Read Online Marrying Up by Wendy Holden - Free Book Online Page B

newspaper.
    ‘Er, I’m calling with a story about Florrie – um, sorry, Lady Florence Trevorigus-Whyske-Cleethorpe. Yes. The one who was
     dancing cheek to cheek with HRH. Er, who am I? I’m an, er, friend. Yes, that’s it. A close friend. And I just happened to
     hear her saying something rather amusing and terribly personal. It seems she’s not quite so keen on him as everyone imagines
     . . .’
    The journalist was fascinated, delighted, grateful and awfully nice. After a few minutes, Beatrice put the phone down feeling
     a mixture of guilt and relief. But mostly, it had to be said, the latter.

Chapter 8
    ‘Is my darling Florrie there?’ gasped a hysterical Lady Annabel over the telephone the following day.
    ‘She’s out,’ Beatrice said flatly.
Hello, Mother. Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Yes, I’m very excited about my wedding. I’m so glad you are too. Yes, absolutely
     we need to get together about the guest list. When are you free?
    ‘Out with . . .?’ Her mother’s voice was plangent with enormous hope. ‘With . . . the Prince?’
    Beatrice bit her lip. Her mother’s obvious anguish was unexpectedly affecting. ‘Well, sort of yes and no,’ she muttered.
    ‘
Yes and no?
’ shrieked Lady Annabel, as if someone had come up behind her and inserted a cattle prod in her rectum. ‘Yes
and
no?’
    ‘I mean, she’s having lunch with a prince. Only,’ Beatrice pressed on as her mother threatened excitably to interrupt, ‘not
that
one.’
    ‘Which one, then?’ screamed their mother, who probably, Beatrice felt, didn’t need a telephone to make herself heard at the
     moment.
    ‘Erm, a German one she met in a nightclub. Prince Von Something Zu Something Else. Erm, Mummy,’ Beatrice added swiftly as
     Lady Annabel tried to butt in again, ‘you know, um, with the other prince . . . That’s . . . actually . . . over. It was inthe paper this morning,’ Beatrice added in a tone perfectly poised between innocence and surprise.
    There was a silence, then the other end burst into cataclysmic, eardrum-busting grief. ‘Yes, I know! I’ve just read it!’
    Beatrice hastily reminded herself that it was the best thing for everyone. She had to keep strong and concentrate on that.
     That and her mother’s utter lack of interest in her own nuptials.
    ‘How
could
she have said that?’ heaved out Lady Annabel between racking sobs. ‘How could she have been so . . .
stupid
?’
    ‘I’ve no idea, Mother,’ said Beatrice, as if nothing could be more astounding than Florrie’s being stupid.
    ‘And who is this . . . this
friend
. . . anyway?’ spat the Belgrave Square end.
    ‘Can’t help you there, either.’ Beatrice crossed the fingers of her free hand and looked guiltily upwards.
    ‘I’ve a good mind to ring the editor,’ Lady Annabel thundered, her mood changing from abject to belligerent in an instant.
     ‘Challenge them to name this . . .
friend
or face legal action. Does the blasted newspaper realise what’s at stake here? I’ve already ordered my hat! Lots of little
     crowns entwined with the Prince of Wales’s feathers . . .’
    ‘I wouldn’t,’ Beatrice said quickly.
    ‘Wouldn’t what?’ Lady Annabel demanded. ‘It’s fabulous. Monarchist with a twist and very stylish . . .’
    ‘I’m not talking about your hat. I mean, don’t ring the paper.
    You’ll only make things worse.’
    ‘I don’t see how they
could
be worse.’ All the air had gone from Lady Annabel’s voice. She sounded flat and crumpled, like a burst paper bag.
    ‘It won’t make any difference,’ Beatrice advised gently. ‘The Palace say the relationship’s over. I’m afraid you’ll just have
     to accept it, Mother.’
    Hysterical, heartbroken sobbing greeted this advice. ‘My poor princess! My poor princess!’ lamented Lady Annabel, in the manner
     of a Greek tragedian.
    ‘My life is over. Everything I worked for, everything I believed in, is
over
.’
    ‘There’s always my wedding . . .’ Beatrice