To Marry a Prince (23 page)

‘Wow! Rock on.’

He laughed. ‘You?’

‘About to tell the evil dentist and his cohorts that when they see the papers at lunch-time, yes, it’s me.’

‘Good luck.’

‘They won’t care,’ said Bella, surprised.

But she was wrong. After she’d sent a brief email round the system, she was astonished by the messages of good-will she got in reply. The hygienists bought her a Groucho Marx mask, complete with glasses and cigar, for getting out of buildings unnoticed. Everyone seemed to be pleased for her. Bella was touched.

Janet, once she grasped that Bella had not been winding her up after all, was uncontrollable. She phoned continually, wanting details, strategies. When could they meet him? When could she tell the Golf Club ladies?

‘Ma, we’ve just told the world. The Golf Club ladies will know.’

‘But they’ll ask me about him. What can I say?’

Bella controlled a flicker of alarm. ‘As little as possible. Just say you haven’t met him yet but I’m bringing him to meet you and Kevin before Christmas.’

‘They’ll want to know if you’re getting engaged …’

They
would want to know, Bella noticed. Not Janet.

‘There’s no question of that,’ she said firmly. ‘And you can tell them I said so.’

‘… and then Meeting Them’ –
Girl About Town

In the end, Richard’s office and the Queen’s negotiated a late supper that very evening, after she had returned from a recital given by a prize-winning string quartet at the Royal College of Music.

The prospect flung Bella into an uncharacteristic panic. ‘What do I
wear
?’ she wailed.

Lottie was astonished. She had never heard her friend in such a stew. Without ever appearing to be much interested in clothes, Bella had acquired her own style over the years and usually carried it off with a certain flair.

‘What’s the fuss about? You’re the coolest woman I know,’ Lottie told her now.

But at the prospect of meeting her boyfriend’s mother for the first time, Bella had lost all self-confidence. Bad advance publicity didn’t help. Nor did the Royal sniffiness which she had decided was a cast-iron certainty

‘Calm down,’ said Lottie. ‘Let’s both take the afternoon off, for a start.’ She told work that she needed to take some time at home to work through ideas for a campaign, and left the office early.

‘Well, it’s true,’ she said defiantly, when Bella raised an eyebrow. ‘I just didn’t say it was a campaign we were going to be paid for. Now let’s go through your wardrobe and mine.’

Lottie was a chameleon, with a wide range of clients and an even wider range of friends. She had three wardrobes. Bella only had one and she couldn’t think of a single item that would be suitable.

Bella tried on every single dress in Lottie’s wardrobe from an irregular black and white print – ‘Ascot,’ said Lottie fondly; ‘Makes me look like a Dalmatian,’ said Bella, not even bothering to do up the zip at the back—to a classic Little Scarlet Dress – ‘Very little. Much too scarlet,’ said Bella with regret.

Eventually they could not see Lottie’s bed for the tumble of silks and chiffons and jersey and …

‘It’s hopeless,’ said Bella, nearly in tears. ‘I’m just not comfortable in your clothes. And the only thing that I have that’s remotely formal is the ghastly suit my mother bought me.’

‘Go and put it on,’ urged Lottie. ‘It might be better than you think.

But when Bella came back, she gave a low whistle and shook her head. ‘Holy cow! Pure Stepford Wife. Get it off, get it off … I can’t bear to look at it.’

They went and sat glumly on the end of Bella’s bed, inspecting her clothes.

‘Of course,’ said Lottie thoughtfully, after a while, ‘it doesn’t have to be a dress. I mean, this is an informal supper, right? We’re not talking tiara and orders. You’ve always got the Ginger Rogers Cocktail Look.’

In a trip round Greenwich Market one Sunday, Bella had discovered a vintage pair of very wide-legged black silk trousers. They looked dreadful on the stall, but she had been certain they had promise. After a little love and attention, they had proved to be very stylish. Now she tried them on and at once they felt right, especially when she added her cute T-bar heels. But neither Lottie nor Bella had a jacket that worked with them.

‘What they need,’ said Bella, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, ‘is a very simple white silk shirt.’

Lottie bounced to her feet. ‘And I know exactly where you can get one.’

As a redhead, Lottie only ever wore cream rather than white, but she had bought a wonderful tailored silk shirt from one of Carlos’s other clients only last week. As soon as Bella tried it on, she agreed the shape was perfect. The boutique still had one in white. Bella returned triumphant.

‘It makes me feel like myself,’ she told her friend, with a great sigh of relief.

‘That’s what you need. Now,’ Lottie advanced with a determined expression, ‘pearl earrings. I don’t want to hear a word about Lady Golfers or Jane Austen. This is a classic look.’

And when she had them on, Bella had to agree. Even so, she held her breath in case Richard staggered back, saying, ‘You cannot call on the Queen wearing trousers.’

But he arrived early and wanted to leave at once.

‘My father gets out of the classical stuff if he can, so he’ll be at home anyway. We can see him first.’

‘He’s not having dinner with us?’ said Bella, surprised.

Richard shrugged. ‘He likes his routine. He never eats late. How’s your day been?’

‘No problem so far. I didn’t answer calls from anyone I didn’t know. A couple of journos left messages on my voice mail. My mother’s told the Golf Club and wants to show you off to them as soon as possible. My grandmother wants to check you out. My father is still fulminating. Could be worse.’

‘Not bad at all,’ he agreed.

This time he was driving a powerful black car, with a dashboard like a rocket ship’s. The policemen on the gate at the Palace clearly recognised it. They swung open the doors and raised their hands as he drove through. He gave them a friendly wave.

He drove into an inner courtyard and parked close to a covered walkway. It was starting to snow again. They left footprints behind as they ran for shelter.

Richard took her hand. ‘Stick close to me. This place is a rabbit warren.’

He was right. They went into an eighteenth-century bit, all wooden floors and polished banisters, through a service corridor that might once have led to kitchens which now seemed to be office accommodation, and then up and down so many little half-staircases that Bella’s head started to spin. But then the portraits got grander and marble columns started to appear.

‘The public rooms, with thrones and so forth, for investitures, dinners, and occasions of national importance,’ Richard said conscientiously. ‘Lots of pictures of
battles and men in uniform.’ He stopped in front of one epauletted grandee.

‘Leopold, the Prince Consort. It’s his fault I have this damn’ great nose. He’s wearing the uniform of a British Field Marshal.’ He studied Leopold with some affection. ‘In fact, he really was a soldier, so he was more entitled to wear uniform than most of the other old mountebanks. He fought against Napoleon for the Tsar, though he was rather keen on the French before Napoleon decided on world domination. It was always said that he brought a touch of French style to the court, balancing the excesses of George IV.’

It sounded as if he were talking about a friend. Bella wondered what it would be like to know your ancestors in such detail. She didn’t know anything about any of hers, beyond her grandmothers. She said so.

‘It’s easy enough to find out if you’re interested. I’ve been to several Family History centres. Fascinating places.’

‘I might do that one day,’ said Bella, not meaning it.

He took her up another staircase and down a corridor. Bella had half expected flunkeys in knee breeches, or at least maids, to be flitting about. But the only people to be seen were on the walls. The portraits were smaller here, though, and there were more women.

‘Queen Charlotte by Watts, 1850 or so. She got plump like her father and rather sententious, but she was very racy in her day … had several flings as a teenager … but Leopold seems to have calmed her down.’ Richard moved on. ‘Her daughter Virginia, also by Watts. She was rather dreamy and poetic but she
knew her own mind. Defied her mother, turned down a Danish prince to marry an American and went to live in Charleston.’

‘My grandmother comes from Charleston. Well, she did forty years ago. Then she met my grandfather and went travelling with him, and they came back to England when he retired.’

‘She’s the one who wants to check me out?’

‘Yes. You’ll have to be on your best behaviour, too. She has Standards, my grandmother.’

‘I’ll do my best. Only one left?’

‘Yes. I hardly remember my mother’s mother.’

‘I have the full complement, God help me. My father’s mother lives in a castle in Wales, where she Encourages the Arts and breeds Siamese cats. And my mother’s mother has hobbies that include younger men and roulette.’

‘Goodness!’

It didn’t sound as if he liked either of them very much. Bella bit her lip. She adored Granny Georgia and hoped Richard would do the same. But it didn’t sound hopeful.

‘Here we are. My father’s apartments.’

There were servants here, though not the crowd she’d expected and not a pair of knee breeches in sight. A pleasant man in a neat grey suit took her coat, and another, very dignified, told them they were expected.

He led the way to another set of doors and knocked before entering.

‘The Prince of Wales, Your Majesty.’

This is not happening, thought Bella suddenly. This is just
unreal
.

But Richard held her hand tight and they went in.

It was quite a small room really, though it had large Georgian windows with theatrical curtaining and a lot of gold tassels. There were several glass cases containing substantial models of trains, and all the furniture was antique and beautifully polished. But apart from that it was quite homelike, Bella thought.

The King stood up from a chair by the fire where he had been reading. He shook hands politely and asked if they had known each other long. But Bella did not feel that he was really interested. His eyes kept sliding towards his book. He offered them a drink but seemed relieved when they both refused. He took Bella over to one of the glass cases in the corner, which enclosed some sort of structure with two huge wheels and a lot of moving parts. She had no idea what it was or was designed to do, and admitted her ignorance.

The King beamed. ‘It’s the engine of HMS
Sphinx
, a revolutionary steam paddleboat of the mid-nineteenth century. Designed by John Penn. The original is in the Institute of Mechanical Engineering here in London. He became their President, you know. Are you familiar with the Institute?’

Bella had to admit she wasn’t.

‘Pity. Pity. Ver’ good place. Ver’ good. Sometimes go to lectures there. They are building our future, Miss Greenwood. Engineers always find solutions.’

He showed her a couple of the train after that, and Bella couldn’t dredge up any more intelligent
comments on them, either. She thought he was glad when they left.

Though Richard said, ‘He took to you,’ sounding surprised.

Bella was doubtful. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. He talked. He showed you the models. Normally, it’s painful introducing him to new people. But he liked you. He will be a lot more relaxed next time, now that he knows you. You’ll see.’

He said a courteous goodbye to the King’s servants and they walked to his mother’s apartments. There were a lot more signs of life in this corridor.

Richard said uncomfortably, ‘Look, there’s a protocol which might help with my mother.
She
gets to start the conversations.’

‘I don’t understand?’

He stopped striding down the red-carpeted corridor and drew Bella into a window embrasure. One of the men standing at the next door started forward, but Richard shook his head and the man fell back.

‘Do you know about Fanny Burney?’

‘Who?’

‘Fanny Burney – eighteenth-century novelist, daughter of the Master of the King’s Music. Anyway, she did her time at Court because the Queen wanted conversation.’ He seemed to be searching his memory. ‘She told Fanny that she had great difficulty in getting any conversation because she commonly not only always had to choose the subject, but also entirely support it. And the form hasn’t changed since. The Queen picks the topic. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ said Bella.

‘Just for tonight, until she’s got over her bate. Normally, she’s fine.’

‘I’m sure she is.’ Bella could feel her heart sinking lower by the minute. To disguise it, she said brightly, ‘Did Fanny enjoy her time at Court?’

Richard was matter-of-fact. ‘Hated every minute.’

Bella glared. ‘Thank you very much for the encouragement.’

He squeezed her fingers. ‘You’ll be fine. Remember, you’re not going out with my mother. You’re going out with me.’