Little Lady Agency and The Prince (33 page)

I knew he was trying to cheer me up. I met his teasing eye for a moment, and, for a moment, I was seriously tempted to sidestep into Nicky’s fantasy world for a few days. Be whisked from place to place, not caring about anything, or paying for anything, or thinking too hard about anything . . .

But I couldn’t
not
care. Getting drunk hadn’t worked: I still had to wake up to my own life in the morning. I owed Jonathan an answer. Anyway, it wasn’t me, all that shallowness and posturing. I wasn’t sure I could put it on and take it off, like my blonde wig.

‘Thank you, but I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m going home. I need to get back to London so I can do some thinking.’ My dignity wobbled. ‘I need to work out where the compromises are.’

Nicky’s teasing expression vanished. ‘Don’t worry about the fiancé,’ he said, in a surprisingly normal voice. ‘If he’s got any sense, he’ll be the one doing the compromising.’

‘I’ve already made him move from New York to Paris.’

‘Well, London to Paris might be nearer but it’s still a different country.’ He touched my hand – a delicate gesture, considering he could easily have shoved up the sofa and slung his arm round me. ‘Home is where the heart is, and all that. At least you know where your home is. Mine are all over the place.’

I did know. Home was in a scruffy flat in Pimlico. But surely it was time I grew up and left?

‘I’m just being stupid,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Melissa, you’re not stupid.’ He let his hand rest on mine, and I felt my skin tingle underneath it. Nicky’s hand was soft, but quite cool. ‘Where’s that great big diamond?’

‘I gave it back to him,’ I said sadly.

‘Ah. Now that proves you’re a nice girl. You can tell how nice a girl is by how many presents she needs, and how many she sends back.’

‘It’s not about the
present
,’ I said, ‘it’s the thought that goes into it. I’d rather have tiny gifts that someone had spent time finding, rather than ludicrously expensive ones they’d just charged to their Amex.’ I looked up at Nicky, and blushed a little to see him gazing at me intently.

He raised his eyebrows good-humouredly as if he’d never heard such a weird thing.

‘It’s not good form for a lady to feel she’s being bought,’ I added, as if we were just talking theoretically about his List of Princely Attributes. ‘Or, at least, not good form for her to establish she has a price.’

‘So the Rolls-Royce full of Cartier tank watches I’ve got waiting for you downstairs will just have to go back?’

‘Maybe you should give it to Imogen,’ I said.

Nicky shook his head. ‘She’s more of a Lamborghini girl.’

‘Expensive?’

‘No, loud and thirsty. Impossible to park. Unlike you.’

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Nor of the fact that he hadn’t let go of my hand, and showed no signs of doing so.

Actually, no – now he was threading his fingers through mine, and clasping it with his other hand, while letting a shy smile play across that lusciously sexy mouth.

‘Nicky,’ I said, ‘why didn’t you tell me at the polo that you were going to be in Paris this weekend? I told you I was coming over.’

‘Maybe because I hadn’t decided I was, until you told me that.’ He paused, and looked at me again, sending hot flushes through my whole body. ‘Melissa,’ he began, ‘you know you—’

My phone rang on the table, making us both jump this time.

‘That’ll be Nelson,’ I said, reaching for it. ‘He happened to be in France this weekend too, buying wine in Calais, so he’s coming to pick me up.’

‘Nelly
happened
to be in France?’ repeated Nicky, screwing up his nose incredulously. ‘He
happened
to be here?’

I nodded, and answered the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘I’m outside,’ barked Nelson. ‘Are you ready to come down? Not sure I can leave the car. God knows what sort of parking wardens there are in Paris.’

‘I’ll, um,’ I said, one eye on Nicky, ‘I’ll come down right now.’

‘Oh, let him pop up,’ he said. ‘I’d love to say hello.’

‘No, really,’ I said hurriedly. That was the last thing I needed: handbags at dawn between Nicky and Nelson. ‘I’ll see you in two seconds.’

I hung up, taking a second to stare at the phone and collect myself, then I turned back to Nicky.

‘I have to go,’ I said. ‘Thank you for last night.’

Even I saw the double entendre in there, but he didn’t rise to it.

‘Glad I was there,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry it was under such tricky circs.’

I took his hand and squeezed it. Well, if he could do it, so could I. ‘Maybe I’m doing better with you than I thought.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning you rescued a damsel in distress, took her home and didn’t try it on.’

‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘Either I’m slipping or you’re winning.’

I shouldered my bag, and let Nicky guide me out of the apartment, into the elaborate elevator, and down to the arcade beneath, where Nelson was standing, arms crossed, peering at the architecture.

I felt better at once, just for seeing his familiar messy blond hair and meticulously ironed blue shirt. He was a pure pocket of Englishness next to the Clios and manicured French trees in the square.

‘Nelson! It’s so nice to see you,’ I said, giving him a hug.

‘And you,’ he said, staring, I think, over my head at Nicky. ‘Are you OK?’ he muttered into my hair. ‘He hasn’t . . . you know?’

I pulled away. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Nicky,’ said Nelson, extending a hand.

‘Nelly,’ said Nicky, shaking it. I noticed he’d gone back to his usual louche mannerism. ‘It was my pleasure.’

Nelson’s eyes narrowed, then he took my bag off me. ‘Right, Mel, if you’re ready? Don’t bother waving us off. I’m sure you’ve got lots to be getting on with. Choosing a new flag for your castle and so on.’

I wondered where he’d parked the car, and, more to the point, why he was trying to get shot of Nicky before we left. Then I looked down the arcade and realised. There was no sign of Nelson’s battered Range Rover which he was normally totally devoted to, especially since he had it converted to run on recycled chip oil or something. Instead, parked just three cars away was my tiny pink Little Lady car.

I stared at it. ‘You drove my Smart here? All the way to France?’ I didn’t add, ‘In a pink car with a cartoon woman on the side.’ That much was obvious.

Nelson coughed. ‘Yes, well, it was a bit cramp-inducing towards the end, but . . .’

‘You must be buying very small bottles of wine,’ observed Nicky. ‘Babycham, perhaps?’

‘I lent the Range Rover to Leonie so she could move house,’ he explained to me, shooting a ferocious glare towards Nicky. ‘I forgot. And there wasn’t time to go and get it back. I just thought . . . you know, time was of the essence . . .’

I smiled. ‘It’s the perfect car for Paris,’ I said, linking my arm through his. ‘Let’s get home.’

‘Melissa?’ called Nicky. ‘Shall I have your clothes laundered and sent back to the office?’

Nelson sucked in some air between his teeth.

‘If I can find all the little . . . bits and pieces,’ Nicky added, rather unnecessarily, I thought.

‘That would be really kind,’ I said, turning about as pink as the car.

Being with Nelson meant I could no longer ignore the reality of my argument with Jonathan, but at the same time it wasn’t quite as scary as it had felt, standing alone on the bridge.

Slowly, very slowly, I was beginning to realise that I’d only asked the questions that needed to be asked. And Jonathan hadn’t come up with answers.

Nelson listened patiently as I spilled out all the awful details, sucking his teeth at the worst bits and wordlessly passing me his cotton handkerchief as I confessed, to myself as well as to Nelson, that I just wasn’t sure what I wanted any more.

Eventually, he let a long pause fall, presumably to make sure I’d finished, then said, ‘I think you’ve done the right thing.’

‘Why?’ I asked miserably.

‘Look, Jonathan’s not a
bad
man, and I’m sure he loves you. But there are some things that you just can’t ignore, and rating a business deal above how you’d feel about being in your father’s pocket again . . . He doesn’t get it. And I don’t care for the way he was happy to abandon that dog of his at your mother’s, either.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I keep asking when we can bring Braveheart over, but he’s not keen. I don’t think Jonathan’s a dog person.’

‘That’s not the point. Well, maybe it is. And I didn’t like the way he never consulted you about anything – moving to Paris, this business you were going to run together, giving up your agency . . . He just sprang things on you, so you could agree with him!’

‘Mm.’ I didn’t think I needed to tell Nelson about the way Jonathan had virtually pencilled babies into my diary.

‘Having said that,’ he conceded reluctantly, ‘you do need to
tell
him what you’re not happy about. Have you actually spelled it out for him?’

‘Yes!’ I said.

‘Ding!’ said Nelson.

‘I have,’ I insisted. ‘It’s just that . . . I don’t think Jonathan hears it.’

Nelson took his eyes off the road to look at me directly: a sign of deep concern. ‘I’m not going to go on about this, Mel, but when you started that agency, it was as though you suddenly got the confidence to be yourself. I really admired the way you stood up to your dad, the way you knuckled down and made it work. It’s something to be really proud of.’ He looked very slightly abashed. ‘And I don’t mind admitting those tight skirts were . . . very you. But since you got engaged to Jonathan, you’ve started to let people boss you around again. Mainly him. One minute you were turning him down because he wanted you to move to New York, then suddenly it’s all on again and you’re both moving to Paris. What changed? Did you talk about it?’

‘Not really,’ I said sadly. ‘It just . . . happened. But that’s the thing about being with Jonathan – it’s like being in a film. Lovely dinners, and dressing up, and feeling glamorous and witty . . .’

Nelson abandoned his polite driving style and pulled over into a lay-by, causing the van on our tail to swerve and honk furiously at us. ‘Melissa,’ he said, turning round as far as his seat belt would allow. ‘You
are
glamorous. You
are
witty. Even when I see you in the kitchen with your hair in rollers, you look utterly fabulous to me. Jonathan is a
businessman
, who used to be married to a boring, ambitious, bitch of a businesswoman. No wonder he fell for you! But life – real life – can’t always be dressing up and fancy dinners. Sometimes it’s leaky plumbing and flu and ironing. And you need to be able to
talk
about problems, not just go along with what one person decides.’

I opened my mouth to agree, but Nelson hadn’t finished. ‘I don’t want to give you a lecture. I just want to say this. You’re an incredible woman, and I know you’ll make someone happy for ever, and that’s what you deserve in return, Mel. Someone who’ll love you, and respect you, and share everything with you, whatever happens.’

I met Nelson’s gaze, and saw the concern and affection creasing his forehead, making his blue eyes crinkle earnestly at the edges. He was a fine, decent man, I thought, through my general ache. Listening to him in full flow was like hearing ‘Rule Britannia’ performed by a male voice choir and a brass band.

‘Someone who loves you for who you are,’ he went on, more passionately. ‘Who knows the real you, not just Honey.’ He tried a little smile. ‘Someone you can take your shoes off with, even when your feet reek?’

And with that, he put his finger on the splinter that had been twisting into my heart: Jonathan was really in love with the Honey he’d met first, not me. That was really all Jonathan knew – me making a big effort. He’d never even seen me with leg-hair.

I gasped with pain at that realisation at exactly the moment Nelson put his hand on my knee, and he whisked it away as if my knee was red-hot. It was a very small car. We were practically sitting on each other’s laps as it was.

‘You can put your hand back if you like,’ I said sadly. ‘I think we know each other well enough by now, Nelson.’

‘Quite,’ said Nelson awkwardly. ‘God, this is . . . not a great moment, but . . . um . . . I just hate to see you unhappy when I . . . when you mean so much to me.’ A flush spread across his cheekbones and down his long nose. ‘
Very
much to me, in fact.’

I knew from my vast experience of British men that declarations of fondness that didn’t involve taking the mickey out of your hair were hard to come by.

‘And you mean the world to me,’ I replied. ‘Oh, Nelson!’ I said, a sudden rush of affection surging through me. I flung my arms around him. ‘I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you! Thank you so much for coming to get me! You’re the only man I can really rely on.’

He pulled away so he could examine my face.

‘What, um, what
exactly
do you mean by that?’ he asked, with an intense look that made his eyes seem quite dark.

I stared back at him, confused. Through the mists in my brain, I remembered what Gabi had said about Nelson’s fondness for me, and wondered if this was some kind of . . . of romantic overture?

Surely not. It was so the wrong time. And place. Nelson wouldn’t
dream
of taking emotional advantage of an old, old friend who’d just argued with her fiancé – but not quite called things off yet. That would be the final weirdness, and I wasn’t sure I could cope with that right now.

‘I mean . . . I’m so lucky to have you as a friend, and flatmate, and everything else!’ I blinked. Then, to break the rapidly growing strangeness in the car, I flung my arms back around him and hugged him again.

‘That’s what I thought you meant,’ sighed Nelson, which put my mind at rest.

16

I spent most of Sunday in a misery-coma, which Nelson helped me through in sympathetic silence. He cooked me eggy bread to tempt my dead appetite, and passed me fresh white hankies, all without saying much, for which I was grateful. Eventually, I fell asleep on his shoulder after two or three glasses of red wine too many while we watched an old
Poirot
and he hoisted me off to bed like a bag of sails, leaving a pint-glass of water and some Nurofen by my bed. Just two, though. Not the whole packet. I was so moved by his gentleness that I had to pretend to be asleep when he tucked the duvet over me, or else I’d have started crying again.