Sophie Weston - The Prince's Proposal

But Conrad was not thinking about his potential future subjects. Conrad was being as uncooperative as he knew how.

‘You can’t trust a word Heller says. If he’s signing a cheque he’ll want a damn sight more for it than a photograph of me in my gold trimmings, shaking his hand.’

Felix’s eyes slid away. Fortunately Conrad was looking at a couple of boys who had just arrived and were quartering the playground like secret-service agents, so he did not notice.

‘He’ll want to make money,’ Conrad said, following their progress with hawk-like vigilance. ‘What does he think we can do for him? Get him the inside track on the cigarette franchise?’

‘Er—no.’

‘Well, he’ll want something.’

Felix studied the grey sky as if he had just been appointed to the weekend-weather bureau.

‘Maybe he’s just a patriot,’ he suggested to the cloud cover.

Conrad was unimpressed. ‘Patriot? Peter Heller? He went through the patriots in London twenty years ago and left most of them poorer. He’s a fixer.’

‘A rich fixer,’ murmured the ex-king ruefully.

‘So he backed the right generals.’ Conrad shrugged. ‘He was a wide boy when he got out of Montassurro all those years ago. And he’s a wide boy now. We shouldn’t have anything to do with him.’

This was turning out more difficult even than Felix had expected.

‘That’s why I came over,’ he said craftily. ‘I really value your advice, you know. When you’ve heard the rest of my idea—’

But his grandson was one of the few people in the world ex-King Felix of Montassurro could not manipulate.

‘No,’ said Conrad briskly. ‘Whatever the rest of your idea is, the answer’s the same. No way. No. Now go away. I have work to do.’

Felix was undeterred.

‘No, you don’t. The children are perfectly happy.’ He waved a hand at the cheerful early-morning buzz.

‘That’s what worries me.’

Conrad swept the crowded urban school yard with a sector-by-sector surveillance. His eyes were narrowed in concentration. Not just vigilant, he was merciless as a hawk, too.

His eyes came to rest on the secret-service couple. At once the boys shoved their hands in their pockets and looked airily at the sky. Conrad’s eyes stayed on them, unwavering. They took their hands out of their pockets and tried hard to disappear into a chattering group.

His grandfather was rather relieved. It was easier to talk to Conrad when he was engaged in a power struggle with playground bullies. Ex-King Felix was not easily deflected from his argument but there was no doubt it was easier to set out your points when your grandson was not taking them to pieces one by one as you did so.

‘Think for a moment, my Conrad. What would it cost you?’ he said, his accent suddenly pronounced. ‘What would it really cost you to do this small thing for your country?’

Conrad did not take his eyes off the cauldron of the playground. ‘Don’t do your elderly-refugee act with me, Felix. Never forget, I can see the wires.’

His grandfather abandoned the heavy accent. ‘All right. But I only want one weekend out of your life. Is that so much to ask?’

‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘If it requires me to cosy up to Peter Heller. Absolutely too much.’

His grandfather made East European noises indicative of shock and disappointment.

Conrad looked down at him. He had passed his grandfather in height when he was fourteen. Now he towered over the older man. And it was not just the height that was different. Unlike his grandfather, Conrad had high cheekbones, and unblinking, slanted eyes so dark they were almost black even when he was smiling. They were intimidating, those eyes. He relied on them to keep control of the playground, as much as he relied on his speed of reaction. The only person they had failed to intimidate in the last five years was his grandfather.

Now Conrad said with feeling, ‘I’m already kissing goodbye to every Saturday morning. Just so I can teach a lot of kids, who don’t want to learn it, a language that they will never use. At least, not unless they manage to get in touch with the ghosts of their great-grandparents.’ He added bitterly, ‘And I’m not good with kids.’

‘Rank has its obligations,’ said his grandfather, grinning. ‘I’d trade rank for the occasional Saturday morning lie-in.’

‘Unfortunately, rank is not a tradeable commodity.’

Conrad flicked up one black eyebrow. ‘No?’ he said mockingly. ‘And there was me, thinking you wanted me to hire myself out as Rent-a-Gent to Heller Incorporated.’

His grandfather snorted. ‘You’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself.’

But suddenly Conrad was not attending. ‘Hell, that monster is going to strangle the kid with her own plait,’ he muttered. He set off in the direction of the intended mayhem and intensified his voice so that it bounced off the playground walls. ‘Gligor!’

An intent ten-year-old looked up, momentarily arrested.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ advised Conrad, arriving.

The ten-year-old narrowed his eyes, assessing the situation with the air of an experienced criminal. Meanwhile a small girl with a plait was sweetly unaware that she had ever stood in any danger; or that it had been averted, however temporarily. But she knew that Crown Prince Conrad had been graciously pleased to approach their group. Her eyes lit up and she broke out a slightly wobbly curtsey.

‘Your Royal Highness,’ she said, staggering a bit as she came up from the bob.

Conrad sighed and steadied her automatically.

‘Why do they do that?’ he muttered.

His grandfather came up, rather more sedately.

‘You’re royal and they do ballet classes,’ he said, answering the question literally. ‘Put the two together and curtsies become inevitable.’

As if to prove his point, that was the moment at which the small girl identified him. She squeaked, ‘Your Majesty,’ and sank to the ground, head bowed, red dirndl skirts billowing.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Conrad, exasperated.

‘Me?’ His grandfather was wounded. But he looked down at the small tumble of scarlet skirt and chestnut pigtail that did not rise from the ground. He was a touch disconcerted at this excess of respect. ‘Well, well, child, that’s enough. Get up now.’

Conrad gave a sharp sigh. ‘Don’t you see, she’s trying?’

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