A Royal Match

by Connell O'Tyne

  ‘That’s the best dress I’ve ever seen on a girl,’ he teased, referring to the last dress he’d seen me in, which was several sizes too big and safety-pinned up the back by Sister Regina.

  ‘But anyway, this particular dress is soooo seriously phenomenal.’

  Instead of laughing or showing any curiosity, he didn’t even look up. He just kept tracing his hand along my wrist and up my arm. I felt all tingly and excited because here I was, an ordinary regular American girl – a commoner – sitting in a pizza shop in Windsor having my hand stroked by Prince Freddie outside one of his very own family castles. It was just so madly cool I was blushing, and even though sometimes the best things are expressed without words, after a while I became desperate for him to say something like how excited he was that he was going to see me at the ball.

  But he didn’t.

  So eventually I pushed the issue myself. ‘You are going to La Fiesta, aren’t you?’ I asked, looking deeply into his ink-blue eyes.

  He looked away as if wondering where the pizzas were and ran one of his long-fingered hands through his jet black locks.

  ‘No, actually, I’ve got a prior engagement.’

  ‘A prior engagement?’ I repeated, just because, well just because I was floored and I say dumb things when I’m floored.

  He started holding my hand again, which was nice, but then he said, ‘The pizza’s taking a while,’ as if he wanted to change the subject or maybe he thought eating pizza was more interesting than my tiny skirt and cashmere top with jewels on it, or the ball.

  ‘What sort of prior engagement?’ I probed lightly, looking around as if I was really desperate to get to the bottom of the slow pizza mystery as well.

  He looked distracted although still managing to look distressingly fit. When I’m distracted I look mildly insane and addled. ‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ he asked, smiling his easy I’m-the-heir-to-the-throne-and-nothing-bothers-me smile.

  ‘You said you had a prior engagement on the night of the La Fiesta Ball?’ I reminded him, but all he said was, ‘Oh, at last, here comes our pizza.’

  As they placed our pizza in the middle of our little table, I wondered how on earth he could even contemplate eating after dropping a bombshell like that on me. All my school life at Saint Augustine’s I had longed to attend one of these balls, and now that I was actually going to one, my prince charming (I’m being sarcastic) was off on a ‘prior engagement,’ whatever that means.

  He was already chewing on a piece of pizza but sort of grinning at me at the same time. So I took a slice of the Hawaiian side and pretended I was just as hungry and not churned up inside in the least.

  As we ate, he spoke of his holiday and asked about mine. I fell into the trap of pretending nothing was wrong, and the afternoon slipped by in companionable fake conversations. All I really wanted to discuss was this wretched prior engagement.

  So why didn’t I press him?

  Why were we acting like I wasn’t gutted?

  Was I actually becoming English?

  After the pizza we ordered tea, and as I was squeezing the lemon into mine (I normally take milk but I was enjoying the symmetry of drinking my Earl Grey just like Freddie) he said, ‘It’s a sort of Annual Euro Royal Bash thing we hold every year. Hellish, but it goes with the job.’

  Bloody royals, I thought to myself grumpily as I looked outside at the rain.

  Freddie laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Bloody royals,’ he mimicked, and I suddenly realised I’d actually thought out loud. I soooo had to stop doing that.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be, I say it all the time,’ he teased.

  As much as I wanted to stay with him, I was beginning to get seriously worried about the time and about getting back to school. Our curfew was four-thirty, and if we were late we’d get a gating, which would mean no more kisses and pizzas with Freddie. I began to panic about where the others were and whether I should call them. It’s amazing how quickly time flies when you’re with a prince downplaying a topic that’s practically burning an ulcer into your stomach.

  I didn’t get a chance to probe further because just then, Kevin, Star and Georgina burst in on us. ‘Calypso, quick,’ Star insisted crossly. ‘We’ve ordered a taxi and it’s picking us up at the tea shop where you were meant to be meeting us! Indie is waiting there on her own.’

  Star didn’t even look at Freddie. She’s never really forgiven him for the way he treated me over the tabloid photograph Honey took. At the time he actually believed Honey’s story that I was some sort of Mata Hari-type girl, just dying to get my fifteen minutes of fame.

  ‘What about Portia?’ I asked. The rain was bucketing down now.

  ‘She’s probably spending some time with her brother,’ Georgina replied.

  ‘I can call Tarkie and check,’ Freddie offered, pulling his BlackBerry out.

  ‘I think we should,’ I pressed. So Freddie made a quick call on his mobile and confirmed that Tarkie and Portia were together and that Tarkie was dropping his sister off at school in a bit.

  So that was that. I said an awkward goodbye to Freddie, no kiss, not even an air kiss. More importantly, he made no promise to txt or call. I know we were with a whole pile of friends, but still …

  Georgina, Star and I flew out the door, into the rain, and legged it to the tea shop.

  I understood that Freddie had a prior engagement and that as heir to the throne, that went with the job, but I couldn’t help wondering how Billy would have behaved in the same situation. Maybe I’d been a bit too hasty in dismissing Billy? Maybe he’d been awkward with me on the bridge out of guilt? He was in the Lower Sixth studying for his As, so it was hardly surprising he was busy. Freddie, on the other hand, wasn’t even doing GCSEs, because Eades was too grand to even pretend to follow government curriculum, so he had no excuse at all. Bloody boys.

  Indie was already sitting in the back of the local taxi, and I ended up being the one in the seat beside the driver, so I had to keep turning around to speak to the others. Georgina pressed me for details about my afternoon with Freddie, so I told her how he wasn’t going to La Fiesta due to a prior engagement.

  I made the words ‘prior engagement’ sound like some sort of weird, sordid activity, when Indie piped up, ‘He’s going to the ball at Windsor Castle. It’s a sort of Annual Euro Royal Bash Thingamee. Daddy always makes me go.’ She groaned, as if it was the most taxing evening imaginable. Only I bet it wasn’t.

  I looked at her stunning face framed by the long corn-braided hair and wondered how long I could go on pretending that I wasn’t sick with jealousy.

  ‘Poor you,’ I told her as if I really, really meant it, and then the taxi driver let out a little windy pop.

  FIFTEEN:

  The Familiar Sound of My Dreams Crashing around My Feet

  The light drizzle had become a heavy rain, but we had the taxi drop us off outside the school in the hope we could still sneak in unnoticed and avoid a gating. We crept through the gates and snuck along the edges of Pullers’ Wood, which smelt woodsy and beautiful in the rain. Finally we filed past the library, bent low so we wouldn’t be spotted. We were an hour past curfew, and it was starting to get dark. If we were sprung now, it would mean a definite gating.

  Our adrenaline was pumping at the possible repercussions, so we were trying to keep utterly silent, muffling even our panting breaths as we raced into the main building. My clothes were clinging to me, and I had only one thing on my mind – a hot shower – so I was a bit irritated when Star slowed me down as we were entering the main building and started whispering to me. ‘Why are you wasting your time on a royal snob like Freddie, Calypso? Billy is nicer, fitter and a better fencer.’

  I didn’t respond. Partly because I was too desperate to get indoors to get embroiled in an argument in a cold corridor and partly because I was starting to agree that Billy would be a lot less trouble. And then my txt-alert rang.

  So how
short is this little skirt precisely? Freds

  I showed the txt to Star. ‘Don’t you think that’s weird that after not txt-ing me all week and accusing me of not txt-ing him, he suddenly sends this?’ I asked, which was another way of saying my life wasn’t worth living now that Freddie wasn’t going to the ball.

  ‘How pervy! Let me have that,’ she demanded.

  I waited impatiently as she turned her back and typed in a message, and then she held out the mobile to show me what she’d written.

  Bugger off x C

  Before I could stop her, she pressed SEND.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ I asked in horror.

  She kissed me on my wet cheek. ‘Because you’re worth it,’ she teased in a piss-take of a famous hair commercial.

  I understood that she’d never forgiven Freddie for believing Honey over me during the whole tabloid debacle, but he was in a really difficult position, and he had apologised grovellingly. As far as I was concerned it was water under the bridge (along with my aloof demeanour), and to quote Star, he was worth it!

  I quickly sent a counter txt.

  That was Star, seriously short indeed x C

  As soon as we got to the dorms, the other girls charged straight off to their room while I crept into mine, hoping against hope that Miss Bibsmore hadn’t done her rounds. I was incredulous when Honey greeted me looking freakishly chirpy and pleased to see me. She was posing in front of the mirror as if Mario Testino was in the room with his camera.

  I was surprised to see Portia’s phone lying on her bed. I presumed I’d made it back before her, as Freddie had told me that Tarquin was bringing her back in a bit.

  ‘Hello, darling, how was it?’ Honey squeaked with over-friendliness. She was even smiling at me – well, smiling as best she could through her collagen-enhanced bauble-shaped lips.

  ‘Yaah, fine,’ I lied as I started to peel off my wet clothes and dry my hair. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Terrific, actually. I went down to the pet shed and gave Absinthe and Dorothy a run. I hope you don’t mind; they just looked so sweet together. Here, look at this,’ she insisted as she grabbed her mobile, the same one she’d used to take the fateful shot she’d sold to the tabloids. The screen showed me a picture of Absinthe and Dorothy in the pet run together, looking like the best of friends.

  I had just pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a t-shirt when we heard the now-familiar tap, tap, tap of Miss Bibsmore’s stick on the stone stairwell and gave one another one of those ‘Aaaaghhh! Here she comes!’ looks. As Miss Bibsmore surveyed our room from the doorway, Portia’s message alarm went.

  ‘And where might Miss Briggs be?’ she asked, looking at the vibrating phone. ‘Curfew was over an hour ago.’

  ‘She’s in the loo,’ Honey told her without even turning around, brushing her hair nonchalantly. ‘Slight case of the runs,’ she added, elaborating unnecessarily as she wrinkled up her nose job.

  Seemingly satisfied, Miss Bibsmore hobbled out and continued her rounds.

  I flopped on my bed, still dazed and confused. On the one hand Freddie had seemed really pleased to see me, but on the other I hated the thought of going to my very first ball without him. And there was still the issue of Billy. So much for my gut feeling that I’d know which one I fancied the most after seeing them. If anything I was more in the dark than ever.

  Portia’s message alarm kept going off, but just as I was about to ask Honey how long she’d been in the loo, Honey spoke to me. Not in a piss-take of my accent or a spiteful way, just in a normal friendly voice. When I say ‘friendly,’ of course I mean friendly in that special menacing feline way that Honey has.

  ‘So, darling, did you manage to catch up with your two paramours, Billy and Freddie?’

  Before I could answer and explain that actually I didn’t, strictly speaking, have two paramours (and who calls boys paramours anyway?), Portia came panting through the door, drenched to the skin. ‘Has Miss Bibsmore done her rounds yet?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Ages ago; but don’t worry, I covered for you. Said you were in the lav, darling – with the runs,’ Honey smarm-ed.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ Portia replied. Then she spotted her phone. ‘Oh, thank goodness, my phone. I’ve been running around Windsor looking everywhere for it. I had Freddie ringing and ringing it for me.’

  What? I screamed, although thankfully the word didn’t actually make it out of my voice box, which had fallen to my stomach along with my heart. I watched her open the back of her mobile. ‘Odd, I could have sworn I’d left it off.’ She checked her SIM card.

  Honey said, ‘Perhaps your mind was on other things, darling.’

  All I was thinking was, Why was Portia with Freddie?

  How did they meet up?

  He’d given me the impression that he was heading back to Eades … well, maybe he didn’t actually give me an impression, but I’d presumed that he’d leave Windsor when I did.

  ‘I thought you were with your brother?’ I said, trying to keep the jealousy I was starting to feel out of my tone.

  She answered lightly, ‘Oh I was, but he had to go off and so I had some pizza with Freddie. I was absolutely famished.’ She smiled at me.

  How much pizza can one boy eat? I thought to myself – only I must have said it out loud because Portia replied, ‘An infinite amount, believe me. Tarquin frequently eats two large pizzas on his own in one sitting.’

  ‘Oh, so Tarquin was there as well,’ I said with relief.

  ‘No, just Freddie and me,’ she replied, turning to face the mirror as she rubbed at her long hair with a towel.

  ‘Just you and Freddie!’ Honey repeated, only she said it suggestively, looking at me pointedly while raising one perfectly sculptured eyebrow.

  ‘That’s right, Honey. Freddie and I, me and Freddie, we ate some pizza.’

  Honey looked stung by Portia’s tone, which, while not nasty, was definitely warning, especially for Portia, who was always so calm and regal in her demeanour.

  ‘I was just saying …’

  Portia turned around and faced Honey directly. ‘I’d much rather you didn’t trouble yourself in my affairs, Honey.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Honey replied sulkily.

  ‘Oh, and by the way Freddie asked me to give you a message,’ Portia said to me.

  ‘What, are you his carrier pigeon now?’ Honey said in a bad attempt at sarcasm.

  Portia didn’t deign to acknowledge her rudeness with a response.

  I sat there mute, desperate to hear what message Freddie had sent me through Portia, but Honey added, ‘She might be American but she does own a mobile, Portia. I’m sure Freddie is perfectly capable of sending her his own messages.’

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Portia looked at me meaningfully, but then the dinner bell rang, and Star and the others came in on their way to the refectory. Star surprised me by throwing her arms around me and crying out melodramatically. ‘My best friend, Calypso! Navel buddies forever!’ Georgina and Indie giggled, but I didn’t know what to think. Had she told Indie that I’d had to take mine out and made me sound tragically under the thumb of Sarah and Bob? Indie and Georgina joined the group hug. Oh, how I wished I was alone with Portia so she could give me Freddie’s message.

  ‘So did you get away with it, then?’ Star asked as we walked arm in arm down the narrow stairs.

  ‘Completely fine. Miss Bibsmore came in after I’d already changed. And you?’

  ‘Same. The old dear hadn’t a clue.’

  ‘By the way, thanks for covering for me, Calypso,’ Portia added.

  ‘Thank Honey. I actually thought you were back,’ I replied, still feeling mixed up about her chumming around with Freddie in Windsor, and more importantly wanting to know what my message was.

  Star snorted. ‘Saint Honey, covering for her dear roommate. Who would have thought?’

  Honey, who was walking behind her on the narrow stairs, gave Star a little shove. Not hard enough to make her fall or
anything, just enough to take the wind out of her sails. Probably because she couldn’t think of a cutting enough retort.

  ‘You’re not still upset about Freddie not going to the La Fiesta Ball, are you, darling?’ Star asked me as we waited for our plates to be piled with grey slops.

  Yes! Of course I’m upset; I’ve waited for this ball all my boarding school life, and now Freddie isn’t even going to be there! And Billy doesn’t seem to fancy me anymore and Freddie’s sent me a message and I still don’t know what it is and you’ve dropped fencing and have become inseparable from Indie and … well, the list of my vexations was endless.

  ‘No, I’m totally fine,’ I told her with faux insouciance.

  When we sat down, Star sat beside me on one side and Georgina on the other. Star was even making sarcastic remarks to Honey again. All was just as it should be. Maybe I’d been reading too much into everything, I tried to tell myself. Princes have commitments, and he had sent me a txt and a message via Portia. I still had to find out what Freddie had said. I took a deep breath and attempted to tap back into my aloof demeanour, but it didn’t work. It didn’t feel normal at all, really. Things had changed between Star and me now that Indie was here, and I knew it wasn’t Indie’s fault. In fact, she was actually really, really nice.

  I looked across at Portia, who was sitting too far away to talk to directly. Bugger.

  Georgina reminded me kindly that Indie wasn’t going to the La Fiesta Ball either, as if that might make me feel better, and then Star announced that perhaps none of us should go to the ball.

  ‘Think about it,’ Star enthused, swirling her slops. ‘We could have a house party at my estate. My parents are always so stoned they’d probably think it was their party.’