by Page, Sophie
Only it was very difficult to do torrid passion in a house with a frugal central heating system and draughts to make the North Wind slink away, outclassed. After they twice lost the mountainous covers and Bella screamed for the wrong reasons – acute and agonising cramp in her right calf – they collapsed into laughter and put lust on hold.
‘I’ll take you to Barbados,’ promised Richard. He got out of bed and brought her the sapphire kimono that she had left over the back of a chair. He tied a big bow at her waist and then got back into bed, cuddling her up to his chest and tucking the heavyweight blankets round her ears. ‘Or the Sahara.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
They were asleep almost at once.
They were awoken by a discreet scratching on the door. Bella came awake to find Richard out of bed, shivering and swearing. She didn’t blame him. She had no idea what time it was, but from the scrap of window she could see where the curtains didn’t meet, the sky was still as black as a coal cellar outside. She put on the light.
‘Take my robe. I’m warm now.’ She pulled off the kimono and threw it towards him.
He pressed it appreciatively to his face, before pulling it on. Of course, it gaped across his chest, but it was better than nothing, thought Bella. The bedroom was icy. He thrust his feet into his dress shoes at the same time. ‘Thank you.’
He opened the door, indifferent to the rules, scandal, or even his own dignity.
‘What the fuck?’ he said with pardonable asperity.
It was Julian Madoc. ‘I’m really sorry, sir.’ He even sounded it. ‘But the King says, please will you join him in the study as soon as possible? There’s been a development.’
‘What sort of development?’ demanded Richard disagreeably.
‘More internet comment, I’m afraid. And an unfortunate photograph of Her Majesty. The Press will be here any time.’
‘Here? You mean you’ve set up a Press Conference?’
Madoc was clearly shocked by the suggestion. ‘Certainly not. But outside, you know. In the village. Asking people for their stories. Bringing their chequebooks. We need – that is, the King feels we need an agreed line.’
There was a pregnant pause. Then Richard said, ‘Oh, very well. We’ll be down as soon as we’ve climbed into our Arctic weather wear.’
He closed the door firmly. Bella pulled the covers up to her nose and watched appreciatively.
‘I fancy you in blue silk.’
He grinned briefly. ‘You fancy me in anything. Thank God. Damn, I’m so tired of worrying about the bloody Press. Oh, well, I suppose we’d better get dressed and join the Council of War. Have you got a good thick sweater, or shall I bring one back for you?’
She liked the idea of wearing his clothes. ‘Almost certainly mine isn’t thick enough.’
He nodded. ‘Right. I’ll bring you one.’
He went, leaving Bella to wonder dreamily whether any returning adulterer whom he met on the way would keep quiet about the fact that the Prince of Wales darted about Drummon House in a blue silk kimono.
By the time Richard returned, Bella had pulled on all the clothes she had brought with her, pretty well. He was wearing thick tweed trousers, double-knit socks and walking boots, and a green military jumper over several layers of natural fibre.
Bella purred. ‘Love the combat gear. Not as swashbuckling as a blue silk kimono, of course, but you look ready for action.’
He eyed her consideringly. ‘I can always take my Aran sweater away again.’
‘No, no, please. Please. I didn’t mean it.’
The big white thing was as solid as a horse blanket and just as cosy. Bella pulled it on over her stylish but inadequate cashmere and instantly felt her frosted muscles start to thaw. It was ludicrously too big, of course. The sleeves hung over her hands, but it smelled of Richard’s shampoo and she knew that smell.
‘Thank you,’ she said, basking a bit.
He put his arm round her and they went to face the music.
The study turned out to be a relatively small room, so that the big fire there did actually have some effect. The Queen was sitting beside it, looking elegant as always but concerned. The King was reading a printout.
George had been wrong about the absence of mobile phones. There was a photograph of the Queen with her tiara over one eye. It had been all over the Twittersphere by midnight.
The King handed the print out to Richard.
‘I don’t understand some people. Don’t they have anything to do except criticise others?’ he said irritably.
Richard ran his eye down the messages Julian Madoc had printed out.
‘Someone called LoyalSubjekt101 said Bella attacked the Queen last night and has posted a photograph of Mother with her tiara coming off at the party,’ he sighed. ‘And then a bunch of idiots who need to get a life started arguing about whether it was deliberate or an accident, political or personal, spite or a republican gesture.’ He cast the sheets away. ‘Oh, this is just ludicrous. Why are we wasting our time on it?’
‘Exactly,’ said the King with gloomy satisfaction.
But the Queen said, ‘We can’t just ignore it, Richard. These are very nasty allegations. Someone might actually try to hurt Bella, in retaliation. Pansy tells me there have been rumours for weeks.’
‘Then let’s kill the rumours,’ said Richard calmly. ‘Tell ’em we’re getting married and they can bloody well like it or lump it.’
The Queen put a hand over her eyes.
Bella said frostily, ‘Excuse me? Do I get a vote on this?’
The King gave a bark of laughter. ‘You mean, he hasn’t asked you?’
‘Yes and no. Yes, he’s asked me. No, we didn’t talk about any public announcement.’
‘Well, he mentioned it to me last week,’ said the King, stirring it.
‘Oh, really?’ Bella narrowed her eyes at Richard.
‘Thought you were running a bit of a risk there, lad,’ said his father, starting to enjoy himself.
Even the Queen said, ‘Good grief, what’s wrong with you, Richard? You go to war with me when I say I think it’s too soon … and you still haven’t asked Bella properly? I give up. I really do.’
‘Shut up, Mother,’ he said, still calm.
He went down on one knee in front of Bella. ‘Please will you marry me and let me announce it to the world? There, we’re sorted now, aren’t we?’
She was outraged. ‘Sorted?’
‘Mistake,’ said the King.
‘Shut up, Father. Bella, you know that dating a Prince of Wales isn’t all joy. And you’ve spat on your hands and given it your best shot. If you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have, please, please, please, let me tell the world you’ll marry me?’
She stared down at him, transfixed.
He said softly, ‘I’m not complete without you. You know that. Why shouldn’t everyone else know, too?’
The Queen said, ‘You’ve only known each other three months.’
Richard did not stand up and he did not take his eyes off Bella’s. ‘Best three months of my life,’ he said.
Bella felt as if she were in a high wind. ‘You didn’t like all of it,’ she pointed out, trying to get her feet back on the ground. ‘You stalked out in a huff.’
‘And you got your revenge by not answering my messages.’
‘You know that was an accident—’
‘I know that it made me feel desperate. Hell, I even offered to write poetry to get you back.’
‘Ho,’ said the King. ‘Big mistake.’
‘Father, we don’t need audience participation. Shut up or go away.’
Bella said, ‘Yes you did promise me a poem. A … a … a trillet or something. And you’ve never delivered. Don’t you keep your promises? What sort of omen is that?’
She waited for a torrent of denials. She had underrated Richard.
‘I was negotiating,’ he said blandly. ‘A triolet sounded good.’
‘I’m holding
you to it. If you love me.’
Their eyes locked. There was a long pause.
Richard looked very serious.
‘What about a limerick?’
Bella was so startled she gave a shout of laughter and bent and kissed his nose. ‘You are a shocking, devious man and I love you.’
At once he leaped to his feet and took her in his arms.
‘So can I tell them you’ll marry me?’ he whispered, for her ears alone. ‘It’ll be good, I promise.’
‘Yes,’ she said blissfully. ‘Yes.’
16
‘It’s Official!’ – Morning Times
By the time the Press started pouring into Drummon Bridge there was a much bigger story than they had come for. The King sent Julian Madoc down to the gates to invite them in, while the staff set out chairs in the drawing room, Richard drafted what he would say and Bella telephoned her parents with the news.
Her mother was nearly silenced. ‘My little girl. My dear little girl. Oh, Bella.’
Her stepfather took the phone from his wife. ‘Your mother’s weeping into some kitchen roll. What she means, of course, is that we’re both delighted and we hope you’ll be very happy. We liked him very much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It would be nice if you could come and see her really soon, Bella. I think she needs to talk. And not on the phone.’
‘Yes, Kevin.’
‘And our very best wishes to Richard,’ he said, surprising her. ‘Tell him he’s on to a good thing.’
She was misty-eyed when she put the phone down. Dear Kevin.
It was just as well that someone wished her well because her father, predictably, went into a rant. He was on board a boat somewhere in the South Atlantic and he had to talk over howling gales from the sounds on the line. He managed it easily.
‘… never thought a daughter of mine would be so feeble. Succumbing to celebrity culture, that’s what it is. Celebrity and social climbing. God, you’re just like your mother.’
‘You stop that,’ yelled Bella. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my mother. She’s a better parent than you ever were.’
‘At least I gave you ideas and some principles,’ he shouted back. ‘What happened to them, eh? What happened? A bit of discomfort on your first expedition and you’re back in London chasing some parasite because he’s got an outdated title. When I get back …’
‘I love him, you moron!’ she shouted.
Richard looked up from the desk where he was writing his piece and blew her a kiss.
‘… we’re going to have to have a serious talk about what you’ll do with your life.’
‘I’ve got news for you, Finn,’ Bella said more calmly. ‘You’re not on the management team. My life. Note the adjective. Mine. Not ours. Now you can jolly well bog off! And don’t call me until you’re ready to be nice to Richard. God help me, he even admires you. You don’t deserve it, you bigoted old freak!’
And she slammed the phone down with real fury.
Richard sat back and applauded. ‘That told him.’
‘Well, he is.’
‘What did he call me, exactly?’ Richard asked mildly. ‘I might use it in my speech.’
Bella gave an impatient sigh. ‘Don’t. It will only encourage him. He was rude about my mother, too. After he wandered away and left her to sort out having two children and no money. Bastard.’
‘OK, I won’t mention him. Not if it’s going to turn you spitting mad,’ he said, amused. ‘We’re supposed to be giving the Press good news, after all. Do you want to say anything?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘I quite like “I love him, you morons”, but it’s not very conciliatory, I suppose. Up to you.’
‘I’m not a great speech-maker.’
‘Fine. If you change your mind, pinch my bum and I’ll hand the microphone to you.’
Just imagining it put her into a much better humour. Even Lady Pansy, bustling in to give her some helpful advice on how to dress for the momentous announcement, didn’t disturb her equilibrium. Did she, asked Lady Pansy kindly, want to borrow something from Chloe?
‘No, thank you.’
‘But you can’t wear—’ Lady Pansy indicated Richard’s Aran sweater and the jeans.
Richard said, ‘This isn’t a formal thing. We’ll have a proper engagement session, with the ring, the wedding date, the lot. The gig today is just a warm-up. Bella should wear what she feels comfortable in.’
‘Well, at least do your hair,’ said Lady Pansy, despairing.
‘That’s fair,’ agreed Bella.
By the time she came back, brushed and combed, there were a dozen or so journalists and rather more cameramen in the drawing room. The King was uncharacteristically chipper.
‘The barbarians are past the gates then,’ he said, and went off chuckling at his own joke, to await Julian Madoc’s signal.
Richard said, ‘The Press Secretary is going to be so mad about this.’
Bella cocked an eyebrow. ‘You sound rather pleased.’
‘I like justice. He went ski-ing with a lot of smart friends and sent the second team to Scotland. It’s always so bloody freezing, he gets out of it every year. So he misses the juiciest story of the year. Serves him right.’
They lined up in the dining room while Madoc quieted the audience. Then a servant opened the double doors and the King, resplendent in kilt and a tweed jacket, marched up to the hastily erected microphone. Richard and Bella followed.
‘Welcome,’ said the King. ‘Glad to see you. For once I really mean that.’
There was surprised laughter.
‘Got some good news, which my eldest son will tell you all about.’
And he went and sat down, beaming. Nobody could doubt that he was delighted.
Richard put his arm round Bella’s shoulders and they went to the microphone. He didn’t look at his notes. Bella realised suddenly that he must have spoken to a gathering like this many, many times before.
‘Happy New Year,’ he began.
Several of the audience returned the greeting.
Richard put his hands in his pockets. ‘This is a bit of a shock to me. As you probably know, I’ve been trying to persuade Bella Greenwood for a while now that I am a Good Thing. I’d got quite a nifty campaign planned out, to be honest. And then suddenly it’s New Year and I don’t see the point of waiting. So I asked her. And she said yes. So—’ He turned to her and she put her hand in his and came in closer ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Isabella Greenwood, who has agreed to marry me. I’m a lucky man.’
The applause was spontaneous and seemed genuine.
Julian Madoc stood up. ‘His Highness will take a few questions.’
Bella suddenly felt terrified, but the questions were friendly and easy to answer.
The only difficult one was, ‘And how has Miss Greenwood’s father taken it?’
‘From what I heard of the telephone call, he’s not dancing for joy,’ said Richard, with a great air of frankness. ‘We’re going to have to work on that.’
God, he’s cool, thought Bella.
There were questions to her, which were easy too. Yes, Prince Richard had met her mother, brother and stepfather and they were all very pleased. A ring? Not yet. A present then?
Beside her she felt Richard stiffen. She knew what he was thinking: Damn, we never thought of that.
But she could handle it. She squeezed his hand to reassure him and told the lady journalist, ‘Well, he’s promised me a limerick. But I’m not holding my breath.’
There was a shout of laughter.
Before it had died down the King rose and Madoc made a sign to the stewards who had come in unobtrusively and were now lined up along the walls of the drawing room, bearing trays of whisky and champagne.
‘I would like to invite you all to drink the health of my son, the Prince of Wales, and his intended wife, Miss Bella Greenwood.’
The glasses were handed out with amazing speed.
‘Ric
hard,’ boomed the King, not bothering with the microphone and sounding as if he was about to break into a happy dance. ‘Bella, my dear. Your health.’
Everyone drank to the toast and there was prolonged applause and Richard murmured, ‘Smile. Wave. Exit right, right?’
They did.
As the great doors of the drawing room closed behind them, Bella broke into a tap dance.
‘I did it! I did it! My first press call and I didn’t knock anything over or poke anyone in the eye.’
‘You were a model of decorum and stayed upright throughout,’ he agreed gravely. ‘You’re a natural.’
Bella stopped dancing. ‘No, I’m not. I’m a walking disaster and there are photos of tumbling tiaras out there to prove it. But just this time it went right and I didn’t let you down.’
He hugged her.
She hugged him back. ‘Life doesn’t get any better than this.’
*
It didn’t stay as good at that, of course. It was one thing to charm a group of journalists and photographers who were in the same room as you, especially when you were giving them free champagne. It was quite another to convince hostile editors. Or, for that matter, the wildly partisan blogosphere.
‘Don’t look,’ advised Lottie. ‘You’ll drive yourself mad. The Palace will get the news alerts and pass on anything that you should see.’
But Bella knew that there were people who thought the news was wonderful and were bubbling excitedly about The Day, The Dress, The Honeymoon, as if she were one of their relatives. It was kind and friendly in one way, but in another it felt as if there were suddenly a load of people acting like they knew her. Only she didn’t know them.
‘It’s a bit like being a polar bear in a zoo,’ she told Richard. ‘You don’t get to stare back.’
‘Public property,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. So many people wish us well, I feel rather buoyed up by it.’
She was not so buoyed up by the paparazzi. They scurried after her, breaking out of alleyways as she walked to work, or appearing round shelves at the Late, Late Market when she was buying milk.