The warm weather that came with the end of May held a promise of summer, and let the party guests wear their nicest spring clothes. I was in my usual suit and tie, but Etiènne chose a smart linen jacket and collarless shirt, while his fiancée sported a flowery one-shouldered little number from Laura Biagiotti. Many of the guests did not dress to that level of fashion, though Margherita’s school friends set a high standard for the women. Pietro and I didn’t have to man the gates, though we had supervised the checking of the catering vans, and were linked by radio to the personnel at the entrances, and here and there around the gardens. The gendarmerie would also be keeping an eye on things.

  All Pietro and I had to do mostly was watch our protectees, and mingle with the guests, keeping an ear out for problems. Neither of us expected anything to happen with a crowd like this. Our worst fear was a terrorist attack, but the party had not been publicised, the guests all known to the engaged couple, and we hoped, with good reason, it would not rise to anyone’s notice, especially when the season for garden parties had begun and there would be others of a much more glittering nature happening on the same Sunday.

  Etiènne made a speech at three o’clock, welcoming people and introducing Margherita to his friends. Before that, and for a little while after, the two of them walked around as a couple, talking to friends and being introduced. Then Margherita’s chums claimed her and waltzed her away, Pietro following discreetly, while Etiènne found his dive buddies and beckoned me over to chat to them about the summer. “Paul’s refreshing his dive training, Charles,” he told his friend. “I thought we might start him on tagging when we go out.”

  “Ever dived with whales before?” another of the group, Édouard, asked me.

  “No, but I’d love to. If I’m not suitable, I can just stay upstairs and help with equipment.”

  “Can’t see why we can’t give you a try. You have to start somewhere.”

  “Of course. I know the principle, but I’m not sure how hard it is to use the gun that accurately.”

  He and Charles took me aside to explain. We found a seat near a rockery, and Etiènne waved at me to say that this was fine. He was safe here. I could relax. Etiènne wandered off with another friend towards the institute’s offices.

  Gerard joined us, and I had to admit I became so engrossed in the conversation, I lost track of time, and certainly where Etiènne was. My first warning of trouble came when I heard a woman scream in anger, and then Margherita came running out of the offices with one of her girl friends, Pietro hard on her heels. I belted over. “What’s happened?”

  “That finocchio,” Margherita spat at me, followed by an angry tirade in Italian apparently directed at Etiènne.

  Confused, I looked at Pietro who flicked his head back towards the building. “In there. We’re leaving, Paul.”

  What the hell was going on? I ran to the offices. “Your highness? Where are you?”

  No response. I checked the loos and the main office on the ground floor, then went up the stairs to see if he was in one of the conference rooms. I found him in the second one I looked in. His head was in his hands, but he was quite alone. “Sir? Are you all right?”

  “No. No, wait, I’m fine, physically,” he said as I started towards him to check what was wrong.

  “What happened? Signorina di Pasqua was very upset. She and her guard have left the party.”

  “So should I, I suppose.” He stood and went searching on the floor in the corner of the room. I frowned, unable to discern what he was looking for. “Ah. There it is.”

  He held the handsome engagement ring Margherita had been showing off so proudly only an hour ago. “She’s ended the engagement, sir?”

  “Oh yes. She doesn’t want to be tied to un sale pédé after all.”

  “What the hell? Sorry, I mean—”

  With a wave, he dismissed my attempt to use more temperate language, then sat down heavily at a desk again. “One of my friends...we go back to University together. We were more than friends back then. We broke up, but it was all amicable. He came up to talk to me about my engagement, to wish me luck. He gave me a kiss out of friendship, but you know...not like a friend. She walked in right then. Her school friend is a mind reader. She’d kindly informed Margherita that I like boys too, but Margherita refused to believe her. But, well....” He rubbed his face. “The family are conservative Catholics. I keep forgetting there are people like that in the world. I tend not to encounter them in my world. Not like that, anyway.”

  “But if you explain there was nothing—”

  “There has been something in the past, and that’s all that matters, Paul.” He lifted sad eyes to mine. “I’m tainted, dirty to her.”

  “Not in mine,” I snapped, utterly furious at this happening to him. “Uh...sorry for speaking out of turn.”

  “It’s okay. Thank you. Anyway, it’s over. Even if she changed her mind, I don’t want to marry a homophobe.” His mouth formed a semblance of a smile. “Want an engagement ring? It’s going spare.” His attempt at the joke didn’t change the look in his eyes.

  “Keep it for the one who loves you better. Because you deserve someone better.”

  “Thank you. You’re...that’s really kind of you, Paul.” He put the ring in his pocket. “I should leave though. The party will end in an hour or so. Antoine can make my excuses. Would you be kind enough to talk to him, and we can slip out the back, if you order a taxi?”

  “Yes, of course. Do you want to wait here?”

  “Yes. I’m a coward but I can’t face everyone. Not now.”

  “I understand, sir. Do you want to go to the apartment?”

  “Of course. I hardly want to run back to London right now, and...oh God, I’m supposed to be at our offices tomorrow.”

  “May I suggest you call in sick, sir?”

  “Yes, I think I will. For the week, in fact.” He plastered a smile on his face. “Fancy a drive to the Médoc?”

  The family had a villa down there on the coast, which served as one of the base for the research teams in the summer. “Sounds lovely, sir.”

  “And we can turn the bloody phones off too. I’m not interested in being screamed at by all and sundry.”

  “No, sir. I’ll speak to Antoine.”

  He nodded and I went downstairs to find Antoine, the party organiser who had also acted as the MC for the event. I didn’t tell him what had happened, only that the prince had been called away, but that people were welcome to stay and enjoy the food and champagne. I thought he guessed something had gone wrong—Margherita had hardly been discreet—but kept his views to himself. I spoke to our security officers, and also to Charles who came over to ask what had happened. “He’s got a migraine,” I lied. “I’m taking him back to his apartment.”

  “Do you want any help, Paul? I think we have some medical doctors here.”

  I held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. He doesn’t want any fuss. Thank you for offering.”

  I called a taxi and waited for it, then called Etiènne to ask him to come downstairs. By then he looked as if he really did have a migraine. I helped him into the vehicle, and sat beside him as we went south, back into the city.

  The apartment was empty, since Danielle didn’t work on the weekends. He threw himself down on the couch in the living room. “You don’t need to keep the suit on, Paul,” he said. “I don’t plan to go anywhere tonight. You’re off duty now.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I put on some coffee before I change?”

  “Please. Don’t let me drink, for God’s sake. If I start, I’d never stop in this mood.”

  I put the kettle on, and went to my suite to change into a tidy shirt and clean jeans. When I returned from the kitchen with a tray, Etiènne had shucked his shoes and jacket, and was staring morosely at the unlit fireplace. I put the tray in front of him and poured a cup of coffee for him. “Have one too,” he said. “And would you like to sit? Unless you have something you’d rather be doing?”

  “No, I’d like to sit with you.” I poured myself a cup and sat on the couch next to his.

  “I should have told her,” he said after a bit. “But why? I had no intention of seeking another after we were married, or while we were engaged. I’m not like that. I didn’t ask for her sexual history. It's none of my business.”

  I nodded, but said nothing. I felt he just wanted to vent, and I was happy to listen.

  “My mother will be furious, of course. And her father....” He shook his head. “Her papa will call the wrath of God down on me.”

  “He better not try,” I felt moved to say. “She was wrong. Is wrong. You did nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He looked at me. “You’re really not bothered by me...I mean, the men...are you?”

  “No, sir. I’m bisexual too.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea.”

  “You never needed to. Who I sleep with should never be something our employers have to pay attention to.”

  “Do you...I mean, are you? You have someone now? God, what a rotten friend I am, never to ask.”

  I had to smile a little. “No, sir, there’s no one at the moment. It’s the way I like it.”

  “Ah. Another broken heart, I see.”

  “Just a divorce. Not amicable, but years ago. It’s nothing to be concerned about, sir.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, no...not that. I just meant, it doesn’t affect my doing the job.”

  “I can’t imagine you allowing that to happen. You’re too professional for that, Paul.”

  “Thank you, sir.” But I hadn’t always been, unfortunately. “Do you still want to go to the villa tomorrow?”

  He sighed. “I really do, but I can’t this week. Wish I could, though. Things will be insane, my parents will bombard me with messages and calls, and if she resigns, then that’ll throw things into turmoil at the office, and I just can’t deal with that kind of drama. Speaking of which....” He handed me his mobile phone. “Turn it off, leave it off. I’ll email Édith in a bit to let her know, and she can vet my messages. Everyone else can kiss my arse.”

  He grinned at me, and suddenly the image of his mother doing that made me giggle stupidly. That set him off, and in moments we were holding our stomachs and laughing like schoolboys. “Oh, God,” he said after a bit. “It’s all so bloody ridiculous, don’t you think? She’s ridiculous, I’m ridiculous. My mother...she’ll be the worst. Maybe I should run away to South America for a year.”

  “Need a bodyguard for that, sir?”

  Still chuckling, he said, “If I need a bodyguard anywhere, it’ll be you, Paul. Screw Armando di Pasqua.”

  “No, thank you, sir. He’s not my type.”

  That set him off again. “God, not mine, either.”

  He poured another coffee, and I thought he seemed better, so I dared to ask, “Will you go into work tomorrow then?”

  “No. Let things quiet down. In fact, I’ll go to London tomorrow evening, spend the week there, maybe longer. I can get my mother’s yelling out of the way, and I do have things to do there. After that, I can lay low for a few days. I might manage to go to the villa mid-June, though. I can go down early, prepare for the summer. How does that sound, Paul?”

  “Whatever you want, sir. London might be quieter right now.”

  He winced. “Yes. I imagine the phones are running hot between here and Milan. Or perhaps she won’t want to tell Papa what happened.” He climbed to his feet. “I’m going to change. Thank you for listening to me ramble.”

  “Anytime, sir.”

  He started to say something, but stopped, then turned towards his suite. I cleared up the coffee things and went to my own rooms. Thank God the French newspapers were unlikely to report any of this, even if they found out. But when his mother found out, that would be painful.

  I kept Etiènne’s phone turned off, as he requested. However, an hour later my own phone rang. It was Pietro.

  “I’m surprised to hear from you,” I said.

  “Professional courtesy, mio amico. Also, just to see how things are with you. That was very unpleasant.”

  “Yes, it was. And unnecessary.”

  “Agreed. I don’t think like that, in case you’re wondering, but that family.... Anyway, she’s still crazy with anger, but she’ll calm down I hope. Those streghe will go home soon, I hope. They’re causing trouble.”

  “No kidding. Will she return to Milan?”

  “Over this? I don’t think so. She’s angry, but she has no reason to want to go back to her family with her tail between her legs, and plenty of reasons to stay in France. I never said any of this, you understand.”

  “Said what?” I said, and he laughed.

  “Your man, how is he?”

  “Upset. Angry. He has a right to be, I think.”

  “Me too. But who listens to us?”

  Etiènne listens. “We’re going out of town this week. Ah, Pietro, he thinks her father might do something...unpleasant. That would be a very bad idea. The Donadieus are known here. It would not be a good thing for his reputation to hurt my prince.”

  “Your prince, Paul?”

  “Figure of speech. But you understand?”

  “I understand, but I have no influence over any of these people. I think he would not do such a thing. It would make it into a real scandal and your prince’s family, they’re important to people who are important to the signore.”

  “Good. Because I’d be very unhappy to have to act against the people you guard.”

  “No need for threats, Paolo. Take him away, let him lick his wounds. My lady can do the same and her so-called friends can comfort her. You and me, we’re okay though?”

  “Yeah, we’re fine. Keep in touch, Pietro. I bear no grudge against you.”

  “Grazie. Good luck with your man, okay?”

  “And you with your lady.”

  Pietro snorted. “Yeah, I’ll need it. Ciao.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Etiènne’s meeting with his mother about the broken engagement was just as painful as he’d feared. Actually, it was worse, for all Princess Marie hadn’t heard the real reason, and Etiènne wouldn’t enlighten her. “This is not to be borne, Etiènne. The scandal is atrocious. I thought you said the girl was sensible.”

  “I let you make your own assessment, Maman. I though she was sensible.”

  “And yet she leads you on a dance like this. Or did you do something unforgiveable? You weren’t sleeping with one of her friends, were you?”

  “No, Maman,” he said, his colour rising in anger as it rarely did—and only with his mother. “It’s a private matter, and really, is there any point in going over it?”

  “I have to wonder if you even take our family’s reputation seriously at all. One day you will inherit your father’s position, but if you’re going to carry on like Albert Grimaldi, perhaps it would be better that you didn’t.”

  “Fine! I quit, abdicate...whatever the bloody term is. I don’t want the job, never did, and don’t care about ‘the family’s position’ at all. Find someone else to run the estates, Maman. I’m sick of it. I resign.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his mother following him. “Etiènne! Come back here. You can’t just not be the heir.”

  He spun around and wagged his finger in her face. “I can, and I do. Claude can do it. or her kids can do it. Hell, let Paul here do it—he’s as good a man as anyone could want. Adopt him, Maman. But I am sick to death of living my life waiting for Papa to die. I love him, and as far as I’m concerned, if he outlives me, I’ll be delighted. So find someone else. I’m absolutely done.”

  “What about the Foundation?” This was sly of her, knowing Etiènne’s real loyalty lay there and not with the family title. “We’ll withdraw funding.”

  “Go ahead. I’d love to see the French or the Spanish swoop in and take over because Cap de l’Espoir doesn’t even work as a conservation haven any more. The Americans would love to shut you down.”

  They glared at each other. “You can’t expect us to let you walk away, do you ?”

  “You let Claude give up her claim on the title. Why am I so different?”

  “You’re a man, Etiènne! The title is much stronger in a male heir’s hands. You know that.”

  “Do I? And what if I choose a male spouse instead of a female one?”

  “You can’t.”

  “No? Our law mirrors the French except where explicitly different, and I know we haven’t made a law against same-sex marriage. I can marry whom I like. I could pull a Stéphanie Grimaldi and marry Paul, and then where would your heirs be?”

  He didn’t mean it, and I kept my expression as bland as possible, but the princess turned on me. “Are you fucking him?” she demanded.

  “No, your highness.”

  “Leave him alone, Maman. His behaviour isn’t in question.”

  “No, but you’ve mentioned him twice and by God, Etiènne, if you embarrass us that way, I’d rather have you disinherited!”

  “You can’t sack me. I already quit. Paul, please?”

  He walked away quickly with me at his heels. His mother thankfully didn’t follow. Out on the street, Etiènne turned to me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to drag you into that mess.”

  “No problem, sir. Where do you want to go now?”

  “To the devil,” he muttered. “Somewhere I can think and drink and not have to be anyone.”

  “A good pub, then?”

  He looked startled, then laughed. “Are there any in Kensington? I’ve never been to one here.”

  “I know just the place,” I said. I hailed us a car and told the driver to take us to The Hereford Arms in Gloucester Road.

  Half an hour later, we were at the back of the pub, nursing pints of Fuller’s ale, and Etiènne was debating whether he should apologise to his mother. (I thought not, but kept my opinion to myself). “I’m twenty-nine, Paul. Papa is only fifty-five. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being lectured about my position, my heirs, my bride, and thinking about him dying. I want him alive and me doing what I love, which is marine biology. The fucking Donadieus are rich enough.”