She had felt it the first time they met when the memory of the caged cheetah had come into her mind. She felt it again now, so strongly that for a moment she couldn’t collect her thoughts and answer his question.
Then she pulled herself together. “Six weeks... is that all right?’
Walking back to his friend Kesri’s apartment, a place the Prince seldom used himself but kept for the benefit of his aged great-aunts who belonged to an era when India’s royal families had enjoyed every possible luxury, Alex wondered if in picking Nicole Dawson for the post he had made an error of judgment.
Her qualifications and those of the other finalist were evenly matched. He had selected Nicole for no better reason than that he wanted to see more of her...in every sense of the term.
He had found her attractive the first time he interviewed her, and today’s lunch had heightened her allure. There was something elusive about her that appealed to the hunter in him. Women who were pushovers left him cold.
He remembered her explanation of why she was on her own. I loved someone when I was younger. Unfortunately it didn’t work out. Since then I’ve concentrated on my work.
That, in essence, replicated his own situation. His job, and the places it took him to, precluded any close, long-term relationships. He was a loner and had been for a long time. As long as she understood that, and he’d already indicated the way things were with him, they could have a good time together. But like Kesri’s liaisons, his own had to be without strings. There was no way he could share his life with a woman.
When Nicole told Dan about her new job, he said, ‘Is it in London?’ Then, his expression hopeful, ‘Are we going to live there?’
Anxious to give him time to assimilate the change, she said, ‘Would you like that?’
Dan nodded vigorously. ‘It’d be great. I’d miss Granpa, of course, but I wouldn’t miss her! Not having her breathing down our necks would be brilliant That’s one of the reasons I’m looking forward to being a boarder next term.’
It was the first time he had said in so many words that he didn’t like his step-grandmother.
‘No, it isn’t in London. It’s somewhere much further away...somewhere abroad,’ Nicole told him.
Far from looking dismayed, he looked pleased. ‘America?’
She shook her head, praying that what she said next wouldn’t make him look crestfallen. ‘Rajasthan...it’s in India.’
For a moment or two he looked startled. Then his eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘You’re not kidding me, are you? Wow, that’s brilliant, Mum.’ A flicker of doubt subdued his initial enthusiasm. ‘It’s a long way. Won’t the air fares be way too expensive for me to come for the holidays?’
‘On what I’m going to be earning that won’t be a problem. But it does mean we won’t see each other except in the long holidays. I can’t come back for your half-term and weekend leaves.’
‘We can email each other every day. But, Mum, will you be all right...in India all by yourself?’
His concern made her smile, but there was a lump in her throat. ‘You needn’t worry about me. I’ll be living in a palace.’
She began to tell him everything she knew about the Prince and the picturesque walled city on the fringe of the desert.
Soon after Dan was born, her father had taken steps to ensure that his grandson could be educated at the independent school where he and his father and grandfather had been pupils. It was a family tradition that, in some ways, Nicole would have liked to break. In her heart she wasn’t in favour of boys being sent away from home at the tender age of thirteen.
But Marsden wasn’t one of England’s famous public schools like Eton or Gordonstoun. It was a more modest establishment not far from where they lived. Also, not only had her father denied himself many pleasures to fund Dan’s education, Rosemary’s advent had changed Nicole’s view of the situation.
There was another factor to consider. The local state school had been going downhill under a lax head teacher. It had a reputation for disorderly behaviour and poor exam results. The principal of her father’s old school was a man of forceful character, with teenagers of his own. She felt Dan would be safer under his aegis than at the local day school with its overcrowded classrooms and lack of playground supervision.
Relieved to have her son’s backing, Nicole went down to break the news to her father and stepmother,
Predictably, Rosemary was outraged. ‘How can you even contemplate leaving your poor little boy?’ she expostulated. ‘It’s bad enough that he doesn’t have a father. For his mother to desert him—’
Keeping control of her temper, Nicole said quietly, ‘I’m not deserting him, Rosemary. It will only be for a short time. At the end of term, Dan can fly out to join me.’
To her relief, before Rosemary could resume her denunciation, Mr Dawson said firmly, ‘If you hadn’t taken the initiative, I was going to suggest that, with Dan away at school, it was time to broaden your horizons. You’re doing the right thing, my dear. For almost thirteen years you’ve adapted your life to Dan’s needs and that was right and proper. Now it’s time to consider your own needs...time to spread your wings. I can’t think of anywhere more exciting to do that than India.’
And then, to the surprise of both women, he directed a quelling glance at his wife and said with great firmness, ‘Nicole has made a decision which I think will benefit her and the boy. If you don’t agree, Rosemary, please keep your views to yourself.’
Nicole’s night-flight to Delhi landed early in the morning.
When she emerged from the airport building, pulling her suitcase behind her, a daunting scene greeted her. What seemed like hundreds of people were waiting to pounce on the passengers, grab their luggage and convey them to their final destination.
In her jet-lagged state she was strongly tempted to turn tail and go back inside the airport, especially as none of the placards with European names on them that were being brandished by some of the men behind the barricades had her name written on it.
Reluctantly making her way to the opening in the barrier through which other newly arrived foreigners were passing ahead of her, she braced herself to hang on to her luggage until whoever was meeting her materialised.
Then, with profound relief, she saw a familiar figure making his way towards her. She was so glad to see him, her face lit up with delight.
Towering over the crowd, Alex Strathallen was also noticeable for his air of complete relaxation in a situation fraught with the tension of too many porters and drivers competing for too few customers.
While everyone else was shoving and pushing, he moved through the crush with the ease of a tall and commanding figure to whom smaller, less assured people automatically gave way. But his expression, she noticed, was not the chilly hauteur to be seen in old sepia photographs of the British who had run India during the Raj. He was smiling as he moved through the press, exchanging friendly words with those who let him pass.
‘A bit of a madhouse, isn’t it?’ he said, when he reached her.
‘A bit,’ she agreed, with a smile. ‘I’m glad I have someone meeting me.’
‘Let’s get you out of this maelstrom. Our driver will take your case—’ he indicated an Indian who had come through the crush behind him ‘—and