Little Lady Agency and The Prince (37 page)

Even with Nicky doing his best to distract me, I couldn’t stop tormenting myself about Jonathan, and what I should do. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, even the most mundane paperwork, and in the end I realised I was doing exactly what I’d yelled at Jonathan for – working, instead of concentrating on our relationship. So I abandoned Freddie Curran’s wardrobe invoice, grabbed my big bag and headed for Green Park to think.

It was a fresh English summer afternoon, and the streets were busy with tourists clutching Buckingham Palace guidebooks and office workers hurrying back with Pret à Manger bags and coffee. I gave myself one lap of the paths to work things out, and set off with a determined stride.

I’d been given so much advice now that it was hard to separate what I truly felt from what everyone else thought I should feel, but two things kept coming back to me: Gabi was right when she said I could have had one tough conversation to make my feelings clear about the business, so why hadn’t I? What was I afraid of?

And Nelson was right when he said I needed someone I could relax with, and I knew I couldn’t with Jonathan. In the beginning, I thought he’d be less hyper once his personal life was happy, but now I realised stress was as much a part of Jonathan’s life as good manners were of mine.

But we’d met so perfectly! I argued. Surely a relationship that had started in such a romantic way deserved to be given every chance?

I stared at the trees and the overflowing litter bins. What was more important here? The relationship – or me and Jonathan?

The truth was, I realised sorrowfully, that Jonathan and I were more in love with the idea of each other than the reality. Romantic though the ideas of each other were, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was a cool businessman, ten years older than me, who’d never understand the mesh of my family loyalties. And he couldn’t keep trying to make me into a soignée, driven businesswoman. It was fine for dating, but neither of us could keep that up over an entire marriage. Not unless we had two houses and permanently clashing diaries, and that wasn’t what I wanted.

But hadn’t my parents managed to stay together, despite being so different and so argumentative?

Desperate for one last shot of advice from someone who actually liked Jonathan, I did the unthinkable: I rang my mother.

From the background noise, she seemed to be in the middle of some industrial process. ‘Hello? Melissa? You’ll have to shout, I’m having my hair done!’

It wasn’t ideal, but needs must.

‘Mummy, I know this sounds weird, but . . .’ I bit my lip. ‘Are you and Daddy happy? I mean, together?’

‘Darling, I’ve been telling you for the last twenty years,’ she bellowed over the dryer, ‘your father and I are not getting divorced. It would cost a
fortune
!’

‘But . . .’

‘Is this about Jonathan?’ yelled Mummy. Like Granny, she could be very shrewd when she wanted.

‘Yes,’ I said, hugging my bag.

‘Trouble?’

I paused, cringing at what the woman in the next chair must be thinking. ‘Yes.’

‘Darling, could you turn that off?’ I jumped, thinking she was talking to me, but the loud whirring stopped. ‘Thank you. Tell Mario I’ll just be a moment. Now, Melissa,’ she went on, only slightly less loudly, ‘I’ll say to you what I said to Emery and Allegra when they got engaged. I know your father and I don’t have the most conventional marriage. But it works because we know the absolute worst and best about each other. Sometimes he’s utterly vile. Sometimes, though, he’s charm personified. But he’s always himself. And so am I. That’s the secret of happy marriages, in my opinion. It’s like waxing your moustache – once you’ve pretended to be something you’re not, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.’

I was still blenching at the thought of Daddy being charm personified.

‘Oh,’ she added, as an afterthought, ‘and always check the laundry basket for rogue underwear.’

‘Thank you,’ I said weakly.

‘I hope everything’s OK, darling?’ Mummy went on. ‘You know how much we like Jonathan.’

‘I know.’ That was part of the problem: he was the first boyfriend I’d had that they hadn’t actively repelled.

I reminded myself that my father liked him so much he’d bought the company. Or tried to.

‘Are you coming to see us soon?’ Mummy asked hopefully. ‘I know Emery would love to see you. She’s having trouble with Nanny Ag, I’m afraid. Bit of a personality clash, I think, and then there’s the christening . . .’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. My mind was about two hundred miles elsewhere. ‘Soon. Mummy, I have to go. I have to book a train ticket.’

To Paris.

I hurried back past the white houses of Belgravia to the office, stiffening my resolve with every click of my heels on the pavement. But when I shoved open the door to the office, I took an involuntary step backwards. My desk was surrounded by dozens and dozens and dozens of velvety red roses, and standing in the middle of them all was Jonathan.

18

‘Hello,’ he said, pushing a hand into his red hair. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t wait until the whole week was up. Do you mind?’

I struggled to breathe normally, and not just because I’d run up two flights of stairs.

This huge romantic gesture was so typical of Jonathan – the roses, the surprise appearance, the flying-to-win-me-back – but suddenly I felt annoyed rather than overwhelmed, as if he’d wrong-footed me here in my own office. I didn’t want grandstanding gestures. I wanted a proper talk. The proper talk we should have had ages ago.

‘No. Of course not. Can I get you a drink?’ I said involuntarily.

Jonathan looked surprised. ‘What? Oh, OK. A coffee would be nice.’

I turned on the coffee machine and tried to steady my thoughts. I couldn’t help aching at how gorgeous Jonathan looked, leaning against my desk with his suit hanging perfectly, and his hair freshly trimmed. I wished I’d washed my hair that morning.

‘If I’d known you were coming I’d have tidied up,’ I said lightly. ‘The office, and myself.’

‘Both look just as cute as ever,’ he said, running his gaze around the room. ‘Makes me feel quite nostalgic, coming in here, catching you on the hop.’ He directed his grey eyes towards me. ‘Although it’s all changed since then, of course.’

‘Well, yes and no.’ I squirmed. ‘Look, sit down.’

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and shifted a pile of paperwork off the chair. It included Gabi’s paintcharts and wallpaper samples. ‘You’re planning on decorating?’ he asked, holding one aloft.

I nodded.

‘Call me Sherlock Holmes, but that doesn’t seem like something you’d do if you were about to move to Paris,’ he observed.

‘It’s what I’d do as a business owner,’ I replied, putting out a cup and saucer for him. ‘It’s nice to freshen the place up.’

‘Shall we cut to the chase, Melissa?’ he said, and pulled my hand, so I was suddenly sitting on his knee, close enough to feel his warm skin through the fine cotton of his shirt. ‘I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I have to say to you to get things back on track, but just tell me, and I’ll say it.’

As his arms tightened round me, my heart lurched in my chest, as if he’d pulled it towards him on a string. How churlish was I being, for God’s sake? Here was a man who was more romantic and independent and . . .
more ideal
than anyone I’d ever met – and he loved me! What was I waiting for?

And yet, deep down, I knew something was missing, and it just wasn’t fair to keep ignoring it.

‘Say you’ll come back with me,’ said Jonathan softly, raising my hand to his lips as he looked up into my eyes. ‘Please? I got you a ticket. First class. Let’s start again, from the beginning.’

I looked back at him and though I felt my heart breaking, that was the problem in a nutshell: did he think two hundred roses and a first-class single were enough to brush all the unspoken problems out of the way? Was I that easy to manage?

‘Jonathan, it’s really hard for me to say this—’ I began, but he interrupted me.

‘If it’s about the business, then I’m prepared to work something—’

‘It’s not about the business,’ I said firmly, and he stopped. ‘It’s us.’

‘Ah,’ he said instead, visibly bracing himself. ‘OK, out with it.’

I cupped Jonathan’s strong jaw in my hand, feeling the first prickles of ginger stubble against my palm. A lump was making its way into my throat and I knew it wouldn’t be long before tears followed. It was like being right at the top of a log flume, knowing the plunge was ahead, and inescapable.

‘I’ve been thinking about nothing else but you since the weekend. And about me, and about our future.’

‘Me too,’ said Jonathan.

‘But . . .’ I summoned up all my inner courage. ‘I just can’t see what that future
is.
I mean, I can picture us going out to dinner, and holding posh drinks parties, and even strolling round the Place des Vosges with a Bugaboo, but I just can’t see the dull everyday stuff.’

‘And that’s important to you? Dull stuff?’ His voice wasn’t cross, just confused.

‘Yes!’ I stroked the arm that was holding me on his knee.

‘Dull stuff . . . Can you be more specific?’

I racked my brains for examples. ‘Like reading the Sunday papers with a hangover, or getting messy painting the nursery. Relaxing. Not talking. Not having to try so hard to be what each other wants.’ I paused, trying to find the right words; words that would let him see it wasn’t his fault, or mine. ‘It’s been like starring in a film, being with you, Jonathan. A film where London is gorgeous and everything sparkles, and I feel a million dollars. But the thing is, my life’s more like a sitcom. Low budget. Ad breaks. I need that vegging out in front of the television time that you hate. You’re in love with a
part
of me, but I can’t be like that
all the time
. I’d end up a nervous wreck, and you’d end up disappointed, I know. I can’t bear the thought of that, when it’s been so wonderful up to now – I’d rather end things while those memories are still perfect. I’m so sorry, Jonathan.’

‘No. God, Melissa. Please don’t give me all that Honey crap again,’ he groaned.

‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ I insisted. He really wasn’t getting this. ‘I’m
always
Melissa, but that efficient side of me you think is so great and effortless? That’s work. I love it, but it’s my
job
. You want someone who’ll power through your social calendar as hard as she’ll drive your business – that’s not me. Just like I can’t force you to enjoy country walks and drooly dogs.’ I tried a sad smile. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. It’s selfish, I know, but I love you too much to let you be disappointed again.’

‘How long have you been thinking this?’ he asked, hurt. ‘Without telling me?’

‘I’ve tried not to think about it,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t really want to do it now, but I can’t
not
.’

‘Is there . . . someone else?’ he asked, and his face was so tight with pain he might as well have said ‘Like Cindy?’

I shook my head. ‘No, Jonathan, there’s no one else, I promise you.’

‘And it’s not just to do with that franchising business?’

I hesitated, knowing I owed it to him to be truthful. ‘That . . . that wasn’t something I was happy about. But it was more of a sign that things weren’t going to work out.’

He took my hand and kissed it again, resting his lips tenderly on each knuckle. There was a painful silence as we both digested what I’d said. I felt sick, but strangely calm.

‘I appreciate you being honest with me,’ he said, at last. ‘I’ve always loved that about you – you’re so . . . honourable. I know I’m not so great at big emotional moments. I guess that’s the problem. But you know I love you, right? Like I’ve never loved anyone else.’

He looked up at me, and his eyes, normally so cool and amused, were filled with a pleading expression I didn’t recognise. And tears. It tore at my heart to hurt him like this. ‘There’s really nothing I can say?’

I shook my head again, not trusting myself to speak as tears filled my eyes too.

‘I hope we won’t . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’re right – we owe it to each other to part in as elegant a way as we met. Melissa, I hope I can still be a special friend to you?’

I flung my arms round him. ‘Jonathan, I never want us to be less than special friends!’ I sobbed. ‘That’s not even in question!’

‘Then that’s something,’ he said, and I think he was crying.

Jonathan left half an hour later, and I spent the rest of the afternoon just sitting in my chair, staring at the wall, ignoring the phone, unable to move or stop the tears rolling silently down my face, until the light began to fade, and shadows started to fall in the office.

At seven, there was a tentative knock on the door, and when I didn’t answer, it pushed slowly open, and Nelson peered round, wearing his cricket whites.

I’d forgotten he had nets that evening. I’d promised to go along and video his bowling for later dissection.

When he saw my tear-ravaged face, and the roses, and the piles of Kleenex covering the desk, his expression changed into one of infinite kindness as he put two and two together and made about ninety. Without speaking, he crossed the room in a few steps and engulfed me in a huge bear hug, pressing my nose into his cricket jumper. There was such gentle concern in that simple, spontaneous gesture that a new reservoir of blubbing burst open and I howled for the romantic cocktail nights and sexy mornings in Jonathan’s New York townhouse, for the surprise birthday plans I’d made for him, for the well-mannered ginger children we’d never have, and for the fact that you could love someone who loved you, but still not be able to make things work.

Nelson, meanwhile, just stroked my hair, until I hiccuped to a blotchy-faced halt.

‘Come on, Mel,’ he murmured soothingly, helping me to my feet. ‘Let’s go home.’

If I was heartbroken at calling off my engagement, I knew it would be nothing compared to the disappointment my parents would feel – something akin to that of a small child who’s been told that Santa’s been dropped for the Christmas gig. My father had only started treating me like an adult since Jonathan came on the scene, and my mother was besotted with him.