A/N Post PD1 – Back in Genovia.

For those who don't know, Pierre is the son of Queen Clarisse, her firstborn who renounced his claim to the throne to join the church. Right now in my sandbox, Pierre is a parish minister, single sigh> , and working very hard in his church in Mertz. Oh, and my sandbox is a happy place where nobody minds us playing with our happy couple...

Pastor Pierre, he preferred that title to 'His Royal Highness', drove his old BMW up the lane to Mrs. Westin's home about 15 minutes away from the shore. She was a widow, had been for nearly 20 years and had been a faithful member of the parish her entire life. She didn't get out to church much anymore, but she looked forward to a visit from her favourite minister, Pastor Pierre, every Wednesday afternoon. Today would be no exception.

She met him at the gate, her big smile welcoming him before he could climb out of the car. She hugged him with a fierceness that belied her 80 some years. She was a dear and how he enjoyed getting away from the sometimes mundane business of the parish to come and visit Mrs. Westin and share some of her famous peanut butter cookies.

Several glasses of iced tea and half a dozen cookies later the revelation happened.

"Pierre", she always dropped the 'pastor' when they were alone. "I've been giving some thought to clearing out some of my things while I still have my wits about me. Not the everyday things of course, but some of the old pieces in the loft."

He smiled. They had this conversation every summer. "Oh, and dear Mrs. Westin why would you be wanting to do that now?"

"Well, I'm not getting any younger you know." She winked at him. "Not that anyone could tell."

There was tiredness in her eyes and this time Pierre knew there was a sense of urgency in her that had not been there before. "Well, what would you like me to do?"

She stood, placing her glass on the end table and reaching for his not-yet-empty one. He handed it over somewhat reluctantly. "Come up to the loft over the garage with me. There's one piece in particular you might find interesting."

He followed her, rueing the fact that he'd put on his best suit today and now was about to climb into a dusty, dirty loft. Oh well, the church ladies were always after him to spruce up his wardrobe, perhaps it was time to get a new suit…

They climbed up the stairs into the loft, and Pierre was surprised to see so many large pieces of furniture, all covered up with white sheets to protect them.

"Mr. Westin had a great fascination for the historical value of old pieces of furniture. He collected them throughout his life. When he passed I never had the heart to get rid of them." She seemed to be looking for a piece in particular, although going down memory lane in the meantime. "Ah! Here it is back in this corner."

Pierre helped her move some of the pieces to bring her selection into the open area near the stairs. They removed the sheet and Mrs Westin ran her hand lovingly over the old wood. It was a mahogany desk, likely French, and inlaid with leather and brass. It was an antique but not really all that old. Pierre guessed it was circa 1940's or maybe a bit earlier. It was in beautiful condition, and he mused that the previous owner had taken good care of it.

"It's beautiful, Mrs. Westin. How long have you had it?"

"I bought it at auction for my husband just before he died. He sent me over to look at it, and even though I knew he'd never be well enough to use it or restore it he'd want to have it in his collection. Oh, my, I've had it just over 20 years now I guess. It's been up here in this attic since the day the men delivered it."

She seemed lost in memories again, and Pierre let her go as he closely examined the piece. He'd had a thing for restoring furniture himself, as Mrs. Westin knew, and even though still very much an amateur, had a sense that this piece had a story in it somewhere. He wondered, as he felt the leather top, who had used it, and what had they written on it? What business or family treasures had crossed this desk before it came to rest in Mrs. Westin's loft? "If only you could speak," he said under his breath.

"…the palace. She had started to speak again, but in Pierre's musings he only caught the last few words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I don't think it was ever used at the palace, only at the summer residence in Mertz."

Pierre paid close attention now. "Mrs. Westin, are you saying that this piece came from the Royal Household?"

"Yes, my boy. There was an auction one year, very rare event indeed and it brought out the whole town and all the collectors, too. It cost me a pretty penny, but I got it." She was evidently proud of her bidding ability, and the fact she was able to get such a valuable piece of history for her husband.

Pierre looked much closer at the desk, the familiarity with it coming slowly but surely. "May I?" he asked with his hand on the drawer handle.

"By all means, look it over."

Pierre gently opened and closed the drawers, just a few cobwebs and dust in each. The top right hand drawer stuck a bit, but otherwise it didn't need much restoration to bring it back to its original glory. Finally he stood and brushed the dust from his pants. "Mrs. Westin, it's beautiful. I can't imagine why you'd want to part with it."

"Because I want it to go to someone who will appreciate it and look after it. My husband would want that. That's why I'm giving it to you."