proved to be very stylish. Now she tried them on and at once they felt right, especially when she added her cute T-bar heels. But neither Lottie nor Bella had a jacket that worked with them.
‘What they need,’ said Bella, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, ‘is a very simple white silk shirt.’
Lottie bounced to her feet. ‘And I know exactly where you can get one.’
As a redhead, Lottie only ever wore cream rather than white, but she had bought a wonderful tailored silk shirt from one of Carlos’s other clients only last week. As soon as Bella tried it on, she agreed the shape was perfect. The boutique still had one in white. Bella returned triumphant.
‘It makes me feel like myself,’ she told her friend, with a great sigh of relief.
‘That’s what you need. Now,’ Lottie advanced with a determined expression, ‘pearl earrings. I don’t want to hear a word about Lady Golfers or Jane Austen. This is a classic look.’
And when she had them on, Bella had to agree. Even so, she held her breath in case Richard staggered back, saying, ‘You cannot call on the Queen wearing trousers.’
But he arrived early and wanted to leave at once.
‘My father gets out of the classical stuff if he can, so he’ll be at home anyway. We can see him first.’
‘He’s not having dinner with us?’ said Bella, surprised.
Richard shrugged. ‘He likes his routine. He never eats late. How’s your day been?’
‘No problem so far. I didn’t answer calls from anyone I didn’t know. A couple of journos left messages on my voice mail. My mother’s told the Golf Club and wants to show you off to them as soon as possible. My grandmother wants to check you out. My father is still fulminating. Could be worse.’
‘Not bad at all,’ he agreed.
This time he was driving a powerful black car, with a dashboard like a rocket ship’s. The policemen on the gate at the Palace clearly recognised it. They swung open the doors and raised their hands as he drove through. He gave them a friendly wave.
He drove into an inner courtyard and parked close to a covered walkway. It was starting to snow again. They left footprints behind as they ran for shelter.
Richard took her hand. ‘Stick close to me. This place is a rabbit warren.’
He was right. They went into an eighteenth-century bit, all wooden floors and polished banisters, through a service corridor that might once have led to kitchens which now seemed to be office accommodation, and then up and down so many little half-staircases that Bella’s head started to spin. But then the portraits got grander and marble columns started to appear.
‘The public rooms, with thrones and so forth, for investitures, dinners, and occasions of national importance,’ Richard said conscientiously. ‘Lots of pictures of battles and men in uniform.’ He stopped in front of one epauletted grandee.
‘Leopold, the Prince Consort. It’s his fault I have this damn’ great nose. He’s wearing the uniform of a British Field Marshal.’ He studied Leopold with some affection. ‘In fact, he really was a soldier, so he was more entitled to wear uniform than most of the other old mountebanks. He fought against Napoleon for the Tsar, though he was rather keen on the French before Napoleon decided on world domination. It was always said that he brought a touch of French style to the court, balancing the excesses of George IV.’
It sounded as if he were talking about a friend. Bella wondered what it would be like to know your ancestors in such detail. She didn’t know anything about any of hers, beyond her grandmothers. She said so.
‘It’s easy enough to find out if you’re interested. I’ve been to several Family History centres. Fascinating places.’
‘I might do that one day,’ said Bella, not meaning it.
He took her up another staircase and down a corridor. Bella had half expected flunkeys in knee breeches, or at least maids, to be flitting about. But the only people to be seen were on the walls. The portraits were smaller here, though, and there were more women.
‘Queen Charlotte by Watts, 1850 or so. She got plump like her father and rather sententious, but she was very racy in her day … had several flings as a teenager … but Leopold seems to have calmed her down.’ Richard moved on. ‘Her daughter Virginia, also by Watts. She was rather dreamy and poetic but she knew her own mind. Defied her mother,