Part Four

Clarisse's heels clicked decisively as she went briskly down the hallway back to her office, Charlotte almost running to keep up to her. Clarisse found herself going over some of what she had overheard. Surprisingly, the main comments she kept coming back to were the ones about Joseph ... and how he felt about her according to the men in Parliament. Could it possibly be true? She felt a shiver of anticipation run through her, and pushed it away. No. No, of course it wasn't. No more true than the vile accusation that she was "cold".

"Your Majesty, please, let me call Joseph," Charlotte suddenly said, a trifle breathlessly, as they entered the office.

"Joseph?" Clarisse swung around and stared at Charlotte. "Why would you do that?" She refused to acknowledge the sudden yearning she experienced to see Joseph, and to hear his voice. "There is no matter of security here that is more pressing than his caring for Princess Mia." To herself, she added grimly, 'unless you count my sudden, mad desire to blow up Parliament literally as well as figuratively!'

"Very well, your Majesty," Charlotte's eyes were downcast as she took her chair by Clarisse's desk. "I have here your schedule ..."

"Charlotte?" Clarisse interrupted, waving her hand to dismiss the papers. When Charlotte looked up inquiringly, Clarisse shook her head. "Is there any point discussing a schedule? When I'm to be married off as if nothing else matters? To be honest, I really don't think I can concentrate on anything right now."

Charlotte chewed her lip for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. "Your Majesty, Joseph arranged for a surprise for you ... would you like it now?"

Clarisse's eyes widened, then sparkled like a child's when a smile broke out on her pale face. "Oh, yes!"

Laughing, Charlotte stood up and moved to the door. "I'll be right back, your Majesty!" and she vanished.

Not too many minutes later, Clarisse heard Charlotte's footsteps returning, accompanied by a strange clicking sound. The queen frowned in puzzlement for a moment, then the mystery was solved when a white nose poked in the door and a white poodle puppy scrambled into the room, heading straight for Clarisse.

"A puppy!" she exclaimed, getting down gracefully on her knees on the floor and allowing the dog to sniff her hands and try to scramble up on her lap. The puppy rolled exuberantly at her touch, coming back time and again to push his nose under her hand. "Oh, he's beautiful!"

A huge smile spread over Charlotte's face when she saw Clarisse's delight in the puppy. "His name is Maurice. Joseph arranged for the breeder to deliver him today and we were to give him to you tomorrow. I just, well, it seemed that you needed him today more."

"Oh, Charlotte, thank you," Clarisse endeavoured to pick up the puppy, but he wriggled too much. "Oh dear, perhaps we should consider taking him out. The excitement might prove a little much for a puppy!"

"Here's his leash, your Majesty."

"Come with us?" Clarisse invited, and Charlotte smiled shyly and nodded.

The threesome spent almost an hour outside in the gardens, and Clarisse felt her tension easing tremendously. She and Maurice formed an instant bond that would never be broken. How dear of Joseph to have thought of this! She knew he had had no idea just how necessary and how therapeutic his gift would be, but it seemed that he knew so much. Having the puppy delivered on Mia's birthday was something only Joseph would have thought to do, knowing how much Clarisse had grown to love her grand-daughter, and suspecting how much she would be missing the girl on that special day in her life.

Reluctantly, Clarisse went inside for her noon meal, allowing Olivia to take Maurice to her suite where the puppy's bed had been arranged. The fresh air had encouraged more of an appetite than she had had for a while, and Clarisse managed to eat enough to prevent raised eyebrows and silent admonishments when the serving women cleared the table. When she finished her tea, Clarisse braced herself, and returned to her office.

Even from outside the door, Clarisse could hear the phone ringing, and when she walked into the room, Charlotte was saying, "Please, I am NOT the queen, and NO, you may not speak with her right now ... NO, I am quite certain she will not marry you!" No sooner had she hung up when the phone rang again. Ignoring the strident bell, Charlotte looked at Clarisse with huge, frantic eyes. "You've been getting non-stop phone calls, your Majesty ... newspapers, television, radio as well as many, many men ... and look at all these LETTERS! It has only been a couple of hours, and Genovia has gone crazy!"

"What ARE you talking about?" Clarisse asked.

Charlotte almost wailed, "It's all the fault of those silly men in Parliament! Word is out that you are to be married on Saturday, but that you don't know who you are going to marry yet, and it seems as if every eligible bachelor in Genovia is phoning or writing to ask for your hand in marriage!"

The phone stopped ringing and the sudden silence was deafening. Clarisse knew her shock was evident on her face, but she couldn't move. When the phone started again, she jumped. Charlotte just wearily picked it up and dropped it back, cutting off the connection. Then she grabbed it again and dialed the switchboard, directing them to hold all calls for the time being. "I should have thought of THAT sooner!" she muttered, disgusted at herself. "I'm sorry, your Majesty," she began, repentantly. "I just ... I just lost it for a minute."

Clarisse tried to smile, but couldn't. Her eyes travelled slowly over the mound of papers on her desk. The fax machine engaged and another piece of paper was spat out, drifting to the floor to lie with numerous others. "Oh, my ..." she whispered.

A knock at the door made her whirl around, and a footman entered, carrying a huge mail bag. "More letters, your Majesty. The post office just delivered them."

Clarisse sat down limply at her desk without saying a word. Charlotte was wringing her hands as she directed the mail bag to be placed on the floor by the desk. Then she, too, sat down when the footman was gone. Neither said anything for a long, long time. Then Clarisse took a deep breath, and said, "Well, Charlotte, I guess we have some work to do."

The rest of the afternoon was spent skimming through letters and tossing them in the garbage. Once or twice Clarisse found a few paragraphs which were extremely amusing, and she couldn't resist reading them aloud to Charlotte. But for the most part, both women worked in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts.

Clarisse was trying to forget what she had overheard of the discussion in Parliament, but she felt degraded and unclean. The Prime Minister had reportedly stormed out of the palace following the meeting, and had not been in touch with her since. And, of course, preparations for the ball, a ball which Clarisse did not want to attend and could hardly bear to think about, were going on all around the palace. What was she to do? Was there even a slim chance that Viscount Mabrey could persuade the Parliament to accept his offer of marriage to her? Would Parliament over-ride her desire to have nothing to do with him and force her into a marriage that would surely make her life a living hell?

The continual telephone calls, emails, faxes and letters tried Clarisse's patience almost as much as they tried Charlotte's. Still the women worked on, forced to read every letter on the off-chance that it was something urgent as opposed to just another marriage proposal. Charlotte had found two which required an answer because they dealt with requests for funds for charity. As for the rest of the letters, the trash can was soon filled to overflowing.

After a brief supper which Clarisse forced herself to choke down, knowing she needed to keep up her strength for the ordeal of the next few days, she went back to the office. The ever-faithful Charlotte soon returned to her side, supervising two of the footmen as they removed the trash so the piles of paper began to gradually diminish.

When the phone rang later, Charlotte looked startled, then answered it. Holding her hand over the receiver, she said to Clarisse, "Your Majesty, the switchboard says that Viscount Mabrey is on the line demanding to speak with you."

Clarisse's lips tightened. "I will not speak with that ... with him tonight. He may make an appointment to see me tomorrow." Logically she could not refuse to see him, but it would be on her terms, not his.

Charlotte nodded and relayed the message. She waited a moment, then winced and held the phone away from her ear as the Viscount's angry tones came through the receiver. "Yes, sir ... I know, sir ... yes, sir, she WILL meet with you, but I'm afraid she has retired for the evening ..."

"RETIRED FOR THE EVENING?" he roared.

Clarisse shook her head ruefully and Charlotte grinned at her before turning her attention back to the telephone. "Yes, sir, retired. No, sir, I'm afraid it would be more than my job is worth to interrupt her."

"INTERRUPT HER? WHO THE DEVIL IS WITH HER?"

Charlotte went scarlet. "That's NOT what I meant at all, sir!" she stammered. Then she rushed into speech. "Her Majesty has twenty minutes free tomorrow morning at ten-twenty-five. She will meet you ..."

"In the foyer," Clarisse inserted quietly.

"... in the foyer at that time, Viscount Mabrey. Thank you." and she hung up on his rather incoherent sputterings.

"You really don't lie very well, do you?" Clarisse asked wryly. "Now he thinks I'm with someone in my rooms."

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty!" Charlotte's face was still flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh, tosh! With the possible exception of a person like the Viscount, I hardly think a comment like that can be blown out of proportion," Clarisse waved it off as inconsequential. "I was just teasing you."

"Yes, your Majesty," Charlotte visibly tried to gather herself together and changed the subject. "Remember, you have your usual ten-forty-five throne room session in the morning as well, your Majesty. You also have a list of requests for visitations this evening ..."

"No, I am seeing no one tonight," Clarisse said firmly. "Do my eyes deceive me, or are we actually getting to the bottom of the letter pile?"

"Oh, dear," Charlotte sighed. "I forgot. There is another bag downstairs, I was told."

"You know, Charlotte, I do believe that these letters should be re-routed to Parliament, what do you think? We have spent HOURS on them ... and really, the members of Parliament are the ones who say they have the final decision in the end!"

"And it's all their fault, too!" muttered Charlotte. "You're right, of course, your Majesty. I will have all the rest taken there for tomorrow afternoon."

"I DO hate to impose upon Sebastian Motaz like that, but I feel no compunction whatsoever making the others go through them. Perhaps I shall speak with the Prime Minister before the session."

"Maybe you can BOTH excuse yourselves for the first hour," suggested Charlotte with a smile, "and leave them to sort letters on their own. It would keep them occupied while you and Mr. Motaz meet."

"Excellent suggestion!" Clarisse nodded.

"It's getting late, your Majesty," Charlotte ventured at last. "Forgive me, but you look tired. Don't you think you should ...?"

Clarisse put down her pen and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Then, without looking directly at Charlotte, she said slowly, "I just don't want to have to lie in bed, alone in the dark, and THINK."

Charlotte had no response to that. After a moment, Clarisse murmured, "Charlotte, do you have any idea what an arranged marriage is like?"

Charlotte soundlessly shook her head.

"I suppose there are some aspects which are positive ..." Clarisse was trying to sound optimistic, but her voice trailed off in the end. Charlotte waited, and soon Clarisse continued. "My parents and Rupert's arranged our marriage when we were very young."

"At that age," Charlotte ventured, "it might be exciting to know you were already engaged and didn't have to worry about whether or not you were attractive or ..."

"At age six, believe me, it is NOT exciting. Of course, I was not an attractive six-year-old by any stretch of the imagination. As a matter of fact, Rupert was certain that I would give him cooties, or some such affliction, if I touched him, " Clarisse's light laugh broke and she bit her lip for a moment to compose herself again.

Charlotte's hand slowly reached out and touched Clarisse's. "I understand, your Majesty."

"When we were a little older, it seemed we both harboured some ... anxiety, I suppose you could say, but of course there was nothing either of us could do about it. And so we married. We both had such high hopes for our marriage." Clarisse's eyes were shadowed as she thought back and spoke softly. "We grew very fond of each other, and were the best of friends, but ... well," she shook her head, smiling sadly, "love is illusive. I sometimes wonder what it would have been like had we loved each other passionately rather than the warm affection we DID find." Clarisse's voice trailed off again. Then she focussed on Charlotte, a hint of fear in her eyes, and confessed, "I must say to you, Charlotte, and please, don't tell anyone, but ... I can feel a ... a fear mounting. I've only been given until Saturday before being thrust into another arranged marriage, and to be honest, I'm ... afraid. Afraid of the future. Afraid to say no to Parliament. Afraid to stand up for myself ..." Again her voice broke. Deep down inside she felt the burning of a fear she could not express -- that she was about to be drawn back into the trap she had escaped upon Rupert's death. She and Rupert had grown to be friends, but what if she was given to someone she couldn't love? Someone she grew to hate ...? Someone she already despised ...?

Charlotte waited in silence, her hand still resting on Clarisse's. At last Clarisse began to speak quietly again, talking of the fear that she was not loveable for herself but only for what she could bring to a marriage. "In Rupert's case, I had brought him the chance for immortality in our children. That, of course, is no longer an issue. Charlotte, I have no doubt whatsoever that the Viscount does not love me. He loves the thought of the power he would be able to wield as my husband. Power over me personally," and she shuddered in horror at that thought, "and, perhaps ever more desirable to him, power over Genovia."

Just then, a deep voice came from the doorway, startling both women. "He will never have power over Genovia OR you, your Majesty."

Clarisse, at the first sound of his voice, felt the icy fear inside her begin to melt instantly. "JOSEPH!"

To be continued ...