The Runaway Princess, Page 37

  “You’re leaving me here? For Callie?” I pretended to sound wounded, but actually I was wounded. The thought of Jo leaving felt like my last ally melting away.

  “Listen, her bonus paid for last night’s dress, don’t knock it.”

  “She’s in love with you,” I said glumly. “The boyfriend’s just a cover. She’ll get you to move in next, and Ted and Rolf will have to throw themselves off the London Eye.”

  Jo dug an elbow in my ribs. “What’s with you? I thought you’d still be tucked up with Prince Gorgeous. Especially after your big triumph last night.”

  I turned to her with pleading eyes. “Do you have to go home? Can’t you stay for the coronation? Surely Rolf can get you in.”

  “Darling, I need to get back.” I couldn’t see Jo’s face properly behind her shades, but her smile was touched with a sort of resignation. “And if I stay, it’ll just give Rolf the wrong idea, so—”

  “The wrong idea? Was that the wrong idea you were giving him last night? He seemed to think it was a very right idea, from where I was standing.”

  She sighed and stretched out her legs. Jo had the perfect legs for cropped trousers; her ankles were finely chiseled. “I had a wonderful time last night. But that’s as far as it goes with me and Rolf. It was a grand finale.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can you take your shades off, please? You’re not the only one with a hangover.”

  Jo pushed the sunglasses onto her head with a sigh, and I saw her eyes were purple-ringed, like mine, and red. I wondered if she’d been crying, or if she hadn’t actually been to bed at all. Her own bed, I mean.

  She patted my knee. “Don’t worry, I’ve told Rolf exactly the sort of girlfriend he needs to find. And I’ll find her for him, if he wants, but it’s not me, darling.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. Well, I could. But after what I’d seen last night …

  “Oh, so many reasons! Because my family is just one PR disaster after another? There’s so much dirt on them Liza would have to hire another Giselle to fight the fires. And I couldn’t carry on acting. What if I got a great part, or what if I were only given parts because of who I was with? I mean, Rolf’s fun, underneath the big act, but … it’s not the life for me.”

  “But I’ve got a job,” I said, my brain starting to race. Leo had been a bit cagey about how much time I’d have to spend doing charity work; he’d been less enthusiastic about the English Heritage wildflower consultancy than I’d expected. “And my family isn’t—”

  I stopped myself. Jo didn’t know the whole story about my family.

  “Your family is delightful!” she protested, nudging me playfully. “Okay, the marrow photo was a bit embarrassing but—”

  “Jo, it’s got much worse than that,” I said, and told her about the pictures of Mum, and Dad’s calls. Her face tightened with sympathy.

  “You need to get Leo’s lawyers right on that,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Right this morning. How vile!”

  I didn’t say anything, but as my brain slowly woke up, a terrible sense of foreboding was settling on me. How long would the celeb press take to start digging around properly? News fed news in the shallow pools of celebrity stories; I wasn’t famous, not really, but it would only take a few more photos before a strange Kardashian-like fascination would stick. And there was much worse out there about us. Much worse. And worst of all, when would Kelly decide the time—or, more likely, the price—was right to reappear, salacious story ready to go?

  Jo squeezed my hand, and I considered throwing myself at her feet and begging her not to go.

  “Come on, let’s get Leo onto this right away,” she said. “He’d do anything for you, you know that.” She hugged me. “Be brave and ride this out, Amy. It’s just a nine-day wonder. You and Leo—you’re a match made in heaven.”

  I managed a smile, but I didn’t feel like smiling. I had another five days of this, five days of intensive preparation for the coronation, which would no doubt involve Liza giving me spot checks on every head of state in the known world, and demanding three conversational openers for each.

  *

  We went in for breakfast, and as we picked at the fruits and pastries on the buffet table, Leo arrived, hair damp from the shower. His face was shocked and drawn, and he took me to one side, away from the curious gazes of Rolf and Sofia.

  “I’ve just looked on my iPad,” he muttered. “I’m absolutely livid. I’m going to get the lawyers onto this at once. What can we do for your mother? Would she like us to take legal action?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be much help in the post office,” I said.

  Leo’s eyes were full of apology. “I wish I could say you get used to it, but—” He broke off as Sofia approached, her hair wet from her morning swim. “Good morning,” he said stiffly.

  “Did I hear the words legal action?” She cupped a hand to her ear.

  “Yes,” said Leo at the same time that I said, “No.”

  Oh, what was the point? They’d all know soon enough; what else was Giselle for?

  Leo filled Sofia in while my appetite dwindled from nothing to whatever negative appetite was. Her eyes widened in disgust, then her nose flared, and to my surprise, she took my arm.

  “Amy, I’m appalled,” she said. “It’s so sexist—when Rolf went through his blubber phase, no one even mentioned it. If we don’t come down hard on these repellent people, this’ll just be the

  start.”

  I blinked in surprise. This wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. I’d anticipated a brisk “get with the program” and a note for Mum from Dr. Johnsson.

  “Let’s go and talk to Giselle,” said Sofia. “I’ll take you. I need to check a few things with her myself.”

  Leo made to come with us, but Sofia waved him away. “No need. We don’t always have to have the big man around. We girls are perfectly capable of dealing with problems.”

  “It’s fine,” I said hurriedly. “I wanted to talk to Giselle about the dogs’ home.” I’d agreed to take on that patronage, as well as the therapy garden, “to make sure the kids and dogs angle is covered.” (Giselle’s words, not mine.) “She wanted to know if Badger and I would do a photo shoot in London when we get back. I don’t mind.”

  Leo’s face brightened at that, and he touched my arm. “Tell me exactly what’s happening,” he said. “I’ll either be here or in the cathedral with the event organizers, okay?”

  I smiled, nervously, because Sofia had just taken my other arm. “Okay.”

  *

  She ushered me down the corridors to the admin area of the palace, where the oil paintings were more martial; but when we were on our own, she suddenly did a double take to check we were unobserved, and pulled me into a room.

  A vast library, I think. I didn’t have time to inspect it.

  “Listen,” Sofia said, fixing me with her sharp eyes, “I’m going to lay it on the line for you, since everyone else seems to be pussyfooting around. This is just the beginning. Your life with Leo is going to be like this all the time from now on. All you have to be is sociable, not blindingly intelligent, but if you’re not up to it, do him a favor, do yourself a favor, do Giselle a favor, and call it a day.”

  She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that I was annoyed rather than mortified. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t noticed the photographers up till now.

  “Is this about the grace? Because that was pretty amateur,” I said.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  I had so little left to lose now that my tongue seemed to be operating on its own. That, or Jo really had started to control me remotely. “You’re saying you could do a better job of everything, I suppose?”

  “Yes.” Sofia stared at me as if I were mad. “Of course I could. But not your job—Leo’s. You’re just the set dressing. In any other country in the entire world, I’d be doing Leo’s job and yours now. It’s
just here that this outrageous insult to me and you exists.”

  “Sorry, I should be insulted?”

  She clutched her forehead as if she couldn’t comprehend my slowness. “Instead of writing about what I’m doing to, I don’t know, protect women’s rights in inheritance cases, they’ll be writing about the size of your butt. You prefer that kind of feminism? You want to be picked over by the fashion blogs every day? Are you pregnant? Are you fatter than Kate Middleton? Is your mom on a diet?”

  That struck home like a slap. I wondered exactly how much Sofia knew about those pap shots. Just like I wondered how much she really knew about my folder of ball-prep information, and my engagement photo wardrobe.

  “I can put up with newspapers criticizing me,” I said, looking her square in the face. “I’ll learn. I’ll get better. But not my family. They are not part of the bargain.”

  A smile curled the corner of Sofia’s nude lip. “That’s not up to you. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, on your own.”

  My throat clenched.

  She tipped her head to one side and fixed me with an unflinching gaze. “We need to talk about Kelly.”

  Thirty-one

  I said nothing, but the thoughts wouldn’t stay still in my head. Panic was making them fly round like loose papers in a breeze. If I’d ever wanted to go back in time and do something differently, it was now.

  Sofia inspected her nails. “I’ve been told—can’t say by whom—that a certain American magazine, assisted by a certain British tabloid, has tracked down your sister. Kelly, isn’t it?”

  She knew it was. I nodded dumbly.

  “And there are some good reasons, I understand, why you wouldn’t want Kelly to be dragged through the press.”

  Of course I didn’t! Mum had nearly died under the stress the first time round. And it had only been in the Rothery Gazette. What if it was on the front of every tabloid? Kelly telling all on Loose Women? Mum would never leave the house again.

  I felt nauseated, and weirdly hurt. How come strangers had found Kelly when we couldn’t?

  “Now, we can stop that,” said Sofia. “I can stop that. I can probably nip it in the bud so tightly that even Mom and Dad, even Leo, don’t have to know about it.” She paused, to watch my reaction. “You did tell Leo about your sister—and the jail time?”

  “There was no jail time,” I snapped, “it was a suspended sentence.” I realized my error the second the words were out of my mouth.

  Sofia pursed her lips in courtroom triumph. How she’d remained unpunched in her career was a mystery to me.

  “That kind of thing doesn’t stay secret forever, Amy. As long as you’re in the spotlight here, there’ll be a reporter who’ll persuade her. A producer with enough money to make a documentary.” She rubbed her fingers together. “You can’t blame a girl like Kelly for wanting a little of her sister’s good fortune. It doesn’t sound as if she’s had much of her own lately.”

  I gripped the table with both hands. Was she bluffing? What did Sofia know? What had Kelly done now?

  Sofia saw my horror and shrugged. “Look, it might seem harsh, but I’m trying to help you. This is what it’s like when you’re in a high-profile family, Amy. You can’t have any secrets. You can’t even fib to your dietician in case he decides to write a book. I’m not expecting an instant decision—it’s a lot to take in, I know. But you need to think fast—aren’t the invitations to the cathedral blessing here due to go out on Monday?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  She made an “oh dear” face, then smiled sympathetically. Like a viper. “In the meantime,” she went on, “why don’t we go see Giselle, and see if we can’t negotiate a nice lump sum for your mother, to compensate her for that offensive photograph they printed? That might take some of the sting out of it.”

  I wanted to tell Sofia that money wouldn’t even touch the sides of the agonies my mother would be suffering right now, but what was the point? Money was the answer to everything in the Wolfsburg scheme of things.

  I followed her back out into the corridor. My brain was spinning so fast I could hardly focus, but one thing stood out.

  I had to get back to England. I had to warn Mum and Dad, not on the phone, in person, and I had to try to find Kelly myself first. I had no idea how I could do that, but waiting here for the bomb to drop wasn’t even an option. And I didn’t want Leo to know.

  The cogs in my brain spun and spun and finally stopped, like a slot machine coming up with three lemons.

  How could I marry Leo? Really. How could this ever work?

  “Sofia,” I said, as if a thought had just occurred to me, “I’ve left my phone in my room—I should go and get it, in case you need details of … stuff.”

  I was the world’s worst spontaneous fibber. Even my ears felt red.

  “Sure.” Sofia was checking her BlackBerry; now that she’d finished with me, I was off her radar. “We’ll be in the press center. Get one of the staff to bring you down if you can’t find it.”

  “Okay. See you in a sec.”

  I shot Sofia the most poisonous look I’d ever shot anyone, and spun on my heel. Jo would be leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes, which didn’t give me much time.

  *

  I threw a few things into my handbag—not much, so as not to draw attention to the fact I’d gone—and tried not to look at Leo’s cuff links on the table, the ones I’d given him, the ones he wore more than all his expensive ones. A pain was piercing my chest, and I had to concentrate on the logistics of getting home, or else it would swamp me.

  I took a piece of paper from the morocco leather writing set on the desk and scribbled him a short note, writing the first thing that came into my head.

  Dear Leo,

  I love you and the time we’ve had together, but this isn’t a life I can share with you. You once said you loved me because I’m normal—well, I am. But I don’t think a normal wife is right for you, and one day you’d wake up and realize you needed an orchid. Not a daisy, even a diamond one.

  Love, Amy

  I pulled the engagement ring from my finger and left it on top of the folded paper, along with my diamond daisy chain. I didn’t want Sofia coming after me, accusing me of nicking the family silver.

  And then without looking back at the rumpled bed or Leo’s discarded white shirt on the chair, I grabbed my bag and ran down the stairs to find Jo.

  *

  Jo’s bags were being loaded into the back of a purple palace Range Rover when I ran down to the private entrance to the state apartments. She seemed pleased to see me.

  “Come to say good-bye?” she asked. “Aw, I’ll miss you. Still, you’ll have a great week, recovering before the—”

  “No,” I said brightly, avoiding her hug and grabbing the car door handle. “I’m coming with you to the airport. I’ll say good-bye there.”

  “Really?” Jo frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to the cathedral for a rehearsal?”

  “They don’t need me, just Leo.” I jumped into the back of the car and clamped my handbag between my knees so she wouldn’t see how full it was.

  “Come on,” I added, “we don’t want to be late! We’ve got to set off right now—apparently there are delays on the motorway. Leo says sorry not to say good-bye in person, but they’re in some family meeting. About, um, Rolf.”

  Jo gave me a funny look, but she got in, and then to my intense relief we were purring down the winding mountain road from the palace to the small harbor on the other side of the island, where the ferry took tourists back and forth throughout the day.

  Jo chatted about the ball and the other dresses and how Callie would probably demand every single detail, and I answered as best I could while keeping one anxious eye on the rearview mirror in case a purple palace car appeared with a furious Leo at the wheel.

  But nothing followed us. We boarded the ferry, and I watched the white castle recede into the sparkling blue of the sea, turning my gaze away befo
re I had time to register a “last look.” And then we were on the Italian mainland, speeding down the motorway to the airport, and the magnitude of what I’d done slowly broke over me like the worst hangover known to man.

  I’d done it again. I’d run away. I’d done the thing Dad had told us never to do. But, I argued, I had to be true to the person I knew I was when all the diamonds were packed away. And that person wanted to put things right at home before anything else.

  “Are you okay?” asked Jo. “You’re going to break your phone, gripping it that hard.”

  “Just thinking about Dad,” I said. He hadn’t picked up when I called; I guessed the phone was off the hook. I’d left a message telling them not to panic, that I was on my way, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have the right words for more; it was a hug that was needed now, a silent reassurance.

  Jo squeezed my knee sympathetically, and we said nothing until the driver signaled to turn off for the airport.

  “Jo,” I said as we drove toward Departures, “put your shades on, and my hat, and get out first. I’ll get the driver to drop me at the side. But don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll see you by the British Airways first-class desk.”

  “But I’m not flying first class, Princess Amy.”

  “Do it. Please.”

  Again she looked at me strangely, but nodded, and pulled my hat low over her eyes. It looked a lot better on her.

  As she got out, three photographers loitering by the entrance followed her, shouting, “Amy! Amy! Over here! Over the shoulder!” as I’d guessed they would, so when I slipped out of the car round the corner, I was able to walk in unnoticed.

  Jo was waiting by the BA VIP check-in desk, looking flushed. A crew member was guarding her.

  “What was that in aid of?” she said. “Did you want me to have a taste of the VIP lifestyle before I go home?”

  “Something like that.” I fumbled in my bag for my purse, and looked at the BA rep. “Are there any seats left on this flight? In first?”