To Marry a Prince (8 page)

‘Well, I ought to be getting back,’ said Bella. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for the seek-and-rescue service. My phone buddies and I are very grateful. Not to mention my mother.’

He ignored her hand. ‘You’re going?’ He sounded amazed.

Well, damn it, what did he expect, when he told her nothing and didn’t let her have so much as a hot drink?

‘Needs must,’ said Bella, with a determined smile. ‘I’ve got to see an agency about a job, and then I have to pick up my real life again.’

‘I—’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes, of course, you must go. Your real life.’ Suddenly he wasn’t so difficult to read at all. He sounded bleak and disappointed.

‘It’s been nice knowing you,’ said Bella, softening a little.

He shook his head.

‘Well, goodbye.’

And she ran off down the steps of the bandstand and out towards the main eastern gate of the park as fast as she decently could.

He did not come after her.

‘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.’