Little Lady Agency and The Prince (13 page)

‘Yes, well . . . Oh, thank you.’ I made room on the table for my espresso. ‘It’s funny you should say that . . .’

I explained Alexander’s proposition very quickly, without taking breaths, and when I’d finished I sat back, waiting for Jonathan to say no.

I knew he’d say no in a very nice way, which was fine. I could repeat it verbatim to Granny.

‘I see,’ said Jonathan thoughtfully. ‘That’s quite some favour.’

‘Absolutely,’ I said, unwrapping my chocolate coffee bean. ‘I told her it wouldn’t really fit in with the plans we’re making and –’

‘I don’t see why not,’ he said.

‘– that it wasn’t at all appropriate for an engaged woman to be cavorting around with a man like that.’ I looked up. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, I don’t see why you shouldn’t do it,’ said Jonathan.

At this point, my jaw may have dropped open. Or Jonathan may have just put his finger under my chin and closed my mouth as an affectionate gesture.

‘Why not?’ he repeated. ‘I bet the fee would make it worth your while.’

‘Well, yes,’ I stammered. ‘But I thought you said . . .’

‘It’s a one-off, right?’ said Jonathan. ‘Like a last hurrah for Honey?’ His face softened. ‘You have to admit, it’s kind of romantic – restoring a royal family to their rightful palace. Imagine knowing you’d made that happen. Maybe this friend of your granny’s can get you made a dame or something.’

‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully. Jonathan had a weird American view of European royalty that I didn’t think would last for long if he actually met Nicolas. ‘But it’s not like he’s a
real
prince . . .’

Jonathan looked confused. ‘I don’t follow. A prince is a prince, surely?’

‘Well, yes and no.’ I struggled to think of the best way to put it. ‘There’s a sort of sliding scale of how seriously royal princes are taken in England, depending on how much they do, and whether they’re a prince of somewhere that actually recognises their, um,
princeness
. For instance, Prince William’s got a job in the army and stacks of royal duties like opening schools and visiting hospitals, plus he behaves himself. Nicky’s rich, but he has no throne, no job, and he’s really only a prince in the sense that it gets him to the front of queues in nightclubs. That impresses some people, but not me.’

‘Right,’ said Jonathan. ‘So where does this guy’s family fit in the sliding scale?’

I took a deep breath. To be honest, I wasn’t all that strong on the pecking order of defunct monarchies. ‘Well, if Britain, Spain and the Netherlands are Premier League, then the Hollenbergs are somewhere around the bottom of the fourth division,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t think they even had an army. I mean,
yes
, they’re distantly related to all the right people, but there used to be
hundreds
of little monarchies in Europe, just to give Queen Victoria’s billions of children something to do. But since Communism and World War Two and the EU and everything, there are stacks of redundant princes knocking around Chelsea, and most of them couldn’t even point out where they used to rule on a map. Unless it’s got a nice beach.’

‘And this guy’s one of those?’

‘I suppose so. But his grandfather’s terribly serious about his duties, and if I help Alexander get the castle back, Nicky
will
have something to do – he’ll have a role in promoting the principality, using the castle to get tourists in and film crews. Having something to do might be the making of him.’

Jonathan gave me a knowing look. ‘Sounds like you’re already itching to make him over.’

‘Well, I don’t know if it’s that easy,’ I said. ‘I’m not entirely sure Nicky
wants
something to do.’

He topped up our water glasses. ‘Listen, go for it. It’ll be the favour to end all favours for your family, for one thing. You sign the deal, fill your address book with upscale contacts, then move to Paris with me. You say the family lives in Paris half the time, right? Well, he’s bound to have some good connections there. You can put the money into a new business for the two of us, and we can start over together.’ The smile intensified and he leaned across the table slightly. ‘As life partners
and
business partners.’

My brain was still engaged with the Nicky problem, and I wasn’t expecting this abrupt change of direction. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’

Jonathan beamed, like a child unveiling his special project work. ‘You’re always saying how I can’t tell you that you work too hard when you’re running your own business, right? And that Dean & Daniels don’t pay me enough for the hours I work for them? Well, I’ve been giving the matter some thought while I’ve been in Paris, and I reckon now’s the time for us to hand in our notices, and set up on our own.’

‘You mean . . . start up a business together?’ My brain raced to keep up. Had we actually finished discussing Nicky? Or was Jonathan just moving on to what
he
wanted to discuss?

‘You got it!’ said Jonathan with a little snap and point of his fingers – a nervous tic I thought I’d just about beaten. ‘You know how much I love that amazing touch you have with houses. I mean, you were in the new flat for what? A weekend? And you’ve made it look like a home from home already. Now, what if you were to do that as part of a service for new home-buyers? I find the properties, you help them move in. And all those smart details you’re so good at – finding the right staff, or working out where the schools are, the nice
pâtisseries
– people want to know that sort of thing.’

‘But I don’t know Paris,’ I reminded him. ‘Not like I know London. Jonathan, just to go back to Nicky for a—’

‘You’d get to know it so quickly,’ he breezed on. ‘It’s smaller than London. And we’d be targeting ex-pats, Americans, English families – they want someone they can trust. Someone who speaks their language. Someone who really reminds them of home, you know?’

‘My French is
très mauvais
,’ I protested. ‘And, honestly, I don’t know if—’

‘Solange will find you a tutor,’ said Jonathan. ‘In fact, she might even coach you herself. She’s offered to give me extra conversation lessons after work.’ He looked approving. ‘Really, she’s the most organised woman I’ve ever met – apart from you.’

‘Mmm,’ I said. I wasn’t as organised as Jonathan thought. I just made lots of lists. Still, it was flattering that he thought I was. ‘But, darling, let’s not get too far ahead here. Are you absolutely sure you wouldn’t mind my taking this job on? I’d have to spend a fair bit of time with Nicolas. I might even get photographed with him, you know. I mean,’ I added delicately, ‘you know how bothered you were when everyone thought I was Godric’s girlfriend in New York.’

‘Bothered’ was putting it mildly. I’d never seen super-cool, super-grown-up Jonathan get so agitated as when I was shepherding Godric around, even though I’d known Ric the film star since he was Godric the gloomy adolescent.

Jonathan paused for a moment, then dropped a sugar lump into his coffee and stirred it briskly. ‘That was different.’

‘In what way?’

‘We weren’t engaged then. I don’t
think
you’re going to run off with this Nicolas, even if he is a prince.’ He looked up, his grey eyes very serious. There was a brief flash of anxiety in them that I found utterly heart-melting. ‘I mean . . . are you?’

‘Of course not!’ I spluttered. ‘I mean, yes, I’m sure
some
women would find him attractive but . . .’ I was about to say ‘I find him repellent’, but Nelson’s ‘Ding!’ lie detector went off in my head. Instead, I amended it to, ‘It’s going to be very hard work making him look like a gentleman, put it like that. It might not be as simple as shouting at him and making him stop texting other people over dinner. And what with Granny knowing Alexander . . .’ I spread my hands. ‘I’m already kind of involved. But I won’t do it at all if you think it’ll cause a second’s upset between you and me.’

Jonathan arched an eyebrow, and I wondered if I’d misread him. ‘Maybe I also want to prove to myself that I can let you go a little, and know you’ll come back.’

‘Jonathan!’ I exclaimed. ‘Stop it!’

‘OK, OK. One thing, though,’ he added. ‘Wear the wig.’

‘The wig?’ Now this was the U-turn to end all U-turns.

‘Yes,’ he said seriously. ‘So I know that the woman with this guy is Honey, not my Melissa. It means you’re doing a job, not getting dragged in for real. Then, when the job’s done, and you’ve picked up your fee, we’ll throw the wig into the Channel. Is that a deal?’

I hesitated, and met his steady, searching gaze, trying to ignore the goosebumps that still prickled deliciously on my arms when Jonathan looked at me like that.

It was quite a lot to take in.

He was what I’d always wanted, I told myself. A real soulmate – someone who loved me, and more than that, someone who respected my independence.

But he’s just assuming you’ll pack in your agency!
I argued with myself.

‘You mean, close my agency?’ I asked, to clarify.

‘Well, yes.’ Jonathan looked miffed. ‘Be real, Mel. You’re not going to be able to run it from Paris, when you’re living there permanently, are you?’

I must have looked a little stunned, because he added, ‘I’m not asking you to give up your
work
, I’m just asking you to work in Paris, with me. Together. Isn’t that what we both want? It’s what I want. I thought you would too.’

Jonathan gave me a hurt-puppy-dog look that was so far removed from his usual amused detachment that I felt a great rush of remorse sweep away my doubts.

I could still buy the flat, though. That would be like a little wedding present – our own London lovenest.

‘Of course it is,’ I said, reaching over the table to take his hands in mine. ‘Of course it’s what I want.’

In the morning, after breakfast in bed in our Mayfair hotel room, we set off for the country. I must admit, even though I’m not one of those teeny-weeny-bootie-obsessed women, during the week I had popped into Baby Gap and Petit Bateau to pick up a few little clothes for the as-yet-unnamed Baby McDonald, and was quite looking forward to seeing the little chap, now he’d had time to calm down a bit.

In fact, as we scooted down the country lanes, sun roof open, the Supremes blasting forth and Jonathan’s hand on my knee, I really did feel an unusual sensation spreading through me: for just about the first time ever, I was looking forward to going home.

Obviously, that lasted until we pulled up outside Romney Hall.

I could hear Emery’s baby crying even as we were walking across the drive to the front door. It was a ferocious wail, so insistent that it was hard to credit it could have emerged from a child of Emery, and it sent shivers down my spine.

Jonathan put his arm round my shoulders and squeezed me.

‘Feeling broody, huh?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Just scared that I have no idea how to get him to stop making that noise. Emery clearly can’t.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be as quiet as a mouse the moment you get your hands on him,’ Jonathan reassured me. ‘He’s a guy, isn’t he? I haven’t seen you fail yet . . .’ He tightened his grip and leaned in to plant a sneaky kiss on the curve of my neck. ‘And strictly between you and me, when I saw you with that baby in your arms last weekend, well . . .’ He nuzzled his nose behind my ear. ‘It made
me
quite broody.’

The chilly shivers turned into rather pleasant ones, and I wouldn’t have minded exploring the idea of a broody Jonathan a little further if an upper window hadn’t been flung open and my mother’s head hadn’t emerged from the choking ivy surrounding the casement.

‘Darling!’ she shrieked. ‘Thank God you’re here! You have to come up here at once! Allegra’s locked me in!’

Jonathan and I sprang apart.

‘What?’ I demanded. ‘Then who’s looking after the baby?’

‘Aren’t you meant to ask
why
Allegra’s locked her in?’ demanded Jonathan as we broke into a trot towards the house.

‘First things first,’ I gasped, pushing open the front door.

As I did so, the level of wailing intensified, and was matched by the sound of Mummy hammering on the door and the furious ringing of a handbell.

My head swivelled, wondering in which order I should tackle the chaos, but since it all seemed to be coming from upstairs, I decided to head up there and see which presented itself as the most urgent.

I was greeted at the top by the bewildering sight of Allegra holding Mummy’s study door shut, while alternately blowing cigarette smoke and shouting through the keyhole.

‘Come on, Mummy,’ she was bellowing. ‘Get knitting! I need a cat and a couple of unicorns from you. This is an emergency! And give the cat two heads! Or do something bizarre with its ears!’

‘Allegra!’ I yelled. ‘Who’s looking after the baby?’

‘Melissa?’ Mummy’s voice floated plaintively through the door. ‘Tell her to let me out. The poor mite’s going to do himself a mischief! Someone needs to see to him!’

‘Why not Emery?’ Jonathan murmured, but the answer to that was too obvious for the rest of us to respond.

Instead, Allegra looked shifty. ‘Annoying, isn’t it? Mmm. Is it making your blood pressure rise? Are you feeling the need to knit?’

‘Let her
out
!’ I roared.

‘Is someone going to deal with that godawful racket?’ bellowed a fresh voice. ‘It’s worse than when we had the builders in, and I have an interview to conduct with
Waitrose Food Monthly
in an hour!’

I spun round.

Daddy had emerged at the foot of the stairs to join in the fun, his new bouffant hair askew. His own study was at the other end of the house, far, far away from everyone else, to the mutual convenience of all concerned.

He seemed to notice Allegra for the first time. ‘What the hell are you doing, Allegra?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you were in Ham fighting with that monolithic nancy boy of yours.’

‘I popped over to collect Mummy’s new animals for the gallery,’ she said, without relinquishing her grip on the brass handle. ‘But Ivanka says they’re too neat. Too normal. Not like the cack-handed monstrosities she was producing six months ago, when the gallery was packed solid with collectors.’ She rattled the handle at this point, for emphasis. ‘When she was
stressed
, and giving up
smoking
, and generally more
tense
. She’s
useless
now she’s all Zen about life.’