Somehow she had made it back to her suite unnoticed. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were puffy and her throat sore. As she closed the door to her private rooms, she turned the key behind her. Philippe was due in three hours and there was no way she could face him in this state. She wandered through to the bedroom, peeling off her damp jacket and draping it over the back of a seat. As she reached the bathroom, she removed the rest of her clothes and wrapped herself in one of the oversize towels that were warming on the radiator. Running the bath, she stepped over to look at herself in the mirror. As the steam rose of the bath, her face seemed to fade away, vanishing almost. If only it were that simple.

She lay for a long time in the water, closing her eyes, drifting in the memories. The storm was still crashing around outside and it was intruding into her relaxation. She had been shocked by the raw physical need she had felt in his presence, the way her hands had shaken, how her mouth had grown dry. Yes, she had always been attracted to him, had always felt at home in his arms, but now there was an almost desperate need to hold him. And yet he had been so cold, so formal. Was he playing her at her own game? Teaching him a lesson? She thought not.

Opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling, she chided herself for reacting this way. Of course, he was doing his job. He was behaving as she had wanted. Indeed, he was behaving as she should be. Suddenly, for the first time since Rupert's death she realised that she might never hold him again. A single tear crept down her cheek. Dignified and stoic. She must be strong now, to not make this harder than it already was. Perhaps one day they might be friends. But for now she must learn to cope without him.

The distance between them continued to grow over the next two weeks. Philippe arrived as arranged and quickly decided that his mother was looking run-down and in need of his company. He cancelled a tour of South Africa and settled to stay in the palace for a month. He didn't explicitly tell Clarisse why he had decided to stay, but she was shrewd enough to make a guess.

A few weeks into his stay, she was up late, in her study, looking over some draft amendments to the constitution relating to Philippe's assumption of the throne. She had lost track of time and had missed dinner again. Her absence had been noted and, having finished his book, Philippe decided to go and see if she was still working. To his mild disappointment, she was.

"Mother?" He poked his head round the study door and raised an eyebrow at the scattered papers littering the desk.

She smiled, slipping her glasses off and setting them down.

"Hello darling." She paused, and then, looking down slightly guiltily to the papers,

"I missed dinner, didn't I?"

He came into the room and shut the door behind him. Moving over to the desk, he crouched down a little and draped a comforting arm around her shoulders. He wasn't one for overblown emotional gestures, but she looked very much like she was in need of a hug.

"Is everything alright?" He paused, looking up at her, gently rubbing her shoulder, "And I mean really…"

She sighed and attempted a smile, turning slightly to kiss his cheek. "Yes, darling, I'm fine." He didn't look convinced, so she continued. "All the better for having you here."

He smiled and rose again, eyeing her a little suspiciously. "I don't believe you…but I understand if you don't want to tell me. I just…"

"I know"

He wandered over to the leather sofa and sat down, her eyes following him all the way.

"I am alright, Philippe, I promise. I'm just a little blue… I'm sure it will pass."

He smiled, pleased to see the twinkle in her eye returning a little. He knew there was something up, but he decided not to push it. He'd just ask Charlotte in the morning.

In the meantime, Joe had managed to settle back reasonably painlessly into the routine of the palace. To be honest, after the chaos of Spain and the continual need to make arrangements, the regularity of shift work came as a welcome relief. Some days he even managed a smile.

The day after his return he had spoken with Charlotte, and from then on they had become much closer as friends. It was strange, although he had seen much more of her before Rupert's death, it was only now that he had felt really able to talk openly with her. Of course, he never mentioned Clarisse but, now there was nothing really to mention, the not-mentioning it became easier. He hardly saw the Queen, in fact, taking care to arrange his shifts to coincide with when she had appointments. Naturally, he was painfully aware of the irony that, in spite of him avoiding her, it was precisely according to her that he structured his life, but never mind.

Since their awkward conversation in the Emerald room she had not called on him once. He had to admit that that had hurt but, again, perhaps it was for the best. At least she now understood where he stood. And it wasn't at arm's length behind her, for once.

So the days went by quite easily… without the thrill of her touch he could avoid the inevitable getting burnt. It seemed for the moment the best he could expect. But the nights, the nights were harder. No matter how much he could train his body to behave according to his will, his unconscious mind refused any such regime. Sometimes he would dream of her lying beside him, almost feeling her curled around his body; other times he would suffer terrible nightmares, as she left him, bleeding on the ground, laughing all the time at his pain. Regardless of the dream though, the result was the same…waking up with tears streaming down his face. A grown man reduced to a little boy, and he hated it. No, sleep did not come easily for him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Clarisse was sitting in her office, working on a letter to the French PM when Joe wandered in at five. She glanced up and smiled, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she did so.

"Am I disturbing?" She glanced behind him into the open corridor and, seeing it was clear, motioned for him to close the door.

"Not at all. In fact, I was just about stuck with this one…" She rubbed her temples, trying to dispel the tension.

Joe sighed, wondering if she'd ever learn to take a break, and wandered over to stand behind her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. Starting to massage them gently, he dropped a quick kiss to her head.

"My, my…you are tense. What is so difficult about this particular one?"

She smiled, immediately relaxing under his firm touch.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Try me…"

"OK, you asked for it…it's a letter to the French PM, outlining the objections I have regarding their policy on diplomatic immunity and extradition of foreign citizens. Apparently there is a French national, guilty of murder in Genovia who subsequently was captured in Paris. It's a matter of politics where the trial should take place and parliament have asked me to intervene….see, not exactly fascinating…"

He smiled, tracing his thumbs down her bare neck,

"To the contrary my darling, I think it's quite interesting…."

She turned to look at him, somewhat surprised with his reaction. Suddenly, she glanced at her watch. 5.15. Excellent.

"Joseph, can you go and lock the door, please?"

Now it was his turn to be surprised.

A/N Sorry it's a bit shorter than usual but, once again, I've ended up splitting a chapter so I can submit something now and have more of a think about the end part. The rest should be up tomorrow. Btw, Clarisse's suggestion at the end is SO not what you think… ;o) Please review! Fank you!