To Marry a Prince

by Page, Sophie

  But had she overstepped some Royal boundary by asking about his father?

  She said hastily, ‘Don’t answer that if I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry, I was just interested.’

  He turned away from the food and took both her hands in his.

  ‘You can ask anything you like,’ he said with surprising intensity. ‘Anything. Whenever you want.’

  ‘OK,’ she said slowly. ‘But I don’t want you to think you have to answer. I mean, not if it’s private or some deep family secret or something.’

  Richard turned back to the pan, adjusting the heat, cooking tongs at the ready, concentrating on the food.

  He said levelly, ‘It’s no secret. My grandfather was a bully and a bigot. He had all the vices and a low boredom threshold. Which meant he made everyone’s life hell, just because he could. Everyone who was able to avoid him, did. That included my father. My mother was particularly good at arranging our lives so that there was minimum opportunity to see the old bastard. My mother has honed dutiful busyness to an art form.’

  There was something in his voice that made Bella sit up and pay very close attention suddenly.

  He sent her an odd, almost shamefaced look.

  ‘You know the first time we met? When you fell into the foliage and I pulled you out?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You must have forgotten but you said something that night that I really recognised.’

  ‘Me?’ She couldn’t think what it was.

  ‘You said, “My mother’s much too busy running a Charity Ball to have me home.” My mother has never organised a charity do in her life. But, well, my brother and sister and I, we always knew where we were in the priority list: after King, country, Parliament, Prime Minister. And probably a few favourite charities. In that order.’

  Bella was stunned. The Queen was always supposed to be the perfect mother. The King was said to be eccentric and distant but not the Queen, never. She did not know what to say.

  Fortunately, Richard did not wait for an answer. ‘Of course, even my mother couldn’t get round a direct command from the King. So we had to go sometimes. And when he died, she lost all her options. We all did.’

  ‘Oh, love.’ Bella was appalled. She slid off the stool and rubbed his back in futile but heartfelt solidarity.

  He leaned back into her touch while he carried on cooking.

  ‘Worse for my father. I think now that he was probably terrified that he was going to turn out like the old man, once he was King. I’ve noticed that the nastiest thing you can say to him is, “You’re just like your father.” Sometimes one of the elderly relatives does it and he goes into a brown study for days.’

  She said, ‘I thought you were the perfect family. No divorces. No mistresses. No scandals.’

  ‘No scandals? My brother George? Riding a motorbike through the centre of Bristol, dressed as a banana?’

  Bella spluttered. ‘Must have missed that one.’

  ‘Oh yes, it probably happened while you were off on your island. The paparazzi shadowed him for weeks after that, hoping for an encore.’

  She gurgled. ‘Well, OK then. No major scandals.’

  ‘You can be dysfunctional and keep it quiet, you know.’

  The chicken was done to his satisfaction. He removed the joints, turned down the gas and fed the vegetables into the warm pan. At one point he splashed some wine over them. At another he added a dribble of this, a pinch of that, and a lot of fresh tarragon. The room began to smell heavenly. He tasted.

  ‘Not quite. What do you think?’ He offered her a teaspoon. She swirled the sauce round her tastebuds. ‘Tastes wonderful to me.’

  ‘Not enough bite. Hand me that lemon.’

  She did. He chopped it in half and squeezed it over the vegetable goo, filtering the pips through the fingers of his other hand.

  ‘Taste now.’

  She did, closing her eyes. ‘Yummy.’

  ‘It will be.’ He slapped the chicken back into the pan and spooned the vegetables on top. Then he got the casserole dish out of the oven, tipped the entire contents of the pan into it, and shot it back. He adjusted the temperature and the timer.

  And then he washed up!

  Bella stared, astounded.

  ‘You must be the perfect man. If that was me, I’d be sitting down with a large glass of something, patting myself on the back, and leaving the dishes for later.’

  Richard laughed. ‘In a galley you wash up as you go. No room to do anything else. But sitting down with a large glass is good too.’

  When he’d returned the work surface to pristine condition, he took her hand, another glass and the bottle of wine, and took them all to the other end of the room. It was chillier away from the cooker and Bella shivered involuntarily. He switched on a serviceable electric fire which she hadn’t noticed before, and then contrived a nest of cushions for her in the built-in couch.

  He topped up her glass and flung himself back in the battered old armchair, looking at her with such affectionate pleasure that Bella hardly recognised him. Nobody had ever looked at her like that, as if they had been given a prize. She felt warm and flattered and flustered and strangely humble at the same time. But she hadn’t a clue what to do next. So she cuddled down into her cushions and did nothing.

  Eventually he gave a long sigh of satisfaction. ‘This is nice.’

  ‘Mmmm. You said it was your godfather’s boat?’

  He smiled lazily. ‘Strictly you should say her about a boat. He lived here for years. This is still pretty much all his stuff – the campaign desk, the books, the furniture. We put in a new galley because the old stuff was dangerous, and we replaced the skylights with modern, double-glazed ones that are easy to open. But otherwise, it’s the same.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit creepy?’

  He gave a shout of laughter. ‘That’s my Bella. Tell the truth and shame the devil. Yes, it could be creepy in theory. In practice it isn’t because he wasn’t that sort of man. He taught me to sail and how to do stuff. Actually, he was the one who gave me your father’s books.’ He looked round. ‘They’re all here somewhere.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like a mausoleum,’ she admitted. ‘But even so, why keep it?’

  He was rueful. ‘We’d all had fun here with him. And also, there was Ship’s Cat.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He had this massive tabby mouser called Ship’s Cat. Great character but very territorial. So we agreed, all five of the godchildren, that we would share the boat until Ship’s Cat pegged out.’

  ‘You kept a houseboat for a cat?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’ He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘But houseboats have to be lived in, don’t they? I mean, kept warm and dry and the pipes working and stuff.’

  ‘Good practical thinking,’ he said approvingly. ‘Absolutely right. Sometimes one of us lives here. Sometimes we have a tenant. At least three books have been written here.’

  ‘And the cat?’

  ‘Lived a full and happy life and died a couple of years ago, aged twenty. Actually Chloe was living here then and she took it backwards and forwards to the vet’s for several months. I was surprised, but she stuck to it.’

  Chloe. Ah.

  ‘I saw the photograph in the papers of you with her. Lottie said she didn’t think Chloe looked very sisterly.’ She let the remark hang.

  But he didn’t get indignant. Instead, he frowned, looking troubled. ‘I know what she means. Chloe is a bit of a mess, frankly. Starts things and doesn’t finish them. She can get a bit, let’s say, fixated. She ran with a bad crowd for a while when she was younger. I’m certain there were drugs involved. But we don’t say so because she is the niece of my mother’s oldest lady-in-waiting and it would be Bad Form.’

  ‘But you don’t mind sharing a boat with her?’

  ‘She behaves herself on board. One of my fellow godchildren is a tough lady soldier who’d scalp her if she didn’t. Anyway, she genuinely loved our godfather. It’s been OK so
far, anyway. Which is a relief, because we’d all be sad to sell the old girl. We’ve got used to her. I like it here.’

  More than like, she thought, seeing him laze in the armchair with his long legs stretched out before him. You’re basking. You love this place.

  It was gorgeous to see him looking so happy.

  Suddenly, she knew the answer to the question that had tormented her last night. Lottie was right!

  Bella pushed the cushions aside, slipped off the couch and knelt beside him with her arms round him.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  11

  ‘Telling the Parents …’ – Girl About Town

  Richard didn’t seem to think it was quite the earth-shattering revelation that Bella did. He was very nice, of course – those beautiful manners again – and he kissed her as if he meant it. But he didn’t leap to his feet and beat his chest in jungle triumph. Nor did he seem very surprised, unlike Bella.

  She was about to point this out when the damned timer went off and their supper was ready. Frustrated, she felt they had only had half the conversation. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  But Richard didn’t seem to feel like that. Over food, they drifted away from declarations of love. He told her about a security officer he wasn’t keen on, the nightclub he’d been photographed in, the crazy diary of the next few days. Bella told him about Lottie’s idea of turning Neill into a Viking oarsman.

  Richard snorted with laughter. ‘I know you said he needed to get out more. But rape and pillage seems to be taking it a bit far.’

  ‘Neill is not a natural pillager. They won’t corrupt him!’

  She told him about her new job. ‘It’s my sort of charity, saving woodland and replacing trees. They want me to reorganise their admin system, which I can do standing on my head. But what they really want me to do is evaluate project proposals, drawing on my experience in the field.’

  ‘And that’s the bit that has got you excited,’ he said, seeing the glint in her eye.

  Remembering the island and all the supplies that Francis was sure they could cope without until the next consignment arrived, Bella’s eyes narrowed to slits of pure venom. ‘Oh, yes. After ten months with the fragrant Francis, I can tell a waffler at fifty paces. They say things like “I’m a big-picture man”, and “I concentrate on objectives, not operational minutiae”. They think it’s a waste of their valuable energy actually to spend any time with the researchers on the ground. Francis always used to—’

  ‘Since you mention Francis—’

  She flipped back to the present with a jump. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I haven’t asked before. But how close exactly were you? I mean, ten months on a tropical island …’

  ‘You mean, the moon, the stars, the virgin beach, the turquoise sea?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do.’ He didn’t look very happy about it.

  Bella leaned across the table and put her hand over his. ‘They didn’t stand a chance. In London, I was starry-eyed about Francis, I admit it. He was the big cheese and he was very flattering to me and, well, he talked a good story.’

  A look of amusement dawned. ‘Our Gallant Leader Syndrome?’

  ‘Exactly. Francis is big on Inspiration. As long as he’s doing the inspiring, of course.’

  Richard choked.

  ‘His feet of clay showed the first day. The very first day. He was supposed to have organised chemical toilets to be brought in by sea. He forgot.’

  ‘Ah. Not a good move.’

  ‘After that, well, I can’t say the scales fell from my eyes. I mean, he still had the charisma. But, well, he didn’t quite seem so irresistible somehow. It just all wound down rather sadly.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Nothing like propinquity and poor sanitation for showing a man in his true colours. So you didn’t … er …’

  She shook her head. ‘We didn’t sleep together, no.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.

  ‘So am I.’ She leaned back and watched him for a while. Then said ‘And what about your ex? Almost the first day I got back, I was reading that someone had dumped you.’

  One of the nice things about Richard was that he didn’t shy away from the suggestion he’d been dumped. He nodded. ‘You mean Debs.’

  Bella didn’t remember the woman’s name but she recited what she could remember of the article.

  ‘Yes, that would be Debs.’ He thought about it. ‘That’s not an easy one. At first, Debs was great. She never got uptight. Didn’t mind being on display.’

  Bella winced. One in the eye for me, she thought.

  Richard did not notice. ‘She even laughed at the photographers when they ran down the street after us. Used to joke with them. She was so relaxed. As you know, I’m not very. I was crazy about her.’

  Bella sat very still. He was crazy about her. Well, of course, there was going to have been someone. Of course, there was. He was twenty-nine, not a kid. But she felt angry and resentful and hurt and she wanted to kick Debs so hard she disappeared off the planet. It took her a while but she worked it out in the end: she was jealous. It was stupid, but there it was.

  Richard was oblivious, still wrestling with the problem of Debs who had dumped him

  ‘You know me, Bella. I’ve always been a bit dull. Never late for receptions. Read my briefing, remember it.’

  Bella’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is this the genetic good behaviour myth again? The one you peddled before jumping my bones in the middle of a major reception?’

  He had the grace to flush faintly, though he looked pleased at the same time. ‘That was rather out of character for me.’

  ‘Hmph.’

  ‘Even you have to admit that I don’t have a lot of pizazz. Debs had pizzazz.’

  ‘You dated her for her pizzazz?’ Bella was incredulous.

  ‘What can I tell you? I’m a man. I’m shallow!’

  ‘You’re also winding me up,’ said Bella, not deceived. ‘What really went wrong? If you want to tell me, of course,’ she added conscientiously.

  Richard stopped grinning. ‘Have you heard of the idea of the starter marriage? Well, that’s what I would have been for Debs. She probably didn’t know it, of course. But I watched what her friends did and she was on the same track. Big engagement party. Big, big wedding. Lots of gadding about and flirting with the cameras. And then the wife does her thing and the husband does his, and after a couple of years in the limelight they’re both ready to move on to someone else. I was so determined I didn’t want a dynastic marriage like my parents that it took me a while to see that there are other sorts of marriage that won’t do for me either. Debs’s sort, for instance.’

  ‘So she didn’t dump you?’

  ‘Yes and no. She did. But she wasn’t the woman for me and I knew it before she did. So I just went on not asking her to marry me until she got tired and gave me the push.’

  ‘I see.’

  Bella said nothing more.

  But later, when they were walking back to Lottie’s flat along the river, with the clouds scudding over Battersea Park, exposing and veiling a nibbled-cheese moon, she said thoughtfully, ‘You know, Debs probably did you a favour and Francis did the same for me – patronising twerp! In fact, when someone stops him buggering up perfectly good research projects, he will undoubtedly make himself a fortune as a motivational speaker.’

  Richard stopped dead, flung back his head and roared with laughter.

  ‘You’re lethal,’ he said. ‘I love you too.’

  And that was when Bella realised what she had been waiting for. Not the jungle chest-beating, not the exclamations of delight and astonishment. The vow returned.

  She thought: I’ve never felt so right before.

  Not that it was dramatic or even very romantic. Richard gave her a quick hug, but said, ‘We’d better keep walking or you’ll get cold. There’s snow in the air, I think.’

  So instead of wandering hand in hand under the London stars, they marched
briskly up from the river along Chelsea Bridge Road, past the well-lit, fashionable shops of Pimlico Road, then Orange Square and Mozart’s statue, heading towards the flat.

  Only there was display in a shop window that caught Bella’s eye. ‘What’s that?’

  She went over to it. Richard did not resist following.

  It was a Christmas special in an interior design shop. In the window there was a family of mechanical polar bears, rather good ones with liquorice allsort eyes and huge powerful feet, their slab heads nodding. There were four of them, a mother, father and two cubs, one batting the other back into line. It was kitsch but at the same time, immensely appealing.

  Richard peered down at Bella. ‘Are you crying?’

  ‘I like the little ones,’ she said, in a muffled voice.

  ‘You are crying. You old softie.’

  Bella sniffed unromantically. ‘Well, you said you loved me. I think it just caught up with me.’

  He said in a shaken voice, ‘Oh, Bella, my darling. Don’t cry, my love. Don’t cry.’

  And they did kiss then, properly. They stood in front of the spotlit window and the first snowflakes drifted down and neither of them noticed.

  People came out of the restaurant opposite, stopped, peered, then stared. They put their heads together, muttering. Then one of them brought out a phone and took a picture, took several. The group went off, bunched together to look at the tiny screen, chattering excitedly.

  Bella and Richard didn’t notice that either.

  Eventually, Richard raised his head and cupped her cheek in his gloved hand. He was breathing hard. Bella, dizzy and swaying, felt she would never remember how to breathe again.

  ‘Come on. Home.’

  They ran back to the flat hand in hand.

  Lottie looked up when they went into the sitting room. She was sitting on the sofa with her laptop on her knee. She looked uneasy.