Little Lady Agency and The Prince (30 page)

‘I wanted it to be a surprise,’ I said, feeling the cold stone through my thin summer skirt. ‘And . . .’

He lifted my chin with a finger, and crinkled up his grey eyes, to examine my face better. ‘What? You’re still offended about the clothes thing, aren’t you? Melissa, don’t take it that way. Think of it as a different kind of costume. Trust me, I know this business and . . .’

I gathered my nerve. ‘That’s just it. I’m just not sure about this business,’ I said.

Jonathan’s brow furrowed. ‘Meaning?’

Squeezing my eyes shut, I opened my mouth and let the words that had been jostling in my head for the last month come out. ‘I don’t think I want to do it. Not the way you want. I’m sorry.’

When I opened my eyes, Paris was still there, the tourists were still strolling across the river, but, for the first time ever, Jonathan was looking lost for words. ‘What are you saying, Melissa?’ he asked, eventually.

That was a very good question. It was also a much bigger one than it first appeared.

And this is where my Ghastly week really began to take on quite epic proportions of Ghastliness.

14

I took a deep breath. ‘Jonathan,’ I said, ‘there’s so much we haven’t discussed. When were you going to ask me what
I
saw my role in this partnership as? You didn’t even check to see if I wanted to do it before you started making plans.’

It was out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to think what I was saying. The trouble was that once that bit was out, a whole load of other stuff followed it.

‘It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’ve been running my own office for a while now, and I don’t want to act as a glorified chalet maid to people too busy and self-important to pay their own parking fines!’ I went on. ‘I mean, I’m sure they’re very nice and very successful but is that all I’m going to be doing from morning till night – filling in forms for one client after another?’

‘No, there’ll be far more to it than that,’ said Jonathan, sounding surprised at my outburst. ‘Some guys will be bringing their wives over, and if they’re not working, they’ll need someone to show them round, get them used to the way things work over here . . .’

‘As well as fill in their forms?’ I gave him a ‘Seriously?’ look. ‘And their parking fines? And do their secretarial donkey work?’

He shrugged, openly, with both his hands raised, as if he had no idea why I was being so unreasonable. ‘What’s the problem here? Is there something I’m not seeing? It’s exactly what you’re doing in London. It’s what you’re good at.’

‘It’s totally different,’ I insisted.

‘Is it? You’re just picking up the slack for people who can’t or won’t sort out their own lives. Your clients
can’t
. Ours, on the other hand, are professional people who don’t have the time. And I know which kind I’d prefer to deal with.’

Jonathan’s voice had suddenly got much harder. ‘You’re happy enough to run after
Nicolas
,’ he went on disparagingly. ‘And he’s treating you like an idiot, and behaving like a child, so it can’t be about that.’

I bridled at his tone. This wasn’t the romantic, urbane Jonathan I knew. ‘You know as well as I do that Nicky’s a one-off, and anyway, most of my clients aren’t . . .’

I stopped and stared at him. Was this really an argument about work – or was it about
my
work and
my
clients versus Jonathan again?

He lifted an eyebrow, but there was none of the tender amusement that usually accompanied the familiar gesture. His face, the face I thought I knew so well, seemed hard, and there was a coldness in his eyes that made me shiver.

I was afraid that the next words that came out of my mouth would shift everything onto dangerous new ground. Here we were, about to move in together, and I just wasn’t sure we were planning the same things.

Jonathan, though, took my silence as some kind of agreement. ‘OK,’ he said, softening, ‘forget Nicky. It’s not that I don’t think your agency is great. You hit on a real niche, and, you know, with the divorce rate and everything, single guys everywhere, it’s only going to get bigger. That’s why I don’t want you to sell up when you move to Paris.’

‘You don’t?’ Now I really was confused.

‘No. Not in the least. In fact, I think we need to think bigger. Expand. Get an office going in Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham. Wherever you’ve got single men, you’re going to need a Honey.’

‘But I’m working three days a week in London as it is,’ I said, baffled. ‘How can I spend time in Manchester as well? And, I mean, I sort of know Edinburgh a bit, and I’ve got a few friends up there, but it’s not like . . .’

Jonathan waved his hand in front of my face. ‘
You
don’t need to be there.’

‘But . . .’

He clicked his finger and pointed at me. It was a brusque, glib gesture from the old days that I hated, and now it filled me with dread. ‘You franchise!’

‘I what?’

‘You franchise. Interview Honeys – I mean, come on, you wear the wig, so it’s not like you’re
actually
Honey Blennerhesket. She’s just a persona. A work persona. Anyone could be Honey, so long as they were clever enough and practical enough.’ He winked. ‘And had good enough legs, right? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of contacts who could take over, or Gabi even – she’s a smart cookie. She made a decent job of covering for you when you came to New York last year – why not give her a break? Just think, your very own team of Honey Bs. Isn’t that a cute idea? It came to me on my run. Honey Bees – like Honey Blennerhesket?’

I stared over the stone bridge at the lamp-lit Square du Vert-Galant beneath us, jutting into the Seine like the green prow of a little boat. A couple were sitting right on the point, dangling their legs over the edge, their arms wrapped around each other, heads leaning on each other’s shoulder. Saying nothing.

Anyone
could be Honey? Did he really think that?

Jonathan, meanwhile, was steaming on and on. ‘I’ve been looking into this for a while, to tell you the truth, and you know what? The more I’ve thought about it, the more perfect it gets as a solution. You keep your agency, and some financial independence, which I absolutely respect . . .’ He held up his hands at this point to show me how much he respected it. ‘But it’s not a good use of your time any more. So you come over here with me, while the Honey Bees keep bringing in the nectar back in London. And I’ve even found a backer for the franchise operation.’

I looked at him, unable to make sense of the tumbling emotions jostling about in my head. They were like sharp little stones, while the rest of me felt numb. What was it going to be like when we were working together, if we couldn’t even see eye to eye now? Jonathan – the man who’d fallen for the woman Honey had helped me become – thought the whole agency boiled down to a wig and a Harrods discount card. He thought I could sell off slices of my business like it was a sandwich-making operation. And he hadn’t even been there during the weeks it took me to undo the chaos after Gabi’s well-meaning spell in charge!

But I am Honey
, the voice in my head kept wailing. She’s part of me. I can’t sell her off!

Then I realised the voice wasn’t in my head. It was coming out of my mouth.

Jonathan stroked my arm affectionately. ‘Don’t be silly, Melissa,’ he said. ‘I thought we went through all this? I always knew the real you was underneath that Honey front – the smart, responsible, caring you. Anyway, you want to know the best bit? I think you’ll like this – it’s very English and ironic.’

‘What?’ I choked.

‘Where do you think I found the backer for the franchise operation? The operation that’s going to create independent income, without you having to do a thing?’

A variety of awful options slid in front of my mind. Granny? Surely not. Roger? No. A client?

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.

‘Your father!’ said Jonathan triumphantly. ‘Isn’t that perfect? He’s happy to sink his entire earnings from his Cheese Diet book into the start-up. We’re still talking terms, but I’m being really tough. You’ve got to love the irony of that. You set up the agency to earn back a few thousand pounds you owed him, and now he’s having to stump up the cash to make you a rich woman!’

All the blood drained from my face. I didn’t care whether Daddy was doing it as a money-making or money-laundering scheme – he never invested unless he knew he could make money or wanted to lose it. Either way, I’d still be the butt of his jokes.

Worse than that – much worse than that – Jonathan thought it was a good idea.

I got up from the bench and walked over to the edge of the bridge. I looked down at the Seine flowing underneath, with the reflected lamplight glimmering on the grey water, and felt everything slipping from under me, as though I was standing on a rug on a shiny floor. This wasn’t how I’d imagined things working out. Not at all.

Jonathan appeared by my side. ‘What’s the matter, Melissa? Have you got a problem with that?’

‘Please tell me this is a joke,’ I said. My voice wobbled on the ‘joke’.

Jonathan shrugged. ‘A joke? Why would I be joking? It’s a great idea – you don’t have to get so involved yourself, plus you stand to make a lot of money, especially if we develop the internet angle.’

‘You don’t think I’d . . . I’d have a problem with my father investing in a business I started to get away from him and his meddling in my life? And I
want
to be involved! It’s not up to you to decide to sell off something I’ve made! Especially not to him!’

We stared at each other furiously, until finally he twisted up his face in disgust.

‘Why, Melissa, does it always come back to your family? Every time? Am I being naive here? Should I just accept now that they’re always going to be there, in the background, screwing you up? I honestly thought you were over that.’

‘You can’t get over your family, Jonathan,’ I said bitterly. ‘They aren’t
measles
. Just because we’re in Paris doesn’t mean they’re going to vanish from my life. And how could they, if you let Daddy buy into my business?’

‘Because I thought it’d give you the upper hand! I thought that by us both uprooting ourselves to live in Paris, we’d be able to make a fresh start. Together,’ he said, half to himself, as he chopped the side of his hand down onto the bridge, over and over. ‘No Cindy, no families, no people reminding us how we met . . .’ He turned to glare at me. ‘No sharing you with two hundred idiots in London and the Home Counties. But you’re not going to move, are you? You never really wanted to come to Paris.’

‘That’s not true,’ I protested. ‘I do! I love you!’

‘Do you? Really?’

Jonathan’s cynical tone went through me like a knife. ‘Yes! It’s just that . . .’ I struggled for the right words. ‘You always seem to be asking me to choose between you and everything else in my life that
isn’t
you!’

‘I give up. I give up, Melissa. What do you want me to do?’ he demanded. ‘It’s like you’re constantly putting things before me – your family, your business, London. I flew across the world to be with you! I’ve worked out a business we can run together!’

‘I know!’ I flashed back. ‘But you won’t stay in for one evening and talk to me!’

Jonathan made a ‘What?’ face. ‘You’re complaining that I take you out too much? Seriously?’

I looked into his baffled eyes, and knew there was no point trying to explain. And that made me sad.

But at least we were talking about it, weren’t we?

I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the lovely places we go to. But you’re so good at making quick decisions, and I’m . . . not. I need more time to think about important things.’

‘The business?’ He bit his lips. ‘Or me?’

I looked down at the river. ‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted.

Jonathan fiddled with his gold cufflinks. The vintage ones I’d found for his birthday. ‘Well, you need to learn to make some decisions, Melissa. Very soon. Or else I don’t see this situation changing in the next year, two years, five years. Come and live here with me now, right now, or don’t bother. But let’s not waste time neither of us have.’

Although I was stunned, a hot thread of anger ran through me, that he could reduce such a life-changing decision to an either/or. It might be how he got buyers to make a gut decision on a house, but I hated being backed into a corner. I’d had enough of that growing up.

‘You want me to answer that now?’ I asked incredulously.

‘If you know what the answer is, why string me along?’ Jonathan’s voice was unnaturally cool, and I hoped it was to hide his own panic. ‘Or are you waiting for half the apartment?’

I gasped as if he’d hit me. That was uncalled-for. ‘I think you’re confusing me with your ex-wife,’ I said, trying to retain some dignity. ‘And I thought you knew that I’m not like her at all.’

Jonathan’s mouth made a ‘no’ shape and he looked ashamed. ‘Melissa, I’m sorry, that was very wrong, I didn’t mean to—’

I lifted my chin. ‘I don’t need half of your
anything
. And I wouldn’t sell my agency to strangers for the world. It’s not about the
money
. It never
was
. If you think that, then I wonder just what else you’ve got wrong about me.’

My voice started cracking. This was going so wrong if felt as if it was happening to someone else.

‘Listen, Melissa,’ Jonathan began, ‘I think you’re being far too emotional about this. Should we talk about this tomorrow? You’re tired, and . . .’

Something in me just snapped.

‘You’re right – I’m tired.’ I wrenched the diamond engagement ring off my finger. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘take this.’

‘What?’ Jonathan took a little step backwards.

‘You think money and . . .
stuff
are important to me? They’re not.’ I tried to push the ring into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t unpicked the stitching, so the jacket would hang better, so I had to shove the ring in his trouser pocket instead.

‘Are you breaking off our engagement?’

We stood on the Pont Neuf, as if time had frozen for a second. Jonathan looked as shocked as I felt. Tourists were gawping at us now, but I barely registered their curious looks.