Little Lady Agency and The Prince (18 page)

‘Sorry,’ drawled Nicky, ‘not a big follower of English history. Anyway, Selwyn Carter-Keighley, Imogen Leys. I always forget, are you an honourable, Piglet?’

‘Or just a common-or-garden piglet?’ enquired Gabi.

‘Don’t call me Piglet,’ said Imogen icily. ‘It’s a pet name.’ She gave me an even icier look. ‘A special name
Nicks
has for me.’

Gabi shot me a ‘Like that, eh?’ look.

‘Lovely!’ I said. ‘Thanks for that, Nicky. Shall we get some more wine?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicky, Nelson, Gabi and Roger as one.

Somewhere between the starter of Prawns ‘Mary Rose’ and the main course of Sea Bass ‘Jutland’, Nicky excused himself to go to the loo. After fifteen minutes he still hadn’t returned and my mind was filling with all sorts of lurid waitress-bothering.

‘Oh no!’ I said, putting my napkin on the table. ‘I’ve totally forgotten to get raffle tickets! Will you excuse me if I pop out and get some, in case I miss the draw?’

‘Do you know where to go?’ asked Nelson.

‘Um, no,’ I said, already scanning the room for dazed or panicked female staff.

‘Then come with me, and bring your purse,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘Everyone else got some? Leonie?’

‘I have one,’ she said. ‘For the sake of the charity – I don’t usually do lotteries. They’re a terrible investment.’

‘Gabi?’

Gabi nodded. ‘Certainly have.’

From the look on Aaron’s face, I suspected she’d paid with a credit card.

Nelson and I ran into Nicky
and
the raffle right outside the dining room. He was standing by a six-foot anchor of white carnations, his arm extended so as best to circulate any armpit hormones, putting the charm on a buxom teenager whose eyelashes were fluttering so hard she could only have seen Nicky in stop-go animation.

‘. . . and it’s moored in Monte Carlo at the moment,’ he was saying. ‘Do you know Monaco, darling?’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘But I’d love to go.’

Nicky’s smile broadened. ‘It’s just the place for topping up that lovely all-over tan you’ve got there. I can just see you on deck, soaking up the sun . . . Now, tell me, have you got an all-over tan or if I peek will I see strap lines?’

I pulled Nelson behind a pillar so they wouldn’t see us. ‘Oh, God, he’s so predictable,’ I murmured. ‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s Araminta’s daughter, Sophie,’ he whispered back. ‘She’s in charge of the raffle. I’m not sure it was the best idea – I told her to write the phone number on the back of the tickets, but she’s been putting her own on.’

I leaned back out and caught Nicky’s eye, in a fleeting moment that he wasn’t twinkling at the bedazzled Sophie. I could hardly go and drag him off her, in a public place, but he had to pack it in before . . . Well, before anything.

‘No flirting!’ I mouthed crossly.

Sophie dipped her head to check something in her raffle-ticket bag and Nicky pulled a ‘confused’ face, and cupped one hand to his ear.

‘Stop flirting!’ I hissed, making appropriate hand gestures.

Nicky shrugged and pretended he couldn’t hear me.

I ducked back behind the pillar. ‘I
knew
this would happen,’ I muttered, half to Nelson, and half to myself. ‘He’s not going to take the blindest bit of notice of me.’

‘You can’t appeal to his decent side?’ suggested Nelson.

I pulled a face. ‘The only side I can appeal to is the one that cares about having his allowance cut off.’

‘If Sophie’s dad catches him looking at her like that it’ll be more than his allowance that gets cut off,’ said Nelson, then he tipped his head to one side, conspirtorially. ‘Mind, you are wearing the wig . . .’

‘Meaning?’

Nicky was now making good on his tan-examination threats. Sophie’s spaghetti straps were already under serious strain from her ample frontage and it would only take one playful tweak for a ‘girls overboard’ situation.

‘Meaning,’ said Nelson, nodding meaningfully, ‘are you here as Melissa . . . or Honey?’

Right on cue, I heard Nicky say, ‘Oh, no! I am sorry!’ at the same time as he held up one inadequate, and now semi-detached, strip of satin, and Sophie clapped one hand to her exposed shoulder with a nervous giggle.

‘Honey,’ I said, even as my spine started straightening up in my boned bodice and a familiar confidence began to spread through me, as if someone were pulling a string from my toes to my head.

‘I don’t think Honey would put up with behaviour like that,’ Nelson went on remorselessly. ‘I bet Honey would just shimmy over there and . . .’

But I was already shimmying, despite all the alarm bells ringing in my head.

I also tried to ignore the little flickers of excitement running up the back of my legs like stocking seams.

‘So that’s where you’ve got to!’ I cooed, bowling up at Nicky’s right hand. ‘We missed you!’

A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he soon disguised it with his usual ironic expression. ‘Pleased to hear it.’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ I asked, then before Nicky could respond, I extended a hand. ‘Hello, I’m Honey.’

‘My flatmate,’ said Nelson, appearing behind me. ‘And Prince Nicolas’s
date
for the evening.’

Nicolas shot him a dirty look at that, but Nelson just gave him his best vicar-ish smile.

‘Honey, this is Sophie Belvedere,’ he went on. ‘She’s in charge of raffle tickets.’

‘Head of in-house lottery sales,’ gasped Sophie, with a quick sidelong glance in Nicky’s direction. ‘Prince Nicolas was just telling me about his grandfather’s yacht,’ she added breathlessly. ‘It sounds fabulous.’

‘Indeed,’ said Nicky. ‘I was just asking Sophie here if she’d like to join me on a weekend cruise later in the year.’

Sophie’s eyelashes went into overdrive.

‘Now, hang on, Nicky!’ I said, with a little laugh. ‘That wasn’t quite the plan!’

‘Wasn’t it?’ he replied, his little laugh more steely than mine.

‘No!’ I smiled. ‘The plan was,
Sophie
, that Prince Alexander would offer a long weekend on the yacht as one of the top raffle prizes! He’s a terribly keen sailor himself, as is Prince Nicolas . . .’

I looked at him for confirmation at this point. His jaw was hanging open slightly, but his mind was clearly working at its maximum velocity.

‘Hang on—’ he began, but I rushed in before he could continue.

‘I know it’s awfully last-minute, but Sail Away is definitely a charity both princes are delighted to be
associated with
,’ I said, getting close enough to Nicky to nudge him. ‘And what could be nicer than offering someone the opportunity of sharing their own boat?’

I nudged Nicky again. He had the nerve to nudge me back.

‘Tremendous fun, sailing,’ he said. ‘Comes in handy – learning how to tie things up, and so on . . .’

‘Nicky would host the weekend, of course,’ I went on smoothly, ‘and I’m sure the winner would have a wonderful dinner somewhere as part of the prize . . .’

‘I had no idea you were a sailor,’ said Nelson, in a tone that suggested that he still didn’t. ‘Do you spend much time at sea? What sort of yacht is it you sail?’

Nicky looked condescending. ‘One with crew quarters? It’s not the sort of yacht one actually sails oneself, you know.’

‘Ha ha ha!’ I interjected, before cattiness could set in. ‘Anyway, sorry to spring this on you, Sophie, but Nicolas is terribly spontaneous. Why don’t you pop back in and make an announcement?’ I suggested. ‘Let people get their cheque books out before the main draw!’

‘
Thanks
,’ said Nicky sarcastically, when Sophie had bounded out of earshot.

‘No,’ said Nelson, shaking his hand in a hearty English fashion. ‘Thank
you
. I can’t wait to hear all about this boat of yours. Is it what we salty seadogs call “a gin palace”? That’s a technical term, by the way.’

‘Stop it, Nelson!’ I hissed.

As quickly as the rush of Honey adrenalin had swept through me, I could feel that dizzying confidence seeping away, and suddenly I was just standing in the corridor, with one irate socialite and a rather smug flatmate. I still had no idea where it came from, but, when it did, it was like having a whole other woman thinking in my brain. Which made it all the more freaky when it was just me again.

I could see Nelson was spoiling to give Nicky a short test on the history of sailing, so I packed him off after Sophie to get the raffle tickets while I steered Nicky back into the dining room.

‘Listen, it’s great publicity,’ I said, trying not to notice how well-cut his dinner jacket was and how well his shoulders were filling it. ‘All the magazines are here – I’ve seen at least two diary photographers and someone my sister knew at school who works on
Harpers
. You’ll be photographed with the organisers, you’ll be helping inner-city kids, you’ll be looking spontaneous and generous . . . It’s perfect.’

Nicky stopped and frowned. ‘Is it too unreasonable to ask that you check with me before you do things like that?’

‘And lose the spontaneity?’ I gazed at him innocently. ‘Anyway, your grandfather said I could do whatever I needed to, if it made you look good.’

‘And what if some gorgeous married woman wins the prize? What am I supposed to do then?’

‘Play deck quoits with her husband.’

‘You can play deck quoits,’ said Nicky, holding the door open for me.

‘Me?’

‘You’ll have to come too.’

‘But . . .’

He paused in the doorway, his arm over my head. ‘But, of course. Aren’t you meant to be my on-call PR?’

I took a deep breath, and inhaled a lungful of Nicky’s cologne, and suddenly saw why Sophie had looked so intoxicated.

‘That’s why you came running over when you saw me talking to her, right?’ he added smugly. ‘I mean, it wasn’t because you just didn’t like me talking to another girl?’

I dragged my attention back to my mental list of improving rules, and drew up my spine so I was looking straight into his lazy brown eyes. ‘Yes,’ I said, forcing myself not to drop my gaze or blush at the arrogant way he was smirking at me. ‘It was because I wanted to remind you that when you take a lady out for the evening, she should be the only woman in the room as far as you’re concerned.’

‘Even if she’s my on-call PR?’

‘Particularly if she’s your on-call PR.’

‘Well, you’ve managed that,’ he said, not dropping his gaze either. ‘Consider my eyes strictly glued to you for the rest of the evening.’

Chunder, or Selwyn, or whatever I was meant to call him, seemed to be in the middle of an
hilarious
mobile phone call, while Imogen’s laser-like stare followed me and Nicky back from the door. I could virtually feel her sharp eyes etching ‘He’s mine’ into my head as I walked across the room – behind him, I might add: I didn’t want to risk any funny business with my lacing.

Back at the table, Roger had taken advantage of Nicky’s absence to engage Zara in conversation and the pair of them were miming and nodding away happily. Roger, especially, looked dazed to the point of slipping under the table.

‘Ah,’ I said, sliding into the seat next to Gabi. ‘Look at Zara and Roger! I think they’re holding hands under the tablecloth!’

‘Holding
hands?
’ Gabi snorted. ‘You think?’

‘Yes,’ I insisted, as she dug me in the ribs. ‘What else would they be doing? I think it’s romantic!’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Gabi. ‘You carry on thinking that, then.’

Leonie, meanwhile, resumed her lecture to Gabi how much money she could be saving by moving her credit cards every six months and investing the money in mini-ISAs. Aaron seemed more interested than Gabi, and was leaning over the table, the better to pick up Leonie’s advice.

‘So, how many cards do you have?’ I heard Leonie ask.

Gabi squirmed. ‘Um, just five.’

Aaron looked suspicious, as well he might. I knew for a fact that she had at least eight.

‘Store cards, or credit cards?’ she persisted.

‘Anyway, Leonie, now Melissa’s back, tell us – what was she like at school, then?’ asked Gabi, desperate to change the subject.

Imogen leaned forward to get Nicky’s attention, so the front of her dress gaped, revealing an expanse of flat golden chest. She had those visible bones between her neck and her cleavage, like Paris Hilton. I didn’t think my body contained those bones. I’d certainly never seen them.

‘Darling,’ she said, ‘where are we going on afterwards?’

Nicky shot a look at me. ‘I might just go home,’ he said nonchalantly.

Imogen’s face registered shock. ‘Home? What? Why?’

‘Where’s that, then?’ bellowed Chunder, snapping his phone shut. ‘New bar?’

‘No, home,’ said Nicky. ‘Where I live.’

‘You are
so
not going home,’ retorted Imogen.

Gabi, Aaron, Nelson, Leonie and Roger tried not to stare at the mini domestic unfolding in front of them. Zara merely smiled, oblivious.

Nicky didn’t bother to reply. He just raised an eyebrow, in the manner of a young Mediterranean Roger Moore. I couldn’t work out whether I should get him to stop doing that.

‘You told
me
that the whole
point
of wasting an evening here was that we could go on
somewhere else
afterwards,’ hissed Imogen. She was trying to hiss in an undertone, but there wasn’t really much point when we were all sitting so close together. ‘There’s no way I’d have worn my Missoni – you promised me we’d only have to spend an hour or two with the do-gooders, then go somewhere
interesting
 . . .’

She looked around the table. We were all trying to convey utter disinterest, but I could see Gabi’s lip twitching. Gabi didn’t take being talked down to by posh people. There were Dean & Daniels customers all over SW1 still trying to work out where the odd smell in their bathroom was coming from, who could vouch for that.

‘What?’ Imogen demanded.

‘Were you in
Hollyoaks
?’ asked Gabi innocently. ‘Only I’m sure I’ve seen your face before.’

Imogen snorted furiously. ‘Of course not!’

‘No, now you mention it, I’m just thinking of the
dress
,’ said Gabi. ‘I’ve seen that
dress
on someone from
Hollyoaks
. That’s it.’