To Marry a Prince

Chapter 4

‘Lonely Prince Has Night Out with the Boys’ – Cindy in the Daily Despatch

Anthea of Jodie’s Jobs was glad to see Bella.

‘Christmas temping, is it?’ she asked, after giving her a hug, calling up her file and providing her with some warm, stewed coffee from the bubbling machine.

Bella held her hands round the cup gratefully. ‘Actually, I was looking for something a bit longer term than that.’

She ran through everything she had done since the last time Anthea took her details.

Anthea sucked her Biro. ‘To be honest, we don’t get a lot of call for fish counters. How urgently do you need a job?’

Bella had checked her bank balance that morning. ‘Today would be good.’

‘Ah. I see.’ Anthea’s fingers flickered over the keyboard as she talked. ‘Well, Christmas temping hasn’t started yet. But I could do you a stand-in receptionist at a dentist’s. He’s a bit of a bastard, actually, so a lot of the girls won’t go back. But if you’re desperate …’

‘What sort of bastard?’

Anthea read aloud off the screen, ‘“Smarmy to the rich clients. Bullying to the staff. Has been known to throw things.”’ She peered at Bella. ‘You could go and see him today, start tomorrow, if you like.’

Bella pulled a face. But it was gainful employment and faster than she could have hoped. ‘How much?’

Anthea told her.

Bella was surprised. ‘That’s not bad.’

‘Pig’s Premium,’ said Anthea, and they both laughed.

‘I’ll do it. Give me the address.’

The dentist’s consulting rooms were in a smart Belgravia house and they were in a shambles. A harassed woman was trying to talk on the phone, deal with a new appointment for a bad-tempered client and take a credit-card payment at the same time. Bella stood quietly by and watched until, eventually, she was done.

Then she stepped forward and introduced herself. The woman nearly wept with relief. As it turned out, she was the wife of one of the partners, helping out because The Man, as she called him, had sworn at the temporary receptionist on Friday and the girl had told him he could stuff his job.

‘You’re a godsend,’ she told Bella. ‘I didn’t dare hope they’d get a replacement so quickly. Of course, you’ll have to see The Man first. He insists on that. But I’m sure it’s just a formality. I’ll show you to the waiting room.’

But the phone started ringing again. So Bella found her own way to a luxurious room full of squashy sofas and tables holding glossy magazines. It could have been the drawing room in a country-house hotel, she thought, smiling at a nervous small boy in school uniform and by-passing the glossies for a pile of today’s newspapers.

The Man kept her waiting for ages. Otherwise, she would never have read the gossip column in the Daily Despatch. And when she did, she sat bolt upright, feeling sick. It was only a snippet:

What does a chap do when a girl dumps his big brother? Takes him on the town to forget.

Prince George is a regular at Mayfair’s supersmart Funky Bôite. But it was the first time regulars had seen the Prince of Wales there. Looks like he was having a good time.

But it was the blurry photograph beside the gossip item that made Bella feel as if the world had just turned flat and she was sliding off it. Half a dozen people were pictured dancing. One of them was waving a champagne bottle over his head. In the forefront was a blonde in a backless black dress, glancing over her shoulder at the camera while her partner’s eyes gleamed.

Bella knew those eyes; knew the way they looked as if they were laughing even when the rest of his face was still. Come to think of it, she even knew the silken sheen of that shirt sleeve.

It was him.

The Prince of Wales? And she had blurted out her problems to him! Left him to return her naff pink phone! Not recognised him!

What a fool he must think her. What a blind, blank fool. And he had seemed so kind. Damn it, she had even told him he was kind, this morning. Thanked him for mopping her up on Saturday night. When all the time he was holding out on her, pretending to be someone else. And had gone straight on from that party to a backless blonde at the Funky Bôite. There was no doubting that Backless knew who he was.

Had he told her about the mad girl he’d met at the party? God, maybe he’d even had a bet with her or the others at the club. ‘I met this blonde bimbo tonight who couldn’t see straight enough to recognise me. How much says I can string her along a bit more, if I wear my sunglasses and keep her on the move?’

Bella writhed with embarrassment. But it was worse even than that. It hurt. In his way, he had done as much of a con job on her as Francis had. Only with Francis it had all been about vanity and getting his work done for him. With Richard – bloody Prince bloody Richard – it had been a deliberate deception.

And he had seemed so … honest. She’d thought there was an attraction between them. When he’d said that about fellow feeling this morning, she’d thought it was something they shared.

Well, that would teach her not to go reading too much into a few words that meant nothing. She thought: I am never telling anyone about this, not even Lottie, and I am going to forget it. I am!

*


She was polite but crisp with her prospective employer. It cowed him into signing her up without any attempt to bully her. Bella barely noticed.

When Lottie rang, she didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t answer any call except her mother’s. She took that, chatted briefly and arranged to visit next weekend. But when her mother said anxiously, ‘Darling, are you all right? You don’t sound it,’ she just said, ‘Bit busy right now. Gotta go.’

She didn’t want to go back to the flat. Instead, she walked for hours: Harrods, warmly scented and blessedly anonymous; Hyde Park, bright and chilly, with a wind making waves dance on the Serpentine; Oxford Street; the luxury shops of Mayfair; Piccadilly, the Haymarket. By the time she got to Trafalgar Square, she was chilled to the bone and exhausted. She fled into the National Gallery and went round three galleries without taking in a single painting.

This is ridiculous, she thought. I only met the man once. Well, twice, if you count this morning. He can’t do this to me. Pull yourself together, Bella. Answer your phone calls. Tell Anthea you’ve taken the job. Get on with real life. No bones broken, as Georgia would say.

She found a small café and took a latte to a table in the corner. She pulled out her phone – she was starting to really hate the pink sparkly thing – and worked her way through the messages. There was one number she didn’t recognise. It had called several times.

Could it be him?

Nah, not a chance.

She was just about to text Anthea when the phone rang. The unknown number. Bella’s heart lurched.

‘Yes?’

‘Can we talk?’ said a voice she recognised.

To her horror, her eyes filled with sudden tears. What was happening to her?

‘No, we can’t,’ she said nastily. And cut the call.

She dropped the phone on the table top and rummaged for a hankie. She couldn’t find one, so she blew her nose hard on one of the café’s paper napkins instead. Georgia would have called it sordid and Georgia would have been right, she thought.

The phone rang again. She glared at it. But in the end she answered.

‘What?’

‘You know, then.’ He sounded chastened

‘Know? What do I know? I just saw your photo in the Despatch and I know who you are, if that’s what you mean.’

He groaned. ‘Hell!’

‘But I don’t know why you wanted to play games like that. It’s not honourable and it’s not kind.’ Her voice shook. She wasn’t going to let him hear her crying. In fact, she wasn’t going to cry. She cut the call fast.

And stocked up on café paper napkins.

She even managed to drink some of the latte before he rang again.

‘Bella, don’t hang up,’ he said as soon as she answered.

‘How do you know my name’s Bella?’

‘You told me yesterday when I rang.’

‘Oh.’ That took the wind out of her sails a bit.

‘Look, I’ve handled this badly, I admit.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She sounded brittle and sophisticated, she thought. Also very angry. ‘I think you handled it very well. Kept the girl distracted, avoided giving her your name, even when she asked. And she still didn’t twig what a liar you are.’

That stung him. ‘I didn’t lie!’

‘Yes, you bloody did,’ she yelled. ‘And you know it.’

This time she not only cut the call, she threw the phone at the café wall, where it broke into bits.

Well, at least it gave her something to do. She went to buy a replacement, a smartphone this time. She’d got a job now.

It rang as soon as the chip was in place.

‘Ignore it,’ she told the startled salesman. ‘A nuisance caller.’

She stamped home to the flat, the phone going every few minutes. Setting her teeth, she vowed to sign up to a new company the next day. But she didn’t turn it off, and when it stopped ringing she felt even worse somehow. She even checked the new device to make sure that she had not inadvertently pressed the silent button on the unfamiliar keypad. But she hadn’t. He had just given up.

Well, that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

Lottie was still at work when Bella got back. The flat felt empty and alien and she realised that the heating had not yet come on. It took a bit of a hunt but she found the controls and punched the override. Pretty soon, the place felt homey again, especially after she’d turned on the radio. She got out of her going-to-work clothes, lost the heels and padded round the flat in jeans and a sweater. She had just made herself a large mug of tea when the entry phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Bella?’

She dropped the mug of tea. It crashed on to the polished pine floor and broke into a dozen pieces. Hot tea soaked into her socks, making her jump.

‘Ouch!’

‘Bella? Can I come in?’

She was dancing on the spot, trying to avoid the scalding liquid and the shards, as she plucked at the wettest sock.

‘Dammit.’

His voice grew urgent. ‘Bella, what’s wrong?’

Distracted, she pushed the entry button and heard the long buzz as the outer door opened.

She got one sock off and threw it into the corner, but she was still hopping and pulling when there were loud footsteps, as if someone had run up the stairs, followed by a thundering on the front door of the flat.

‘Bella! What’s happening? Let me in.’

She hopped up to the door and threw it open. Or at least she tried to. She had not allowed for being bent nearly double, hauling at the sock on her left foot. She recoiled and sat down hard. Among the shattered china, as it happened.

‘Oof,’ she said. Followed by, ‘Oo-ow.’

‘Bella …’ He shouldered his way in, looking wildly round, and stopped dead as he saw her sitting on the floor, nursing her foot, a wet and now blood-smeared sock draped over her shoulder like a waiter’s napkin. ‘What on earth …?’

‘I’ve hurt my foot,’ said Bella in a small voice.

He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘What? Why? How?’

‘I dropped my mug. Spilled the tea and trod in it. Broke the mug and sat on it. I think –’ her voice started to rise ‘– I’m bleeding.’

He didn’t need any further explanation. He scooped her up, kicking the door shut behind him, and carried her into the sitting room, where he deposited her on the oldest, shabbiest sofa.

‘Show me.’

Cautiously, Bella withdrew the pressure from the side of her foot. That revealed a wedge-shaped cut, tailing off into a long shallow scratch. He inspected it like a pro.

‘That needs cleaning. There could be glass in the wound.’

She sniffed a bit. ‘Ceramic. With forget-me-nots on.’ Her voice wobbled.

He looked up at her then. It was the heart-stopping smile she remembered. How could he be such a lying toe-rag and have a smile like that? It wasn’t fair.

‘OK. Forget-me-not ceramic. It still needs to be fished out. Hot water? First-aid box?’

Bella was starting to feel faint. She directed him to the bathroom but denied all knowledge of any first-aid supplies. He went and she fell back among the lumpy cushions, nursing her foot. She didn’t want to look at it again. There was a purply-white flap of flesh that made her feel quite sick.

Fortunately, he was not so squeamish. He came back with a soap dish full of warm water, a fistful of Lottie’s eye make-up remover pads and a tube of antiseptic cream.

‘Let’s see if gangrene has set in,’ he said cheerfully, brushing her hand away.

Bella leaned forward, peering in spite of herself.

‘It looks gross.’

‘Then don’t look.’

She sat back hastily and averted her eyes while he mopped in a brisk, no-nonsense fashion that somehow didn’t hurt as much as it ought to. When he’d finished, he pressed an eye make-up pad to the side of her foot and said, ‘Hold it there. You don’t have to look. Just keep pressing hard so it doesn’t start bleeding again.’

He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a handful of serious-looking packets and a roll of bandage. Bella stared.

‘I’d say that either your flat-mate is a hypochondriac or she dates rugby players. Hold this.’

She took the roll of bandage while he ripped open one of the smaller packets.

‘Here we are. Sterilised pad. Brilliant. You can take your hand away now.’

She did and braced herself for a fountain of blood. But the gash only oozed a bit.

He slapped the pad on to it, wound the crepe bandage around her foot like a professional, and stood back with a flourish.

‘I should stay there for a bit, if I were you. Keep the pressure off. If you stand up it will start to bleed again.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bella.

She could see he was pleased with himself and she was genuinely grateful. On the other hand, he was still a lying toe-rag who’d had no compunction about making a fool of her. He had no right to tell her what to do, even if it was for her own good.

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Still annoyed with me?’

She sat up, furious all over again. ‘Annoyed? Annoyed? Annoyed doesn’t begin to cover it. What you did was unforgivable.’

He backed away, blinking.

‘Would you really call it unforgivable?’ he demurred.

‘I just did. What’s more, I mean it.’

‘I can see that. But – look, give me a chance to explain?’

But she swept on. Anger was better than weeping. His duplicity still hurt more than she wanted to think about.

‘I thought I knew every lousy trick in the book that you guys play on women. But this is a new one, even for me and my friends.’

He looked serious. ‘You’ve told your friends?’

That made her even madder. ‘Oh, yes, that gets you, doesn’t it? What if one of my friends goes and tells the Daily Shag? You – you – you wart poultice.’

He blinked. Just for a moment, Bella thought she saw his mouth start to lift at the corner. She reared up against the battered corner of the sofa.

‘Don’t you dare laugh at me! Don’t you dare.’

At once he was serious again. ‘Not laughing. Not laughing. If your friends have told the Daily Shag—’ his voice shook for a moment but he got control of it with admirable speed ‘—it’s no more than I deserve. I’ll tell my office to admit everything and issue an abject apology.’

She relaxed. ‘Well, they haven’t. Though it would serve you right if they did.’

‘They haven’t? How do you know?’

‘Because I haven’t told anyone,’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t find out myself until this afternoon. Then I saw your photo in a paper in the dentist’s waiting room and realised you were a sodding prince as well as a total …’ Words failed her.

‘Wart poultice?’ he offered, straight-faced.

‘Con man,’ she said coldly.

‘I know.’ He sat down in the shabby old armchair on the other side of the fireplace and clasped his hands between his knees. ‘I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘Huh!’

‘No, I mean it. Ask anyone. Not me at all. My brother George now, it’s exactly the sort of thing he loves. Does all the time. He’s been known to dress up in a gorilla suit and sell kisses at a hen night. But me – no. I’m the boring, well-behaved one.’

‘Not,’ said Bella between her teeth, ‘from where I’m sitting.’

He sighed. ‘No. I can see that. I really am sorry.’

‘So you’ve said.’

‘Look – can I explain?’

‘I don’t know. Can you?’

‘I don’t know. But I can try.’ He looked into yester-day’s ashes. ‘When you didn’t know who I was – really didn’t know, I mean, weren’t just playing some game you thought was cute – I felt as if I’d been given a present. Everyone always knows who I am. So they’re polite and a bit careful. Or challenging, sometimes. Or flirtatious. I know how to put them at their ease. Or deflect hostility. Or blank the predatory vamp. Oh, boy do I know how to do that.’ For a moment he sounded bitter.

Bella was aware of a sneaking sympathy for him. She repressed it. He deserved to suffer a lot more yet before she forgave him. If she forgave him.

‘I never tried to vamp you,’ she said hotly.

He looked up then. ‘No. Exactly. You were just sweet and all tied up with your own problems.’

She stiffened. ‘Are you saying I’m self-obsessed?’

He smiled. ‘No, you just had your own priorities. And I wasn’t one of them. You have no idea what that was like. I felt like a horse galloping into a field after spending its life walking round and round a paddock.’

‘Really?’ She was sceptical.

He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Look, everyone around me thinks I’m so important, and it’s not good to be the person for whom everything is done, around whom everything is planned. They treat me like a national monument. And then, on Saturday, as far as you were concerned I was just a guy who happened by. It was a new experience for me.’

‘I – see.’ It made sense in a weird way.

‘I didn’t want to give that up. Can you understand that?’

‘I suppose so. But it still doesn’t explain why you went on playing Mr Nobody this morning. That was horrid.’

He flushed. ‘I know.’

‘I even asked who you were, for God’s sake.’

‘I know,’ he said miserably. ‘But I don’t usually have to tell people who I am. I couldn’t find the words somehow. And while I was floundering, you ran off.’

‘Hmm.’ That made sense, she thought, softening.

‘I knew I’d done it wrong as soon as you did. You looked so – hurt.’

Bella flinched and hardened herself again. ‘So why didn’t you come after me and put it right? Tell me who you were, at least?’

‘I wanted to. But, well, there was my security man watching. And God knows who else. You might not have recognised me but there are plenty of people who do, all the time.’

‘Recognise you?’ She gave a hoot of derision. ‘How the hell would they recognise you under a hoodie and shades? You looked like a CIA assassin.’

‘Really?’ He sounded flattered.

‘Not a very good assassin.’

‘Oh, well, that’s me in my place,’ he said resignedly.

In spite of herself, she gave a faint giggle.

He looked up hopefully. ‘Bella, please. I know I’ve been all sorts of an idiot and you have every right to kick me out and never see me again. But – can we start again? Please?’

She thought about it. ‘Start again?’

‘As if we’d just met.’

‘Saturday never happened?’

His eyes lit with that secret laughter. ‘I don’t want to go that far. You looked very fetching among the flowerpots. Say this morning never happened.’

‘Ah.’ She thought about it. ‘Proper introductions?’

‘If you want. The Hamiltons could ask us both to dinner …’

She waved that aside. ‘I don’t mean references and people you know setting it up with people I know. I mean you telling me who you are, what you do and what you want. And then giving me a phone number, like people do. If you want to.’

He looked dazed. ‘I want to,’ he said in a sort of strangled croak.

‘OK then. Let’s see how it goes. Hello. I’m Bella Greenwood.’ She held out her hand.

He took it. But instead of shaking it politely, he stood up and went down on one knee in front of the sofa, holding her hand between both of his.

Oh, my Lord, she thought, startled.

‘I’m Richard. I’m heir to the British throne. I saw you across a moonlit courtyard and I couldn’t wait to meet you.’

WOW! she thought.

Aloud she said, ‘You are nuts. You know that?’

‘You can’t say things like that to the heir to the throne,’ he said calmly.

And kissed her hand. Very gently, but it was a real kiss all the same. She felt it through her skin and down to her bones, and it damn nearly stopped her heart.

‘You are going seriously OTT,’ she said in a breathless, scolding voice.

‘You told me to tell you what I want,’ he said in an injured voice.

‘I said proper introductions,’ she hissed, seriously flustered.

‘Well, all right, if you insist. But if you want to curtsey, you’ll have to stand up.’

‘Curtsey? No way.’

‘You are quite right. You shouldn’t put any weight on that foot yet. Not for hours. In fact, I think—’

Abruptly he stopped kneeling beside her and plonked himself down on the sofa. ‘Budge up.’

She did, eyeing him warily. He put one arm along the saggy old back and leaned forward, looking down into her eyes. His, she saw, were brown and very, very amused.

‘I think you should lie back and—’

‘If you tell me to lie back and think of England, I shall deck you,’ snarled Bella, finding herself a lot deeper among the cushions than she had expected.

He smiled. ‘No, you won’t.’

And kissed her.

And there was a yell as the front door opened and Lottie skidded on spilled tea and the ruins of her forget-me-not-mug.

Richard let Bella go rather slowly. ‘There.’

She swallowed. ‘You took advantage of me.’

‘Yup.’

‘Oh, God. And now Lottie’s home.’

‘Charlotte thing? Good.’ He stood up.

‘Good? Good? Have you no sense of timing?’

But he was already in the small hall. Bella heard him say, ‘Charlotte Hendred? You won’t remember me, but we met at the Hamiltons’ several months ago. I wonder if you would do me the immense kindness of introducing me to your friend, Miss Greenwood.’

There were glugging sounds from the hallway. Bella sympathised. The man was a swine, with a very nasty sense of humour.

She struggled off the sofa and limped over to the door of the sitting room. She was very much afraid that her hair was a mess and her cheeks were pink. Lottie would recognise the signs of a woman who had just been comprehensively kissed. But there wasn’t a thing Bella could do about it.

‘Um … hi, Lottie. Richard –’ she glared at him ‘– is teasing you. We met on Saturday.’

‘But we weren’t properly introduced,’ he said imperturbably. ‘Miss Hendred?’

Lottie looked from one to the other of them, and shrugged.

‘Your Royal Highness, may I present Miss Isabella Greenwood, a childhood friend and currently my flat-mate.’

Bella’s chin rose. ‘I told you. No curtseying.’

His eyes laughed. ‘OK. What about a date? A proper date, where I pick you up, take you to dinner and bring you home again?’

Bella was so taken aback she could only mouth, like a goldfish, but no words came out.

He stood there, all courteous attention, waiting for an answer.

Eventually she managed a wordless ‘squee’ noise, like a demented dentist’s drill, and he inclined his head.

‘Thank you. Tomorrow? Eight o’clock?’

She squeaked again.

He clicked his fingers. ‘Phone number. You wanted me to give it to you. But I think you have it on your phone already. Lots and lots of times, in fact. Call me if you want to change the plans. Otherwise I’ll see you here tomorrow at eight.’

He came over and looked down at her, half laughing and wholly purposeful. Bella swallowed. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead he touched one hand to her scarlet cheek. Which was worse, somehow; wonderful but worse.

‘Take care of that foot,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Um, yes.’

He inclined his head to Lottie. ‘Miss Hendred. A great pleasure.’

He left.

The front door closed gently behind him. The two friends stared at each other, Bella hot and confused, Lottie looking as if she’d been sandbagged.

Lottie recovered first. She gave a huge grin and punched the air.

‘Woo-hoo! You pulled the Prince!’