Chapter Twelve: Jane on Ice
"It's not fair!" Mary Tudor scraped sticky white rice into the huge garbage bin. She'd been doing the same task all afternoon, scraping and stacking trays over and over again. "I get sent home in disgrace while Jane gets to stay in France and enjoy herself!"
"Queen Jane has always looked out for you," Jamil Khan said quietly. "You said yourself she's the kindest royal stepmother you've ever had. She probably wishes she was home right now with you and the king."
"Hah!" Mary's shoulders were starting to ache. Jamil Khan's family was very rich, and their mosque in central London fed more than a thousand of London's poorest citizens every day. Mary had been serving meals all week and cleaning up afterwards.
"You don't believe she cares about you?" Jamil Khan's dark brown eyes regarded her questioningly.
"She cares about me." Mary shrugged her weary shoulders. "Deep down Jane is a very caring person. But she enjoys the royal life a little too much. And she loves my father, but . . ."
"But she's in trouble again." Jamil Khan put his slim brown hands on the Tudor girl's tired, aching shoulders. "It's man trouble."
"It's always man trouble." Mary was so tired of covering for her stepmother. She wanted to close her eyes and let Jamil Khan soothe away her aches and pains. Instead she pulled away. "Jane is weak, and that sexy French minister is taking advantage of her. The environmental conference is over, but the two of them are flying off to Switzerland for some sort of 'informal' meeting!'"
"But the Queen of England can't just take off on some romantic getaway," Jamil objected sensibly. He didn't make a fuss when Mary shied away from his gentle touch. "I mean, the royal jet is always full of security people. They keep tabs on her, don't they?"
Mary nodded. "But this Bernard character is in the French ministry. If he charters a private jet he can get Jane away from all her handlers, and there are spas and hotels in Switzerland so secluded that nobody will ever whisper a word about them."
"Well, a private jet and a secluded spa cost money," Jamil pointed out. "And if Bernard is only an assistant minister, he can't really be that rich. I'll bet there's something funny going on."
"Probably, but what does that have to do with Jane? If father finds out she's run off to Switzerland with a much younger man . . ."
"Private jets can fly anywhere," Jamil Khan said. His smile was very mysterious. "Let's get these dirty dishes back to the kitchen."
A few hours later . . .
Southern France was even hotter than usual for this time of year. As she boarded the private jet, Jane made a silly joke about climate change. She was feeling nervous about the trip.
"Switzerland is much cooler, and the Alps are very beautiful." Bernard was close behind her, and he rested a firm hand on the small of her back as they climbed the folding stairs. But just then he seemed to get some sort of message on his tiny pager.
"Bernard? What's the matter?" Jane's jittery mood was surely making her imagine things. Was that really a look of fear she saw on her French lover's face?
"Ce n'est rien, ma douce. Nothing is wrong!" Bernard quickly kissed her lips in a way that made her heart turn flips. "Climb on board and relax while I have a chat with these two gentlemen. A small misunderstanding, nothing more."
"Is everything all right?" Jane hadn't noticed the two French security men who simply appeared from out of nowhere. Fearful and apprehensive, she took a faltering step back to Bernard, wobbling in her Louboutin heels. But then someone took her arm.
"You will please follow me, Your Majesty." The girl in the smart blue uniform looked more like a police officer than an air hostess.
"Am I under arrest?" Jane tried to joke her way out of the moment. But when she looked over her shoulder she saw that Bernard was already being led away by the two security men. And she knew the small private jet was not really taking her to Switzerland.
"Your Majesty will be back in London by evening," the trim and very fit air hostess said. She gave Jane a smile, but didn't loosen her grip on the queen's arm. "Please come into the cabin and take your seat. You will have time for a drink before takeoff."
"I'd like a glass of champagne." Jane knew she was beaten. But she gave her golden hair a last defiant toss. "French champagne."
The bottle came at once, in a fancy bucket of crushed ice. Leaning back in her reclining seat, Jane sipped from her glass. She was on ice, just like the champagne. Part of her was frightened by the thought of facing Henry in England. And part of her was furious at being torn from her lover's arms. And part of her . . . well, perhaps a small part of her was secretly grateful that things hadn't gone too far. Jane drained her glass with a shrug of her shoulders, resolving to be a much better queen from now on. And she'd take better care of Mary too.
Tidying the cabin after takeoff, the air hostess removed the empty glass. And she put a blanket over Jane, already asleep with her seat tilted back and her heels kicked off. Jamil Khan had been correct. Recapturing the wayward English queen had been easy.
But could the king really control her?