“Miss Porter, this is Barnes,” the voice on the other end said, sounding a lot more relaxed than the Barnes I knew. “I have the Prince of Wales on the line for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, Gaz, but Barnes sounds more like he’s been impaled on a spike.”
At that very moment, I saw Gaz scurry across the hallway, demonstrably not on the phone. Freddie’s eyes bugged out and my stomach sank.
“When you’re through being hoisted on that petard, Miss Porter, kindly loan it to me so I may resume a more familiar demeanor,” Barnes said. “Please hold for the Prince of Wales.”
Richard, I mouthed at Freddie. He looked utterly nonplussed, and I’m sure so did I.
“Miss Porter, I trust you’re well this evening.” Richard’s voice was as chilly as ever.
“Fuck you and your Volvo, Damian. Go park it up your girlfriend’s massive backside!” shrieked the girl behind us on the landing, storming upstairs in a tornado of tears.
“Yes, Your Highness, having a nice quiet night,” I said, biting my lip and shaking my head. Next to me, Freddie mimed hanging himself.
“I wanted to speak to you about Paint Britain,” he said. “It’s been mentioned to me that several London museums are helping to grow the program, and as an artist myself, I should like to offer my patronage. Congratulations.”
I almost pitched forward off the stairs. Freddie steadied me with his hand. “Sir, that’s amazing, everyone will be so fuc—er, fantastically thrilled,” I said, tripping over my tongue and its more purple tendencies. “Thank you, Your Highness, your generosity and—”
“Let’s not prolong this any longer than necessary,” Prince Dick said, and rang off.
I stared at the phone in my hand, then up at Freddie, dazed. “I thought you were joking the other day about discussing philanthropic ventures.”
“I was,” Freddie said, surprised.
“Then tell me how Paint Britain just got itself a patronage from your father.” I couldn’t even blink. “Did Nick, or…are you sure you…”
“It wasn’t me,” he said. “And Knickers is out to sea. Father must’ve just thought it was a cracking idea. It’s a bloody miracle.”
Joy shot through me. In that moment, I decided I might love country house parties.
Freddie gave me a wait right there gesture and ran off, then returned holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “Do not go into the kitchen. Gaz is weeping over a fallen soufflé and the noises he’s making will curdle your soul,” he said. “Come with me. We’re celebrating. Did I see a tree house?”
We swigged from the bottle and toasted our way outside. Inky night had dropped like a cloak, but still the tree house loomed large, wrapped fully around the massive oak like something right out of Swiss Family Robinson. Through the dark, I spied the outline of a homemade bridge high up in the foliage, accessible by ladder, stretched between the fort’s roof and another tree. I made a beeline for it.
“I doubt it ever even crossed Prince Dick’s mind to get his bothersome sons a tree fort,” Freddie said, following me as I scrambled up the ladder. “My future sprog shall definitely have one. Lucky old Galahad, Murgatroyd, and Bob.”
I reached the top and found myself on a wooden platform at the mouth of the bridge, which was made largely of rope, old planks, netting, and probably a dash of chewing gum and hope.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to kill us?” Freddie asked warily.
I tested the bridge with my foot; it swayed a bit, but seemed sturdy. I darted halfway across and gave Freddie the thumbs-up.
“Man up and get your ass out here, Captain Wales,” I said.
“I’m holding precious cargo!” he protested, waving the Veuve bottle. But he took a step and then, feeling more secure, jumped up and down a bit. The bridge creaked cooperatively but did not give.
“Pretty cool,” Freddie said. “Galahad will love this. He’s going to be an architect, see. Murgatroyd is more into science, and Bob will be a third-rate stage actor.”
“Poor Bob.”
He shrugged. “Bob’s also going to be a bit of a shithead.”
I laughed, then raced the last few feet, which made the bridge quiver extra tenuously for Freddie’s final crossing; he looked relieved when he stepped onto the tree house roof. We weren’t quite high enough up to see over the lush hedges that flanked the property, but from this deep in the garden, the drunken cacophony of the party sounded more like a symphony, and the sky was starting to twinkle. As I retrieved the Veuve from Freddie, he looked at what we’d just traversed.
“Stout should never have let me do that,” Freddie said. “Wherever he is.”
Suddenly, a low moaning noise escaped from the fort underneath us. I put my finger to my lips and crept around until I spotted an open trapdoor in the roof, then lay down on my stomach and peeked through it. The moonlight bounced off a sequined dress lying in a heap on the floor, and a trail of clothes led partway behind the thick tree trunk. I shimmied further and ducked my head through the opening, and there was none other than Beatrix Larchmont-Kent-Smythe, clad only in underwear, her mouth working its passionate way down a pale leg.
A very pale, very shapely, very female leg.
I had scooted in a touch too far, and started to slip. I gasped, involuntarily, and just as I felt Freddie reach out to save me, Bea whipped around her head.
“This tree house is occupied.”
“Oh, it’s you,” Bea snapped.
“Who is it, pet?” whispered the hidden woman, who must have sat up abruptly, because her long, wavy red tresses swung into view.
Gemma Sands. Whose compelling heterosexuality I had feared was tempting Nick into all manner of disloyalties while we were dating; whose bed I’d assumed Nick took to after we ended. The notion of her and Bea as a couple didn’t hit me nearly so hard as the astonishment at how far off my paranoia had been…and the regret over whether I’d made a huge, huge mistake.
“Well, this is juicy,” Freddie said, sticking his head through the trapdoor.
Bea pursed her lips. “Yes, well, now you know,” she said. “I’m a highly erotic creature and I’m seeing a woman. Can we all close our mouths now?”
She crossed her arms over her naked chest with an impressive amount of dignity.
Gemma peeked around the tree. “Er, hello, Freddie. And you must be Bex.”
“In the flesh,” I said, still stunned. “And I’ll be honest, part of me kind of wishes we’d met this way two or three years ago.”
“No, this is much better.” Freddie wiggled his brows suggestively. “In fact, I might need a closer look. What if it’s their first time? They might need an advisor—”
“Pass,” Gemma said tartly. “Now, I haven’t seen this one in two very long weeks, so would you mind leaving us to it?”
“No, of course! I mean, yes. Good-bye,” I stammered, and pulled Freddie out of the trapdoor by the back of his collar.