Little Lady Agency and The Prince (27 page)

Clearly nothing was going to distract him. I felt a brief pride in the value for money my taxes were getting in quality policing, then dropped dramatically to the ground with a groan, clutching my chest and letting my skirt ride some way up my thighs, revealing an expanse of stocking top.

Sometimes the old ones are the best. At once, all surrounding policemen gathered around me, and were distracted long enough for Nicky to come bursting out of the tent, waving something in the air.

I staggered to my feet, waving away helping hands, ready to grab my handbag. But he wasn’t carrying it. Cold fear gripped me. He was waving something else.

‘It’s OK!’ he yelled. ‘Panic over! It’s just a make-up bag!’

I stared, as every head turned his way.

‘Don’t worry! I’ve had special security training,’ he went on. I noticed he’d undone yet another button on his shirt and ruffled up his hair. ‘Secret service and all that. My great-great-uncle was assassinated. Can’t be too careful, you know, in my situation.’

‘As heir to Hollenberg,’ I added hastily. ‘His grandfather’s the Crown Prince.’

Policemen began to approach him, with a mixture of respect and bewilderment writ large on their faces, but he motioned them aside and strode towards me.

I shook my head silently and put my hands up. The last thing I wanted was to be ceremoniously presented with the personal item that had caused all this kerfuffle.

‘No, please, no fuss,’ Nicky was saying, still walking towards me. ‘Don’t thank me. Let’s just get this polo back on the road. Think of the elephants. Don’t want them missing out on their big fund-raiser. Tell Wills the chukkas are back on, OK?’

Somehow, he managed to breeze majestically past all the policemen, all the hangers-on, everyone, then slung his arm around my shoulders.

I felt a thrill run up my spine, then forced myself to look unperturbed. I had to admit, inwardly, that I was impressed. That was more Honey than Honey. Clearly, Nicky could do commanding and competent when he wanted.

‘You look peaky, darling,’ he said in a loud voice.

‘Yes,’ I agreed, nodding my head for emphasis. ‘Take me back to the car. I could do with getting something warm inside me.’

‘That can be arranged,’ said Nicky.

And we were walking towards the car, and the police seemed to be letting us.

‘Your great-great-uncle,’ I said, trying to sound light. ‘Was he really assassinated?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Nicky nodded. ‘Shot by a jealous husband in a casino in Monte Carlo. Dreadful scandal. Didn’t even get that evening’s IOUs written off. Oh,’ he added, ‘want this?’

And he passed me my make-up bag.

‘Thanks,’ I said wryly, wishing he’d saved the real thing. ‘But what did you do with my handbag? Did you leave it so they’d have something to blow up?’

Nicky winked. ‘It’s in the boot of the car. I got Ray to wait behind the window.’

I paused, and allowed my lips to curl into a smile. ‘You’re quick.’

He paused too, and pretended to look hurt. ‘No one, Melissa, has ever said that to me before.’

‘You can be pretty resourceful too,’ I said, thinking of my How to Be A Prince list. Chivalry, selflessness, rational thinking: he was making some headway down it, after all. ‘Any reason why you . . .’ I didn’t want to say ‘chose this moment to behave properly?’

‘Why I decided to go along with your plans?’ His eyebrows flicked up, and underneath my jacket I felt prickly heat tingle along my arms and across my chest as he blinked slowly, letting his long, dark lashes brush his skin. ‘Why do you think?’

‘To get this project over and done with sooner?’ I suggested.

‘Maybe. Or maybe I wanted to save your bag. Or our joint reputations.’ He widened his eyes, as if to say, ‘No?’

I fiddled with my make-up bag. ‘Or maybe you wanted to get on the front page of
The Times
? Or was it to get onto Prince William’s Christmas card list?’

I didn’t know why I was being so sarcastic. It was just like being back at school, and having a crush on some spotty youth from St Peter’s and only being able to converse in insulting banter. But then there was something so ludicrously ‘dorm pin-up’ about this foxy, tanned, wealthy, urban
prince
, I couldn’t help reverting to schoolgirlish behaviour.

Nicky sighed, squeezed my shoulder and set off towards the car again. ‘Darling, I’m
on
Prince William’s bloody Christmas card list. He’s my ninth cousin or something.’

‘I’m not impressed,’ I reminded him.

‘I didn’t expect you to be,’ he said, and I thought I detected a note of ruefulness in his voice.

We had reached the Bentley. Ray leaped out of the driver’s side and went round to the back, bearing no outward signs that anything was amiss.

‘Brandy, ma’am?’ he said, lifting the boot to reveal a huge wicker hamper and, tucked behind that, my red bag.

‘That would be lovely,’ I said.

As I sipped from the little silver crested tumbler, it struck me that the police had been remarkably willing to let Nicky walk away from the scene, with the evidence too. Surely they’d have to write some report about it? There were bomb squad cars there and everything.

In fact, that was another car full of police dogs arriving right now.

‘Ray,’ I heard Nicky ask, ‘surely now I’ve got the bomb out, they can let the boys in blue go home? Get the horses back out?’

‘Ah, well,’ said Ray, ‘I did overhear one of the other drivers mention that the suspicious package in the loos wasn’t so easy to remove.’

My blood ran cold. ‘The
loos
?’ I said. ‘But I thought . . .’

Ray coughed discreetly. ‘As I understand it they had an anonymous phone tip-off; once they started looking for suspicious packages, it seems the whole place was awash with them. I don’t think they were even looking for a handbag—’

He didn’t get a chance to explain any further, as a muffled explosion from the direction of the field cut him off. And another. Then another one, over by the horseboxes. The police must have been doing controlled explosions on everything bar the canapés.

Nicky grabbed his binoculars. ‘Someone should tell Venetia Hammond that bomb scares are no excuse to feel up Her Majesty’s policemen.’

I reached up and took the binoculars off him. ‘I think this would be a good moment to go home,’ I said firmly. ‘Ray?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

By the time Ray pulled up outside my house, I was in an advanced state of all-over tingle. I still had no idea what kind of cologne Nicky wore, but it seemed to contain illegal pheromones. I did, on the other hand, now have an awfully vivid knowledge of the side of Nicky’s head, which I’d been studying while we chatted so as not to meet his shamelessly direct eyes. The soft skin behind his ear, before the nut-brown curls began, the hollow in his neck, the darker indentation on his earlobe from the earring he’d agreed to take out a few months earlier.

I wished I’d been there for that argument between Nicky and Alexander. Mind you, having had the entire argument recounted for me in surprisingly self-deprecating detail, I felt I almost had been.

‘You’re not going to invite me in for a nightcap?’ he asked, leaning over as I busied myself with my bag.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s only six thirty. Nowhere near bedtime.’

Nicky hoiked up one eyebrow. ‘Early to bed, early to rise . . .’

I blushed and ignored him. ‘Anyway, Nelson texted me earlier to say he’d cooked supper.’

‘Fine. How about a nightcap at my place, then?’

I gave him a firm look. ‘Nicky, you clearly have no experience of Nelson’s beef Wellington. It’s not something you pass up.’

‘Does Nelly only cook meals with historical references?’ he enquired. ‘I expect you get a short lecture thrown in.’

‘You sound almost jealous,’ I said.

‘Who wouldn’t be?’ He sighed. ‘You don’t have to be so professional all the time, Melissa. You’re not on duty now. In fact, what would happen if I were to slip this lovely blonde wig off and—’

He reached for my hair, and I grabbed his wrist. ‘No,’ I said.

‘Mmm!’ growled Nicky. ‘Like that, is it? Fine with me!’

Visions of Jonathan flashed in front of my eyes. I’d let him under my professional guard – I knew it could happen, even when I was fighting against it with all my most honourable intentions. Honey was a seductive state of mind, for the client and for me. But it wasn’t going to happen now. Besides, might this not be another of Nicky’s slippery plans to get me off his case? Charm me into bed, then complain to Alexander that we could no longer work together ‘for personal reasons’? He wasn’t the sort to keep quiet about any conquests, either.

He might need his allowance, but I needed my flat deposit.

I dropped his wrist, trying not to notice how sinewy it was beneath the soft skin.

‘No,’ I said more quietly. ‘Sorry.’

Nicky leaned further over, and took my other hand. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me, Melissa?’

I swallowed. Nelson always told me I was too trusting. So did Jonathan, and Gabi. And Granny and Allegra and Mummy, come to that. No matter how charming Nicky seemed, I didn’t really know him at all.

‘No,’ I said, forcing a laugh into my voice. ‘I don’t trust you an inch!’

He looked at me, his brown eyes suddenly unreadable. If he was trying to appear hurt and distressed, in a Method Acting way, I conceded to myself, he was halfway there.

‘Neither do I,’ he sighed.

‘Oh, give it a rest,’ I said, grabbing my bag. ‘For a moment there, I thought . . .’

‘Thought what?’

‘Thought you weren’t spinning me one of your Sloane fishing lines.’ I got out of the car, shut the door and leaned in through the window. ‘I’ll speak to you soon. I’m off to Paris tomorrow – I need to pack.’

Nicky threw himself back on his seat. ‘Are you? Well, have a nice time. I’m going home to watch
Coronation Street
now, as per your instructions.’

‘Oh, Nicky – it’s not for ever.’ I was about to wave goodbye to Ray when I suddenly remembered something. Reaching into my pocket, I handed Nicky his phone. ‘Yours, I believe.’

‘Are you sure it’s not for ever?’ he carried on, his eyes not leaving mine as he turned his phone back on. It abruptly bleeped with a hundred and one messages. All from frantic women, no doubt, worried about his well-being.

‘
Coronation Street
,’ I said, wagging my finger, and left before I could be persuaded to join him.

To my surprise, Nelson wasn’t back from work when I let myself into the flat. But then I was back a good hour or so before I’d reckoned, so I took advantage of his absence to have a really long, deep bath, nearly emptying the hot-water tank in the process.

At half seven he broke through my daydreams of Nicky in ceremonial white tie, by bellowing, ‘Sorry I’m late! How was Bonnie Prince Smarmy?’

‘Fine!’ I yelled. ‘And don’t call him that. Where’ve you been?’

I heard him wander through the flat towards the bathroom. I knew what he’d be doing: checking through the mail I hadn’t bothered to look at, picking out the overdue bills and chucking away the catalogues.

‘Oh, just having a drink after work.’

‘With who?’

‘Whom.’

‘With whom, then?’ Was it me, or did he sound a bit furtive? I sat up with a splash.

‘With Leonie.’

‘Leonie?’

‘Yes, Leonie. Your friend, Leonie. Your friend with whom you were so keen to set me up, and
with whom
we’re going on a
lugg
-sury cruise in a few weeks’ time. Seriously, Mel – how many cashmere jumper catalogues does one woman need? I’m recycling all of this.’

I stared at my crimson toenails through the rapidly dissipating Jo Malone bubbles.

‘And did you . . . did you have a good time?’ I asked.

‘What? Yes, s’pose so. She’s very knowledgeable about tax laws, isn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s what she does, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ Nelson’s attention was clearly elsewhere. I wondered if it was on my overdue Visa bill or on what Leonie had been wearing. No, that was unlikely. More probably, it was on what Leonie had told him about overseas blind trusts.

‘Want me to put the dinner on?’ he asked. ‘I see you’ve got those forms back from the solicitor’s – need any help going through it?’

‘Ooh, yes,’ I said. Thanks to Nelson’s patient advice and a cheque from Alexander, my office plans were starting to edge towards reality. Jonathan would be so impressed, I thought, then felt a pang of guilt. ‘I’ll be out in five minutes.’

‘Don’t rush,’ he said, moving away from the door. ‘You’ll need a good soak to get all the second-hand charm out of your hair.’

For want of anything smart enough to say, I deliberately ran some more hot water into the bath, just to annoy him.

13

The Worst Week of My Life actually started really well. The solicitors rang first thing to let me know that my offer had been accepted and I was able to call Peter, my landlord, and thank him for the good news.

‘I’m so glad, my dear,’ he told me. ‘I know you’ll be very happy there.’

‘I will,’ I promised him, delight bubbling through my veins. ‘I definitely will.’

I managed to hold myself back from ringing Jonathan immediately, so I could keep it as a special surprise that evening. I planned to slip the spare keys on his keyring when he wasn’t looking, then reveal all. It would make a lovely change – me giving
him
a set of spare keys for once.

But things started to go awry when he called me to check that I was on my way to Paris, as requested.

‘It’s impossible,’ I told him, looking at my diary. ‘I can leave at lunchtime, but there are some appointments I simply can’t cancel.’

‘If you were sick, you’d have to,’ he argued.

‘But I’m not sick. You just want me to come to some meetings, and I can’t, because I have meetings here.’

Jonathan said something in French that I didn’t understand, and then I realised he was talking to Solange.

‘I’ll be there this afternoon,’ I said, over the top of him. If he couldn’t be bothered to listen to me that was his problem. ‘If you want to make them evening appointments, we can do that, but I really can’t let these particular clients down.’