To Marry a Prince

Chapter 6

‘Friends, Parents and the Art of Breaking Up’ – Girl About Town

It was not a good week. A dozen times a day Bella was on the brink of calling Richard. A dozen times a day she cut the call just before it started to ring. One day she would be too late, she thought. And where would that leave her? Would he even answer?

Meanwhile she seemed to see his picture everywhere – in a new batch of glossy magazines that came into the surgery, in the free paper Tube Talk which she bought on the way to work in the morning, in the Daily Despatch and other newspapers. From hardly noticing the Royal Family, she seemed to be reading about them all the time.

Queen Jane launched a ship; King Henry opened an exhibition of early machinery in a waterworks dating from the Industrial Revolution; Prince Richard gave a speech at a degree ceremony in a college of further education. On Thursday all three of them went to the opera. It was Wagner. The King looked as if he had been dragged there and was suffering, but Queen Jane was graciousness itself, not a hair out of place and her regal tiara glittering. Richard, in the regulation tuxedo, looked quiet and a little tired. Bella found herself stroking his face on the printed page.

As soon as she realised, she snatched her hand away. Fool. Fool.

From Richard himself there was no word. Well, she didn’t expect it.

Lottie was an angel. She must have taken a change of clothes for the morning when she left the flat on the night of the date because she did not come back for breakfast. But she did ring the next morning.

‘How are you? Hung over?’

‘A bit.’ Bella wasn’t, but it was as good an excuse as any. She had not slept much and she had dark circles under her eyes. Make-up had been a major undertaking that morning and she had stopped off on the way to work to buy herself a new phial of Touche Éclat.

‘Where did he take you?’

‘Oh, a little place he knew. You won’t know it.’

‘Did people recognise him?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

‘Bella, are you OK?’

She started to say, ‘I’m fine,’ then thought better of it. ‘No, I’m not actually, Lotts. But can we talk about it later?’

Lottie drew in a sharp breath. ‘What did the bastard do?’

She was always ready to go to war for a friend, Bella remembered. It was kind of comforting. But she had to be stopped.

‘Nothing. He didn’t do anything. Look, Lotts, I can’t talk about it. Not now. Please?’ Her voice cracked on the last word.

‘Ah. All right. See you tonight then?’

‘Yes.’

Lottie must have left work early because she was waiting when Bella got home, with the fire blazing and a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen along with the mellow tones of Christian Tabouré.

‘Moroccan stew,’ said Lottie. ‘It won’t be done for ages. Have a bath. Soak away the day. Help yourself to the Roman bath oil. Then come and have a drink.’

Bella did. When she emerged, she found that Lottie had left a package on her bed, wrapped in silver tissue paper. She ripped it open and discovered a floor-length kimono in softest sapphire silk. She put it on at once and went out to the sitting room, feeling distinctly weepy.

‘Oh, Lottie, you are so kind. It’s gorgeous.’

Lottie was curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked under a cushion, reading. She looked up, discarding her novel. ‘I knew it was your colour as soon as I saw it. Gosh, I wish I was a blonde.’

Bella blinked her damp eyelashes. ‘You could be if you wanted. I’m sure Carlos would love the challenge.’

Lottie shook her head sadly. ‘Carlos wouldn’t hear of it. Says I’ve got the wrong skin tone. He lets me have gold highlights sometimes.’

‘Do you want a drink? I still make a mean Margarita. Or there’s wine.’

‘What I’d really like is tea,’ Bella confessed.

‘You shall have it.’

‘You’re a star.’

Lottie stood up and plumped the pillow, waving Bella on to the sofa. ‘Go on, cuddle up and toast your toes. I’ll put a brew on and stir the stew a bit. Back in a jiffy.’

She returned with a glass of wine, a dish of olives and Bella’s tea in a Snoopy mug. Accepting it reminded Bella that she needed to confess to her breakage.

‘I owe you a mug. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow.’

Lottie shrugged. ‘Mugs come and they go. Don’t worry about it.’

She flung herself down on the armchair and rested her feet on the smart brass fender, watching Bella sip her tea.

How is it?’

‘Blissful.’

‘How was your day?’

Bella made a face. ‘I’ve had better.’

‘I can imagine.’ Lottie hesitated. ‘Want to talk about it?’

‘We went on one date. What’s to talk about?’

‘You looking like you’ve gone ten rounds with Lord Voldemort, for a start.’

Bella shifted her shoulders. ‘Probably too many changes all coming on top of each other. Or, like my mother would say, me making a fuss about nothing.’

Lottie snorted.

Bella shook her head. ‘No, she’d be right in this instance. Richard and I …’ She swallowed. It was the first time she had said it like that, coupling their names together. ‘Richard and I didn’t even know each other.’

Lottie sucked her teeth. ‘That wasn’t how it looked last night.’

‘Then looks were deceiving.’

‘And he called you his Dream Girl.’

‘That was just a silly joke.’

‘People who share jokes know each other. I rest my case, m’lud.’

Bella smiled unwillingly. ‘You’re too clever for me. OK, there was something.’

‘Not enough?’

Bella put the mug down and hugged a cushion to herself. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’d been drifting along rather. I mean, I didn’t know he was a blasted Prince for so long, I’d never really taken it in. I was just thinking we could go out a bit, see if we liked each other, that sort of thing. But he said it wouldn’t work. He said he was public property.’

‘Ah. I wondered if it was something like that.’

Bella nodded. ‘I suppose you think I’m an idiot.’ She was used to Lottie’s robust opinions.

‘No, I don’t,’ her friend said, surprising her. She laughed at Bella’s expression. ‘Don’t forget, I’m in PR. I’ve seen a lot of people get hit by celebrity. It’s fine for people who have some skill, or role, or talent or something. But if you’re just famous for being famous, it can be a terrible curse. Especially if you don’t enjoy people staring at you and asking you intrusive questions. And you’re not really a girl for the spotlight, are you? You’re always bouncing off things.’

Bella had to admit it.

‘Shame, though. He seemed a real sweetheart.’

‘Yes,’ said Bella sadly. ‘Yes.’

Lottie didn’t mention him again. For the rest of the week she talked about her work, the contract she had failed to nail and the next one she had in her sights, and about easing Bella back into a social life. Bella did her best to respond in kind. But she begged off the social life until she had collected some of her things from her old room at her mother’s house.

She went down on Friday night after work. She had bought herself a little weekend bag by then. She knew her mother would not appreciate the backpack. She wouldn’t like most of Bella’s charity-shop clothes either. Fortunately the new silk kimono ought to hit the spot.

Kevin met her at the station, which surprised Bella, and when they got home, her mother flung open the front door and seized her in her arms, which surprised her even more.

‘Let me look at you. You’ve lost weight. But your skin looks good, and I love your hair.’

I do wish that the first thing she did when she saw me wasn’t always to make an inventory of my personal assets, thought Bella, sighing inwardly.

Aloud she said, ‘Lottie sent me to her hairdresser, Carlos. Do you remember him from uni? Lottie says he’s going to be very successful.’

Her mother feathered Bella’s newly trimmed blonde locks against the light. ‘Well, he’s done a lovely job on you,’ she said approvingly. ‘Come in, darling. Come in. You know the Nevilles and the Jackson-Smythes …’

It set the tone for the weekend. There were to be guests for every meal, and even more for drinks before the meals. Janet had always been hospitable but since she’d married Kevin she seemed to have grown absolutely feverish about it, thought Bella. It was as if a meal didn’t really happen unless there was an outside witness to it, preferably with a title and an important job in the City.

But there was no doubt her mother was struggling to be proud of her this weekend. She introduced Bella to everyone as ‘my clever ecologist daughter, so like my mother-in-law’. Since Janet and Georgia had always got on, in a mutually uncomprehending sort of way, there was no hidden putdown in that.

Not so Janet’s references to Finn. She always told people it had been an amicable divorce and she certainly never stopped him seeing the children. But Bella remembered the tears and her mother’s white cold face when her father had first announced that he was leaving. He needed to be free, he’d said. He had to go where the wind blew him round the world, not keep checking in with mortgage payments and Parent Teacher meetings.

‘There was never another woman,’ Janet would tell people lightly. ‘He left me for a yak.’

And, indeed, Finn’s next expedition, before the divorce was even final, had been to Mongolia. So people would laugh and say he was incorrigible. But Bella knew that it had hurt Janet horribly when it happened and it hurt still. She and her mother were not on the same wavelength and they never would be, but there are some things you can’t avoid knowing if you’re part of a family. And would never say aloud, of course.

‘Have you spoken to your father?’ Janet asked on Saturday morning.

They were in the local town, doing some mother and daughter bonding in Janet’s favourite dress shop.

‘No. I sent him a text when I got back and I’ve tried a couple of emails but he hasn’t called to me. I suppose he’s somewhere out of range.’

‘Patagonia,’ said Janet, who always knew what her ex-husband was doing. ‘Georgia said they might meet up somewhere before she comes back to London. She’s coming for Christmas by the way.’

‘Oh, that’s nice. Will Neill and Val be here too?’

Janet’s face closed. ‘I’ve no idea. Neill is being very difficult at the moment.’

‘Really? It’s not just me he’s avoiding, then,’ said Bella, relieved. She had been hurt by Neill’s failure to reply to her messages.

Janet sniffed. ‘I suspect he’s been talking to his father. Finn would never make up his mind about Christmas either. But now you’re back, you’ll be coming, won’t you? Unless you’re going back to that island?’

‘No, Ma. That’s finished.’

‘Good.’ Janet patted Bella’s shoulder awkwardly, as if she were afraid of offending her. ‘I mean, you said it was a dead end, didn’t you? Do you want to talk to Kevin about a job? I know he’d like to help.’

‘No, thanks, Ma. I’ve got a job to tide me over and the long-term career search is in hand.’

‘You’re such a capable girl,’ said her mother involuntarily. ‘I wish I’d been more like you when I was your age.’

Bella stared. ‘You’re one of the most capable woman I know. You’re always organising things.’

‘Not when I was your age. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Your father used to say—’ Janet stopped abruptly. ‘Well, that’s ancient history. Now, what about me buying you something smart for those interviews? And some good warm trousers, so you can walk round the golf course with me tomorrow.’

Normally Bella would have said no, she had been buying her own clothes since she was fourteen and anyway they never liked the same things. But this time, something made her say, ‘Yes, thank you, Ma. That would be great.’

Janet flushed. ‘Really?’

She looked so surprised that Bella felt a flicker of compunction. She gave her mother a quick, awkward hug.

So Janet presented her with an outfit for a cold-but-smart day in the country with the wealthy middle-aged, plus a discreetly expensive business suit for interviews. And then there was The Frock. For Christmas parties and special occasions, said Janet, though Bella thought it made her look like a middle-aged golf wife on the prowl. All of them made Bella feel mildly depressed. Janet, however, was delighted.

‘You have lost a lot of weight. Wish I could,’ she congratulated her daughter.

But actually Bella was a bit shocked to discover how much thinner she was than when she had left. All her trousers were so loose she could stuff a cushion down the front of them and a couple of pairs actually wouldn’t stay up any more. Shirts flapped and her smartest party dress was unwearable because she kept moving around inside the boned bodice.

‘Bella’s gone down two sizes,’ Janet told her Saturday night guests, plainly delighted.

Bella soon understood why. They all congratulated Janet as if this were the highest maternal achievement. But Kevin, who never commented on his wife or stepdaughter’s appearance, said it didn’t suit Bella, she was looking ill. And when she came to pack her clothes to take back with her to London, it disconcerted her to find how few of them still fitted.

She knew she had lost weight on the island. Everyone did. They were racing around so much and there was often not quite enough food to go round. But the emails said they all started going back to normal the moment they got home. Whereas she … She looked at herself in the mirror. Could she have lost more weight over this last crazy week? She had been eating, hadn’t she?

But, thinking about it, she realised that she hadn’t, or not much, not since her dinner with Lottie. She was never hungry at breakfast. At lunch-time she walked round, glad to get out into the air and move after the confines of her cubby hole. Bella tried but she couldn’t remember buying herself so much as a sandwich for lunch. In the evening, she could only be bothered to eat if Lottie was there.

Could her stepfather be right? Bella felt a flicker of alarm. Lottie’s older sister had had a bout of anorexia in her teens and she always said that it crept up on her. She’d started losing weight, everyone admired her, so she decided to lose more. And then she couldn’t stop.

I’m not a teenager, thought Bella. That’s not going to happen to me. I am in charge of my life. But she might have to take care to remember to eat, for a while.

The possibility did not even occur to her mother, though. ‘You can’t be too thin,’ she laughed.

They were at Janet’s golf club by then, where her buddies from the Ladies’ Section were frankly envious. They’d never had much time for Bella before. It was mutual, though Bella tried not to let it show, out of a sort of exasperated affection for her mother. They either interogatted her or offered advice on man-catching so explicit that it made Bella wince, which she tried to hide. But they were experts in diets.

‘Wish my daughter could lose a few pounds. You look like a model, darling,’ said the Social Secretary, her eyes snapping.

How could you say ‘darling’ and make it sound like ‘ratface’? The woman looked like a witch, too, with a thin scarlet mouth and expressionless Botoxed face. Bella was not impressed. But her mother preened, so she bit back a sharp retort. The husband of the Botoxed one had been knighted in the last New Year’s Honours, and Janet was dying to get them to come to her next drinks party.

‘She must be in love,’ said the Captain of the Ladies’ Section. She was wealthy singleton with a racy past and an eye for other people’s husbands. Bella often thought that the others only forgave her because of her mansion on the hill and her top-of-the-range Mercedes convertible. ‘That makes the pounds fly away, I always find.’

Everyone laughed sycophantically, though no one was really amused, thought Bella. The thin ones didn’t like the reminder that they didn’t have lovers and the fat ones didn’t want to remember that they weren’t thin.

I want to get out of here.

But Bella made the effort and laughed too, though she was starting to feel stifled. It often happened when she was with her mother’s friends.

‘Have you got a boyfriend, Bella?’ said the witch queen.

‘No,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said her mother loudly. She gave that trill of artificial laughter that always made Bella want to put her head under a cushion until she stopped. ‘Of course, her lovely Francis will be abroad for a while yet.’

The Ladies’ Section knew marketing when they saw it.

‘Broke up, did you?’

‘No,’ said Bella. Well, you couldn’t break up if you were never an item anyway, could you?

Her mother relaxed visibly. The daughter’s boyfriend was a very important status symbol in the Ladies’ Section. Bella started to count the hours before she could decently leave.

Her mother tried to persuade her to stay until Monday morning. ‘You know how dreadful Sunday trains are, Bella. You might just as well stay the night. You can go up with Kevin on the train tomorrow and then straight into work.’

But Bella felt that if she stayed any longer she would scream. ‘I’ve got all those clothes to take back,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to haul them through the rush hour. Besides, I want to get myself sorted before the start of the working week.’

Her mother argued but her stepfather came to her rescue.

‘Let the girl do what makes her comfortable. We’ll see her soon.’

And on the way to the station he said, ‘Don’t want to pry. None of my business. But you know you can always come home, don’t you? If your plans don’t work out. Or anything.’

And when he took her bags out of the car he said hesitantly, ‘All right for money?’

Even though he wasn’t a touchy feely sort of stepfather, Bella hugged him then.

‘I’m fine, Kevin. Really. Don’t worry about me.’

‘We do. Can’t help it,’ he said gruffly, pink-cheeked but pleased. ‘Look after yourself. And don’t forget, there’s always your old room, if you need it.’

But when she settled down into her seat on the train, it felt like being let out of prison. It was a slow, Sunday afternoon train, meandering through the darkening countryside. Eventually it got too dark to see anything but the inside of the carriage reflected in the windows. Bella pulled out her phone and checked her messages. There were several from old friends, hearing that she was back and wanting to meet, and one from Neill, at last. Oddly cagey, she thought. No invitation to visit still, but at least he said he’d be up in London next week and maybe they could have a coffee, if he could fit it in. This was so unlike him that Bella was worried.

But then there was a text from a number she knew and she forgot about Neill, friends, everything.

Call me.

Bella sat bolt upright. It had been sent yesterday evening. There were other missed calls, and then a message on her voice mail.

‘Bella, where are you? Can we talk?’

Without giving herself time to think, she pressed the Call button.

He picked up at once. ‘Bella.’ He sounded amazingly relieved.

‘Hi,’ she said cautiously.

‘Where are you?’

‘On a train.’

‘Oh.’ He clearly didn’t expect that. ‘Why? Where? What’s happening? Are you taking off again?’ He was uncharacteristically distracted.

‘I spent the weekend with my mother. I’m heading back to London now.’

‘Oh. Right. Look – I know what I said. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Do you think we could, well, give it another go? Your way? Not telling anyone, trying to keep it quiet. I mean, it’s worth a try.’

She couldn’t speak.

‘Isn’t it? Bella … Bella, are you there?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, I’m here. And, yes, it’s worth a try.’

‘Thank God,’ he said quietly.

She was astonished. ‘What?’

‘What train are you on? Which station are you coming in to? I want to meet you.’

It sounded like heaven. She gave him the details. She even braced herself for curious glances and even, maybe, someone catching them with a phone camera.

But she needn’t have worried. Waterloo on Sunday afternoon was as empty as she had ever seen it. And the untidy man slouching towards her in scuffed jeans and a grubby Batman tee-shirt didn’t attract a second glance from anyone.

Bella wheeled the big suitcase through the barrier and walked straight into his arms. He held her as if he would never let her go.