…’
‘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