'Catherine,' he murmured. 'At last.'
She sank into a deep curtsey. 'I'm sorry I'm late-'
'It isn't something which happens very often,' he said drily. 'Come in, and sit down.'
She slid onto the seat opposite him and, even though it was probably discourteous to stare at the monarch, Cathy simply couldn't help herself. Because his recovery was like a miracle. Like something you might see in a film but could never imagine happening in real life. The pale and unmoving figure who had been hooked up to all those wires and tubes in Intensive Care was now looking as vital and as vibrant as life itself.
The ebony hair, which had been shaved during his time in hospital, was fast growing back, showing the hint of a recalcitrant wave. Regular exposure to the sun meant that his olive skin had lost its pallor and now glowed with good health. He had been receiving physiotherapy, too-and had hit the gym with his trainer, so that lean muscle had returned to bulk out a fairly formidable physique.
He was an amazingly handsome man who looked, Cathy thought, very like Xaviero. But Casimiro's eyes were a much darker gold than his brother's and, curiously, his lips-although innately arrogant-were not nearly as cynical.
'So, Catherine,' he said, in a voice which sounded faintly amused. 'You study the King very intently today. What is your verdict?'
'You are looking very well, Your Majesty.'
He smiled. 'And I am feeling very well,' he said in a satisfied voice before his eyes narrowed and his voice grew thoughtful. 'Such praise is praise indeed from you, who saw me at my very sickest.' He looked at her and gave a soft sigh. 'You know I have a duty to thank you.'
'You don't have to thank me, Your Majesty.'
'Oh, but I do,' he demurred, his voice now underpinned with a stubborn quality which reminded Cathy painfully of Xaviero. 'The doctors don't know why I came out of the coma-and perhaps they never will-but they said I should never underestimate the healing power of another human voice. And your voice was the one I heard most of all during my time in hospital.' His voice grew even more thoughtful. 'In fact, the only one I heard so consistently.'
'Well, Xaviero was too busy with affairs of state-'
'How faithfully you defend him!' he murmured. 'And women are better at talking than men. Yes, he told me.'
For some stupid reason, Cathy found herself blushing. 'He told you that?'
'Yes.'
There was an unmistakable question in his dark gold eyes but Cathy clamped her lips tightly closed and knotted her fingers together in her lap. The last thing she wanted to do was to break down and dissolve into tears in front of the King.
'Catherine, why are you leaving?'
She swallowed. Act normal. Stay calm. 'Because there is no need for me to stay now that you are returned to health, Your Majesty. You have resumed your rightful place on the throne and Xaviero will soon be leaving the island.'
'That wasn't what I mean and you know it,' he said.
Cathy could hear the impatience in his voice, but it wasn't really his place to get impatient, was it? 'Wasn't it?'
For a moment he studied her impassive face. 'Xaviero told me how you met,' he said suddenly.
'He … he did?'
'He did. He said he was playing at being ordinary. It was something he used to do all the time when we were younger-a game he used to play.'
Cathy swallowed. A game? 'Really?'
'Yes.' His eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his gilded chair, the fingertips of each hand meeting to form a spire. 'You know, most people think that the younger son always has it easy.'
He was looking at her as if he wanted her to make some kind of comment and Cathy shrugged. 'But not when you're royal, I suppose?'
'No. Not when you're royal. It's the heir who always gets the attention. My father spent most of his time with me-instructing me about my inheritance-and Xaviero was pretty much left to his own devices. He was adored by our mother, of course.'
Casimiro paused for a moment and this time Cathy said nothing.
'Nobody told Xaviero just how sick she was,' he continued slowly. 'They led him to believe that she would recover. I think it was the way they dealt with children back then-never acknowledging the darker side of life. He wasn't even allowed to go to the funeral-it was decided that it would be too distressing for him. And after her death, my father turned all his attention on grooming me to succeed him, so that in a way it was as if Xaviero had lost both parents.'
Cathy bit her lip. 'Why … why are you telling me all this?'
'Because you told me about your life while I lay in a coma, Catherine … and some of those words have remained fixed in my mind-they must have done, else how would I have known them when I awoke?' His mouth curved into a fleeting smile. 'About your tenants and your beautiful garden in England. The same garden in which you and Xaviero used to sit on long summer evenings and drink wine from cheap glasses.'
'But I didn't tell you about that,' she breathed.
'No. Xaviero did. My brother and I have talked long and often since my recovery.'
She stared at him. 'I don't understand where this is going,' she whispered.
'Don't you? Listen, Catherine.' Casimiro leaned forward, the spire dismantled as he placed his palms on the desk, almost in a gesture of supplication. 'If you were prepared to go to him. To seek his understanding and explain that you acted with undue haste in telling him you wanted to leave. If you were suitably contrite … ' there was a moment's pause ' … then I think he may be prepared to give you a second chance.'
Cathy froze. 'Excuse me?'
'I think he may be prepared to overlook your-'
'No!' She felt the colour blanch from her cheeks as she saw his startled expression, but suddenly she didn't care if her interruption had been an outrageous breach of protocol. 'I am not having this conversation,' she said, in a low voice. 'Has Xaviero picked you out as some sort of broker-to say to me what he hasn't got the nerve to say himself? To ask me to make some kind of unnecessary apology in order to pander to his pride?'
'He doesn't know what I'm saying,' Casimiro ground out. 'Well, my mind is made up.' Because a lot of people had dud childhoods in some sort of way, didn't they? But that didn't mean they should behave like emotional ice cubes for the rest of their lives. And deep down Cathy knew that it didn't matter what Casimiro said. The only person who might have persuaded her to stay was his brother-and he had walked away as if her going had meant nothing to him. Because she didn't mean anything to him. And it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough now-and time would only make it worse. The balance of love was completely unequal-and she could not imprison him in a marriage which was no longer necessary. She would be living on tenterhooks, waiting for him to tire of her-before seeking a royal mistress and leaving his grieving and unloved wife at home. She rose to her feet. 'I'm sorry.'
'So you are both as proud and as stubborn as each other!' Casimiro snapped.
'So it would seem,' said Cathy. 'And now I must beg your leave, Your Majesty. The car will be arriving for me shortly. I am so happy that you are well again, sire.' Her voice wavered a little at this. 'And I wish you a long and glorious reign.'
With this she gave a quick curtsey before hurrying back to her rooms, but inside she could feel a mixture of anger and indignation bubbling up. The King expected her to go and seek forgiveness from his brother, but for what? For trying to love a man who had no love to give her in return.
Her hands were trembling as she threw a few ill-chosen items of clothing in her case before slamming it shut, but at least the fury she now felt helped dull some of the pain.
But there was no formal line-up of staff as she went down the sweeping marble staircase into the lavishly tiled marble entrance hall. Just Flavia, whose own smile of farewell was as cool as if Cathy had been introduced to her only minutes before. But Flavia was an aide who had spent all her life defusing emotion-because that was what royal life demanded of its players. Cathy knew that. It was the downside to all the jewels and fawning. And I never wanted that, she told herself fiercely. All I ever wanted was Xaviero-and he comes at too high a price.
Outside sat the limousine, its powerful engine giving a soft roar of life when she appeared, and Cathy gave one last look around the beautiful courtyard, trying to imprint it on her memory. The succulent plants. The bright, fragrant blooms. The fountain which plumed out its rainbow spray. And always the bright blue sky and soft heat of the sun-as golden as the eyes of a man she would never forget.
Grateful for the sunglasses which shielded her brimming eyes, Cathy slid into the back seat as the car pulled away. She could just sink back into its air-conditioned luxury and say nothing until they reached the airfield and the plane which would take her back to England.