Of course. Ramón was the Crown Prince.

Only Ramón’s title didn’t explain things completely, Jenny decided. Ramón was here in his casual clothes. He didn’t look spectacular-or any more spectacular than he usually did-and a child wouldn’t respond to an adult this way unless there was a fair bit of hero worship going on.

‘Does Prince Ramón really come every week?’ she asked Consuela as she helped clear the table.

‘Every week since he’s been back in the country,’ the woman said. ‘We’re so grateful. Ernesto and I have had many foster children-some from very troubled homes-but Philippe’s so quiet we don’t seem to get through to him. He never says a thing unless he must. He hardly eats unless he’s forced, and he certainly doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. But once a week Ramón…I mean Crown Prince Ramón…comes and takes him out in his car and it’s as if he lights up. He comes home happy, he eats, he tells us what he’s done and he goes to bed and sleeps all night. Then he wakes and Ramón’s not here, and his parents aren’t here, and it all starts again. His Highness brought him his cat from the palace and that’s made things better but now…we’re starting to wonder if it’s His Highness himself the child pines for.’

‘He can’t have become attached to Ramón so fast,’ Jenny said, startled, and Consuela looked at her with eyes that had seen a lot in her lifetime, and she smiled.

‘Caro, are you telling me that’s impossible?’

Oh, help, was she so obvious? She glanced back to where Ernesto and Ramón were engaged in a deep conversation about some obscure football match, with Philippe listening to every word as if it was the meaning of life-and she found herself blushing from the toes up.

‘We’re hearing rumours,’ Consuela said, seemingly satisfied with Jenny’s reaction. ‘How lovely.’

‘I…there’s nothing.’ How fast did rumours spread?

‘There’s everything,’ Consuela said. ‘All our prince needs is a woman to love him.’

‘I’m not his class.’

‘Class? Pah!’ Consuela waved an airy hand at invisible class barriers. ‘Three months ago Philippe was Prince Royal. Now he’s the illegitimate son of the dead Prince’s mistress. If you worry about class then you worry about nothing. You make him happy. That’s all anyone can ask.’ Her shrewd gaze grew intent. ‘You know that Prince Ramón is kind, intelligent, honourable. Our country needs him so much. But for a man to take on such a role…there must be someone filling his heart as well.’

‘I can’t…’

‘I can see a brave young woman before me, and I’m very sure you can.’

All of this was thoroughly disconcerting. She should just shut up, she thought. She should stick with her new found serenity. But, as she wiped as Consuela washed, she pushed just a little more. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘You and Ernesto… You obviously love Philippe and you’re doing the best you can for him. But if Philippe wants to be at the palace… Why doesn’t Ramón…why doesn’t His Highness simply employ you to be there for him?’

The woman turned and looked at Jenny as if she were crazy. ‘Us? Go to the palace?’

‘Why not?’

‘We’re just farmers.’

‘Um…excuse me. Didn’t you just say…?’

‘That’s for you,’ Consuela said, and then she sighed and dried her hands and turned to Jenny. ‘I think that for you, you’re young enough and strong enough to fight it, but for us…and for Philippe…the lines of class at the palace are immovable.’

‘Would you try it, though?’ she asked. ‘Would you stay in the palace if Ramón asked it of you?’

‘Maybe, but he won’t. He won’t risk it, and why should he?’ She sighed, as if the worries of the world were too much for her, but then she pinned on cheerfulness, smiled determinedly at Jenny and turned back to the men. Moving on. ‘Philippe. His Highness, Prince Ramón, asked if you could have your swimming costume prepared. He tells me he wishes to take you to the beach.’

Football was abandoned in an instant. ‘In your car?’ Philippe demanded of Ramón, round-eyed.

‘In my car,’ Ramón said. ‘With Señorina Bertin. If it’s okay with you.’

The little boy turned his attention to Jenny and surveyed her with grave attention. Whatever he saw there, it seemed to be enough.

‘That will be nice,’ he said stiffly.

‘Get your costume, poppet,’ Consuela said, but Philippe was already gone.

So they headed to the beach, about five minutes’ drive from the farmhouse. Philippe sat between Jenny and Ramón, absolutely silent, his eyes straight ahead. But Jenny watched his body language. He could have sat ramrod still and not touched either of them, but instead he slid slightly to Ramón’s side so his small body was just touching his big cousin.

Ramón was forging something huge here, Jenny thought. Did he know?

Maybe he did. Maybe he couldn’t help but know. As he drove he kept up a stream of light-hearted banter, speaking to Jenny, but most of what he said was aimed at Philippe.

Did Gianetta know this little car was the most wonderful car in the world? Did she know he thought this was the only one of its kind that had ever been fitted with bench seats-designed so two people could have a picnic in the car if it was raining? Why, only two weeks ago he and Philippe had eaten a picnic while watching a storm over the sea, and they’d seen dolphins. And now the bench seat meant there was room for the three of them. How about that for perfect? And it was red. Didn’t Jenny think red was great?

‘I like pink,’ Jenny said, and Ramón looked as if she’d just committed blasphemy.

‘You’d have me buy a pink car?’

‘No, that’d be a waste. You could spray paint this one,’ she retorted, and chuckled at their combined manly horror.

Philippe didn’t contribute a word but she saw him gradually relax, responding to their banter, realizing that nothing was expected of him but that he relax and enjoy himself.

And he did enjoy himself. They arrived at the beach and Ramón had him in the water in minutes.

Jenny was slower. Señor Rodriguez had told her they often went swimming so she’d worn her bikini under her jeans, but for now she was content to paddle and watch.

The beach was glorious, a tiny cove with sun-bleached sand, gentle waves and shallow turquoise water. There were no buildings, no people and the mountains rose straight from the sea like sentinels guarding their privacy.

There’d be bodyguards. She’d been vaguely aware of cars ahead and behind them all day and shadowy figures at the farmhouse, but as they’d arrived at the beach the security presence was nowhere to be seen. The guards must be under orders to give the illusion of total privacy, she thought, and that was what they had.

Ramón had set this time up for Philippe. For a little cousin he was not beholden to in any way. A little boy who’d be miserable at the palace?

She paddled on, casually kicking water out in front of her, pretending she wasn’t watching.

She was definitely watching.

Ramón was teaching Philippe to float. The little boy was listening with all the seriousness in the world. He was aching to do what his big cousin was asking of him. His body language said he’d almost die for his big cousin.

‘If you float with your face in the water and count to ten, then I’ll lift you out of the water,’ Ramón was saying. ‘My hand will be under your tummy until we reach ten and I’ll count aloud. Then I’ll lift you high. Do you trust me to do that?’

He received a solemn nod.

‘Right,’ Ramón said and Philippe leaned forward, leaned further so he was floating on Ramón’s hand. And put his face in the water.

‘One, two three…ten!’ and the little boy was lifted high and hugged.

‘Did you feel my hand fall away before I lifted you up? You floated? Hey, Gianetta, Philippe floated!’ Ramón was spinning Philippe around and around until he squealed. His squeal was almost the first natural sound she’d heard from him. It was a squeal of delight, of joy, of life.

Philippe was just a little bit older than Matty would be right now. Ramón had worried about it. She’d dismissed his worry but now, suddenly, the knowledge hit her so hard that she flinched. She was watching a little boy learn to swim, and her Matty never would. Everything inside her seemed to shrink. Pain surged back, as it had surged over and over since she’d lost her little son.

But something about this time made it different. Something told her it must be different. So for once, somehow, she let the pain envelop her, not trying to deflect it, simply riding it out, letting it take her where it would. Trying to see, if she allowed it to take its course, whether it would destroy her or whether finally she could come out on the other side.

She was looking at a man holding a little boy who wasn’t Matty-a little boy who against all the odds, she was starting to care about.

The heart swells to fit all comers.

It was a cliché. She’d never believed it. Back at the hospital, watching Matty fade, she’d looked at other children who’d come in ill, recovered then gone out again to face the world and she’d felt…nothing. It had been as if other children were on some parallel universe to the one she inhabited. There was no point of contact.

But suddenly, unbidden, those universes seemed to have collided. For a moment she thought the pain could make her head explode-and then she knew it wouldn’t.

Matty. Philippe. Two little boys. Did loving Matty stop her feeling Philippe’s pain?

Did loss preclude loving?

How could it?

She gazed out over the water, at this big man with the responsibilities of the world on his shoulders, and at this little boy whose world had been taken away from him.

She knew how many cares were pressing in on Ramón right now. He’d taken this day out, not for himself, but because he’d made a promise to Philippe. Every week, he’d come. Affairs of State were vital, but this, he’d decreed, was more so.