‘Life,’ she said theatrically and gave an even more theatrical sigh. ‘Plus the fact that no one finds my fashion sense sexy.’

Fashion? He could hardly see her. She was a diminutive figure in waterproofs that were far too big for her. Her boots were caked in mud and there was a fair bit of dung attached as well. She was a shapeless, soggy mass, but she was patting the cow before her with real affection, waiting for the next song to start before launching herself into her own personal theatrical performance.

Was she sexy? Maybe not but here it was again, a stirring of something that was definitely not unsexy interest.

Which was crazy, he told himself again, even more severely than the last time he’d told himself. He’d come here for one reason and one reason only. He expected to put Marc on the plane to Alp d’Estella-with or without attachments-and then get the hell out of this mess. He’d thought this through. He could fit the requirements of the regency in with his current work. He’d install Charles Mevaille as administrator. Charles was more competent than he’d ever be. Sure there’d be times when he needed to inter-vene personally, but for the most part he could get himself back to the life that he loved.

Did he love his life?

Whoa. What was he thinking? He surely loved his life better than a life of being in the royal goldfish bowl-and he liked his life better than the one this woman was leading.

But she sang. She sang straight after she cried.

So she was better at putting on a cheerful face than he was. The singing must be a part of that, he realised. It was a tool to force herself away from depression.

Why was she here?

He washed the udder of a gently steaming cow, and attached the cups with skills he’d learned as a kid. Despite her singing, Pippa hadn’t relaxed completely. She was watching him, he knew, uncertain yet that she could trust him with cows that were her livelihood.

What had she been facing if he hadn’t turned up this afternoon? What would they have eaten? Maybe Pippa would have figured some way to feed them. She looked like a figuring type of woman.

But the house had been freezing, and she hadn’t figured out a way to stop that. Surely this farm wasn’t a long-term proposition?

It couldn’t be, and that must make a proposition of another life welcome. But he wasn’t sure. She’d obviously been told enough of Alp d’Estella’s royal family to react with disgust.

That wasn’t surprising. Alice-Gianetta’s mother-had fled to Australia for much the same reasons as his own mother had fled to France. Alice had done it much more successfully though, living her life in relative obscurity.

‘Excuse me, but Peculiar’s cups need taking off,’ Pippa called, hauling him back to the here and now. He’d been wiping teats and putting on cups without paying attention to the end of the queue. But…

‘Peculiar?’

‘The lady with the white nose and the empty teats at the end of the line. She was first in and now she’s ready to leave.’

‘You call a cow Peculiar?’

‘You want to know why?’

‘Yes.’ He removed Peculiar’s cups and released her from her bail.

She didn’t go.

‘See,’ Pippa said.

‘If I had the choice I wouldn’t want to head out into the dark and stormy night either.’

‘She never wants to go outside. And when she’s out she doesn’t want to come in. The other cows look at her sideways.’

‘So you gave her a nice reassuring name like Peculiar.’

‘I could have called her Psycho but I didn’t.’

He gave the cow a slap on the rump. ‘Out.’

Peculiar retaliated by kicking straight back at him. But Max had spent years of his life in a dairy and he was fast. He sidestepped smartly, just out of range of the slashing hooves.

‘Neatly done,’ Pippa said. ‘But see? Psycho. I always milk her first and get her out of the way.’

‘You could have called her Psycho then.’ Peculiar was ambling out now, content that there was no more opportunity to wreak havoc. ‘Peculiar gives warm connotations of a mildly eccentric aunt.’

‘I’m a nice person. I’m giving her leeway to reform.’

He stared out at her through the rain. Pippa was nice? She definitely was, he thought. Nice, and very, very different.

‘What the hell are you doing on a dairy farm?’ he demanded.

‘Same as you. Milking cows.’

‘But you’re a nurse.’

‘That was my first job. I have better things to do with my life now.’

‘Since Gina and Donald were killed.’

‘What do you think? Should I say, Ooh, my career in nursing is far more important than taking care of my best friend’s orphaned children? Don’t stop now, Mr de Gautier. Big-bum’s waiting for her cups.’

‘Big-bum.’

‘The next cow,’ she retorted. ‘Do what I do for a bit, Mr de Gautier. Do what comes next and don’t look further.’

She turned her back on him, ostensibly to bring in the next cow, but he suspected it was more than that-a ruse to bring the conversation to an abrupt end.

Which suited him. He had enough information to assimilate for the time being.

Marc’s voice came back to him. ‘This is our Pippa.’ It had been a declaration of family.

Would Our Pippa agree to accompany the kids?

Do what comes next and don’t look further. He attended to Big-bum. She was indeed…Big-bum?

He shook his head, trying to clear emotions that were strange and unwelcome. He was here to give a message and go. He was not here to learn by heart a hundred and twenty cows’ names.

Pippa looked about fourteen, Max thought. And then he thought: She looks frightened.

She ushered in half a dozen more cows and he milked in silence. There were a couple of soppy songs on the radio but she’d stopped singing.

‘You’re here to take the children to Alp d’Estella,’ she said into the stillness and he raised his head and met her challenging look head-on. Not for long though. Her eyes were bright with anger and he was starting to feel…ashamed? Which was crazy. This was a fantastic opportunity he was handing these children. He had no reason to feel ashamed.

‘And you,’ he admitted. ‘If you want to go.’

‘When did you arrive in Australia?’

‘About nine hours ago.’

‘From France?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’ll have jet lag,’ she whispered, so softly he barely heard. ‘You’ll not be making sense. We’ll leave this discussion for later. Meanwhile turn the radio up, would you? It’s not loud enough.’

‘You don’t want to talk any more?’

‘Not now and maybe not ever,’ she snapped. ‘Our life is here. Meanwhile let’s get these ladies milked.’

‘You need to think about-’

‘I don’t need to think about anything,’ she snapped. ‘I need to sing. Turn the radio up and let me get on with it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ There was nothing left for him to say.

It took them just under two hours. Pippa saw the last cow amble back down to the paddocks with relief. She closed the gate and turned to fetch the hose but Max swung out of the milking pit and reached the hose before her.

‘I’ll sluice the dairy,’ he told her. ‘You go in and get warm.’

‘I need to clean the vats.’

‘Why? We haven’t used them.’

‘I have to figure what caused the contamination.’

‘Old tubing?’

‘Maybe, but I can’t afford new so all I can do is scrub.’

If the tubing was corroded no amount of scrubbing would help and from the despair etched behind her eyes he thought she knew it. ‘Pippa, don’t worry about it tonight,’ he said gently. ‘You look exhausted.’

‘You’re the one with jet lag.’

‘You’re the one who looks like you have jet lag.’

She flushed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that another hot shower won’t cure.’

He smiled at that, thinking of how many hot showers had been enjoyed today. ‘Lucky you have a decent hot water service.’

‘If we ran out of hot water I might be tempted to walk away,’ she told him. ‘But don’t worry. I won’t. Regardless of your plans for our family.’

‘Pippa…’

‘I’m going,’ she said and cast him a darkling look. ‘I don’t have a clue what’s going on, so I’ll take a shower and leave you to my dairy.’

She left him to it. By the time she reached the door he was already working methodically with the hose, sluicing from highest level to lowest. He knew what he was doing.

Which was more than she did.

She knew so little of this royal bit-only what Alice had told Gina. But: ‘We’re best out of it,’ she’d said. ‘Gina needs have nothing to do with them, and neither do I. They’re corrupt and they’re evil. It’s a wonder the country hasn’t overthrown them with force. Anyway I refuse to look back. I’ll only look forward.’

Alice had died too young, Pippa thought sadly-a lovely, gracious lady who’d made Pippa’s life so much happier since Gina had brought home her ‘best friend from school’.

Pippa owed them everything. She and Gina had been so close they were almost sisters. They were both only children of single mothers, but Gina’s mother had cared, whereas Pippa’s…

‘Gina and Alice were my family,’ Pippa told herself as she squelched through the mud on her way back to the house. ‘And Gina’s kids are now my kids. If Max What’s-His-Name thinks he can step in and take over…’

She shook herself, literally, and a shower of water sprayed out around her. Dratted men. Men meant trouble and Maxsim de Gautier meant more trouble than most. She knew it.

But right now he was back in the dairy and she’d reached home.

She poked her nose through the back door and warmth met her and the smell of the makings of her pie simmering on the stove and the sound of Sophie and Claire giggling. They were sitting in front of the fireguard playing with their dolls. Dolores had nosed the fireguard aside and was acting as a buffer between twins and fire, soaking up all the heat in the process.