To Marry a Prince

Chapter 19

‘The Dress!’ – Royal Watchers Magazine

Of course the ring had to be kept under wraps until the photocall at which they were due to announce the date and venue of the wedding. Richard suggested that Bella should take it home and wear it for a while, to make sure that it didn’t need any adjustment. Lottie had stolen one of her gloves for him but the jeweller had warned that only gave an approximate size.

Bella was terribly tempted. But in the end she decided to be sensible.

‘I’m such a klutz, I might do something terrible like drop it down the loo,’ she said with a shudder.

‘You’ll have to get used to it some time,’ Richard said, amused. ‘But never mind. It can wait a week. I’ll take it back and put it in the safe, if you like.’

She thanked him with fervour.

So when she paid her first visit to her new office in the Palace, she could honestly say that, no, she did not have a ring yet. Lady Pansy was put out.

‘Haven’t you at least chosen the stones? And have you decided what to wear for the engagement photograph?’

‘Goodness, no,’ said Bella.

She had been hoping to get in and out of the place in an hour but Lady Pansy had a list of decisions to be made that would take most of the morning. Bella considered rebelling but then thought better of it. It was not Lady Pansy’s fault that she took everything at a slow march and paid attention to every detail. Besides, she was the Queen’s friend and had been part of the arrangements for the King and Queen’s marriage thirty-odd years ago. So she would know the traditions at first hand.

In the interests of harmony, Bella sat on a sofa and made notes on her smartphone while Lady Pansy worked slowly through several files.

Clothes had a big file all to themselves. Bella would need clothes for lunch, for dinner, for formal balls, for attending the ballet … Her head began to reel. And then, of course, there were the clothes for the official photographs: the engagement photograph; a relaxed session in the country – no doubt Prince Richard had somewhere in mind; the going-away outfit; the entire honeymoon wardrobe; and The Dress.

The way Lady Pansy said that, it sounded as if the thing was some sort of Alien Being out of Dr Who, thought Bella. The Attack of the Mutant Wedding Dress? She recognised incipient hysteria and calmed herself.

‘I’m afraid I’ve not really thought about a wedding dress. I’ve never been terribly interested in fashion, and with my year away I lost touch with even what little I did know.’

Lady Pansy beamed at her in a motherly way. ‘I am so glad you said that, my dear. It makes it easier for me to say – you will need a complete makeover in order to assume your royal role. I’m sure you realise that.’

‘Er – do I?’ said Bella, who didn’t realise any such thing.

‘Having accompanied Her Majesty on so many of her trips, I am sure I will be able to help. Now, for the engagement picture – a British designer, of course. Nothing too avant-garde. You have to appeal to all ages and sections of the population, many of whom are very traditional in their tastes. Would you like me to have some samples send round?’

Bella had a hair-raising vision of hours and hours spent trying on clothes, with Lady Pansy giving them marks out of ten, and said no, thank you, she thought she could probably sort that one out. Lady Pansy did not exactly look crushed, she was too well trained in assuming that frozen courtier’s expression, but Bella felt bad for her.

So she said kindly, ‘But if you would give me a list of the designers you think I should look at for the wedding dress, that would be a huge help.’

The woman inclined her head without cracking a smile.

‘And perhaps you would tick any that you particularly like,’ she offered.

Lady Pansy thawed and said she would be delighted to do that.

Bella made her escape before Lady Pansy could think of anything else for her to decide. She jumped into a taxi and called Lottie on her way to the office.

‘Lotts, I need fashion advice. You know me.’

‘I do indeed,’ said Lottie. ‘The best bikini collection in the business, but otherwise your wardrobe is pants.’

‘I was living on a tropical island, for heaven’s sake! Swimming was part of my job.’

Lottie gave a dirty laugh. ‘Richard is still in for a treat I bet he doesn’t expect.’

‘I probably won’t be allowed to wear them,’ said Bella, suddenly depressed. ‘They’ll be too avant-garde for the British people.’

‘Oh, God, don’t tell me there’s a Palace Advisory Note on bikinis too?’

Bella choked. ‘Haven’t seen it. Anyway, that’s ages in the future. I need something for this damn’ photoshoot next week. Where can I go? Any ideas?’

‘Yes, but I’ve got a meeting two minutes ago. I’ll pick up some mags on the way home and we can talk about it later.’

It turned into a perfect girls’ night in. Lottie had not only picked up a bag full of fashion and celebrity magazines, she had bought each of them a super new organic face mask and the raw material for mutual manicuring. And chocolate.

‘This is the life,’ Lottie said, trying not to move her lips. She was lying flat out on the sofa in a towelling robe, with her newly washed hair wrapped in a towel and a mask scented with orange flowers slowly setting on her face.

‘How do you know when it’s cooked?’ said Bella, wandering in from the bathroom in her blue kimono. She was still applying hers. It came in a pot, like cream, only with raspberry pips in it.

‘It turns pink. Bright pink. About twenty minutes.’ Lottie lifted her wrist. ‘I’ve got another eight.’

Bella put the pot down, cleaned her be-pipped but sweetly scented fingers on a wet wipe, and settled herself in the armchair, with her feet on a leather floor cushion. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

‘Do you remember when we were teenagers, Lotts? We used to talk about our weddings. You wanted to be carried off from the altar by Carver Doone.’

‘A much-misunderstood man. Lorna Doone was a fool not to marry him,’ said Lottie firmly.

‘He was the villain.’

‘He was sexy.’

‘So basically you didn’t want to be married, you wanted to be ravished?’

Lottie considered. ‘No-oo. No, I don’t think so. I think I just wanted to drive a man mad with lust. Preferably in front of all my friends and relations, including Jemima Crane from next door and Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. Of course, then they’d have to chase after us and rescue me. But, hey, I’m a drama queen. What can I tell you? I don’t think it was anything more sinister than that.’

‘I can’t remember what I wanted.’

Lottie canted round on the sofa. ‘You chopped and changed. You wanted to be married in a woodland glade, in secret, I remember that. Oh, and you always had that picture on your wall, with that woman with long flowing sleeves knighting a handsome young man in chain mail.’

Bella wriggled. ‘Oooh yes, The Accolade, I can’t remember the artist, but the woman wore the most gorgeous dress, with those long flowing mediaeval sleeves and all that golden embroidery. Ah, I’d love a dress like that …’

Lottie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Actually long mediaeval sleeves aren’t a bad idea for a princess. Why not go with something like that.’ She looked at her watch and swung her feet to the floor. ‘That’s me done. Back when I’ve excavated.’

When she returned Bella said reflectively, ‘Neither of us was really into trailing down the aisle in a big white dress, with a piss-up afterwards, were we?’

Lottie peered at herself in the sitting-room mirror. ‘The skin is definitely softer. And there aren’t any shadows under my eyes. I think this is good stuff.’

Bella yawned. ‘Good. I’m nodding off here.’

‘You can’t do that. We have Bridal Wear to nail.’ Lottie turned round and put her hands on her hips. ‘Is it time to open a bottle?’

Bella stretched. ‘Mmmm.’

‘Come on. You can’t go to sleep. We must work.’

‘I saw Richard last night,’ said Bella dreamily. ‘Got to bed very late.’

‘Good for you.’ Lottie had fetched a bottle and was applying a corkscrew with brisk efficiency. ‘That’s the idea. Concentrate on him. What do you think he wants to see walking down the aisle towards him?’

‘The Curse of the Mutant Wedding Dress.’

Bella told Lottie about her fantasy moment when Lady Pansy was boring on, and they both cackled.

Lottie agreed. ‘No, you don’t want one of those giant meringue things that looks as if it could walk on its own.’

‘Walk, hunt, kill,’ intoned Bella.

‘Very probably. How much did you drink last night?’

‘One bottle of champagne between us. Honestly, Lotts, I’m just tired. I’ve got three proposals which deserve funding and I’ve only got the money for two. I need some time to evaluate the comparison and bloody Lady bloody Pansy rings me all the time about what colour stationery I want to write my thank-you notes on.’ She leaped up, looking at her watch. ‘Hey, I’ve gone over time. I’ll be burned to a crisp.’

She scooted down the hall into the bathroom and later could be heard swearing

Lottie poured herself a glass of wine and set about arranging the magazines round the floor, open at pictures she liked.

Eventually Bella came back, watery-eyed. ‘I got some stuff in my eyes when I was getting rid of the sediment,’ she explained. ‘But you’re right. My skin does feel softer.’ She poured a glass of wine for herself. ‘I shall tell Lady Pansy, so she can start another sodding file. Face masks, brides for the use of.’

She plonked herself down on the rug in front of the fire and crossed her legs. ‘So, right, let’s have a look at the meringues.’

But Lottie had opened all the magazines at photographs of day dresses. Tailored day dresses, floaty day dresses, knock-out cream wool belted day dresses. Skirts of all lengths. Waisted jackets; loose, unstructured jackets; almost-a-man’s-dinner-jacket jackets. And silky cocktail trousers with piratical silk sashes and high-collared shirts. Even multi-layered grunge-with-attitude outfits where you couldn’t tell which bit went where.

‘What are these for?’

‘The photoshoot next week? Remember?

‘Oh, God, Yes. OK.’ Bella surveyed them all quickly. ‘I like that,’ she said, looking at the cream wool stunner with a sigh. ‘But I’d spill coffee on it or something.’

Lottie choked. ‘Yup. You probably would. Anyway, it’s a bit too sophisticated. Touch of the cougar, don’t you think?’

They both contemplated the worldly expression of the stick-thin model.

Bella nodded slowly. ‘See what you mean. Anyway, I’m not really thin enough for it. Now I’m not starving any more, I’m back to my normal weight.’

‘Good thing too. So forget cream wool. It’s strictly for people who don’t eat, don’t move, and don’t carry cups of coffee. Any idea which designer you would like?’

Bella broke off a corner of the giant slab of hazelnut chocolate Lottie had bought and sucked it thoughtfully.

‘Lady P says they have to be British.’

Lottie snorted. ‘Lady P is talking out of the back of her neck! Oh, maybe for the wedding dress or the … what do you call it? … Trousseau. That’s the word – trousseau. Sounds very nineteen thirties, doesn’t it? But in next week’s photocall, the press will want to see the girl Richard fell for. You as you are. Cinderella before the ball. Trust me on this.’

Bella took more chocolate in her agitation. ‘Bikini top, denim shorts and flip-flops?’

‘Come on, you can do better than that. You’ve bought some nice stuff since you got back. Have you looked through your wardrobe?’

‘There’s nothing there. It’s either suits for work or jeans. Or party dresses, and they won’t do. Lady P always looks as if she’s going to an Ambassador’s lunch. I reckon she thinks I ought to be the same. And I don’t think I can.’

Lottie was bracing. ‘Hey, you’re a green-eyed blonde. You can look a million dollars when you put your mind to it. Any Ambassador would be proud. Do you actually like any of these looks?’

Bella picked up the whole chocolate bar and hugged it against her like a hot water bottle, rocking slightly. Lottie took it away from her.

‘Chocolate and silk. Not a good look. Concentrate, Bel.’

Eventually Bella stopped panicking and decided that she liked the lace cut-out top and trouser combo, with fantastically high heels, and also a collection of very simple dresses in wonderful colours. ‘The colour needs to be darkish to show off the ring,’ she said thoughtfully.

Lottie gave a crow of delight. ‘So that was what last night was about. You got the rock!’

‘Mmm.’

‘Come on then, give. Has he given you an heirloom?’

‘Better,’ said Bella dreamily. ‘It’s platinum with a yellow diamond, and it’s beautiful. Designed for me. Just me.’

Lottie sat back on her heels, her eyes wide. ‘Cor. I’ve never seen a yellow diamond. It’s a good choice, though. You’ve got yellow flecks in those green eyes of yours. He must have noticed. Blue-whites are too harsh and emeralds would be too loud. Anyway some people think they’re unlucky. But a yellow diamond … Yeah. He’s got class, your Richard.’

‘So point me at an outfit which returns the compliment,’ said Bella, not dreamy any more.

‘With pleasure.’

Lottie stabbed a finger at three. ‘Not the lacy thing. Too predatory. Buy it for a party some time, though. Try the navy day dress, it’s very elegant, a bit Mad Men, no? Or that green wrap-around chiffon dress with the kicky skirt. It’s got a great neckline and the colour would be awesome for Little Miss yellow diamond.’

Bella agreed that both were worth looking at and Lottie was a star.

‘And tomorrow I’m taking you shopping, before you lose your nerve,’ said the star briskly. ‘Sorted.’

After that they creamed each other’s hands, and softened and trimmed cuticles, pared nails and then, ceremoniously, painted each other’s nails gold. And finished the bottle.

The photoshoot was a breeze. She didn’t know what Mad Men was and frankly it all sounded rather treacherous, so she had gone with the ivy-green number. With her height the skirt fell just on the knee, but was deemed demure enough by the powers-that-be. And it did show off the diamond beautifully. Bella loved her ring so much that she kept patting it and looking at it against different backgrounds. Each made it appear more perfect than the last. Richard was clearly delighted. The designer silversmith was there too, a shy self-effacing man who only came to life when he talked about his work.

‘That man is coming to the wedding, isn’t he?’ Bella hissed to Richard, when drinks were served and the posing and snapping were over.

‘If you want him, of course. Put him on your list.’

‘Ah.’

‘You have started a list?’

She winced. ‘Not really.’

‘But Pansy said—’

‘It’s not Lady Pansy’s fault. She’s given me a file and notes and everything. It’s just that I’m struggling with competing proposals at work at the moment.’

Richard had that stony expression which she knew meant he disapproved.

‘I’m really sorry, love. I’ll do it next week.’

The stony expression did not lift.

‘This week, I mean. I’ll do it before Friday.’

‘That would be helpful.’

‘Ouch. Don’t go Royal on me again.’

He looked down at her, startled.

She put her head on one side, looking up at him naughtily. ‘Remember what happened last time.’

The stony expression dissolved.

‘Which reminds me, you still owe me one limerick.’

He could not help himself. He laughed aloud.

It made a fabulous photo for the magazines, the two of them laughing together in a corner, when they thought no one was looking.

Tube Talk blew it up to a whole front page, under the headline ‘So Happy and So in Love’. And even the Daily Despatch said grumpily that clumsy Ms Greenwood must be doing something right.

Only LoyalSubjekt101 couldn’t find anything nice to say about them. He or she thought the ring was a tawdry stunt, and buying an unbelievably expensive yellow diamond a slap in the face of the British people at this time of public austerity. The whole piece brimmed over with spite, particularly against Bella.

Richard was angry but Bella shrugged it off. ‘You can’t have everyone love you. Or even like you. On the whole, I think our hit rate’s pretty good. Forget it. We’re doing OK.’

Richard nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right. So far so good.’

But there was still the choice of the wedding dress to come and that was turning into a nightmare. For one thing, Lady Pansy had not understood that Bella wanted to look at pictures and get a general idea of the styles of the various designers, since she didn’t know any of them. Lady Pansy had telephoned eight and commissioned original drawings.

‘You mean, I’m paying for eight exclusive designs?’ said Bella, hollowly. She couldn’t begin to guess what it would cost but she was fairly sure that it would increase her student debt exponentially.

Lady Pansy waved aside the vulgar consideration. ‘They won’t charge. It is a great honour for them to be asked. Of course, they will let their clients know that they are in the running.’

‘That doesn’t seem very fair. I can only choose one and they will have done all that work for nothing.’

‘Only in outline. They won’t actually have bought any fabric or made anything.’

‘You’re clearly not creative,’ said Bella. ‘They will have worked on it, eaten, slept and dreamed of it. Raising their hopes like this is callous. It’s not right.’

Lady Pansy stiffened. ‘It’s the way we always do things.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Bella wearily. ‘Tradition.’

But it was even worse when she looked at the drawings. They were all, every single one, huge-skirted, frilled and furbelowed, with swags of pearls or bows of lace in every conceivable crevice.

‘I’ll look like a duvet cover while it’s being changed,’ she told Lottie gloomily. ‘Some right-thinking person will jump out of the crowd and try to beat the lumps out of me.’

‘It can’t be that bad. You’re being paranoid again.’

But after she’d looked through the portfolio that Bella had brought home, Lottie had to admit that it was not paranoia. They truly were …

‘Frightful,’ said Bella.

‘Not your style,’ amended Lottie. She peered at the signature on a crinoline so huge that it could probably double as an air balloom. ‘Lawson? What on earth? He’s the guy who usually sends brides down the aisle with the back of the wedding dress cut down to the bum. Known for it. It’s his signature quirk. This thing has got a liberty bodice sewn in! He must have gone mad.’

Bella clutched her hair. ‘It’s almost certainly Lady Pansy. She briefed them all. It has to be traditional, it has to please Middle England, and it has to make me look like the biggest laundry bag in the world.’

Lottie looked at the drawings again and made sympathetic noises.

‘She’s the Queen’s best friend. She’s known Richard since he was in the cradle. They all love her and they’re certain she knows best. And I can’t prove she doesn’t, because I’m letting it all get on top of me. Oh, God, Lotts. What am I going to do?’