To Marry a Prince

To Marry a Prince - By Sophie Page

chapter 1

‘Heir to the Throne Dumped Again’ – Royal Watchers Magazine

Bella Greenwood arrived back in London two months earlier than she was supposed to. It was the end of September, a cold Friday, and her credit card was still de-activated, which she expected. And she couldn’t call and revive it because her mobile phone was as dead as a dodo, which she didn’t.

Suddenly her backpack seemed awfully heavy. She put it down and sat on it while she considered her options. She knew what Granny Georgia would say: ‘There’s always another path. A sensible woman will find it.’

‘OK,’ said Bella, flexing her tired shoulders. ‘What’s the other path here?’

In the end, she found a public telephone that took coins and, after failing to connect with her mother, ended up speaking to her stepfather at work, as the machine swallowed the coins at an alarming rate.

‘Costa Coffee, Waterloo Station, five o’clock,’ he yelled as the beep started.

So Bella made her way across London and sat at one of the shiny silver tables, trying to warm her hands round a mug of coffee and scanning the commuter crowds for Kevin Bray’s tall figure. But in the end he was nearly upon her before she caught sight of him.

‘Look, Bella,’ he said, plonking himself down in the chair opposite, ‘it’s good to see you, of course, but this weekend is just not on. Your mother’s got people staying. Your room’s occupied. I’m sorry.’

Bella had been travelling for four days by then. All she wanted Kevin to do, really, was pick up her backpack, shepherd her on to the train and take her back to the comfortable Hampshire villa where she could have a warm bath and climb into her bed and sleep for about a hundred years.

A hug would have been nice, too. But she was philosophical about that. Kevin was not a natural hugger and Bella had come into his life too late for him to adjust his habits. Kevin had many qualities that her natural father, H. T. Greenwood the explorer, lacked, most notably not being out of the country all the time. So Bella was reconciled to there being no hug.

But no bath, no bed, no monster sleep either? This couldn’t be happening.

‘Not on?’ she echoed, bewildered. Jet lag always slowed her down.

Kevin could not quite meet her eyes. ‘It’s this Charity Ball tomorrow night. Your mother’s on the Committee. Been working on it for months. We’re taking a party, of course. The house is full. You know your mother.’

Yes, Bella knew what her mother was like. She fought down brain fog and interpreted. ‘You mean, she doesn’t want me home because she’s partying with the movers and shakers of Much Piddling in the Wold.’

Kevin was shocked. He was a nice man. ‘Of course not. She wants you home. We both do. She can’t wait to see you. Only—’

Bella sagged. ‘Only not this weekend.’

‘There’s so much to do and the house, well, it’s—’

‘Full. You said.’

He winced. ‘Sorry. If we’d only known. But we thought you were staying out on your island until after Christmas.’

‘So did I,’ said Bella, desolately. But her words were lost in the echoing station announcements and the stampede of Friday night commuters.

‘You should have let us know sooner,’ said her stepfather firmly. ‘Call your mother on Sunday after the ball and she’ll sort out a date for you to come down. You’ve got somewhere to stay?’ And, before she could answer, ‘You’ll need some cash, I bet. Won’t have had time to sort yourself out, if you only got in this afternoon.’

He had come prepared. He stuffed a wad of notes into Bella’s hand and cast a harassed look at the departures board. It was clicking away, replacing lists of departed trains with those that would go any minute now.

‘Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my train. Your mother sends her love. ’Bye.’

He kissed Bella’s cheek awkwardly and stepped back, nearly stumbling over the corner of the backpack. He righted himself just before he had to see it, and strode off before she could protest.

Bella would have called after him, but a sudden yawn nearly took her head off. And then he was gone in the crowd.

Her eyes burned with tiredness. She looked down at the notes in her hand. They were fifties, she saw, a big fat pin cushion of £50 notes. And then she realised – he must have given her enough money to pay for a hotel in London for the whole weekend.

The very thought of finding a hotel, checking in, talking, made her want to sink down on to the shiny floor of the concourse and go to sleep right where she was.

But she was a seasoned traveller now and she knew from experience, not just Granny Georgia’s homilies, that you did not go to sleep until you were indoors and safe. If her old mobile had been working, she would have texted her best friend, Charlotte Hendred. But as it was, she had to start with the public telephone system again.

‘Man is a problem-solving animal,’ said Bella between her teeth.

She stripped one of her stepfather’s £50 notes off the wad, stuffed the rest inside her bra and hauled her backpack on to her shoulders. She bought some chocolate, along with an expensive glossy magazine, so that the man on the till didn’t mind giving her change for £50, and started the business of tracking down Lottie.

It didn’t take long. Bella couldn’t remember her mobile number but she knew the name of the big PR agency where her friend worked. She found the number and the switchboard found Lottie in seconds.

‘Bella!’ she squeaked. ‘Where are you?’

‘Waterloo.’

‘Belgium?’ said Lottie, bewildered. ‘You’ve left the island?’

Bella choked with laughter. ‘Waterloo Station. I’m home.’

Lottie squeaked quite a bit more at that. She was probably bouncing on her seat, thought Bella, warmed.

‘Look, Lottie, it was all a bit last-minute and I haven’t organised myself anywhere to stay—’

And Lottie, who had known Bella for ever, did not say, ‘What about your mother’s place? Where’s your father? Can’t you stay with your brother and his wife?’ She said, ‘Great. Crash chez moi. Can’t wait to catch up. In fact, I’m closing my laptop even as we speak. I’ll be home in half an hour. Race you.’

So Bella blew some more of her stepfather’s cash on a taxi to the Pimlico flat and got her hug from Lottie, followed by the promise of several bottles of wine and a blissful shower.

‘I’ve made up your bed. Now tell all,’ said Lottie as Bella padded out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, with her blonde hair dark and dripping.

The wine bottle was already open on the low coffee table. Lottie poured two generous glasses as Bella sank into the deep sofa with a sigh of pure bliss.

‘This is so good. I feel clean for the first time in days. Hell, no. For the first time in months. I’m sorry to dump myself on you—’

Lottie waved that away. ‘Garbage,’ she said briskly. ‘Couldn’t be better. The harpy I used to share with moved out last month to be with the Man of Her Dreams … poor sod. I was thinking I ought to rent out her room. But I don’t really fancy living with another stranger, not after The Harpy. So I didn’t get round to it. And now you’re here.’ She raised her glass in a silent toast. ‘Sometimes the Lord provides.’

Bella laughed and raised her glass in return.

‘Lottie Hendred, you’re a star.’

‘Stay as long as you want.’ Lottie curled up in the armchair and tucked her bare toes under the skirts of her exotic Eastern robe.

‘Lovely idea but I’m not sure I can afford to.’

Lottie raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. ‘Explain?’

‘Well, to be honest, Lottie, I’ve got to get a job. Fast.’

Lottie’s brown eyes were shrewd. ‘Island job didn’t materialise, then?’

Bella shook her head. ‘Go on. Say it. Everyone else will. Say “I told you so”.’

Lottie was indignant. ‘I never say I told you so. Anyway, what did I know?’

‘But you never trusted Francis.’

‘I thought,’ said Lottie carefully, ‘that be-my-unpaid-assistant-for-a-year-and-I’ll-give-you-a-job didn’t sound much of a deal. Or, well, terribly reliable.’

‘You were right,’ said Bella gloomily.

‘Want to talk about it?’

Bella shrugged. She swirled her wine, staring into its ruby surface as if she were seeing something very different from reflected firelight and the pleasant room.

‘There wasn’t a job?’ ventured Lottie at last.

Bella came back into the present. ‘Oh, there was a job all right. One job. And about twenty of us that Francis had offered it to.’

Lottie sat bolt upright and her wine spilled. ‘Blimey. The man is a real operator,’ she said with respect. ‘Twenty?’

Bella forced a smile. ‘Not all at the same time. They came and went – usually when they found the job was counting fish. I lasted longer than pretty much everyone else.’

‘Um – why?’

‘You know me, Lottie. Never know when I’m beaten.’ There was an edge to Bella’s voice. ‘Besides, they got me teaching the kids in the school a bit. Made me feel like I was doing something real.’

‘Better than counting bloody fish anyway,’ said Lottie with feeling.

Bella drained her glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Ain’t that the truth? Pissed off Francis, too,’ she added with satisfaction. ‘I was supposed to be there to run his errands, not work with the villagers.’ She topped up Lottie’s wine as well. ‘Boils on the bum to Francis Don!’

Lottie’s eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

They both did, glasses solemnly raised.

‘So what do you do next?’

Bella shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know.’ She stretched. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I went. I learned a lot. But – well, I don’t think I’m really a born ecologist. I like people more than fish.’

‘Thank God for that, at least.’

‘I thought I might do a course on teaching English as a Foreign Language. I seemed to be quite good at it. But I’ve got all these debts and my father will disown me if I don’t start earning. So it’s the temp agency for me tomorrow.’

Lottie looked at her carefully. ‘I thought you said you’d input your last invoice when we left college?’

Bella pulled a face. ‘I know. But needs must. Besides, I have a sentimental desire to see a paycheque again.’

‘Fair enough. But wait until Monday. I’ve got an invitation to a Fab-U-Louse party tomorrow night, and you’ve just gotta come too.’

‘Great,’ said Bella, and suddenly cracked a massive yawn. ‘Oops. Sorry.’

‘I’ll give you a hot water bottle,’ said Lottie. ‘The heating has been off in that room for weeks. Come on, you. Sleepy time.’

And Bella staggered off to clean her teeth before falling into bed and sleeping for fourteen hours straight.

She woke to find Lottie had gone out, leaving two messages on the table in the tiny kitchen.

The first was vintage Lottie Hendred: V. posh party tonight, pick a dress, any dress.

The other was a phone message. Robopop rang in case you were here. He says don’t call your mother too early on Sunday. Pillock.

Lottie really did not need to add that last word, thought Bella wryly. Lottie had never liked Kevin. Bella was always telling Lottie that her mother’s obsession with climbing the social heights of the Local History Society and the Ladies’ Golf Section was not his fault. Lottie had never believed her but Bella knew her mother. Turning over Kevin’s message, she could almost hear her mother saying it.

Don’t call too early? Don’t call too early? Gee, thanks, Mum.

Suddenly, gloriously, Bella was so angry she knew exactly what she was going to do. She was not going to raid Lottie’s wardrobe, though they had cheerfully borrowed from each other for three years at university and even before that. But today Bella was going to splurge Kevin’s conscience money on a dress and pretty, crazy shoes and she was going to go to that posh party and dance until morning, or possibly the morning after.

Don’t call too early? She was going to party so hard she wouldn’t be able to call her mother for a week.

Of course, it didn’t work out like that. For one thing, she needed more than party wear, as Lottie, returning from the Saturday grocery shop, told her crisply. For ten months Bella had lived in shorts and tee-shirt or diving gear. She had no clothes to wrap herself up in against the chill breezes of a London autumn; and she soon realised that her much-washed underwear was about to disintegrate.

‘Besides,’ said Lottie, sitting on Bella’s bed and surveying the contents of the backpack critically, ‘your hair is like straw. I just have to look at it and I smell seaweed.’

‘Don’t mention seaweed. We had it for dinner twice a week.’

Lottie was appalled. ‘You’re joking, right?’

Bella shook her head, her eyes dancing.

Lottie moaned.

‘It was a very healthy life-style. Out in the fresh air, bags of exercise, healthy diet—’

‘Seaweed?’

Bella grinned. ‘I said healthy, not tasty. Seaweed is full of minerals.’

Lottie shuddered. ‘And what does it taste like?’

‘Oh, pants,’ said Bella matter-of-factly. ‘But when you’re hungry you’ll eat anything. And it really is nutritionally good value.’

‘You were hungry?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Well, no wonder you look so terrible.’

‘Do I?’ Startled, Bella peered at herself in her predecessor’s massive mirror.

What she saw was not that bad. OK, the blonde hair was a haystack and her hands were a bit rough by Lottie’s Metropolitan PR Industry standard. But she had a faint golden tan from working under the tropical sun and her eyes sparkled. She’d certainly lost that puffy, pasty look she’d had when she left England last November.

She decided to take a stand. ‘I think I look pretty good, actually. I’ve got cheekbones, for the first time in my life.’

‘Huh. That’s not all you’ve got. I could cut myself on those shoulderblades.’

‘What?’

‘Look at yourself,’ begged Lottie. She took Bella and turned her round, so that she could see over her own shoulder into the mirror. ‘You’ve got a backbone like a kipper.

‘Bloody, bloody Francis!’ she spat, her eyes bright. ‘He manipulated you, ran you ragged. Then on top of that he went and starved you.’

Bella put an arm round her friend’s shoulders and hugged her.

‘Don’t worry, Lotts. Give me a week in the same town as Maison Paul’s chocolate doughnuts and I’ll be back to the pudding you know and love.’

Lottie fished for a tissue but said tartly, ‘Well, I certainly hope so. And I’ll book you an appointment with Carlos, too. He’ll have a heart attack when he sees your hair.’

‘OK,’ said Bella peaceably.

‘And you need to reactivate your cellphone. Gotta keep in touch.’

Peaceable was one thing. Doormat was another. ‘You know, you’ve got very bossy.’

‘Bossy? Nonsense. I’m a decisive manager,’ corrected Lottie loftily. She fled as Bella threw a pillow at her. ‘And get your nails done,’ wafted back from the sitting room.

So Bella went out and bought everything from the skin up, including a party dress for tonight, and a woolly hat, scarf and gloves for immediate use. A nice guy in the phone shop tried hard to get her mobile working again but in the end he had to give up. He wanted to sell her the latest one but her credit card was still in suspension until she rang them up and told them she was back in the country and her mother’s maiden name. So she reluctantly shook her head at an all-singing, all-dancing Formula 1 of a phone and settled for a plain old replacement. The shop guy sympathised with her credit card hiccup and threw in a pink and glittery clip-on cover for the new phone, as consolation. He even transferred the SIM card for her, and handed it over with a flourish.

Bella went back to the flat in triumph.

She found Lottie wedged into a corner of the kitchen, waiting for the microwave to ping while leafing through a thick, glossy magazine. She looked up as Bella came in.

‘Hi there. Did you buy this copy of Mondaine?’

Bella put down her carrier bags and unwound the new woolly scarf. ‘Yup. I had to break into a fifty-pound note at Waterloo last night. It was the most expensive mag I could find.’

Lottie nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ll bet. We take it at work, but I never get to see it. People pounce on it as soon as it comes in. Have you looked at this piece on the Top Ten Eligibles? Just gorgeous.’

‘The men or the article?’

‘Both.’ The microwave pinged and Lottie removed a frothing mug of hot chocolate. ‘Do you want one?’

Bella didn’t really, but she said yes to be sociable. She looked at Mondaine’s gallery of gorgeous guys for the same reason. Shedding the cherry red hat and gloves, she fluffed out her hair and peered over Lottie’s shoulder.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Milo Crane. From Si Fy the Movie.’

Bella looked blank.

‘You must have heard of him. He’s the newest hottie on the block, ever since the movie came out.’

‘Haven’t seen it. Don’t forget, I was fifty miles away from the nearest internet connection, Lottie. TV and films didn’t figure at all.’

Lottie shuddered. ‘Unbelievable. Well, who do you know out of this lot?’

The photographs were works of art: a lithe fast bowler stretching up to a cloudless sky; the newest software billionaire, endearingly scruffy, staring blankly at a screen where his company’s share price was rocketing; Richard, Prince of Wales at some ceremony, looking startlingly handsome in a scarlet uniform that any one of his ancestors of the last three centuries could have worn, gleaming gold-embellished sword and all.

‘All of them except Milo,’ said Bella, somewhat reassured.

Lottie put her head on one side. ‘Fabulous photo of the Prince, don’t you think?’

Bella considered. He looked eager and determined. ‘Full of va-va-voom,’ she conceded. ‘But you’d want to stand well clear of that sword.’

Lottie choked. ‘I suppose so. But he’s still mega-fanciable.’

‘If you say so.’ The microwave pinged and Bella took out her own hot chocolate.

‘Don’t you think so?’

Bella shrugged. ‘Royals in military fancy dress don’t do it for me. I overdosed on The Prisoner of Zenda when I was a kid. Sorry. Don’t forget, I’m the daughter of a fully paid up anti-monarchist.’

‘Oh, but—’ Lottie started to say, then changed her mind.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘I know that look. It isn’t nothing. Spit it out.’

‘You wouldn’t actually be nasty to Prince Richard, would you, Bella? I mean, if you came across him somewhere?’

She sounded so worried that Bella was touched. ‘Don’t worry, Lotts. I’m not that far gone. I wasn’t nasty to Francis and, as you pointed out, he starved me. Quite apart from breaking his promises, the toad. Hell, I won’t even swear at Carlos if he turns my hair green again.’

At that, Lottie looked really alarmed. ‘No, don’t. You have no idea the favour he’s doing you, fitting you in at all. He said it was for old times’ sake but, make no mistake, Carlos can pick and choose his clients these days. So play nice, Bella, please. For me?’

So, an hour later, Bella was siting in a very smart grey-and-lavender-decorated salon and not so much as murmuring a protest while Carlos, Lottie’s long-time friend and increasingly fashionable hairdresser, lectured her on Letting Her Hair Go and the Importance of Conditioner. He plastered her hair with something that smelled of apricots, wrapped it in a towel, and left her to leaf through a bunch of celebrity magazines. Unlike Mondaine, these were full of people she didn’t know. With their orange tans and day-glo teeth, the various celebrities had been photographed at buzzy parties and premières in London, Hollywood and the South of France. Bella didn’t know their names, their faces, or what they were famous for.

‘I don’t even recognise the names of the dress designers any more,’ she sighed. ‘Have I been gone so long?’

‘Much too long, doll,’ said Carlos, flicking her hair. ‘This is going to take months of work.’

‘Well, see what you can do for today. Lottie’s taking me to a party tonight.’

‘Ah-ha. A party.’ His eyes lit up at the challenge and he began to mutter to himself.

Realising that her participation was not required, Bella turned to Sherlock, the satirical magazine that her father always bought, with its wicked cartoons and sly comment on politicians and media figures. Though even there, many of the names were new to her. It was almost a relief to find a piece on the Royal Family. At least they were still the same, even if Sherlock didn’t think much of them. The magazine was running a spoof advertisement for The Royal Pantomime or Snow White’s Escape, starring a flashing-eyed brunette called Deborah as Snow White, with the King and his family as the Seven Dwarfs. Bella had never heard of brunette Deborah either.

‘I think I just lost a year of my life,’ she told Carlos ruefully.

He peered over her shoulder at a cartoon of the three youngest dwarfs tap dancing. Their faces were recognisably those of Prince George, Princess Eleanor, and the heir to the throne, Prince Richard. Dim, Ditzy and Dull were excited, read the caption. Carlos grinned.

‘Poor bastard. Every time a girl dumps him, it’s all over the tabloids. And now Sherlock is calling him Dull. That’s got to hurt. It’ll stick, too.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Bella, not much interested in the PR problems of the King’s eldest son.

But the other people in the salon didn’t agree.

‘Who said she dumped him?’ said the grey-haired woman on Bella’s right indignantly.

‘She’s dating someone else,’ Carlos pointed out.

‘So? Maybe Prince Richard dumped her.’

‘Why would he do that? The woman’s hot, hot, hot.’

‘And now she’s dating someone else. That’s fast. What if the Prince found out she was a slapper and gave her the boot?’

Carlos was unconvinced. ‘Why wouldn’t he say so? I would.’

The grey-haired woman sniffed. ‘Because he’s a gentleman.’

Carlos snorted.

‘I think he looks lovely,’ said one of the junior hairdressers dreamily. ‘Dark and brooding, like he’s got a secret sorrow.’

She put a magazine on Bella’s knee, open at a black-and-white photograph of an unsmiling Prince Richard.

‘Very nice,’ Bella said without interest. ‘What about my hair?’

‘But don’t you think he looks sad … underneath?’

Bella glanced down at the photograph again. It wasn’t a party shot, like the others, but a studio portrait with the subject looking straight at the camera. Hooded eyes, mouth like a steel trap, cheekbones to make a Renaissance painter do a jig with delight.

‘Secret? Maybe. Sad? Nah, not a chance. He’s got a General’s scarlet uniform at home and a nice bright shiny sword to play with.’

The grey-haired woman said, ‘But things like that are just for show, dear. He could still be sad, you know.’

‘What’s he got to be sad about? He’s rich and good-looking and he knows what he’s going to do with his life.’ None of which applied to Bella just at this moment, though she did not actually say so.

‘Well, he has just lost the delicious Deborah,’ said Carlos thoughtfully. ‘No matter who ended it, or how serious it really was, that’s always a bummer.’

But Bella didn’t want to think about ending affairs. Of course, it hadn’t exactly been an affair with Francis. Nowhere near. Right from the start they’d agreed – well, he’d announced and she’d agreed, of course she had – that they couldn’t do anything about their attraction to each other while they were working so closely. It would de-stabilise the team. It wouldn’t be fair, Francis had said, looking noble and handsome and terribly responsible, to anybody. She thought now: how many others had he said that to? Half of them? All twenty? She flinched. How could she have been so naive? How could she? She groaned in spirit.

She found they were all looking at her, surprised, and realised that she had actually groaned aloud. Somehow it was the last straw.

‘What about my hair?’ she yelled. ‘Come on, you idle crimpers. Don’t just stand there wittering. Work your magic.’

So they all went back to the important stuff. And Carlos piled her blonde shoulder-length hair on to the top of her head, leaving some feathery tendrils to caress her long neck.

I just hope it’s clean, thought Bella, uneasily aware that a couple of long showers might not have been enough to clear away the grime of ten water-restricted months spent living in a tent.

But everyone else told her she looked lovely. And Bella had to admit that the soft, artistically untidy style, had turned her wide-eyed and feminine. She hadn’t felt feminine in a long, long time.

She kissed Carlos as she left. ‘Thank you. You’re a miracle worker.’

‘But of course. Haven’t I always said so?’ But he was pleased, she could see.

So was Lottie on coming into Bella’s room to check that her instructions had been carried out.

‘Well, at least no one’s going to mistake you for a Shetland pony now.’

‘What?’

Lottie grinned. ‘I told you, this party is über-posh. Very smart people, deep into the horsey set. The way you were looking this morning, they’d have fed you a carrot and showed you to the stables.’

And, quite suddenly, Bella started to laugh. In fact, she laughed so much she jabbed the mascara wand in her eye and had to start again.

‘Oh, Lotts, I do love you,’ she said, when she could speak. ‘Gosh, it’s good to be home.’