Malling went to the basement to see Hendrik, who was supposed to have been tapping Thalen's phone. "I heard you recorded Thalen's phone calls for Seton," he said, stepping over a few wires. The basement was full of mysterious equipment and it would be impossible for anyone else to find anything.

"Yes, I did. I haven't got the time to listen to them, though," Hendrik answered. He rolled his chair to a small cabinet with an electronic lock and keyed in a code. The door sprang open and he took out a box with tapes. "There you are."

Malling looked at the box. "Thank you. Can you say how long it will take me approximately?"

"Oh, a few hours," Hendrik shrugged.

"I'll have people each type out a tape," Malling decided. "And then I can search the document for references to queens." Perhaps they would recognise Thalen's voice, but that was a risk he had to take. If he had really been up to something unsavoury it was not necessary to keep that from the staff.

John's thought was that he could not help Anna at the moment anyway, so it was not very useful to think about her while he was on court. He had no more than one fleeting moment of terror in which he imagined that she would no longer be there when he was finished, but he told himself not to be ridiculous. He should only think of her in a positive way. But not too positive, as Patrick clearly showed. He knew Patrick was going to lose, or if he was not, that he would be very, very lucky, because his mind seemed to be more on his dinner date than on the match. John wondered about the date. Patrick claimed that he would only be entertaining Marie-Celeste because she was bored now that her sister was always with his brother and because of a few other excuses. John had pretended to accept them, but he had wondered all the same, just like he had wondered that morning.

People had wondered about him too, naturally, but to anyone who had been daring enough to ask directly, he had not been able to deny it outright. With the result that now even the commentators knew. "He's more disposed to say something if you say something nice about Anna," one of the commentators remarked.

"Is that so?" the other answered curiously.

"Oh, yes. It takes a while, but...you'll get there in the end. I had been trying to get him to say something and at long last I asked if he had seen those pictures of her in her evening dress and he said his mother had shown them to him, so I complimented him and he just smiled a little."

"I thought you said he was more disposed to say something?" asked the other.

"Well, he did. Patience! I asked him if it was true that he had fallen for the dress like the article said and he said he knew I would bring that up in my commentary -- heh! -- so he had better tell me that the article was wrong in that aspect. According to the article, Anna had dressed up especially to conquer him, but he assured me that she would never do something like that because she was much too shy and because that dress was pretty impractical if the wearer had had a seduction in mind."

"Oooh! Why?" the other said delightedly.

"Apparently it's difficult to take off. I didn't ask how he knew, but --"

"I would have."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. That guy really knows how to end a conversation. He shocks you by casually implying that he's attempted to undress the Queen and while you're gasping for breath, he just smiles and walks away."

Anna was not very fond of the helicopter, but it was the only option if she wanted to continue the visit without keeping everyone waiting for hours. But what could she say? She would rather have John go with her. She would be less scared then, but he would never come along and it would be odd if she brought him on an official visit. This was a big dilemma. Her heart and her head were at war again and she sat with her dead in her hands, trying to come to a decision because people were waiting.

John knew where her office was by now and he found it all by himself. He was a bit surprised to see all those other people sitting there in silence, staring at Anna. For a brief moment he wondered if she was meditating, but since he had never seen her do that, he assumed that she was only thinking. It was more likely that she was trying to take a difficult decision. Surprisingly enough she did not smile when she noticed him, but she only gave him a tormented look. What was tormenting her?

"I'm thinking about going back in the heli," she said. Everybody had already seen him before, so why bother to introduce him?

"You can't be serious," he answered.

"There is no bomb."

"They did not find one, you mean," he corrected her. He was not reassured by the fact that they had not found one.

"I want to go." Anna looked at him.

John looked back, aware that everyone was staring at them. He was not comfortable with the fact that they could all hear what they were saying.

"I know you don't want me to go," she continued. "And I know I don't want to go without you and I know you don't want to come, even if you could." She summarised the situation so they would all understand the dilemma.

John was amazed that she would speak so openly in front of other people. Or would they all get a say in whether he could come or not? He sat down on the edge of her desk, looking alternately at her bowed head and the snow outside, but not at anyone else. He saw it had cost her a lot of effort to say it out loud and he was glad for it. He would not like it if such things came easily. Maybe she had a reason for it. Maybe she would not have to explain herself afterwards if she acquainted everyone with her thoughts right away. "It's easy then. Don't go."

"But I don't want to be a coward."

And she did not want to give up something she had begun, he understood that. "But what would he do if his plan failed?" he asked suddenly. "He might be so angry that he's really going to plant a bomb next time."

Anna raised her head in alarm. "No," she said incredulously.

John's phone rang. I had Thalen's phone calls checked. We found something, said Malling.

"I knew it. It wouldn't have entered his mind to even consider the possibility that someone might tap his phone. What did he say?"

"That links him to the case, doesn't it?" He held the phone to his ear with one hand and rummaged through Anna's shoulder bag with the other. It was good that Anna seemed to have an aversion against throwing away potentially useful things, but not so good that she seemed to consider just about anything potentially useful. She was looking a little curiously at what he was doing, as were the others.

"And it would be plausible that he used a bomb threat to oppose this nuisance?"

"Excellent," said John, although he wondered if that did not come just a little bit too late. He pulled a paper napkin out of Anna's bag and studied the drawing that Anna had made during their meeting with the Commissioner. She had added some more details to it since he had last seen it. "What's your fax number?" Malling gave him his fax number and John pushed the napkin towards Anna after he had scribbled the number onto it. "Fax this for me. I don't where you keep your fax."

Anna had been listening to him with interest and wondered who needed to see her schematic drawing of the PM's organisation, but she got up and left the room to copy and fax it. John would have his reasons to ask her.

"Anna's going to fax you something now. It might be useful." He ignored the curious stares he was receiving because he had told Anna to fax. Why should he not tell Anna to fax? It was not as if he was ordering her to do it and she did it without protesting. Or did they think that she should not be faxing?

"No, the other way around."

"Great."

Anna returned and found John had ended the call. "I faxed."

He stood frowning. "Do you still want to go?" He remembered that some of Malling's men were at the school or in the vicinity. There would be police too. Nobody would get the chance to do anything to her.

"I shouldn't feel at ease if I didn't go."

"If you go, I want to go, but --"

Anna's face lit up.

"Wait!" he said. "If I go, I'll stay in the helicopter." Neither of them looked at what the others thought of this. It was not important.

"But you'll be there and I won't be scared." It was plain to see what she wanted and that she meant what she said.

"Pretend I'm one of your attendants," John grumbled. Why could he not stay firm? It happened so seldom that he acquiesced to doing something he disliked, but Anna could make him do it. "Don't I look the part?"

Anna looked at his jeans and sweater and her eyes danced happily. "As far as clothes are concerned, yes, but you're too cute," she whispered so only he could hear her.

Anna could also make him blush, which had been another unpleasant discovery, and he felt his cheeks burn. "I don't want to be cute," he said distastefully. "That word has a teenage idol flavour."

She gave him an understanding look and smiled teasingly. "I know how I can get you to look very embarrassed and sweet...Did you win?" she asked in a normal voice again.

"Of course. The tournament isn't that strong."

"Don't put yourself down. Will you come?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked philosophically. "If you don't go, you're going to be bad company all evening."

Anna opened her mouth, but closed it when he winked. "Well, that's settled then. I suggest that everyone who objects to the idea stay home," she said briskly to the rest of the room, who had been listening with curiosity and surprise. "Anyone?"

There were a few camera crews present already when Anna returned. Anything Anna did nowadays was interesting, but they did not see her very well because she entered the school through the back entrance. People who were not allowed to enter the school had nothing to do but to stay outside and wait until Anna would come out again, which might take several hours for all they knew.

John stayed with the two helicopter pilots, but they soon got bored and cold in the helicopter and he agreed to the suggestion that they go for a drink, seeing that security was adequate enough. Suspicious characters would not be allowed to come near the school and everyone would be inspected upon entering the school. Most people were parents of the students anyway and they had invitations that they had to show before they were allowed in. Because it gave them a clear view of the helicopter, they went to the same place Anna had been taken before by the headmaster and found that it was also frequented by a few reporters who had realised the uselessness of waiting outside in the snow. They had packed up their cameras for the time being, assuming that Anna would not have returned to the school for a mere half-hour visit.

"Well have I ever," said John when he noticed Nathalie and the two young men from the Express who had drunk coffee with him. He recognised them and they would recognise him, so why ignore them? "What's the sensation here, chaps?"

The two were too excited to say more than hello, but Nathalie greeted him normally. "What is Anna doing here?" She assumed it was alright to ask, since they had practically admitted that they were a couple and everyone would know it anyway.

"She wanted to go back. Sense of duty, I suppose. But aren't you glad she did? You would have been here for nothing. I read that article of yours about my routine," he said to the two young men to change the subject.

"Did you like it, sir?"

John felt he was not nearly old and dignified enough to deserve being addressed in that way. "Sir? Ugh! We'll join you." And why not? They had to pass the time. He and the pilots sat down and he ordered more drinks. Nathalie and her companion also moved up a table. The two from the Express were not the only reporters there -- he also recognised a correspondent for the national news, who was of course much too serious to sit at the same table, but who was not serious enough to refrain from eavesdropping. "I have been reading a lot of nonsense about myself in the past few days, but at least it focuses more on my habits and not on my personality, such as what I've been reading about Anna."

"What do you mean?" asked the reporter from the Express.

Nathalie grinned. "The question of the dress?"

"Oh, you read that one too? That was absolutely ridiculous," said John. "You know how she dresses off duty and off duty is when things come about." Actually, Anna had not been wearing something that had shown more skin than the dress, but that was none of their business.

"I'm curious how it came about, because I think that she acquired the crucial social skills along with you," said Nathalie. "And not before you." She wondered if he would let her get away with saying that, but she was curious and curiosity should never be suppressed.

"There is a difference between not having them and not using them," John said calmly.

One of the pilots nodded seriously. "She's very shy, but she still asked us if we please wouldn't do any funny acrobatics up in the air, because she was afraid of flying. I think she can talk when she needs something."

"It's amazing how shyness can be overcome in a case of absolute necessity." John noted that they were all looking at him with interest. Thank you, Nathalie. And he had not guessed that Anna was not too happy flying. She hid it well.

"And you were an absolute necessity?" Nathalie laughed when John pulled a face at her. "I still maintain that you might have been a necessity. I had a nice chat with her over the weekend and that wouldn't have been possible two weeks ago, I bet."

"I'm not sure you're right about that, but I didn't know her two weeks ago. Isn't she sweet?" he asked with a smile.

"The proprietor said she cried. She was in here after the school was evacuated," the young reporter clarified, perhaps he associated crying with sweetness, or perhaps he did not associate one thing with the other at all, but he just wanted to get a word in. "He said she was afraid."

"That's possible," John agreed. "There was a bomb alert. I don't think you should write that she cried." He gave advising a try, considering that the previous time they had written exactly what he had told them.

"But the public likes emotions."

"But somebody is trying to scare her and if he finds out that she cried, he'll know it worked."

"But she'll have the support of the public," Nathalie said. "I know whom you're getting at. Is he involved?"

"There can't be more people after her." He did not know what Anna would do if that were the case. She could only barely take one enemy.

"Excuse me," the national news correspondent interjected. "Are you John Seton?"

"Yes." John knew the man had been listening -- what a sneaky character to eavesdrop on conversations that went on at other tables.

"I wasn't sure, because you look a little different in your normal clothes, but I guessed from the things you said. May we have an interview with you?" He did not know what he had expected. Perhaps someone who wore a tracksuit or expensive accessories. But definitely someone who would stay away from the press and not sit down with them for an informal drink.

"No, thank you," John said politely.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like that."

It was spoken so decidedly that it was no use begging. Seton was not going to say yes. "But you can tell us why the Queen returned. What motivated her?"

John did not know how much he could say. It was none of their business how he felt about Anna's return. If he betrayed that he did not really support it, they would perhaps focus too much on their disagreement and he did not want that. "The only one who can tell you that is Anna herself and if you really want to know, you should ask her."

"We won't be allowed near enough. The Count --"

"Who's the Count? Count Dracula? I don't know any counts. But if Anna wants to say anything, she will, regardless of what the Count -- whoever he is -- would like her to do."

"He makes sure her visits run smoothly."

"So I suppose that means he had nothing to do with the bomb threat," John said sarcastically. "Because it isn't really going very smoothly. He must be the one who disapproves of public transport." It had to be the aristocratic-looking older man who had frowned when he had said that he would take the bus and who had again frowned when he had come along. The rest had not looked like counts.

"Do you mind being forced to wait here?" the correspondent asked. "Wouldn't you rather have been there with her?"

John shuddered. He could not see himself doing whatever Anna did. "You must be joking. She's got her job and I've got mine. She wasn't on court with me this morning either, is she?" he asked and placed his hands around his coffee cup when it was brought over.

"She was there yesterday," said Nathalie.

"Not down on court. She didn't even watch. And how do you know that anyway? What happened to real news? If that's the level that the news bulletins have sunk to, I'm not going to watch them anymore. I wouldn't want to be misinformed about every tiny detail in some uninteresting couple's life either."

"Oh, but then you won't be interested in your friend Thomas and his attempts to seduce me either," Nathalie said shrewdly.

"Not at all. Don't forget to send me an invitation to your wedding, though," John replied.

"Never. And you send me one too."

"Don't say never with so much conviction, Nathalie. One of the two people who are going to have dinner together tonight also said never in such a tone once and they're still going out to dinner." He forgot which one it had been, Marie-Celeste or Patrick. "And I'm not sure if I can invite you. Anna set the maximum number of guests at ten and between the two of us we already have seven close relatives."

"Ten?" Nathalie cried.

"Yes, so that gives us three wildcards. Wait! My father isn't really interested in wedding parties, so maybe four wildcards. Actually, I'm not really interested and neither is Anna, so if we don't come, anyone may come. That sounds like a great arrangement," he said reflectively.

"Nice of you!"

"Maybe I reconcile her to twelve guests," he suggested.

"I don't think the rest of the world is going to let you get away with twelve guests," Nathalie commented.

"Who would we be marrying for? For the rest of the world?"

"I'm amazed that you're already considering marriage after a week," said the correspondent with surprise in his voice.

John wondered how much of what he said would make its way to the national news. But at least it would be the truth and he did not care much if people knew the truth -- he liked to talk about Anna at the moment and he could not help it that he wanted everyone to have the right opinion of her. He turned towards him and beamed. "After a week? After an hour!"

"After an hour you knew that you wanted to marry her?" the photographer from the Express asked in awe.

"Well...not exactly, but close enough."

"You men are such simple creatures. I heard the same from your friend, Thomas," Nathalie said pityingly.

"You bring that simple creature up an awful lot," John said with a sidelong glance at her. He wondered how they had been getting along.

It was three hours and several card games later that John received an SMS message from Anna, saying that she was hungry and that she would go and get something to eat first before she would return to the helicopter, because they did not really have a lot to eat at the school. He sent a message back, saying where they were and then he ordered a chicken sandwich without butter. There was a crowd gathering in front of the school and he assumed that Anna was on her way out. "Now listen," he said to the people from the TV news. "If she's coming here --"

"She's coming here?"

"Shhh! If she's coming here, don't turn on that camera. Leave it where it is. I assume that you want some news? You're not going to get anything out of her if you start acting like journalists. She will clam up and she will be out of here in a second. If you do what I say, you won't get any images, you won't get any interview, but you will get a better impression of what she's like. It's up to you."

"John, are you selling your girlfriend?" Nathalie asked.

"No, I'm protecting her."

"So what do we do?" the correspondent asked. He knew Anna was likely to clam up and that aggressive questioning was not going to accomplish anything. Perhaps it was interesting to give Seton's method a try. It was also interesting that Seton realised that running away was not going to accomplish anything either.

"Nothing. Just sit and listen and don't think 'oh there's the Queen and I must ask her this and that.' No. Just don't say anything. Or if you do, don't make it a question." John peered outside. The crowd had advanced a little in the direction of the café and the waiter brought the sandwich. "She forgot to eat in all the commotion and she's very hungry. She's not going to want to answer stupid questions. I'm sure that if you just observe her you'll glean enough information about her to make something of it."

"We'll see," said the newsman. He already imagined himself talking about what he had seen. It might work. He would likely have more to say than if he tried to do it the normal way. His cameraman already had images of Anna arriving and images of the outside of the school. It might be enough if he could pick up enough things to say.

"And you too," John said to the duo from the Express. "You can write she likes chicken sandwiches for all I care, but don't bother her with any questions she doesn't have an answer to, such as when are you getting married. Please?" He looked outside again. She was nearly there now. Her progress was slow, because everyone wanted to ask her things, but she was shaking her head politely and let the police and the bodyguards make a way for her. "See? That's what I mean."

"But the competitors will have a picture and we don't."

"Who knows that if you're nice she won't give you a picture?" John nodded at the bodyguard who preceded Anna. The rest of her group followed her and the policemen kept everyone else out of the café. That was good.

Anna looked a little fatigued and harassed when she entered, but she smiled when she saw John. He held out the plate to her. "Oh, that's so nice of you," she murmured, a little self-consciously because there were more people nearby. She sat down in the chair next to him and took a bite. "I'm starving." She drew in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry. I got married."

"What?" John asked in surprise.

"I got married," she said with barely suppressed amusement.

"Married?"

"Yes, I'm so sorry about that. I took care to pick someone you wouldn't really be jealous at, but he was soooo cute."

John looked rather confused and he rested his head in his hands. "Just -- what? Cute?"

"Oh, don't torture him, Anna!" Nathalie exclaimed.

Anna was taken aback by her voice. "Oh hi Nathalie. I hadn't seen you. Sorry. What are you doing -- oh, you're a journalist. I forgot. Sorry." She looked confused now too.

"Married?" John asked again.

"Oh, I'll show you the picture," Anna said readily. "The dress looks rather odd, but that's because the zipper wouldn't close at the back. My shoulders are too broad, I think. How do you like my husband? Isn't he cute?" John choked on his coffee when he saw the picture and she patted his back. "It's not that bad!" she exclaimed. "Is it?" She studied the picture herself.

"Pff," said John, unable to say anything else.

"Alright, I look awful," she conceded. "I wouldn't pick such a dress if I had the choice."

"He's too young for you, Anna," John said with difficulty.

"But there was a class room when you could get married and he was dying to get married and nobody wanted to marry him," she apologised hastily. "He was so adorable, standing there going 'Mummy, I want to get married too,' and nobody wanted to marry him because he's only three, so I took pity on him and I made him very happy."

"What?" Nathalie asked. She understood nothing of it.

Anna gave her the picture and Nathalie snorted. John still had not really recovered, but Anna had her mouth full of sandwich so she could not say anything comforting. She nudged him softly and he took her hand.

"Oh, John," said Nathalie, looking at the picture. "I think you're going to have one of those cute little three-year olds in four years."

"Well..." said John. "And a two-year old, a one-year old and a baby, if Anna's mother has any say in it."

"Two of each, if your mother has any say in it," Anna added.

"And three of each if it was all up to you," he teased.

Anna stuck out her tongue and squeezed his hand. "Never! I don't have enough inspiration to name them all."

"Oh no? You have a long table full of relatives who all have about five names each, I'm sure."

"You'd be amazed how many have the same names -- half of them have Anna in some place or other. And don't make fun of my relatives! I saw on the order of play at the tennis stadium that you were J. A. B. C. D. Seton or something like that."

"J. T. H. F. R. Seton," he corrected in amusement.

"Why so many?"

"Because my mother knew she'd get an uninspired daughter-in-law," he countered.

Anna had not really looked around herself and she had not noticed anyone but John, Nathalie and the pilots, but when she did, she vaguely recognised the national news correspondent, although she did not know where from. She also realised that they had heard everything and that the Count and the Baroness and the bodyguards were still standing. Maybe this was all taking far too long and she realised that they had only been talking about marriage and children, as if this was all that interested them. She finished her sandwich. "Have you paid for it yet?" she asked John.

"No."

"Oh, then I will." She held out a bank note.

He refused to take it. "I'll do it."

"Fine, you do it." She put the money away again, but when he went to the bar to pay, she quickly stuck it with a triumphant expression into his wallet that he had left on the table. "Men!" she said with an exasperated sigh.

"Women," John sighed when he returned and removed the bank note from his wallet again. "Darling, there is a mirror behind the bar." He stood with the bank note in his hands, unsure of what to do with it, because Anna held her hands behind her back defiantly so he could not give it back to her. "Alright then," he said and put the bank note back into his wallet. "I could shove it into your pocket, but I'm sure you'd find some clever way to get rid of it again during a kiss or something."

Anna raised her eyebrows in mild alarm and indicated the rest of the people with her eyes.

John grimaced. "Ummm...well...I suppose we sometimes kiss --" Maybe other people were not supposed to know that and he broke off.

Anna ran a hand through her hair in embarrassment. "Shut up, Seton," she urged. She grabbed her coat and his hand and pulled him towards the door, only to realise that she could not possibly take him there, because there were people waiting outside for her to come out and she pushed him back into the café. "How embarrassing," she said calmly. "I think we're stuck."

"What are we doing?" John asked. "Are we going back to get my coat?" He pulled on his coat and looked at her. She was staring at the floor in embarrassment and he hugged her. "Now don't be shocked, but I don't think anyone was surprised to hear that we're kissing," he whispered and felt her shudder. "Umm...the whole helicopter probably already noticed." He felt her shudder again. "I don't care if anybody knows. They'd probably envy me. And why can't we go outside? Weren't we together yesterday as well? Why not today?"

"Do you know her?" the TV correspondent asked Nathalie when Anna and John sat down at another table. He had no idea what they were doing. First she dragged him to the door and then when she discovered that she could not go out, she sat down there. It had puzzled him that Anna had greeted the journalist as if she knew her. How could a journalist know Anna personally? He knew there was one who had talked to during the so-called abduction, but how could she know Seton? Or his friends? "From an interview?"

"And from a party."

"Do you move in such high circles?"

Nathalie smiled. "Or she moves in low circles. I was invited by another guest."

"But you didn't write about that party," the correspondent concluded. "Did they become an item at the party?"

"It was a personal visit. They wouldn't have allowed me to come if I was going to write an article about it. So that answers your question, doesn't it? No, they didn't become an item at the party, because they already were. I wouldn't betray her like that. I didn't really know her before this weekend, but she doesn't deserve any more problems. And a word of warning. Don't follow them. You might lose your camera if you do. It happened to a photographer last Saturday. John doesn't like people who bother Anna."

"He's violent? He didn't strike me as the violent type."

"He's not violent. He just dropped the camera in the river. You haven't scared her yet. She knows someone is out to scare her -- take the bomb threat for example -- but she doesn't know how far he'll go. I don't know exactly what happened, but I think she was scared to death because she was being followed."

"Who's out to scare her?"

"Who do you think?" Nathalie asked. "Haven't you been following the news? Keller of course."

"But is that really true?"

"As if there wasn't enough evidence for it!" she exclaimed. It was hard to believe that there were still skeptics. "I did an interview with one of the men involved. Do you think he was lying? Do you think Anna would lie? She has no reason to lie."

"Are you suggesting he's behind the bomb threat?" the commentator leant forwards interestedly. He glanced at Anna who was still talking to John at the other table. "Does Seton know?"

"Of course he knows. And yes, I'm sure Keller is behind it. Why else should I be here if I didn't know it was aimed at Anna? Do you think I would waste my time on a simple visit? I didn't come here to see if she brought her lover, because I already knew about him. It's not interesting what she does in her spare time and with whom. It's nice to know that he's here, because if he let her go, there won't be any immediate danger, but he really doesn't do anything of public interest. It's enormously interesting for some people to speculate about how and when they'll be married, but I'd be very surprised if they've given that top priority at the moment. She's got too many other things to think about." She made a note to ask John if he knew anything about the bomb that she did not, but if he did and if he was willing to tell her, she did not want anyone else to get the scoop. "And now she's got that president to deal with too. I'm inclined to think he's on the Prime Minister's hand. People always take men more seriously," she said in a dissatisfied tone.

"It so good of you that you play so well -- that you don't let all this influence you," Anna said. "I'm really sorry that you have to suffer it and I'm trying not to bother you with it."

"I can suffer it because there's a reward."

"What's the reward?"

"Oh, Anna!" John began to laugh.

"But I could never have said that I knew what you meant, even if I had known," she protested. "That would be so..."

"Pff!"

"You're puffing an awful lot today!" She looked around and saw that her staff had sat down to wait for her. Fortunately the Count was not pressing her to move on. "I want to go home." She did not really know what she wanted, she realised. One minute she said one thing and the next minute she said something else. "I don't know what I want."

"You don't want to go home?" John asked.

"Yes, because there are too many problems I have to supervise, but..."

"How do you get to the helicopter? With me or without me, right?"

She smiled weakly and stared at the pattern on the tablecloth. It was ugly, but who cared about that, since people would not go to a café to look at the tablecloth. Presumably people went there to talk to each other and to look each other in the face. She raised her eyes to John's face. Yes, a much better sight. Would it not be great to walk there and to have everybody look at him and know that he was hers? "With you -- sudden attack of possessiveness," she mumbled.

"I don't mind being possessed." He kissed her over the table and then rose.

When they stepped outside, the policemen made a way for Anna and there were some questions from the press.

"I think it's really terrible," she answered to someone's question of what she thought of it.

"Mr. Seton, where did you come from?" another person shouted.

"Out of this café behind me," John said straight-faced.

"But you didn't go into it."

"Really?" John looked interested. "I wonder how I managed to come out of it then."

"Madam, were you really hungry or did you know he was there?"

"Nobody would ask any questions if your wife picked you up after work," Anna said, mildly annoyed. "And you are losing sight of the real issue. If someone has a problem with me, they should tell me directly and not do it over the heads of schoolchildren. And to do it anonymously is so low." Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, no more questions," the Count called.

Patrick had not done so well for himself -- he had twisted his ankle and he had had to give up the match -- and he left the stadium on crutches, accompanied by his parents. He was forced to call Marie-Celeste to cancel their date.

Marie-Celeste was not someone who wasted a lot of words on sympathy and she merely demanded to know where he was. Upon hearing that he was going to his parents' house to be pampered, she looked up the address in the phone book. She did not tell him she was thinking about coming over. He would say no anyway.

Mrs. Seton was busy taking care of the invalid and giving him enough to eat when she noticed an unknown car pull into the drive. She opened the back door and watched Marie-Celeste get out. They had only spoken over the phone once and she looked at the girl curiously.

Marie-Celeste's boots made a crispy sound on the snow as she walked towards the back door. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon." Mrs. Seton reflected on the difference between Anna and her younger sister. Marie-Celeste wore a skirt and accessories. Also, her hair was a little lighter than Anna's and her face was thinner. "Did you come to see Patrick?"

"Yes." Marie-Celeste was shown into the living room where the dog jumped on her enthusiastically.

"Down!" Patrick called to no avail.

"Such authority," she remarked and sat down at a suitable distance from him.

"What would you like to drink?" Mrs. Seton asked.

"Spa Citron, please."

Patrick snorted and Marie-Celeste looked at him curiously. "Maybe you should first ask what is available," he explained.

"I'm glad you're not in so much pain that you can't laugh," said his mother admonishingly. "But he's right. I'm afraid we don't have Spa Citron. We do have hot drinks and juices."

"A cappuccino, please."

"Geez, Marie-Celeste!" Patrick cried and attempted to stab her with one of his crutches.

Marie-Celeste looked confused and annoyed. Why were those Setons always conspiring against her? She grabbed the other end of the crutch and pulled it. "What is it this time?"

"Ask for coffee, not cappuccino."

"You're insufferable. I honestly don't know why I came to see you."

"Coffee?" Mrs. Seton asked stoically. She knew why the girl had come: because there was something going on there, somewhere, although other people were not allowed to know it yet. Perhaps it was still very vague. However, she did not object to it. It was better for her that the boys had the same mother-in-law. Much less confusing.

"Yes, please." Marie-Celeste looked at Patrick when his mother went away. His father was not at home, apparently, and they were alone in the room. Patrick looked as if he was still a little in pain, but the pathetic expression was probably an act. She could not tell for certain.

"I don't like this. I'm bored already," he complained.

"I brought you something," she said suddenly and pulled a present from her bag.

Patrick unwrapped it and said nothing.

"Don't you like it?" she asked anxiously.

"I do. Thank you. But it's an expensive gift."

"Oh. Is it?"

"Come here and let me thank you," he held out his arms.

Marie-Celeste looked doubtful. "But your mother --" And Mrs. Seton indeed returned with coffee and cakes.

"Yes, fill her with cakes," Patrick said appreciatively. "She's too thin."

"Patrick, don't chase your visitors away by being rude to them." But he was right. Marie-Celeste was thinner than Anna and she hovered on the edge of being too thin.

"I'm not thin," MC protested. She was just good for her height. She was not thin at all and anyway, thin was good, was it not?

"Come here," he beckoned.

"No." She refused to come running as soon as he asked her, though she did want to, a little.

"Have at least two cakes then."

Marie-Celeste pulled a face at him and ate one cake, feeling it being transformed into fat right away. "Really Mrs. Seton, I don't know how you cope," she said sympathetically.

"Patrick is a constant source of joy," his mother admitted. "At the moment especially."

"I am not!"

"I don't know if I can leave you alone but I have to go shopping. Can I trust you to leave my tea set whole?" his mother asked doubtfully. Perhaps they would throw it at each other.

"Yes, Mum."

Marie-Celeste sipped her coffee quietly and looked at Patrick's bandaged ankle that was resting on a pillow on the table.

"Eat another cake," he ordered her when his mother was gone. "Go on, do it."

"Why?"

"Because you're too thiiiiiiiin," he whined like a child.

"Well, so are you," she said in a slightly displeased tone.

This was an unexpected answer. "Me?" Patrick pushed himself up a little straighter. "Me?"

"Yes, you! You accuse me of being bony, but you're not exactly fleshy yourself either." Marie-Celeste bent over him and planted a finger in his stomach. "There."

"Where?" Patrick asked.

"Here."

"Oh, there. Pity it's there and not somewhere else."

Marie-Celeste pulled his shirt over his head to prove her point that there was nothing but bones and muscle underneath. "I only want to see that I was right about there not being any flesh on you." She tapped his rib case.

"Darling, you don't have to look for excuses to touch me," he said in amusement.

He was right. She was looking for excuses, but Marie-Celeste had learnt something from dealing with him and that was that she should not give him any opportunities to make fun of her. She ought to stay in control of the situation at all times. He would soon stop making such comments if she reciprocated them. "Take me upstairs then, Patrick," she whispered.

Patrick looked regretful. "Oh not noooooooow -- my foot's in a bandage."

"Does that make you impotent?" she asked curiously. Perhaps it did. She did not know.

He swallowed. "What?"

The Minister for Home Affairs had tried to reach Anna, but she had not succeeded. She had been informed about the bomb threat, naturally, but she also had other matters to discuss with Anna. The procedure to dismiss the Prime Minister had been started and there was not much he could do anymore. Officially. She suspected that he had had a hand in the present situation. She had been informed about the suspicious phone calls between him and Thalen. She had to tell Anna that it was being investigated. The investigating divisions all fell under her and she had urged them to make haste. He belonged to her party, but the party was not supporting him anymore.

Then there was the matter of the President. Anna had directed him to a hotel. An understandable, but not very polite act. The Minister's national pride battled with her knowledge of global relations and national pride eventually won. But she would have to talk to the President too, to explain things perhaps. She did not know how much Anna had told him or if he had perhaps been in contact with the Prime Minister. That would be a bad thing indeed. He would have a distorted view of the situation in that case. And yet it was very likely that Keller had invited him. Why else would he have come? The country was small and insignificant. Without any prompting from here, the President would in all probability never have known that something was not right.

She was in consultations all afternoon and during a break she heard that Anna had gone back to the school. It was a surprise, because she thought that Anna was at the Palace to deal with the President. "Oh, girl!" she sighed, because she could not really think otherwise of a woman twenty years her junior. The girl's intentions were good -- if they were her own. Perhaps it had been the Count's idea. She kept forgetting his last name. It was too long.

The TV news had not had had any images the last time she had watched, but it did now. She shook her head. What was the girl thinking? Did this mean that an engagement was imminent? Anna could not do this without it having any consequences. What if she appeared with a different man every week? She would not, the Minister knew that, but still it was theoretically possible, and she knew that with the dismissal of the Prime Minister the responsibility for the Royal Family's actions lay with her. She would have to defend or explain if necessary. Someone was bound to ask questions just to give her a hard time. Politicians were not nice. What should she say? It was hard to tell if Anna was serious. There was no precedent.

She looked serious -- the girl had a brain so she must realise the consequences of appearing on TV hand in hand with somebody and letting him speak too. Perhaps letting him speak was the worst. Thank heavens that he did not say anything important, but that he was only mocking the press. And instead of keeping her eyes on the ground as she usually did, Anna looked into the cameras with a frank gaze as if she was completely satisfied with herself. It was good that she did not look at him adoringly whenever he spoke. They exuded equality now and not dependence. It was better, somehow, to see that they could function separately to some extent. The Minister did not feel capable of determining to which extent, although it was definitely limited -- the two looked in different directions and answered different people ostensibly without attending to what the other was saying, but they never moved apart further than their linked hands would allow. And they were not visibly handcuffed at all.

More people watched the news. The policeman called Schmidt saw it too. He had been following the news regarding the Queen with interest, since he had seen her once. He had not seen her well at all when she had driven away from the roadblock, but his acquaintances did not know that. From all the pictures of her that he had seen since then, he could fill in the missing parts very well. From the papers he had learnt that the man Frey had been an agent of sorts, except that his name had not been mentioned anywhere. He remembered the name, though, and he remembered the face.

And that was Frey there.

There was no doubt about it. He even wore the same coat. But why was he called Seton? He wondered about that. Was Frey posing as Seton or was Seton posing as Frey? And could he be trusted? What if Frey had really been a kidnapper who had now wormed his way into the Queen's affections? Schmidt frowned. He had thought she was Mrs. Frey at the time and he thought he had been mistaken because the Queen could not be having a relationship with Frey, but here they were and she still looked like Mrs. Frey. When had that thing started? Surely not afterwards. He had not been mistaken. They had had something going during the kidnapping and nobody knew. If they had lied about one thing, what else had they lied about?

Perhaps she had never been kidnapped.

Well, he knew she had not, because there was that story about it being an exercise, but what if it had not even been an exercise? What if this Seton had pretended to be an agent named Frey just so he could have a romantic holiday with his beloved? Would that make sense? Not really, but Schmidt had not seen how the other explanation made any sense either. This one was just as odd. He would have to contact somebody about it.

"Is that him?" asked the President, peering at the screen.

"Yes, sir."

"He doesn't look too insane. And I thought the woman told me she wasn't going to leave the Palace anymore. What's she doing out there? She doesn't have a lot of protection, does she?"

His assistant agreed. "It can't be adequate, sir. I count two men."

The President shook his head. "Amazing. And she objects to our security measures! What is she saying, though? I don't understand a thing of the language."

The interpreter translated what Anna said.

"She knows how it works, though," said another man who was present. "She mentions children and she almost starts to cry. Mr. President, maybe you should express your concern about the children too. It always goes down well."

"Is he mentioning children as well?" the President asked.

"No, sir. He just said that he's only good at hitting tennis balls," said the interpreter.

Another man had been on the phone. "Mr. President, the Vice Prime Minister has requested a meeting with you. I set a time and she'll be coming over in half an hour."

"Half an hour!"

"Yes. But you have nothing else to do anyway, sir."

"Oh, that's true," said the President. "I can't even watch TV. Don't they have any channels in English here?"

"They can receive the BBC."

"But we've checked the BBC and they've got a gardening programme on and not the news and all the news on the other channels is in a foreign language."

There were days on which Anna did not get to see her relatives and this promised to be one of them. She would have to talk to a lot of people when she got back. It was a pity that they travelled by helicopter and that she could not call them during the trip. She was tired and she did not want to talk to anybody.

She could guess what the Count wanted to say, so she took him apart once they arrived back at the Palace. "I know you have some difficulties with my behaviour. You're good at your job and I'm not. Perhaps -- it's no use trying -- it's a waste of time to make me behave differently."

"I know, Madam."

"But you still try."

"I have to."

"I'm not like my father," Anna said.

He looked away. "I know."

She wondered why he would look away and speak so curtly. Perhaps he had liked her father better and he thought that she was but a sorry successor. Anna wrung her hands. "Celeste is more like him. She won't give you as much trouble."

There was a flash of something in his eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for her to see what it was. "You give yourself trouble, my girl," he said in a fatherly tone and patted her shoulder.

Anna stared at him in amazement. This was the first time that the Count had abandoned his professional role. He bowed and took his leave, looking impassive once more. She returned to her office, which she had left a few hours before. John trailed after her aimlessly. He had observed her talk with the Count and he had wondered about it, but he would not ask Anna what had been said. He thought about what he could do now. Going home would take about fifteen minutes and he had things to do there, just like Anna seemed to have things to do here. People approached her with messages from people who had called in her absence. Maybe he would only be in the way. Maybe he had better go home and unpack his tennis stuff and then return. Or not. It depended on how busy Anna was.

"You heard me," said Marie-Celeste.

"Yes, I heard you, but what about my ankle?"

"I don't care about your ankle. I'm sure you wouldn't feel it."

"Well, why don't you let me twist your ankle and see if you feel it?"

"Why are you angry with me?"

"Because you pick the most inconvenient time to make me such an offer," he said angrily.

"Oh, don't be frustrated," she snapped. "I'm sure you would have been bad anyway."

"I'm not!"

"I won't believe you unless you prove it," she shrugged haughtily, folding her arms and giving him a challenging look.

"You don't mean a word of it," Patrick said, looking away. "You're just leading me on so that when I give in you can say 'haha, joke.'"

"And you are not leading me on?" she asked. "You kissed me this morning and now you don't even look as if you want to."

Patrick gave her a vicious look, pushed himself up and limped towards her. He fell against her heavily when he bumped his injured foot against a table leg and cried out in pain. Marie-Celeste steadied him on her lap because that was where he landed and she did not mind that he pressed his face against her shoulder to recover from the stabbing pain in his ankle.

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