To Marry a Prince

Chapter 16

‘It’s Official!’ – Morning Times

By the time the Press started pouring into Drummon Bridge there was a much bigger story than they had come for. The King sent Julian Madoc down to the gates to invite them in, while the staff set out chairs in the drawing room, Richard drafted what he would say and Bella telephoned her parents with the news.

Her mother was nearly silenced. ‘My little girl. My dear little girl. Oh, Bella.’

Her stepfather took the phone from his wife. ‘Your mother’s weeping into some kitchen roll. What she means, of course, is that we’re both delighted and we hope you’ll be very happy. We liked him very much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It would be nice if you could come and see her really soon, Bella. I think she needs to talk. And not on the phone.’

‘Yes, Kevin.’

‘And our very best wishes to Richard,’ he said, surprising her. ‘Tell him he’s on to a good thing.’

She was misty-eyed when she put the phone down. Dear Kevin.

It was just as well that someone wished her well because her father, predictably, went into a rant. He was on board a boat somewhere in the South Atlantic and he had to talk over howling gales from the sounds on the line. He managed it easily.

‘… never thought a daughter of mine would be so feeble. Succumbing to celebrity culture, that’s what it is. Celebrity and social climbing. God, you’re just like your mother.’

‘You stop that,’ yelled Bella. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my mother. She’s a better parent than you ever were.’

‘At least I gave you ideas and some principles,’ he shouted back. ‘What happened to them, eh? What happened? A bit of discomfort on your first expedition and you’re back in London chasing some parasite because he’s got an outdated title. When I get back …’

‘I love him, you moron!’ she shouted.

Richard looked up from the desk where he was writing his piece and blew her a kiss.

‘… we’re going to have to have a serious talk about what you’ll do with your life.’

‘I’ve got news for you, Finn,’ Bella said more calmly. ‘You’re not on the management team. My life. Note the adjective. Mine. Not ours. Now you can jolly well bog off! And don’t call me until you’re ready to be nice to Richard. God help me, he even admires you. You don’t deserve it, you bigoted old freak!’

And she slammed the phone down with real fury.

Richard sat back and applauded. ‘That told him.’

‘Well, he is.’

‘What did he call me, exactly?’ Richard asked mildly. ‘I might use it in my speech.’

Bella gave an impatient sigh. ‘Don’t. It will only encourage him. He was rude about my mother, too. After he wandered away and left her to sort out having two children and no money. Bastard.’

‘OK, I won’t mention him. Not if it’s going to turn you spitting mad,’ he said, amused. ‘We’re supposed to be giving the Press good news, after all. Do you want to say anything?’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘I quite like “I love him, you morons”, but it’s not very conciliatory, I suppose. Up to you.’

‘I’m not a great speech-maker.’

‘Fine. If you change your mind, pinch my bum and I’ll hand the microphone to you.’

Just imagining it put her into a much better humour. Even Lady Pansy, bustling in to give her some helpful advice on how to dress for the momentous announcement, didn’t disturb her equilibrium. Did she, asked Lady Pansy kindly, want to borrow something from Chloe?

‘No, thank you.’

‘But you can’t wear—’ Lady Pansy indicated Richard’s Aran sweater and the jeans.

Richard said, ‘This isn’t a formal thing. We’ll have a proper engagement session, with the ring, the wedding date, the lot. The gig today is just a warm-up. Bella should wear what she feels comfortable in.’

‘Well, at least do your hair,’ said Lady Pansy, despairing.

‘That’s fair,’ agreed Bella.

By the time she came back, brushed and combed, there were a dozen or so journalists and rather more cameramen in the drawing room. The King was uncharacteristically chipper.

‘The barbarians are past the gates then,’ he said, and went off chuckling at his own joke, to await Julian Madoc’s signal.

Richard said, ‘The Press Secretary is going to be so mad about this.’

Bella cocked an eyebrow. ‘You sound rather pleased.’

‘I like justice. He went ski-ing with a lot of smart friends and sent the second team to Scotland. It’s always so bloody freezing, he gets out of it every year. So he misses the juiciest story of the year. Serves him right.’

They lined up in the dining room while Madoc quieted the audience. Then a servant opened the double doors and the King, resplendent in kilt and a tweed jacket, marched up to the hastily erected microphone. Richard and Bella followed.

‘Welcome,’ said the King. ‘Glad to see you. For once I really mean that.’

There was surprised laughter.

‘Got some good news, which my eldest son will tell you all about.’

And he went and sat down, beaming. Nobody could doubt that he was delighted.

Richard put his arm round Bella’s shoulders and they went to the microphone. He didn’t look at his notes. Bella realised suddenly that he must have spoken to a gathering like this many, many times before.

‘Happy New Year,’ he began.

Several of the audience returned the greeting.

Richard put his hands in his pockets. ‘This is a bit of a shock to me. As you probably know, I’ve been trying to persuade Bella Greenwood for a while now that I am a Good Thing. I’d got quite a nifty campaign planned out, to be honest. And then suddenly it’s New Year and I don’t see the point of waiting. So I asked her. And she said yes. So—’ He turned to her and she put her hand in his and came in closer ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Isabella Greenwood, who has agreed to marry me. I’m a lucky man.’

The applause was spontaneous and seemed genuine.

Julian Madoc stood up. ‘His Highness will take a few questions.’

Bella suddenly felt terrified, but the questions were friendly and easy to answer.

The only difficult one was, ‘And how has Miss Greenwood’s father taken it?’

‘From what I heard of the telephone call, he’s not dancing for joy,’ said Richard, with a great air of frankness. ‘We’re going to have to work on that.’

God, he’s cool, thought Bella.

There were questions to her, which were easy too. Yes, Prince Richard had met her mother, brother and stepfather and they were all very pleased. A ring? Not yet. A present then?

Beside her she felt Richard stiffen. She knew what he was thinking: Damn, we never thought of that.

But she could handle it. She squeezed his hand to reassure him and told the lady journalist, ‘Well, he’s promised me a limerick. But I’m not holding my breath.’

There was a shout of laughter.

Before it had died down the King rose and Madoc made a sign to the stewards who had come in unobtrusively and were now lined up along the walls of the drawing room, bearing trays of whisky and champagne.

‘I would like to invite you all to drink the health of my son, the Prince of Wales, and his intended wife, Miss Bella Greenwood.’

The glasses were handed out with amazing speed.

‘Richard,’ boomed the King, not bothering with the microphone and sounding as if he was about to break into a happy dance. ‘Bella, my dear. Your health.’

Everyone drank to the toast and there was prolonged applause and Richard murmured, ‘Smile. Wave. Exit right, right?’

They did.

As the great doors of the drawing room closed behind them, Bella broke into a tap dance.

‘I did it! I did it! My first press call and I didn’t knock anything over or poke anyone in the eye.’

‘You were a model of decorum and stayed upright throughout,’ he agreed gravely. ‘You’re a natural.’

Bella stopped dancing. ‘No, I’m not. I’m a walking disaster and there are photos of tumbling tiaras out there to prove it. But just this time it went right and I didn’t let you down.’

He hugged her.

She hugged him back. ‘Life doesn’t get any better than this.’

*


It didn’t stay as good at that, of course. It was one thing to charm a group of journalists and photographers who were in the same room as you, especially when you were giving them free champagne. It was quite another to convince hostile editors. Or, for that matter, the wildly partisan blogosphere.

‘Don’t look,’ advised Lottie. ‘You’ll drive yourself mad. The Palace will get the news alerts and pass on anything that you should see.’

But Bella knew that there were people who thought the news was wonderful and were bubbling excitedly about The Day, The Dress, The Honeymoon, as if she were one of their relatives. It was kind and friendly in one way, but in another it felt as if there were suddenly a load of people acting like they knew her. Only she didn’t know them.

‘It’s a bit like being a polar bear in a zoo,’ she told Richard. ‘You don’t get to stare back.’

‘Public property,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t be. So many people wish us well, I feel rather buoyed up by it.’

She was not so buoyed up by the paparazzi. They scurried after her, breaking out of alleyways as she walked to work, or appearing round shelves at the Late, Late Market when she was buying milk.

‘They’re after the one iconic picture. You hitting a small child for one section of the press. You giving a puppy the kiss of life for another,’ explained Lottie.

‘You’re joking?’

‘No, I’m not. I’ve done my time, spinning these things. It’s part of what I do for a living. I know how it works.’

‘How long are they going to chase me?’

Lottie shrugged. ‘Until somebody more newsworthy comes along. At the moment, there’s a big premium on the Princess-to-Be. Sorry. You’re gonna have to live with it.’

At first Bella’s new employers didn’t like it. They wanted press attention, they said, but not on the celebrity pages. But as their website began to get more hits, they decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all and became a lot less frosty.

‘So that’s all right,’ Bella told Richard, when they were in the car going to a charity Ice Show. ‘As for the media, as far as I can see there are two schools of thought. Those who think we’re a lovely couple, wish us well and either don’t care or are positively pleased that I’m not a toff. God bless them. Then there are those hate me because I’m not a toff. They write these nasty articles, pretending it’s about all sorts of other things – I’m too fat; I’m too thin. I’m grumpy; I’m over-familiar. I’m a career woman and no support to you; I fawn on you sickeningly. And a whole raft of other stuff I forget.’

‘Hey, I thought you weren’t reading them,’ said Richard in concern.

‘I’m not now. But I wanted to know what all the noise was about.’

‘And now you do?’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing I can do about it. If someone hates you, they hate you. They’re not going to change their mind.’

There was a pause. Then he nodded soberly. ‘That’s a tough one, isn’t it?’

Bella swallowed. ‘Yes, it is. There’s one blogger who scares me bit, she’s so spiteful.’

Richard was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘LoyalSubjekt101?’

‘Yes. You’ve read it? Do you know who it is?’

‘Not yet,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve got people looking into it.’

Bella was doubtful. ‘Can you do that? I mean, what about free speech?’

‘I can’t stop her saying anything, unless it’s libellous. But I agree. There’s something about the tone of that one that is disturbing. So we’re digging a bit.’

‘Oh.’ A wisp of cold touched Bella happiness.

‘Hey, don’t look like that. It’s probably some strange person who has fantasies about marrying me herself and wouldn’t actually hurt a fly. Might not even be a woman. It’s just a reasonable precaution to find out who it is.’

‘Yes, of course.’

He gave her a comforting hug. ‘Mostly these things come to nothing. They fall in love with somebody else, or go back on the medication, or win a story-writing contest or something.’

Bella smiled. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘Do that. I’ll keep you safe.’

But if Richard was sympathetic about the nasty blogger, he just laughed when the Daily Despatch, who had run the original falling tiara photographs for several days, called Bella a klutz and commissioned a number of cartoonists to envisage things that she might drop, break or crash into.

‘They’re not as fervent as your father, but the Despatch has never liked us since my father had its editor-in-chief escorted out of the Royal Enclosure at Ascot for pinching a waitress’s bottom.’

‘Did he?’ Bella was fascinated. It didn’t seem in character with what she had seen of the absent-minded King.

‘Don’t get him wrong. He likes to play the old buffer, but when he gets the bit between his teeth, he really goes for it. And he doesn’t like bullies.’

‘I remember you saying your grandfather—’

Richard stared pointedly at the driver’s head and Bella stopped.

‘So, I’m afraid you’ll just have to put with the Despatch. If they weren’t calling you a klutz, it would be something else. Price of joining the family.’

She didn’t care about the family. But it was a price worth paying for loving someone as special as Richard, she thought.

The more she knew of him, the more certain she was that he was right: they were made for each other. Nothing seemed to faze him. She regularly forgot to check out with the Guard House when she stayed overnight at Camelford House and he would receive calls from an irate security officer. He never lost his temper, not with Bella, not with the Guard House. Once she was late for a date because she got absorbed at work and he forgave her; more, he made a joke of it. Yet she knew how tight his schedule was and she could have kicked herself. Especially as she was surrounded by a self-appointed support group. She sometimes wondered who Richard had who was there for him, not just for the Prince of Wales.

She said as much to her grandmother.

Georgia, who had come to the flat for an evening with Bella and Lottie, looked thoughtful. ‘He has you.’

‘Oh, well, yes, obviously. But I meant someone of his own.’

‘His own?’

They were in the kitchen and Bella was peeling potatoes. Georgia had a surprising weakness for English school food and had requested shepherd’s pie for a treat. But at her last observation Bella put the peeler down and turned to face her.

‘What does that mean?’

Georgia tried to dismiss the question. ‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Don’t start with the Forest Wise Woman on me,’ said her granddaughter crisply. ‘I know it meant something. Give.’

‘It’s just that, I suppose this engagement has all happened very fast.’

Bella was nearly dancing with irritation. ‘Don’t be enigmatic. I’ve had a long hard day making sense of an illiterate PhD proposal. I’m in no mood for guessing games. If you think I’m doing something wrong, spit it out.’

Georgia laughed. ‘I think you’re doing just fine, dear.’

And then Lottie came in and they started talking about important things like saving the rain forest and how to get red wine out of a silk blouse.

Later, as they were finishing their coffee, Georgia said, ‘Have you talked about dates for the wedding?’

Lottie cast her eyes to heaven.

Bella said hurriedly, ‘Bit of a sore point, Georgia. The Government wants us to get married in the summer, for the tourists. But the Queen thinks we should wait until after next Christmas. Negotiations, as they say, are ongoing.’

Georgia’s brown eyes were shrewd. ‘And what do you want?’

‘Richard’s diary is the main constraint, really. He says a lot of people will be disappointed if he cancels engagements. So he’s got his office analysing the forward plan.’

Lottie and Georgia exchanged looks.

‘Not Richard,’ said her grandmother. ‘You.’

‘Me? I’ll fit in with … What?’

Both Lottie and Georgia had shrieked in protest.

‘What?’

‘It’s your wedding,’ said Lottie. ‘You know, the thing little girls dream of from the first time someone tells them the Cinderella story. Big white dress, centre of attention, flowers in the hair, walking down the aisle with a dreamy look in your eyes. It’s your day.’

‘Richard says it’s everyone’s day. We have to be … accommodating.’

Lottie snorted.

‘We’ve been through this before, Lotts. It’s a state occasion. There’s no getting away from it. Richard and I aren’t the only ones involved.’

Georgia always sat up straight, she said that was what Southern Belles were taught to do, but suddenly she looked as dignified as the Queen herself. The shabby old armchair could have been a throne.

‘That is true. And you are very right to remember it. I am proud of you.’ She sounded as if she were summing up the case for the prosecution. ‘But saying there are a lot of people to consider does not mean that you are prohibited from saying what you would like.’

Lottie bounced on the sofa. ‘Right on, Granny.’

Georgia ignored that. She was very fond of Lottie and adored Bella but she never cared to be reminded of her grandmotherly status.

‘Do you know what you would like, Bella?’

‘Richard says …’

Bella found two pairs of beady eyes daring her to go on. She ground to a halt.

‘I haven’t thought about it, OK? There didn’t seem much point.’

Georgia fixed her eyes on her granddaughter with terrifying intensity. ‘Are you saying it doesn’t matter what you want?’

‘Not in the scheme of things, no.’

‘And have you told Richard that you feel like this?’

Bella felt harassed. ‘Well, no. I mean, he’s got a lot on his plate. It’s not such a big deal, after all.’

There was a silence. Even Bella could see that this was probably not an ideal way for a bride to think about her own wedding but she would never admit it. She put up her chin and broadcast dignified Keep Out signals right back at Georgia.

To no effect at all.

‘While I do not agree with your father in all his antimonarchical barnstorming, I am coming to feel that, in this case, he has a point,’ announced Georgia. ‘I don’t know if it is the fault of the Royal Family, the Court or Richard himself. But I am very sorry to say,’ she didn’t sound sorry, she sounded brutal, ‘that they have done a number on you, child.’

Lottie drew in a little hissing breath. ‘Have at you, foul courtier!’

Bella sent her an impatient glance but Georgia ignored her. ‘Marriage is a partnership, not a corporate venture, Bella. You and Richard need to talk about this. And soon.’

‘I love you, Georgia,’ said Lottie with fervour.

‘When you have done so, you may bring him to dinner. I will telephone you tomorrow with dates when I am free.’

Bella gulped.

Georgia stood up and turned gracefully to Lottie. ‘It is always delightful to see you again, Lottie. I so enjoy our talks. Goodbye. Thank you for a lovely evening.’

Subdued, Lottie stood up and they air-kissed.

Bella said, ‘I’ll call you a cab.’

‘No need. I can always find one round here. If necessary I’ll go to Victoria Station. There are always cabs there.’

‘I’ll walk with you,’ said Bella firmly.

She helped Georgia into her warm coat – a chocolate brown, waisted, full-skirted thing, with a discreet fur collar and military buttons. Georgia set her big Russian hat at just the right angle and pulled on fur-lined leather gloves. It was all very warm and practical but, thought Bella, even for a domestic evening of shepherd’s pie with the girls, her grandmother was catwalk elegant.

Bella shrugged on her own coat, stuffed her keys in her pocket and they went out into the night air. The street was deserted. Not a cab in sight.

They began to walk.

Georgia said, ‘Honey, I know you’re getting a lot of advice, from all over the place, and most of it is frankly crap. I don’t want to add to that, I really don’t. But I am certain that you and Richard need to work out what you want before everybody else gets to have their say. It’s just so easy to be taken over by the rest of the world. I was. And it took me half a lifetime to get myself straight.’

This was news to Bella.

‘I didn’t know that,’ she said cautiously.

‘When you’ve made your bed, you lie on it,’ said Georgia dryly. ‘Old saying. No reason for you or anyone else to know. But, believe me, when I say talk to the man, I speak from experience. Oh, look, there’s a taxi with its light on. I do so love London taxis! They’re so big and solid and uncompromising, and you have room to spread out the skirts of your dance dress. Heaven. Just heaven. I have great hopes for you, Bella.’

On which gnomic utterance she raised an arm to hail the cab, kissed her granddaughter quickly, jumped in and was gone.