To Marry a Prince

Chapter 2

‘Trees in Tubs Make Your Party Swing’ – Mondaine Magazine

Lottie called a minicab to take them to the party. Conscious of her own jobless state, Bella protested at the extravagance. But her friend was adamant.

‘These shoes are meant for dancing, not pounding the London Underground,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ll thank me later. Besides, it’s cold out there.’

That was undoubtedly true. Reluctant to spend her remaining cash on a stellar outfit, Bella had in the end found a pretty dress in an Oxfam shop, one of the better ones in Soho that sold nearly perfect vintage clothes, rather than size 20 tee-shirts from George. It was vaguely Ossie Clarke in a heavy, midnight blue crepe. The neckline plunged into a deep V, a bit risqué she had thought, but it also had long sleeves that gathered at the wrist with a row of tiny buttons and it swirled nicely when she walked. But it was almost certainly a retiree from the summer. It was not warm.

‘Odd but stylish. You look like Greta Garbo,’ said Lottie, deciding it would do.

She insisted on dusting Bella’s skin with gold glitter.

‘You’ve got the perfect tan. Light, real and every-where. Make it work for you,’ she instructed.

She also lent Bella a full length suede coat with a big fake-fur collar, along with a sparkly gold bag. They checked the contents of their bags together, just as they used to do when they were eighteen.

‘Lippy, perfume, hankie.’

‘Check.’

‘Phone.’

‘Check.’

‘Keys.’

‘Check. No, I left them in the kitchen—’ Bella dived to retrieve them.

Lottie was patient. ‘OK, that’s it. Except for running away money, of course.’

Their eyes met. It was Bella’s Granny Georgia, a Southern Belle of the old school, who had taught them that: never go to a party without your running away money tucked into your underwear. Ladies didn’t make a fuss but they were always prepared. If their gentleman escort wanted to stay too late at the party or had a little too much to drink, a lady quietly and discreetly made other arrangements and kept the cash to do so about her person at all times. Men, said Granny Georgia, momentarily less ladylike, Never Thought of That.

Bella chuckled. ‘I’ve got enough cash to get me home.’

Lottie clicked her fingers. ‘That reminds me, you’ll need the minicab company’s card.’ She dived into the hall drawer and with a flourish produced a dog-eared bit of pasteboard. ‘Put this number into your phone now.’

Bella complied. And while she was at it, she checked her incoming messages. No, nothing from her mother, so no surprise there. Her father hadn’t got back to her either, but he was probably up a mountain somewhere. And she knew Granny Georgia was in Brazil saving the rain forest until Christmas. But she was a bit hurt that her brother Neill hadn’t even bothered to leave her a message.

Lottie was oblivious. ‘I have an account. You won’t have to pay cash. Just say Hendred Associates.’

‘Hendred Associates?’

‘Well, I’m not going to be working for someone else all my life. Establish the brand early and keep it cooking,’ said Lottie blithely.

But later, in the back of the minicab, she said more soberly, ‘Tonight I’m sort of on duty, Bella. Networking stuff. I may even have to go on somewhere. I’m sorry, on your first weekend home. But I can’t get out of it. Will that be OK?’

‘Fine,’ said Bella, who was beginning to feel the effects of a day’s unaccustomed shopping, on top of the jet lag. ‘I’ll probably push off earlyish anyway. What do we do? Should I text you when I want to leave?’

‘Good plan. And we can spend all tomorrow together.’

‘Sure. So who are the people giving this party?’

‘My boss. The Big Boss, I mean. Not my team leader.’

‘Coo,’ said Bella, impressed and just a bit wistful. ‘Your career must be really whooshing along.’

Lottie snorted. ‘Career, nothing. This is pay-back for personal services.’

‘What?’

‘Whoops! Sounds bad, doesn’t it? Memo to self: don’t say that to my mother. Actually, his idiot Number Three Son came into the agency for work experience in the summer. I was the one who drew the short straw and had to mentor the little toe-rag. Believe me, that family owe me.’

‘Ah.’

‘The party will be OK, though. Big Cheese is pretty much the last word in contemporary PR. He doesn’t do anything but work, but his wife is into charities and the arts and all sorts of groovy stuff. The kids aren’t all bad, either. And their parties are legendary. There should be some interesting people there. You’ll have a good time. Promise.’

She was right.

The party didn’t seem unduly posh, in spite of what Lottie had said. It was in a very smart house, though, in a very smart part of town, with some amazing artwork on the walls. But it all seemed friendly and casual, with dancing in a big, darkened room in the basement and people talking in every other room in the house, except the kitchen. Some were even sitting on the stairs.

Bella didn’t know anyone but it didn’t matter. She danced a bit, and talked a bit, and drank more than she had in nearly a year. The Oxfam dress fitted in nicely, neither too showy nor too casual, and the new shoes, not much more than sparkly gold straps atop four-inch heels, attracted enough envy to make Bella’s spirits fly. She had a great time until about three hours into the party when she suddenly realised that her head was ringing and she could not feel her feet any more.

‘Air,’ she said, and fought her way up the darkened stairs from the basement to the ground floor, where French windows opened on to a handsome terrace.

But it looked as if someone was giving a speech out there and Bella hesitated. Seeing this, one of the circulating waiters took her by the elbow and directed her through a small doorway. She supposed he thought she wanted to go outside to smoke and shook her head to tell him she didn’t. But then she saw that the door led into a small courtyard, a small empty courtyard, and she thought: Lottie’s right. Sometimes the Lord provides.

She slipped outside.

It was utterly quiet. That was the first thing that struck her. In every room in the house there had been music – fierce, danceable rhythms in the basement; discreet string quartets to converse over in the reception rooms; cool clarinets on the stairs. Now for the first time there was silence. Not even the rumble of distant traffic disturbed the midnight air.

Bella wandered out into the silent darkness. Her heels clipped on the flagstones. The courtyard was open to the sky but it was not cold. A large pale plate of a moon hung in a gun-metal sky, playing hide and seek with billowing clouds, but not a breath of wind stirred the branches of a tall ornamental fig tree in the middle of the courtyard. Someone had wound a string of lights through it. They were shaped like little Chinese lanterns, and the shadows they cast were as still as a painting.

A ironwork table was tucked into one corner, surrounded by fragrant trees in stone pots – a lemon tree, an orange with the fruit nearly ripe, breathing an elusive sweetness into the air, and great wooden tubs of golden-leaved Mexican Choisya, smelling of basil. There was a half-drunk glass of champagne standing on the table, and the guttering remains of a flower-pot candle. Patio chairs were pushed back, as if the people sitting there had left in a hurry.

Bella looked around. But no, the shadowy courtyard seemed deserted. She let herself sink on to one of the vacated seats and found the reason for the astonishing warmth of the little outdoor space: a tall patio heater was lurking among the greenery, like an apologetic butler robot. She laughed a little and patted its conical steel base. It was pleasantly warm to the touch. She felt herself relax as she hadn’t for – how long? Days? Weeks, maybe?

She fished around in the borrowed bag and pulled out the unfamiliar phone. Leaning forward into the pool of wavering light, she managed to see the buttons well enough to send Lottie a text: Running out of steam, will call cab. U?

A text came back almost at once: BBL.

Bella clutched her head. BBL? What did that mean? Oh, hell, less than a year ago she had used this stuff all the time. How could she have forgotten?

The dying candle flickered briefly and she jumped, remembering. Oh, yes. Be back later. Lottie was telling her to go on home and not wait for her. Well, that was a relief.

Bella dialled the minicab service, who told her apologetically that it would be forty minutes, and yes, they knew where to come; they had the address from Ms Hendred’s earlier booking.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Bella with feeling. ‘I didn’t think of that. I’d have had to go and ask someone for the postcode. You’re a star.’

The minicab company clerk was quietly pleased. He said she was welcome.

‘Thank you. Forty minutes, then. I’ll be ready.’

She cut the call and re-checked her messages. No, nothing new had come in. Well, it was a Saturday night. People don’t start texting unexpectedly returning sisters on a Saturday night, do they? They’re out enjoying themselves.

Bella stretched a bit. Then, as she was alone, she thrust her legs out in front of her and wiggled her feet. The strappy shoes were sex incarnate but they were tough on feet that had spent ten months in flip-flops. Bella rotated her ankles in opposite directions and sighed with pleasure.

And then three things happened.

The candle flame suddenly shot up like a rocket and died.

Bella jumped several inches into the air in a sort of dolphin arc and fell back on the very edge of the little patio chair.

The chair recoiled and then lurched past the point of no return. Even the solid ironwork table rocked a bit as, in pure instinct, Bella threw out a hand to save herself. All that she managed, however, was to grab hold of a fistful of the ivy that clad the brick wall to her right. The ivy came away from the wall, descending as rapidly as she did.

‘Shi-i-it!’ gasped Bella, in free fall.

Plant containers, big and small, tumbled around her in a hail of leaves and twigs. She heard them fall and at least one smashed, unmistakably. She came to rest in a mass of tangled ivy, with one arm around the base of a bay tree.

Silence fell, except for the tinkling of pottery shards on the flagstones. Bella lay there, stunned, her eyes closed.

Eventually she got her breath back and opened her eyes.

‘Oh, no,’ she said aloud, in horror

It was like the path of a hurricane, she thought. Devastation! Quite apart from the curtain of ivy which she had clawed off the wall, every single shrub she could see in the dark was either lurching at a drunken angle or missing branches. She struggled to sit up, but had got herself hemmed in by displaced urns and fallen foliage. She could not see where the shadows ended and the plants began but there was no mistaking the pressure of solid objects against her back, her knees, her feet, even her stomach. And there seemed to be nowhere to put her hands, to give herself purchase. And when she did finally wiggle up a little, so that her back was against the stripped wall, she found that the spiky heels on her shoes made it impossible for her to plant her feet side by side and simply heave herself upright.

‘I’m trapped,’ she said, in disbelief. ‘Come on, think, woman. Think!’

She had a go at releasing the strap of her right shoe. Between the awkward angle and the romantic shadows, she couldn’t really see what was going on, but tendrils of ivy seemed to have wrapped themselves round and locked the shoe to her foot tighter than any buckle would have managed.

‘What I need is a Swiss Army knife. Oh, boy, am I in trouble.’

It seemed there was only one thing left to do. She would have to surrender what was left of her dignity and crawl out of the fallen foliage on all fours, hoping that sheer body weight and her forward momentum would snap the bloody ivy. Well, thank God no one had been there to see the disaster at least.

And then an arm, in a silken sleeve as pale and perfect as the moon, pushed aside the fallen plants.

‘No Swiss Army knife, I’m afraid. And I don’t know where they keep the gardening tools. But may I offer a hand?’ said a voice. It was trying very hard not to laugh.

Bella jumped again and in pure reflex kicked the bay tree. A mistake in strappy shoes. The pain was excruciating.

‘Ow!’ Instinctively, she made to rub her stubbed toe. But she still couldn’t reach, for pots and plants.

What she did manage to do, however, was to set all the plant life in motion again. Specifically, the bay tree. It started to tip sideways slowly, like a drunken judge.

Bella pushed herself away as far as she was able, which was not very far at all. ‘Oh, no …’

Silk Shirt, however, was there first. He arrested the bay tree before it fell on top of her, and returned it to the upright position. Then he walked round her carefully, picked the thing up, mighty planter and all, and moved it out of the way.

He turned back to her then. ‘I think you’d better get out of there.’

‘I’m trying,’ said Bella between her teeth. She was tearing at the ivy that had wound itself round her ankle. But the more fiercely she tore, the faster she seemed to be caught. ‘This damned stuff won’t let me go.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

He hunkered down and considered her foot. From where she lay sprawled she saw that he had springy dark hair. And she was right, that shirt was silk. Nothing else had that sheen. Pearly white silk, as pure as snow, and here she was, looking like a compost heap. It was enough to make a girl weep.

‘Have I got twigs in my hair?’ she asked.

But he was concentrating on her feet. ‘Hmm. You’re certainly tied in pretty tight. Wonder if this ivy is carnivorous?’

‘Thank you for that thought.’

‘No problem.’

He slid a finger under one of the tendrils and Bella yelped, as much from surprise as the tightening around her ankle. He looked up quickly and she had the impression of dark, laughing eyes and a determined expression.

‘No help for it. In the absence of a knife, I shall have to tear it off with my teeth.’

He was serious?

He was serious. He bent his head.

Bella felt his breath on her ankle and went into a spasm of embarrassment. Without the bay tree to prevent it now, her foot kicked out freely. She got her rescuer under the chin, making him sit down abruptly, and followed it up by knocking out the National Grid. Well, that’s what it felt like. With a sound somewhere between a fizz and a pop, all the Chinese lanterns in the fig tree went out, along with all sorts of discreet lighting along the walls that she hadn’t even been aware of. They were plunged into total darkness, except for the moon.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ said Silk Shirt blankly.

And then he began to laugh, as if he couldn’t help himself.

‘What have I done?’ whispered Bella, appalled.

‘No harm done. I’m fine,’ he said, when he could speak.

‘You may be. Look at this courtyard. I’ve wrecked it. And now I’ve fused the lights.’ Her voice rose to a wail of guilt.

That set him off again, uncontrollably. She could hear him hauling noisy gulps of air into his lungs, as if trying to get control of himself, but his shoulders shook and so did the plants around them.

‘It’s not funny!’ she yelled, hating him.

He got hold of himself at last. ‘Yes, it is. Even though you kicked me in the chin and now I think I’ve bust a rib laughing.’ He gave another hiccup. ‘Oh, God, when that bay tree started to topple—’

‘All right, all right,’ said Bella before he went off again. ‘I guess it did look quite amusing from where you were standing. But I’m the one causing death and destruction here. I feel terrible.’

‘Nothing that can’t be fixed,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t do it. And it’s not your plant collection. At least—’ he had said he didn’t know where they kept the gardening tools. But did very rich men and their families do their own gardening? There was probably an under-gardener who looked after the courtyard. He was too young to be the Big Boss and too old to be idiot Number Three Son. But he could still be Number One Son or Number Two. ‘Oh God. Do you live here?’ she asked, wincing.

At least it stopped him laughing. ‘What?’

She said rapidly, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry … I’m not a gatecrasher, honest. I’m Charlotte Hendred’s Plus One. She said it would be OK.’

She could feel him staring at her in the darkness. But he said nothing.

‘Charlotte Hendred? Tall redhead? Walks as if she’s on springs?’

‘Oh, that Charlotte,’ he said, but absently. It seemed as if he were debating something with himself. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just another guest like you. You don’t need to apologise to me.’

‘Phew, that’s a relief.’ Bella hadn’t realised, but she had been holding her breath. ‘Though, actually, you’re wrong. I’m pretty certain that I do need to apologise to you.’

There was a pause.

‘Why?’ His voice was almost wary.

‘Well, I kicked you in the head, didn’t I?’

He gave a hoot of startled laughter. ‘You did at that. I’d forgotten.’

‘Very chivalrous,’ she said, starting to feel better. ‘Thank you.’

‘Undeserved. A chivalrous man wouldn’t have left you lying on the floor in the grip of Hell’s Ivy. Hang on. Let’s see if a key will cut it.’

He knelt down and put a strong hand across her foot, holding it steady. She knew it was the only thing he could do but the warmth of his palm on her exposed ankle felt amazingly intimate. And right, somehow, as if she had known him all her life.

Bella stared into the darkness but, as far as she could tell, he did not feel the same reaction at all. He was simply a competent man doing what was necessary. She felt the coldness of a key against her bare skin, followed by a gentle sawing motion. First one, then more of her ivy bindings fell away. She could not see but she felt them go. She flexed her foot, made to stand up. But …

‘No. Stay still for the moment. I can’t see properly. I might not have got it all. If you try to get up before I’ve cleared the stuff, you could break your ankle.’

‘Or a few more pots,’ said Bella dryly.

He laid his hand, palm down, on her foot, as if he were calming a nervous animal, and she felt his touch right through to the top of her head.

‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you don’t break any more stuff. Trust me.’

He was as good as his word. As soon as he had freed her from the ivy to his satisfaction, he said, ‘Try now,’ and kept an arm like a vice round her as she clambered upright, not very steadily.

But as soon as she was upright, her right leg turned out to have all the strength of cotton wool and she would have fallen off her heels if she hadn’t grabbed his arm and held on.

‘Sorry. Stupid. Pins and needles.’

‘I’m not surprised. Take your time.’

He kept his arm round her. Bella was grateful. She felt strangely shaky.

He seemed to guess. ‘Look, you’d better sit down. You could probably do with a drink, too.’

She shook her head, half laughing. ‘I lost my champagne a long time ago.’

‘I didn’t. You can have mine.’

He steered her through the shadowed paths between tall banana plants and bushy sweet-leaved citrus trees. He must have eyes like a cat, thought Bella, torn between gratitude and annoyance with herself.

He clearly knew where he was going, even if he didn’t live here. He steered her round a semi-circular stone wall, saying briefly, ‘Fountain at three o’clock,’ before locating a deeply cushioned wickerwork sofa.

‘There you go.’

Bella sank bonelessly into the cushions. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been dealing with creepy-crawlies and tropical storms and stuff for nearly a year.’

‘I’m impressed,’ he said nicely.

Bella shook her head. ‘No, you’re not. Why should you be? It’s just – I mean, I don’t normally go all wimbly like this.’

‘Maybe you don’t often destroy your host’s landscape gardening like this?’

‘You’re laughing at me again.’

‘Yes. Do you mind?’

Bella shook her head. Then realised he probably couldn’t see it and said, ‘No, not really. Anyway, I guess you’re entitled. After I kicked you.’

‘That’s very fair of you.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘How are you feeling now?’

Bella thought about it. ‘A bit odd, to be honest.’

‘I’ll get you that champagne.’

He made his way sure-footedly through the dark maze that was the courtyard. She listened but did not hear so much as a pot scrape or a branch snap in his wake. When he returned, she accepted the glass of wine gratefully, but sighed.

‘I wish I could do that.’

He was amused. ‘Do what?

‘Navigate my way round these plants without sounding like a herd of buffalo. I’m afraid I’m one of the world’s bumpers.’

‘Bumpers?’ he said blankly.

‘That’s what my father used to call me. “Let’s hope Bella doesn’t want to be an actress,” he used to say. “She’d always be bumping into the furniture and breaking the crockery.”’

‘Did you want to be an actress, then?’ He sounded intrigued.

Bella drank some more champagne. It was good. The bubbles seemed to act on her like water on a drooping daisy. She straightened, feeling chirpier by the minute

‘Good God, no. I hate being on show. Curdles my insides. But I wish I wasn’t so clumsy.’

‘Would it help you with the creepy crawlies and the tropical storms?’

She took another mouthful of champagne, then another and another. Yes, bubbles were definitely energising. ‘There you go, laughing at me again.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘No. I think I quite like it.’

‘Thank you,’ he said gravely.

He sat down on the sofa beside her. Bella shivered.

‘Are you cold?’

‘No.’ She looked up at the sky. The clouds were still scudding across the moon but she felt as warm as toast. ‘You know, three … no, four … nights ago, I walked down a beach at night and there were so many stars you couldn’t have put a hand between them. And here there isn’t one.’

‘So why are you here, not there?’

‘Ah. That’s a long story.’

He settled back among the cushions. ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere.’

She sank back too, clutching the champagne flute against her. ‘Nothing’s ever as good or as bad as you expect, is it?’

‘That’s a bit sweeping. Sometimes it takes a while to find out how good or bad something has been.’

He had a wonderful voice, she thought, deep and dark and thoughtful. Merlin would have a voice like that. Shame he didn’t know what he was talking about.

‘You’re wrong. You know at once when a thing is wrong. I did. I just didn’t—’

‘Didn’t?’ he prompted.

‘Oh, all right,’ said Bella, annoyed. In the darkness, it didn’t seem so bad to say it aloud. ‘I didn’t want to admit it, all right? I went out to the island convinced I was going to get close to nature, save the planet and find my place in the universe.’

‘And you didn’t?’

‘Nope. Nowhere near.’

‘Tough,’ was all he said.

But she had the feeling that he understood.

‘Waste of time, feeling sorry for yourself.’

‘You are so right. But was this island of yours all bad?’

She thought about it. ‘I suppose not,’ she admitted. ‘I learned a few things.’

‘Like what?’

‘One …’ She ticked them off on her fingers. Or, at least, she started to tick them off on her fingers, but that made her glass tilt alarmingly, nearly spilling champagne. So she stopped. ‘See what I mean?’ she said, side-tracked. ‘Clumsy.’ Champagne had slopped on to the back of her hand and she licked it up. ‘Waste not, want not.’

‘Mmm.’ He sounded a bit distracted. He cleared his throat. ‘You were going to tell me what you learned?’

‘Oh, that. Well, lots of things. The nutritional value of red seaweed. That wind in the palm trees sounds like rain on a corrugated-iron roof and it breaks your heart when it isn’t. That counting fish is really boring when you do it every day. That people tell you something is adventurous when it’s really just hot and dirty.’

‘Ah.’

‘And also,’ said Bella loudly, ‘that I’m not very brave. So here’s to the stars and equatorial fish stocks! I hope they’re very happy, but I’m not going back.’

And then, to her own surprise, she began to cry.

Silk Shirt coped surprisingly well. He didn’t say everything would look better in the morning like Lottie would have, or that she’d change her mind when she thought about the importance of the work, like Francis Don had, in their last, vituperative exchange. He took her glass away from her – Bella resisted but he pointed out that it was empty, so in the end she let it go – and put an arm round her, and drew her against his shoulder, and let her weep it out. He would probably even have produced a handkerchief, but she had one tucked into her watch strap under one long blue sleeve, so she was spared that indignity, at least.

‘I thought it’d be all right when I got home. But it isn’t. I’m cold. The magazines are full of people I don’t know. My mother’s much too busy running a Charity Ball to have me home …’ She ran out of voice and blew her nose hard.

‘Bummer,’ was all he said.

But she had the feeling that he knew what she was talking about. It steadied her.

She drew a long sigh. ‘Yes, but I didn’t belong on the island, either. I’ll miss the children in the village. Some of the people. But that awful knowing I’d been a gullible idiot … and everyone else knowing it, too … that was the pits.’

He sat very still. She sniffed, and straightened the handkerchief that she could barely see, folding it and folding it, corner to corner, in her absorption. She had a huge urge to tell someone the whole sorry story.

‘The trouble was, a man I respected basically did a con job on me. It took me too long to recognise it and a whole lot longer to admit it. But that’s the truth. And that hurts, you know?’

He hugged her a bit closer. ‘Yes, I know. Been there.’

‘I mean, if he’d said, “Come and help out; we’ve got no money, so we live on rich kids doing work experience,” that would have been fair. That would have been the truth. But he spun me this big line about what a valuable researcher I was, and how I could make all the difference, and he said he would make sure I got a real job at the end of it. When all he wanted was someone to count bloody fish.’ Her voice rose. ‘I don’t even like fish.’

‘I can see that one would go off them.’

Bella’s head reared up. ‘Are you laughing at me again?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Maybe a little.’ He tucked a tumbling strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

She relaxed back against his shoulder again. ‘You know, I don’t feel quite real. Not here. Not there. It’s like I’m a character walking through other people’s dreams. When they wake up, I’ll disappear. Pffft!’ She clicked her fingers. She had to have three goes at it but she managed it in the end. ‘Pffft!’ she said again, pleased. She peered up at him in the darkness. ‘Does that sound weird?’

‘It sounds as if it’s time I got you home.’

But Bella was on another tack entirely. ‘Are you an actor?’

‘Good heavens, where did that come from?’

‘The voice … Wonderful warm voice.’

‘You know, I’d be really flattered if you weren’t slurring your words,’ he said, shifting her. ‘Come along, Dream Girl.’

‘I know. You’re a psychiatrist.’

‘Why on earth …?’

‘You ask really good questions and then you listen.’

‘Oh, yes, I listen all right,’ he said. ‘It’s about the only thing I do.’

‘Well, you’re very good at it,’ Bella told him. ‘Very, very, very good.’ She snuggled into his shoulder.

‘Oh, no. You can’t go to sleep here. On your feet, Dream Girl. You’ve got a home to go to, and it’s time I took you there.’

He hauled her upright and got her across the courtyard. But as soon as he opened the door into the house, the lights switched her brain into gear again, and she looked at her watch in horror.

‘The minicab! They’ll be here any minute, asking for Hendred Associates. I said I’d be waiting for them. Where did I leave my coat?’

‘Ah, the car. It is for you,’ said one of the passing waiters. ‘They are waiting outside. Your coat, it is on the rack in the breakfast room. I show you.’

Bella dashed off to get it but when she shot back to retrieve Lottie’s borrowed bag from the courtyard, there was no sign of Silk Shirt. She did look, but the cab was waiting and she could not see anyone the right height or wearing a pearl-white silk shirt. So she had to go without saying goodbye to him.

Just as well, she thought grimly. Panic banished the effects of the champagne. Now Bella was remembering, rather too vividly, how she had curled up against his shoulder and told him the story of her life.

She said a distracted goodbye to her hostess and fell gratefully into the back of the minicab. She told herself she was just tired. She told herself she was over-reacting.

But there was a cold voice in the back of her head, like a headmistress giving an end-of-term report. Change everyone around her … change time zones … change continents … Isabella Greenwood still makes an utter fool of herself.

AAAAARGH!