff?’
‘I didn’t steal it,’ Zia murmured again but everyone simply ignored her.
She sat in the waiting area outside the manager’s officer while the angry guest chattered in her own language as she rang the Mandovian Embassy for assistance.
Why she should require assistance when her jewellery had been returned and the supposed perpetrator had been apprehended, Zia had no idea.
But Zia would’ve been glad of any kind of help or advice because she was feeling both sick and scared.
It went without saying that she had lost her job in the hotel where she had been working—not always legally—since she was fifteen as the owners were very friendly with Sandrine.
Unhappily, she had no way of proving her innocence.
Furthermore, if she was charged and arrested, a conviction for dishonesty could send her to prison and the resulting criminal record would destroy her future.
She felt sick and alone and very, very scared.
When a swaggering older man arrived and urged the complaining guest straight across the fancy lobby into the traditional tea room on the other side, Zia relaxed infinitesimally, relieved to no longer be the target of the woman’s accusing, angry stare.
The manager called her in and dismissed her, deaf to her pleas that she was being falsely accused.
As she returned to the waiting area the older man reappeared alone and strode into the office she had just vacated to address the manager.
A moment later, she was again called into the office as the manager departed.
‘I’m Mr Caccia from the Mandovian Embassy here in London,’ he informed her in a surprisingly upbeat tone. ‘Your manager has loaned me his office so that I can speak to you in private, Your Highness.’
Her frown evaporated in her surprise as she glanced up, amazed to be addressed by that title.
‘Of course, I know who you are,’ he told her with wry amusement.
‘And Mandovians definitely don’t want to be embarrassed by reading in the newspapers that their Princess has been arrested for theft.
This is a sensitive time in Mandovia with the reunification imminent.
I have a proposal to make to you and I can see that you need practical help. ’
Her frown line pleated her brows afresh. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I can protect you from a criminal charge of theft and bury this whole unsavoury matter,’ he informed her. ‘But in return you would have to come out to Mandovia for at least six months—’
‘That’s impossible for me—’
‘You would be generously paid for your time there and comfortably housed, all of your needs met,’ he assured her.
‘You would have to attend events on our behalf, tour Upper Mandovia to be seen and to engage with your people. That may seem challenging to you but you would be richly rewarded for meeting those expectations. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re crazy,’ Zia said weakly. ‘I’m only a princess by birth and I don’t know how to behave like one. While I would love to visit Mandovia some day, I have responsibilities here in London—’
‘An elderly woman and a small dog. Yes, we know everything there is to know about you, Your Highness, including the education you have been diligently pursuing. The woman and the dog may accompany you to Mandovia. Obviously, your education could be deferred and continued at a later date. With the benefit of better financial resources, life would be much easier for you than it is at present—’
‘Yes…but…’ Zia’s head was swimming at the sheer extent of the sweeping changes he was offering her.
She would give her right arm, literally, to break their dependency on Sandrine and the grind of almost-round-the-clock labour.
‘I would be paid for my time? And there would be accommodation included too?’ she double-checked in wonderment.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘My offer, which is official and courtesy of the Mandovian government, would provide you with a means of escape from your current trying circumstances below Sandrine Beccari’s roof.
Think about that fact and the possibilities.
Right now, you are in serious trouble…and only I can make the trouble go away,’ he completed smoothly.
‘We don’t even have passports,’ she muttered.
‘But you hold dual citizenship and the old lady is Mandovian as well. The embassy can immediately remedy the passport problem. However, the arrangements will take a couple of days to put in place,’ he warned her. ‘Meanwhile you can begin packing and preparing for your stay in Mandovia.’
Orazio froze as the prime minister strode into his office, ushered in by Harvey. Immediately rising from his desk, he strode forward to greet him, wondering why he was smiling broadly from ear to ear.
‘Mr Milano.’
‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ the older man responded, taking a seat, smiling again as an employee appeared with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
‘I’m the bringer of excellent news and I couldn’t wait to tell you what Massimo Caccia has contrived to achieve in London for us.
Princess Annunziata will be arriving in Mandovia within forty-eight hours—’
‘How on earth did he achieve that?’ Orazio enquired in frank astonishment.
‘Massimo doesn’t believe she ever received our official invitation or even knew of our interest. Apparently she lives in the basement of the London house in self-contained accommodation,’ Bruno Milano revealed.
‘He suspects her ex-guardian may have intercepted our communications for some nefarious reason of her own. According to Massimo, the young woman is delighted to agree to a six-month visit to Mandovia.’
Orazio nodded. ‘That is, indeed, good news. But what are you planning to do with her for six months?’