Isabelle ~ 4

---

Chapter Four

---

Philip did not hear from Princess Isabelle that week. He did see Frederick when he instructed a handful of boys and girls in rowing after their language lessons. “Are you OK?” he asked when Frederick was near.

“Yes.”

Despite that very brief answer, the boy did not seem to mind being spoken to. Philip ventured another question. “Do you like the school?”

“Yes.”

“Is it too easy?”

“Yes.”

If it was too easy, he could say more sophisticated things. “But you are in the second course now. It should be more difficult.” The third course was for advanced students, but it only followed after this one.

“Girls in the class are stupid.”

“Because they are girls?”

“Because they are stupid. They ask…everything…six times.” Frederick looked quite frustrated.

“I hate such girls,” Philip commiserated. “But you could read a book in class or I could give you a textbook from one of next year’s classes that you could try to read.” In about a month the boy would have all of his classes in English. It might be good for him to have a look already now that he had plenty of time to look up words he did not know.

“You ask her.”

“Ask who? One of the stupid girls?”

“The teacher.”

“OK. I’ll see if I can do that. Do you miss your family?”

“My mother phoned.”

“That’s nice.” He wondered if that had been from Japan or from home, but he was glad it had happened. He might have given up on these people otherwise. “Will she come to see you?”

“I don’t know. I go home the last week.”

“That’s nice.” Or maybe not. The boy seemed to be doing fine here.

---

On Friday evening he saw Isabelle in the village as he cycled home from the school. She was loading cans of paint into her car. He stopped. “Paint, Your Royal Highness?” he asked. “I hope it’s not pink. The Headmaster wouldn’t like that.”

“No, it’s a very neutral colour. He needn’t worry.”

“Are you staying here? In this village, I mean.”

“No, they have no hotel here. Is this where you live?”

“They do have a hotel.” In fact, he could see it from where he was standing. But it might not be what she was used to.

“They have something that has rooms. I don’t call that a hotel. I don’t want to sleep above a café. But this village has a few shops at least.” She closed the boot of her car.

“You do a lot of driving back and forth.”

“And I have read a lot of books on the ferry. It is only while Frederick is settling in. I won’t be coming during the school year.”

“Your mother phoned, he said.”

There was a smile. “Yes, she did and she said he said very little. They are both not very good at phoning.”

“Did you send the Headmaster something?”

She grinned now. “Yes, I did. How did he like it?”

“He was baffled.”

“What’s baffled?”

“He was wondering why.”

She did not explain that to him either. Perhaps she thought it ought to be clear. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“Where will you eat?”

“There’s a kitchen.”

“You cook your own dinner?” Isabelle looked fascinated. “And it tastes good?”

“Not always,” Philip admitted honestly. “It’s best not to experiment.”

“Of course it’s difficult to eat well in this country in the first place. My hotel is tolerable, but I’ve had all their dishes by now. Take your bicycle home and bring me a few books. I’ve run out.”

“And then what?” He supposed she wanted to take his books with her.

“And then you can have dinner with me and eat a proper meal. I’ll take you back before it gets dark. I hate these roads around here.”

“Are you,” he said cautiously, “taking me out to dinner so I can have a proper meal for a change?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“You don’t think I could cook anything edible?”

“Well, I couldn’t, so why should you?” she reasoned.

“I may have been taught.”

“Why?”

“So I could fend for myself. I couldn’t afford to eat in restaurants very often on my salary. It follows that I must cook my own meals.”

---

Philip returned with two books he had read recently. He was not likely to want to read them again soon and he thought they would last her a few days.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. You will get them back, of course. I have the school’s address if it takes me too long. Now, get in.”

“Do I have to address you properly all the time?” He thought she might not mind if he did not, given that she ordered him around like someone she had known forever.

“No.”

“What did you think of driving on the left?” asked Philip when he realised she might have difficulties with it. Thankfully her driving on the wrong side of the road seemed fine so far.

“I don’t see why you stick to it, but I survived. There is a restaurant a girl at my hotel recommended, but I did not dare go alone. They might think I’m there to pick up rich men.”

He could imagine that there were few rich girls who dined alone, but would her attitude not matter? If she kept to herself nobody would think she was there for other reasons. “Do people ever think that?”

“Some men always think women are there to be picked up.”

“So I’m a sort of bodyguard while you eat good food,” Philip concluded.

Isabelle did not look ashamed at all.

“Just wondering, are you paying for me?” He thought he could afford a more expensive restaurant just once. He would not normally ask a girl – or anyone – if she was paying, but this was a peculiar one who might not even mind.

Again she was not embarrassed at all. “Yes.”

“You don’t mind? Because I could pay.” In which case he would pay close attention to what he ordered.

“No.”

“You are paying a man for company to prevent other men from offering to pay for your company.”

“That’s brilliant,” she said admiringly. “And so true. Only I have noble motives too.”

“To get me a decent meal for a change.”

“Yes. I’m not taking you to my hotel. I’m dropping you off home before dark. Men who would want to pick me up would like to take me to their room, I suppose.”

“You don’t look badly fed, no.” He wondered if he did.

The restaurant was not far. The car park contained several expensive-looking cars. Philip wondered if he was dressed for it. The staff addressed him at first, but Isabelle made it clear that she was the one who needed to be spoken to.

“Sexist pigs,” she hissed at him when they had been led to a table by the window overlooking the car park. “Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel unmanly if they don’t speak to you?”

“No, but clearly you do.”

“They should speak to the one in front, not the man.”

“You have ideas on the subject.”

“Of course. I notice it everywhere. It’s in the laws, it’s in the people, it’s everywhere. I can’t succeed my father even though I’m the eldest child. I had to study nursing because I was a girl. And now they speak to you because they assume you have the money or you will have asked me out.”

“What did you want to study instead?”

“I have no idea; that’s the infuriating bit,” she admitted. “And nursing wasn’t too bad, but some options weren’t even considered because I was a girl, and not because I might not enjoy them.”

“Who decided those things anyway?”

“My grandfather and my father.”

“Why not you?”

“Because if you live with them and they pay for you, they decide. That’s the way. It’s different elsewhere, I gathered since then.”

“But they let you drive to other countries on your own.”

“That is not status; education is.” She gave the menu closer attention. “Do you drink?”

“Not if you don’t.”

“And I can’t. ”