Chapt 7 age 53

"Please tell us, Queen Clarisse," Baroness von Troken sniffed, "what our beloved Crown Prince is doing in preparation for the day he assumes Genovia's throne… may that day, of course, be a long time in coming."

There was an awkward pause at the queen's end of the table before conversations quietly resumed.

"Prince Philippe has been quite busy, of late," Clarisse replied. The baron and baroness made no qualms over their displeasure that the Renaldi side of the family took the throne more than a century ago. Sometimes, she could almost believe they were plotting to get it back.

"Yes, we've heard the Prince has published yet another paper," Baron von Troken added, "in a historical journal."

"I believe that is true," Clarisse answered with a cool smile. She turned to the man at her right, hoping the von Trokens would let the subject drop. "Ambassador, your grandson will be attending the university in Vienna, will he not?"

Before the ambassador could answer, the baron spoke again.

"Your Majesty, I do not understand how these scholarly pursuits of old events will benefit Genovia. Should he not be at his father's side, learning how to govern…if that is actually his intention?"

"I daresay he could learn that just as well at his mother's side," King Rupert declared, his voice carrying from the far end of the table. All discussion ceased as the guests listened with rapt attention. "Queen Clarisse has proven to be adept at looking after the Genovian people, wouldn't you agree, Baron?"

Without taking his eyes off his cousin, Rupert calmly sipped his wine and waited for the baron to answer.

"Yes, Her Majesty has become involved in a number of areas one would not normally expect," the baron answered, choosing his words carefully.

"Queen Clarisse cares very deeply about the Genovian people," Rupert said gravely, a hint of warning in his voice. "I do not think you need concern yourself about the throne, sir. Its succession is secure, as is the future of our people."

No one spoke for several heartbeats.

"Of course," von Troken replied smoothly, picking up his fork. "That is reassuring to us all, Your Majesty."

As their guests returned to chatting amongst themselves, Clarisse and Rupert exchanged glances. She was not amused, but Rupert's eyes fairly danced. There had always been something of a rivalry between him and his cousins, even as youths. For Rupert, tall, handsome, and athletic, coming out on top came easily. It was not the same for von Troken.

Although the dinner continued without further unpleasantness, Clarisse was uneasy. The Baron struck a nerve and it galled her that he was, in some ways, correct.

Philippe showed little interest in the throne.

He attended ceremonies when requested, made all the proper appearances, of course, but that was the whole of it. He preferred spending his time conducting research in libraries throughout Europe. Once, he confided to her that he would like to have been a professor, teaching at a university.

Clarisse had been at a loss as what to say.

Putting one's own interests first was absolutely foreign to her. In all her life, she'd never done so. The welfare of the people was her prime concern.

In other countries that still retained a monarchy, the sovereign often occupied little more than a ceremonial position. Although Parliament enacted laws and made decisions that affected the country's welfare, in Genovia the crown was the primary source of guidance and action on the country's behalf. It was not a responsibility to take lightly or without preparation.

They would have to speak with Philippe.

"Rupert, I think this matter of logging occurring in our northern province warrants our close attention." Clarisse turned a page in the folder as she ate her salad, her eyes skimming the report. She shook her head.

"Gustav threatened pecuniary penalties against the Duke of Thornfield about this very thing in Cerneland and Addington backed down," she added. Clarisse took off her reading glasses and looked across the table at her husband. It was a rare day they were able to have lunch together. "What do you think?"

The king gave up picking at his food. Frowning, he leaned back in his chair.

"Rupert?"

"Um, yes, of course, my dear." Rupert closed his eyes then opened them and shifted in his seat. "You were saying…?"

Clarisse reached for the crystal saltshaker then stopped, noticing the sheen of sweat on his face, the pallor that had come over him. She pushed her chair back and got up, hurrying around the table.

"Rupert, are you ill?" She laid a hand on his skin. It was cool- too cool.

"Perhaps something…isn't agreeing….with me." His breath was short and he seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Clarisse quickly caught the attention of a footman. "Call for medical assistance- quickly!"

"It is his heart," the doctor informed almost two hours later.

Clarisse shook her head. "His heart? Rupert has never had any heart problems."

The doctor hesitated, forcing himself to meet the queen's gaze. His words were slow and deliberate. "I am afraid he has, Your Majesty"

"My husband never mentioned this! When?" It made no sense. Rupert was one of the most active, vigorous men she knew.

"His Majesty began having chest pains several months ago, on a trip to Vienna. Upon his return, he consulted me and I discovered that he'd had a mild heart attack." The doctor continued apologetically. "He forbade my telling you."

Clarisse took a deep breath. A dozen concerns, worries, and fears flew through her thoughts. She forced herself to speak calmly. "How is he now?"

"Resting, doing well. We'd like to do more tests, try a change of medication, but if His Majesty has no further problems, he should be able to return home in several days."

"May I see him?"

"Yes, of course. I'll take you to him now, if you'd like."

Clarisse sat quietly by Rupert's bedside, the doctor allowing her a moment alone with her husband. She touched his hand. It still felt cool.

"My dear," Rupert said, opening his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around hers and smiled. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, Rissa."

"Don't talk- you should rest."

"I'm not dead, yet!" Rupert laughed weakly. He saw the apprehension in her eyes and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, my dear. A poor joke. Actually, other than being very tired, I feel much better than before."

"I was so frightened. I…I don't know what I'd do without you," she said, her voice trembling.

He tugged at her hand. "Come here, Rissa."

"Are you certain?"

"Will do me good," he said, patting the space beside where he lay, partially upright in his bed.

Unsure, Clarisse gently sat down, placing a hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest. The steady thumping of his heart under her hand was reassuring.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm your wife and I care about you, Rupert. I'm supposed to worry."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry, my dear. I guess I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have."

Rupert smiled at the familiar flash in her eyes. "You have been such a treasure. I've enjoyed every day of our thirty-three years together."

"You're not dead, yet, Rupert!" she snapped. Rupert bit his lip trying not to laugh, but failed. Clarisse rolled her eyes.

"No, I'm not, my dear," he replied more firmly. "As soon as they will let me, I will be back at home with you."

"You must not over do it," she cautioned. She gave him a knowing look. "Cooperate with the doctors and nurses, and you might get there sooner, than later."

"I will, I promise." He became serious. "My dear, there's something I've wanted to say to you…and should have before now."

Clarisse said nothing, wondering what it was. Rupert took a deep breath, his gaze meeting hers.

"You are no doubt aware that I have, in the past…..not been faithful to our vows."

She made to speak, but he stopped her.

"Our situation is different from most, but that was no excuse," he continued, his voice strong and firm. He took her hand in his. "I should have discussed…things with you, perhaps tried to work it all out, instead. I am sorry, my dear Rissa. Please know that you have always been the one nearest to my heart. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course, darling. We both ignored the situation." Clarisse looked down at her hand in his. "I always knew you cared. There was never any doubt."

"Might we start anew? I think we should take a vacation," Rupert replied. "A real one- no work…just relax. How does a week by the ocean sound?"

"I'd like that and the ocean sounds wonderful."

"Good," Rupert replied, smiling. He watched her for a moment. "You must take care of yourself, Rissa. Until I can resume my responsibilities, do not take on too much. Have Philippe help."

She kissed him and stood, still holding his hand. "He's on his way back from Berlin. I'll speak with him tonight. You get some rest."

It was not until four days later, when they were certain Rupert was out of danger, that she spoke with Philippe. He agreed to help in any way he could, but she could see the reluctance in his manner, could hear it in his voice.

"Philippe, please be honest with me. Do you not want the throne?" she asked gently, sitting down beside him.

He looked away. "It isn't that I don't care about you or father or Genovia."

Clarisse's heart sank.

"I know what my responsibilities are and that I should have been preparing for them before now. I suppose I've been rather selfish, haven't I?" he continued, looking intently at his mother. "At any rate, there really isn't a choice about it."

"It may seem, sometimes, that we do not have a choice, Philippe, but few things are truly beyond our choosing." She laid her hand on his arm.

"You had no choice, Mother." There was neither accusation nor censure in his voice; it was simply a statement of fact.

"On the surface it appears not, but had I refused, the truth is there was nothing anyone could have done to force me into marrying your father," Clarisse answered thoughtfully. "It would have caused many difficulties and a great deal of disappointment, but, in the end, there was a decision for me to make."

"Turn your back on Genovia or marry the crown prince?" Philippe laughed skeptically. He shook his head. "That didn't leave you many options, Mother."

"Neither does choosing whether or not to be king," she replied quietly.

Philippe was silent for a while and turned his head away. "No, it doesn't."

"There will be many times in your life that you must choose. Some decisions will be easy, others hard." Clarisse touched his cheek. "You can only do your best, darling."

Philippe nodded. "I will consider it."

Clarisse said nothing more, but left him to his thoughts. It was all she could expect.

"I cannot tell you how sorry about this, Joseph." General Hubert Olson shook his head. "If I weren't retired….It's just not right! You earned it, by God!"

The news of his not making the rank of general did not surprise Coraza in the least or disappoint him. "I appreciate your efforts, sir."

The general huffed. "Someone objected and the brass won't press it, despite my demands. I can't imagine who would do that or even why."

Calmly sipping his drink, Coraza considered. He knew who would block his promotion- his father. Had the duke found out he was paying his sisters' tuition these past three years? Not that he cared, particularly. He would rather his father know he paid it, than have the duke cause problems for anyone else.

"Sir, I have no regrets about my career. It's been more than enough excitement for one lifetime."

Thirty-five years of being a soldier, responding to crises, running after terrorists all over Europe had taken its toll…and the last six months in North Africa...

Coraza took a deep breath. The past half year seemed worse than all previous assignments. Sent to assess the embassy compound's security arrangements, he arrived three hours after the blast. The taste of powdery dirt was still fresh, as was the burn of heat radiating from the charred building and the reek of death.

After exhaustive months of sifting through debris, greasing the palms of informers, and chasing one false lead after another, he'd found the perpetrators hiding in another country whose leader flatly refused to give them up. It was all he could do…but it wasn't enough. He'd failed.

"That it has, my friend," the general answered gently, reading the emotions on the younger man's face. "That it has."

General Olson sat quietly, waiting for the other to speak.

"It's time I got out," Coraza said simply.

Olson nodded. "The world is yours, Joseph."

"I'm not certain the picture is that rosy."

"You're young yet; have years ahead to do whatever you decide," Olson said, waving his cigar in a large, sweeping gesture. "Settle down, have children- no, you are not too old!"

"I don't know about children." Coraza shook his head. "At any rate, I won't be doing anything for the next while. I'm having my knee fixed- finally," Coraza said, laying his hand on his right knee. "Can't avoid it any longer."

"Let Mary and me know when- she'll keep you in soup and muffins during your recovery." The general reached for his cane.

"Thank you, I will, sir." Mary Olson was a good cook. He moved to assist the general who was standing unsteadily. The general waved him away.

"I'm not so old I can't stand on my own two feet…eventually," he protested, straightening slowly. He put out his hand and Coraza took it. "Take care, Joseph."

After the general left, Coraza sat, staring out the large window at the cold rain. There was a chance of ice later; he should leave before the roads got bad.

Still, he waited, thinking. In six months, he would retire… what then?

Nothing came to mind.

In all honesty, he was tired of the game.

"No, I left Interpol almost a year ago- just didn't want to stay in any longer. The hours got to be too much, you know," Johansson explained. The former agent across from Coraza took the last bite of prime rib and relaxed in his seat. "Found something a bit quieter to do, after that little adventure in Strasburg. Temporary position, though. You retire in, what, two months? Have any plans?"

"I'm not certain- perhaps take time to relax, let my knee heal further…settle down."

"Settle down?" Johansson's eyebrows rose. "Are congratulations in order?"

"No," Joseph replied, quickly. Thoughts of Lauren and the past few months came to mind. They were the happiest he could recall…but marriage? He shook his head. Their relationship was perfect as it was. "No plans to marry."

"Do you plan to stay here…find a quiet farm out in the country?" Johansson joked.

"Actually, that doesn't sound too bad," Coraza mused. "Raise horses, do some fishing…"

"Fishing! You'd be bored in a week's time!"

"You're most likely correct," Coraza conceded with a grin. He tilted his head to the side, suddenly somber. "Still, a little peace and quiet doesn't sound bad at all."

Johansson studied the colonel and an idea came to mind. Coraza was a skilled fighter and capable leader as well as one of Europe's best security experts. The chances were slim, but it was worth a shot.

But, what was the best way to approach this, Johansson wondered.

"Colonel, I have something I'd for like you to consider, if you would." he began slowly. "I retire in four months and I can't leave my position to just anyone. There are…challenges to be met."

"Challenges?"

"Yes, procedures and technology to update, a new staff to put together, training to be done…that sort of thing."

"What is it you do?" Coraza asked, curious.

"I'm in charge of security for the Genovian royal family," Johansson answered, watching interest spark in the colonel's eyes. He sat back, satisfied. He'd found his man in Joseph Coraza.

"….So, I've decided to leave," Lauren said, running her hand along his arm, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his muscles.

Coraza sat up quickly from where he'd been lying on the blanket. As usual, they were enjoying Sunday afternoon with a picnic in a secluded area of a park outside of London. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, next week. I've accepted a position at a university library in Florida. I'm going home."

Bored from inactivity after his surgery, he'd clumsily bumped her with his crutches while in a bookstore searching for a book to read. Not only did he find a book, but he also found Lauren Quinn. She was witty and intelligent and her company filled his long recovery period with pleasure. He didn't want it to end.

Coraza took her hand. "I had hoped you would stay- with me."

She didn't answer.

"Lauren, I care for you deeply… like none other."

"My dearest Joseph," she replied softly. "We care about each other, but not that way."

He started to disagree.

Lauren placed her finger lightly on his lips and smiled sadly. "We do not love each other."

Coraza looked away. "We could be happy. We can travel- go anywhere you wish-"

"Joseph, we want different things from life."

He knew it was true. She was seventeen years younger and wanted marriage and a family, soccer practices and scouts- all the other mundane activities mothers were involved in on a day in and day out basis. He, on the other hand, would feel trapped in such a life. Still…

"I would try- for you."

She shook her head. He would, she knew, without a word of complaint, but he'd not be happy and would stay out of a sense of duty and responsibility. They would both be miserable with that knowledge.

She laid her hand gently on his cheek and turned his face to hers. She touched her lips gently to his. "I'm sorry."

Joseph nodded.

"Still friends?"

"Of course. Always." After a long moment, Joseph took a deep breath and lifted her hand to kiss it, then held it tightly between his. "So tell me, Miss Quinn, what I can do to help you…prepare for your trip."

Lauren placed her hands on his shoulders, her smile widening to a grin as she pushed him down to the blanket, on his back. "Well, Colonel Coraza, now that you mention it…."

Joseph circled his arms around her, pulling her close, wishing with all his heart that he loved her. He was going to miss her terribly.

Colonel Coraza rinsed his face clean of the thick, white foam and surveyed his work. He ran a thumb across his jaw and chin, checking. His retirement ceremony and luncheon with several fellow officers was in two hours and he couldn't very well show up in the goatee he'd become used to while working with Interpol. Forced to shave it upon his return to England, he'd grown it back during his convalescent leave. He would again, he decided, and keep the earring, at that.

Lauren had liked it- she teased him, saying it made him look mysterious. At the thought of her, his hand stilled momentarily before continuing across his cheek. She'd been gone for almost three weeks now.

After drying his face and hands, he tossed the towel over the rack and, for the last time, donned his uniform, automatically checking to make sure his rank and medals for proper placement. He looped his tie around, again, and under, then adjusted the knot.

Lauren was right; he did not love her. He cared for her and enjoyed every moment of the past four months with her. He would have even considered marrying her, had she insisted, but she needed someone to give her a family and the life she wanted.

She was young and deserved nothing less than love. He, however, would have settled for just friendship.

Shrugging his jacket on, he wondered if he would ever truly love anyone. He was nearly fifty-three years old and many of his peers were grandparents already.

He doubted he would marry- if he had not found her by now, she must not exist.

More immediate was the need for a decision about his future. Numerous acquaintances across Europe, and a few elsewhere, wanted him to work for them either on a consulting basis or as an employee. While the positions were generous, he wasn't sure.

He needed time to simply rest.

Marcus invited him to visit and he was looking forward to the following week with his friends. At his request, Maria promised not to throw any women at him. He knew, however, he would have to explain his insistence to her- Maria didn't miss a thing.

True to his word, Johansson sent him particulars about the position in Genovia he'd mentioned two months prior. Coraza had looked it over, found it mildly interesting, and put it aside, deciding he did not want to leave England just yet. A week after Lauren left, he found himself needing a complete change of location, so pulled it from his briefcase and faxed his resume, requesting a visit to learn more. Johansson assured him that the job was his, should Coraza choose to apply. His visit to Genovia was in a week's time, after his holiday with the Helmars.

Coraza picked up his hat and glanced around the small quarters. His career, entire his life, everything he owned was contained in the four footlockers and two suitcases stacked neatly against the far wall, ready.

It was a new start, a new life… alone. He flipped the light switch off and shut the door behind him.

He was used to being alone and it did not matter, he told himself.

But deep inside, he knew it did.

Well, seems I keep saying there's only one more chapter then I up and write just one more! The next will be the last, when they finally meet face to face. After that comes their story.

Thanks very much for your reviews! It really does make writing more fun when others enjoy reading my work as much as I enjoy writing it. Feel free to offer constructive criticism, too.

I know this chapter was rather dull, but it sets up scenes later, so was necessary…details matter.