Secrets of a Teenage Heiress

by Katy Birchall

  ‘Flick,’ Mum began in her best warning tone.

  ‘Mum, look, all my friends agree that I would gain millions of followers like that –’ I clicked my fingers for effect – ‘if I started vlogging. All the other heiresses are doing it. At my age most of them have handbag and perfume ranges, thanks to their online profiles. I’m fourteen years old now; you have to let me do my own thing. You know, like in The Little Mermaid.’

  ‘The Disney film?’ Mum looked baffled. ‘What’s that got to do with vlogging?’

  ‘Duh. Her dad is all clingy and so she leaves him to go and live with the hot prince. You know, Mum, you could learn a lot from King Triton’s mistakes.’

  ‘Hi, Christine.’

  I sighed dramatically as Cal came over, his laptop nestled under his arm. Why was he always butting in?

  ‘Hello, Callum,’ Mum said brightly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, I was just on my way to see Chef. I hear he’s got a new strawberry mousse on the menu.’

  ‘He does, it’s outstanding.’ Mum turned to me. ‘Have you tried the new mousse?’

  ‘I don’t care about mousse!’ I cried. ‘What about my selfie stick?’

  ‘Trust me, this mousse is to die for.’ Mum turned back to Cal, completely ignoring my distress. ‘I hear you came top of the class again in your English paper?’

  Cal blushed. ‘Dad told you, huh? It was only one essay, it’s not a big deal.’

  ‘He’s very proud of you, and so he should be. You always were very hard-working.’

  I couldn’t help but notice Mum direct a wistful glance towards me as she said that.

  Which was very unfair considering I would be just as hard-working if SOMEONE didn’t go around lending random princes my selfie stick and thus keeping me from uploading said hard work.

  ‘Still hoping to be a journalist some day?’

  ‘That’s the big plan.’

  ‘I can introduce you to Nicholas Huntley, if you’d like,’ Mum continued. Cal’s eyes widened.

  ‘Why would you want to meet him?’ I crossed my arms, annoyed that the conversation was moving away from the problem in hand. ‘Isn’t he just the guy who married that actress, Helena Montaine?’

  Hotel Royale was one of Helena Montaine’s favourite places to dine, so she was often here for big meetings with famous directors or with her new husband, Nicholas Huntley, and her daughter and step-daughter, the It Girls Marianne Montaine and Anna Huntley. It was always a big deal when they were in the building, as there would be hordes of paparazzi outside waiting to get a photo. Famous people stay at the hotel all the time, but Mum was particularly friendly with Helena and her husband. I often saw her enjoying a drink with them in the cocktail bar, talking about really boring topics that no one cares about, like the news and stuff.

  ‘Nicholas Huntley happens to be the greatest journalist of all time,’ Cal said pompously. ‘And he’s written some of the most important books about war weaponry there have ever been. His book on tanks won the Baillie Gifford Prize.’

  I yawned as he finished his sentence. There is seriously no one in the world as boring as Cal Weston. Except maybe this Nicholas Huntley person and his tank books.

  ‘Tell me, Callum,’ Mum said, abruptly standing up and straightening her white tailored jacket. ‘Do you spend your evenings vlogging?’

  ‘Uh.’ Cal looked confused. ‘No. It’s not really my thing.’

  ‘You see, Flick?’ Mum looked back down at me. ‘Cal doesn’t vlog.’

  ‘That’s because he has nothing interesting to say,’ I protested, as Cal rolled his eyes. ‘It’s me the people want to know about.’

  ‘We’ll talk about this later. You’ll have to do without the selfie stick for one night. And so will Fritz.’

  ‘But Mu–’

  ‘End of discussion, Flick,’ Mum said firmly. ‘Now, I’ve got another meeting to get to. Good to see you, Callum. Keep up the hard work.’

  She patted Cal on the shoulder and walked back across the reception hall and through the revolving doors to her car waiting outside.

  ‘You’re starting a vlog?’ Cal sniggered. ‘About what?’

  ‘About my life,’ I huffed. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to know about your life?’

  ‘Excuse me, I featured on the Daily Post ’s “50 Heirs to Watch” list. So there.’

  ‘Yeah, you came in at number forty-nine,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Real impressive.’

  I glared at his back, then stomped loudly towards the lift with Fritz, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Audrey and Matthew, and prodded the button for Floor 15. Leaning against the back mirror of the lift, I cuddled Fritz as the blinking light passed the other floor numbers.

  The whole thing was completely ridiculous and totally unfair. Just because Prince Gustav Xavier III is a prince, it doesn’t mean he can go around stealing stuff. And, what’s more, HE’S NOT EVEN A REAL PRINCE! The monarchy in his country hasn’t properly existed since FOREVER, but he still swans about the place using the ‘prince’ title, going to the best parties and stealing other people’s selfie sticks.

  That was when the idea hit me. He wasn’t actually using the selfie stick right now because he was at afternoon tea with his aunt! Mum had said it had been left out for him for when he got back. So I could sneak into his suite, grab the selfie stick, take it back to my room for Fritz’s photo shoot and then if Prince Gustav needed it later, he could come and ask and I might be inclined to lend it to him. I congratulated myself out loud to Fritz on such an excellent plan. He barked in agreement.

  All I had to do was break into Mum’s office in the flat and get hold of her master key, which opens every room in the hotel. And that was a doddle. I’d had a key cut for her office without her knowing when I was nine. I would be in and out of Prince Gustav’s room in a matter of seconds without anyone noticing. Easy.

  Obviously now that I was hiding inside Prince Gustav’s wardrobe while he pouted in what he referred to as a ‘mysterious yet alluring way’, I regretted that decision.

  I had been so close to victory. I’d had the selfie stick in my hands when I heard a booming voice echoing down the corridor. I had run to the door to check through the peephole and, sure enough, there was Prince Gustav, striding towards me, arguing with one of his many security guards about the pros and cons of social media.

  I quickly threw the selfie stick back down and, after running about the room in a panic, I clambered into the wardrobe and crouched back as far as possible.

  Attempting to get comfortable without making any noise, I realised that the chances of my mum finding out about this were really quite high. If Prince Gustav decided to don different outfits for his new Instagram account, which, judging by his levels of enthusiasm, was highly likely, I was busted.

  My only hope was that Prince Gustav might have to rush off to a party or something, leaving the coast clear.

  ‘Keep this up, Your Royal Highness, and you’ll have more Instagram followers by the end of the day than all the Kardashians put together!’

  I sighed as Prince Gustav pulled the bouquet of flowers out of the vase on the dressing table and struck a rose-sniffing pose.

  ‘Very creative, Your Highness!’ Freddie cheered. ‘Something for the ladies!’

  That was when disaster struck.

  The dulcet tones of Fritz’s high-pitched bark went off in my pocket: my text alert. I had forgotten to put my phone on silent and I was suddenly getting a flurry of messages. Who was texting me this much? I reached for my phone but it was too late.

  I heard quick footsteps and someone yell, ‘GET BACK, YOUR HIGHNESS,’ before the wardrobe doors were dramatically swung open and I found myself squinting up at the prince’s burly security men.

  ‘Hi,’ I squeaked, ducking my head to look through their legs at Prince Gustav, who was standing against the back wall with a security guard shielding him, the selfie stick still swinging from his hand
and the flowers scattered all over the floor. ‘Welcome to Hotel Royale, Prince Gustav. I’m Flick.’

  He blinked back at me in shocked silence.

  ‘Great pictures, by the way. Instagram won’t know what’s hit it.’

  Yep. Mum was definitely going to kill me.

  Flick! OMG I had to text you straight away. You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Are you there?

  Flick? Are you there? Helloooooo!

  OK, I’ll just tell you anyway. I was just in the garden talking to Mum and A BIRD LANDED ON MY HEAD

  Seriously, it just landed right on there!!! I didn’t even have any food on my head or anything, it just perched there! According to Dad it was a sparrow. I’ll send you all the pics now! Mum took a hundred of them! Enjoy!

  Hey Grace, sorry for the late reply.

  Got myself in a bit of an awkward situation here involving a prince.

  Talk later

  OMG your life is so cool compared to mine. You’re hanging out with royalty and I’ve spent the evening with a bird on my head!! Oh well. At least it didn’t poop in my hair! See you at school!

  ‘Fan. Demand?’

  That’s how my mum spoke those words, as though there was a full stop between them. She always speaks like that when she’s really angry – no long sentences but every word coming out of her mouth is said veeeeery sloooooowly to make sure her victim feels as nervous as possible. Luckily, I’m pretty immune to that tone these days.

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded, folding my arms and wondering how long this was going to take. This whole selfie-stick debacle had taken up most of my evening already.

  Mum looked at Audrey and Matthew – both of whom were standing a few metres away watching the proceedings – supposedly to see if either of them had any comments at this stage. Neither of them said anything, so she turned back to face me.

  Fritz was there too, lying across my feet, which is this weird thing he does. I don’t mind it because if I’m not wearing shoes it keeps my feet warm, which is handy, but sometimes I forget he’s there and get up to do something and he suddenly tips off and goes rolling across the floor. I would find those occasions funny if he didn’t get in such a strop with me afterwards.

  ‘Just so I’m clear,’ Mum began, leaning back on her desk, ‘“fan demand” is . . . your explanation?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘Otherwise none of this would have happened.’

  ‘What. Do. You. Mean?’

  ‘I tried explaining this to you earlier but you refused to listen.’ I sighed. ‘I had to upload a new post on to Fritz’s Instagram feed at 5.30 p.m. That’s when I had promised his legion of fans that the next photo would be up. I didn’t want to let them down! It would be like that time Matthew promised he’d get me front-row tickets for Cirque du Soleil at the last minute but it wasn’t his priority and I ended up in Row F behind some stupid lady with a topknot.’

  Matthew gave a small cough. I smiled graciously at him.

  ‘Don’t worry, Matthew, you forgive and forget.’

  ‘Go. On. With. The. Story,’ Mum growled. Seriously, someone get the lady a Strepsil.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t upload the photo without the selfie stick. It just wouldn’t have worked with the rest of the vibe of Fritz’s feed. It’s very specific and artistic. And I didn’t have any appropriate stock photos I could use instead. So I was just going to pop in to see Prince Gustav, ask for the selfie stick for five minutes and that would be that! But he wasn’t there.’

  ‘So you just . . . decided to break in and steal it?’ Mum asked slowly.

  ‘You know, when you say it like that, it really sounds a lot worse than it was. I mean, technically Prince Gustav stole the stick from me.’

  Mum closed her eyes for a moment and let out a long, deep sigh.

  Seizing the opportunity, I pulled out my phone, checking for messages. Thankfully there were no more photos of Grace with a bird on her head. There was just one from Ella reminding me that I’d borrowed her mascara at school yesterday and could she have it back. Ella can be so whiny when she wants to be. Which is a LOT of the time.

  ‘I guess we’re done here,’ I said, preparing to stand up.

  ‘Not. Quite.’

  I slumped back into the seat. Mum walked slowly around the desk to sit down in the large leather chair behind it. She put her head back and looked up at the ceiling before ever so slowly lowering her eyes back down to meet mine. Talk about dramatic.

  ‘Mum, I really have to get back to my friend. It’s important.’ I waved my phone about.

  ‘I’m sure the important business of a fourteen-year-old can wait while we try to get to the bottom of why you took it upon yourself to break into Prince Gustav’s hotel room.’

  ‘I told you, to get my selfie stick. Mum, were you even listening? I just explained the whole thing.’

  ‘Did I or did I not ask you to do without it. For. One. Night?’

  ‘I was going to put it back,’ I pointed out. ‘Mum, no offence, but you’re kind of overreacting.’

  Mum pinched the top of her nose, which is a signal that she is concentrating. Hard.

  It is highly dangerous to interrupt her when she is pinching the top of her nose. I know this because I once interrupted her pinching the top of her nose at a cashpoint. She’d had a mind blank about her PIN and all I did was point out that she was being really embarrassing standing in the street, pinching the top of her nose. According to her, she had been this close to remembering her pin but my ‘loud’ interruption had disturbed her and so her card got swallowed. She spent the next few days droning on and on about how frustrating it was to be waiting for a new debit card and then giving me pointed looks. The word ‘scapegoat’ comes to mind.

  Whatever, I selflessly let that one go. But I know now never to interrupt the weird, nose-pinching thing.

  I began texting Ella back while I waited for Mum to conclude her nose-pinching, but stopped when Audrey gave a not-so-subtle ‘ahem’, and waggled her eyebrows at me. I put my phone back in my pocket.

  ‘I want you to listen to me very carefully, Felicity,’ Mum began, lowering her hand and opening her eyes. ‘You are going to go and see Prince Gustav – NOT when you decide, Audrey will book an appointment with him – and you will be on time for the appointment and you will apologise profusely for your behaviour and assure him that nothing like this will ever happen again. Is that clear?’

  ‘Crystal. Audrey, let me know a time that suits. Can I go now?’

  ‘I’m. Not. Finished.’ Mum clasped her hands together, resting them on the desk. ‘You will be grounded for two weeks.’

  ‘WHAT?’ I sat upright, disturbing Fritz who snarled loudly. ‘You can’t do that! It’s Ella’s party next week!’

  ‘I can do that, and you’re lucky it’s only two weeks and not longer. In addition, you will help around the hotel in whatever way Audrey and Matthew see fit. If you’re going to be stuck here every evening, you might as well make yourself useful.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I looked at her in disbelief. ‘Like . . .  chores?’

  Audrey stifled a laugh. Traitor.

  ‘Yes, chores. I suggest you begin by helping the catering team in the kitchen. I’m sure they have some dishes that need washing. You can start right now.’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to tell Ella?’ I huffed. ‘She was counting on me going to her party.’

  ‘You can tell her that your mother is punishing you because you broke into the room of Prince Gustav Xavier III and you’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.’ She stood up and gestured towards the door, indicating the end of the conversation. ‘I’m sure Ella will be able to handle your absence from her party with grace and understanding.’

  I snorted.

  Clearly, Mum had never met Ella before. Last time she invited me to one of her ‘exclusive’ sleepovers, I couldn’t go because my aunt was over from New York. I’ve never been invited to one again.

  ‘What about Fritz?’ I argued, after t
he party plea didn’t work.

  ‘What about Fritz?’

  ‘I need to walk him and stuff.’

  ‘You can fit that in around your chores. Or you can ask Jamie if he will kindly take him on an extra-long walk during the day.’

  Jamie was one of the sommeliers and also Fritz’s daytime walker. He was mad about dogs and offered to walk Fritz when Mum had just bought him and was working out what to do with him while I was at school. Apparently, Jamie likes to discuss the new wines he introduces to the menu with Fritz on his daily walks to the park – it helps him remember all the details about the vintages and vineyards.

  ‘Audrey,’ Mum continued, ‘if you could accompany Flick down to the kitchens and explain the situation to Chef, I would be very grateful. I have to make an appearance at an event in the ballroom. And if someone could pick her up from the kitchen and escort her back to our flat in an hour, I would also appreciate it.’

  ‘I am not a child,’ I hissed, sweeping Fritz up from the floor into my arms, and stomping to the door.

  Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘You could have fooled me.’

  Audrey waited for me to drop Fritz back off at the flat and then walked me down to the kitchen. Chef was running around trying to prepare everything for dinner and, after a brief word with Audrey, he welcomed me to his team and pointed at the pile of dirty pots stacked next to a large sink in the far corner.

  ‘You’ll be out of everyone’s way there.’ He smiled, with a wink at Audrey.

  I shot them both a dirty look before Chef gave me the thumbs up and sped off to season a sauce. Audrey put her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’ll be back for you in an hour. Try to stay out of trouble until then.’

  I shook her hand off and stropped over to the sink, eyeing up the repulsive neon orange washing-up gloves. I held one of them up for inspection.