‘Just how sick were you?’ he demanded and she flushed and spooned a bit more soup in.

‘It was a horrid flu but I’m fine now. You haven’t answered my question. Why are there no reporters? If you’re indeed Prince Regent…’

‘We came incognito.’

‘Oh, sure.’

‘It can be done,’ he said. ‘In fact I changed my name to my mother’s when I left the country. I have an American passport-I’m Rafael Nadine.’

‘And Matty?’

‘Trickier,’ he said. ‘But not impossible when you know people in high places.’

‘As you do.’

‘As we do,’ he said gravely. ‘It was important. To sweep in here in a Rolls-Royce or six with a royal entourage behind me…it wouldn’t achieve what I hoped to achieve.’

‘Which was what?’

‘To find out for sure what my investigators have been telling me. That you are indeed a woman of principle. That you are indeed a woman who should have all the access to your son that you want.’

‘Oh,’ she said faintly.

‘Eat your soup.’

‘I don’t think…’

‘We’re not talking about anything else until you’ve eaten your soup and at least three slices of toast,’ he said roughly. ‘Matty, something tells me your mama needs a little looking after. As a son, that’s your duty. Finish your soup and then make us all some more toast.’

Matty crashed. Just like that. One minute he was bright and bubbly and enthused about toast-making, but the next minute, as he ate his third piece of toast, spread thickly with honey, his eyelids drooped. He pushed aside his plate, put his head on his hands and sighed.

‘My head feels heavy,’ he said. ‘Uncle Rafael…’

‘We need to go,’ Rafael said ruefully. ‘We hadn’t meant to stay this long.’ He smiled at her-that damned smile again. ‘It’s your fault. The soup smelled so good.’

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

‘The Prince Edward.’

‘But that’s…’ She paused, dismayed.