Read Online Little Lady Agency and The Prince by Hester Browne - Free Book Online Page B

throwing the contents of the milk jug over him and the matter would be dropped faster than a hot scone.
    With impeccable timing, Granny unleashed her most irresistible smile, the one that had allowed her to take advantage of London society for fifty years. ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘you’re a chip off the old block. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to have tea with a prince?’
    When I paused, struggling with the terrible, familiar sensation that I was being played like a cheap fiddle, she added, ‘Two princes, come to that.’
    And with that, I’m afraid to say, I was sunk.

4
     
    I drove back to the office, my head buzzing with contradictory thoughts, and even though I’d been out for only an hour and a half, the answering machine was stuffed with calls. Top of the pile was one Dilys Lady Blennerhesket.
    ‘Hello, darling, so lovely to see you just now. Just to let you know I’ve spoken to Alexander and he’d be absolutely delighted to take us both out for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re around. Obviously, by that I mean do cancel whatever you have on, won’t you?’ she went on, at the exact same moment that I started to bridle about having prior engagements. ‘He’s going to make Nicolas come along, since he’s in London at the moment, and you can see what you’re up against. I mean,’ she added quickly, ‘you can see what he’s like. Seven for cocktails at the Blue Bar, then dinner at Petrus. That OK? Lovely! Speak to you later!’
    I checked the time of the message again. Exactly two minutes after I’d left her at Claridge’s. Hmm. Either she’d made a very quick call to Alexander, or the whole thing had been set up in advance.
    ‘Hello, Honey, it’s Angus Deering. I need to learn how to make a shelf, very quickly. Stupidly told this new girl I’d done lots of carpentry at school, now she wants me to assemble the whole effing IKEA range in her flat. Call me back? Cheers.’
    I scribbled a note. I’d found a terribly good handyman who frequently gave crash courses to my less spacially aware bachelors. He also fixed their attempts while the guilty party was out at work, if necessary.
    ‘Um, hello, I need to speak to Honey about the nail-biting cure for my son?’
    I flipped open the engagement diary and jotted the details down on a Post-it note. My patented Hard as Nails nail treatment was one of my most popular services, but it was quite time-consuming, involving, as it did, fourteen randomly spaced calls a day to the nail-biter. I was thinking of farming it out to Allegra, who positively enjoyed shouting at people.
    I deleted the messages, and was going through the post when the phone rang.
    ‘Mel?’ said a familiar voice, above the clatter of a busy office. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
    ‘Hello, Gabi!’ I said, putting the envelopes down and turning on the coffee machine. This wouldn’t be a quick call.
    Gabi was my best friend, and she worked at the estate agency whose Paris branch Jonathan managed. She had an ear for gossip, an eye for a bargain and a nose for sticking into other people’s business. She was also funny, generous and loyal: the very best mate I’d ever had, even if her dark petiteness made me look like the Jolly Green Giant next to her.
    ‘Listen, are you around this evening?’ she went on. ‘I need you to cast your expert eye over my wedding plans!’
    Gabi almost sang the phrase ‘my wedding plans!’
    From the initial ideas I’d heard so far, it was going to be the sort of occasion when entire roads were closed off and helicopters were involved. Even though the Big Day was sixteen long months away, Gabi had already visited every major venue in north London. I’d stayed out of it as long as I could but clearly that political immunity was now about to end.
    ‘I’ve had to sack that wedding planner I was telling you about,’ she added. ‘She said that doves were very last year. I mean, hello? Has she been to any weddings recently? Everyone has doves!’