Page 121 of The Love Letter

‘Morning, darling.’ His voice called her from the bed as she tiptoed across the room to the bathroom.

‘Morning,’ Zoe replied brightly.

‘Come here.’ Art’s arms stretched towards her.

She walked towards the bed and let Art embrace her. His kiss was long, sensuous, and she lost herself in it.

‘Another day in paradise,’ he murmured. ‘I’m famished. Have you ordered breakfast?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Why don’t you go and see Maria and have her bring us some fresh orange juice, croissants and some kippers? She said she could have them flown in yesterday and my taste buds are tingling for them.’ He gave her a fond pat on the bottom. ‘While you do that I’ll take a shower. I’ll see you on the terrace downstairs.’

‘Oh, but Art, I was going to take a show—’

‘What, darling?’

‘Nothing,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

They spent the rest of the morning sunbathing by the pool, Zoe reading a novel, Art scanning the English newspapers.

‘Listen to this, darling. Headline: “Should the son of a monarch be allowed to marry a single mother?”’

‘Really, Art, I don’t want to know.’

‘Yes, youdo. The newspaper had a phone poll, and twenty-five thousand of their readers called to register their opinion. Eighteen thousand of them said yes. That’s over two-thirds. I wonder if Mater and Pater have read it.’

‘Would it make any difference if they had?’

‘Of course. They’re terribly sensitive to public opinion, especially at the moment. Look, there’s even a Protestant bishop interviewed inThe Timeswho’s come out in support of us. He’s saying single mothers are part of modern society and that if the monarchy is going to last into the new millennium, it has to throw off its shackles and show it can adapt too.’

‘And I’ll bet there’s some whinging moralist in theTelegraphwho’s saying it’s the duty of public figures to set an example, not use the sloppy sexual behaviour of the general public as a get-out,’ Zoe muttered darkly.

‘Of course there is. But look, darling.’ Art got up from his chair and sat on her sunbed. He took her hand in his and kissed it. ‘I love you. Jamie is my flesh and blood anyway. From whichever moral standpoint you look at it, our marriage is the right thing to happen.’

‘But no one can ever know that, can they? That’s the point.’ Zoe got off the lounger and began to pace. ‘I just don’t know how I’m ever going to tell Jamie about us.’

‘Darling, you’ve given up over ten years of your life for Jamie. He was a mistake that—’

Zoe swung round, her eyes blazing. ‘Don’t youdarecall Jamie a mistake!’

‘I didn’t mean it like that, darling, really. All I’m saying is that he’s growing up now, forging a life of his own. Surely this is about you and me, and our chance for happiness before it’s too late?’

‘We’re not talking about an adult here, Art! Nowhere near. Jamie’s a ten-year-old boy. And you make it sound like a sacrifice that I brought Jamie up. It wasn’t like that at all. He’s the centre of my world. I’d do it all over again.’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. Gosh, seem to be getting it all wrong this morning,’ Art muttered. ‘Anyway, I’ve got some good news. I’ve arranged for a boat to come and collect us this afternoon. We’re going to cruise over to Mallorca and pick up my friend, Prince Antonio, and his wife Mariella in the harbour. Then we’re going to sail the high seas for a couple of days. You’ll love them, and they’re very sympathetic to our predicament.’ He reached out an arm to her and stroked her hair. ‘Come on, darling, do cheer up.’

Just after lunch, as the maid was packing Zoe’s clothes ready to take on the boat, her mobile rang. She saw it was Jamie’s headmaster and answered it immediately.

‘Hello?’

‘Miss Harrison? It’s Dr West here.’

‘Hello, Dr West. Is everything all right?’

‘I’m afraid not. Jamie has gone missing. He disappeared this morning, just after breakfast. We’ve searched the school and grounds thoroughly and there’s no sign of him so far.’

‘Oh God!’ Zoe couldhearthe blood pumping round her body. She sat down on the bed before she crumpled to the floor. ‘I . . . has he taken anything? Clothes? Money?’