looking at me meaningfully. ‘I think they have the same taste in spas . And detox centres . And kinesiologists.’
‘She is not the same after the last divorce,’ agreed Alexander.
‘And Nicky’s father?’
‘We do not speak of him,’ he said gravely.
‘Racing driver,’ murmured Granny under her breath.
‘It has been made very clear to me that unless Nicky shows he can calm his behaviour, take on some responsibility, the deal cannot go ahead. And my family will lose this last chance. I must confess, yes, I would like to see him settled down, and thinking of a family, instead of just his own pleasure. But not with someone who’ll make the situation . . .’ he paused, ‘ worse. ’ Alexander looked up me, concerned. ‘I’m afraid he won’t meet the right girl, the way he is now. Would you want to marry him, Melissa?’
‘Well . . .’ I stammered, not sure what the polite response was.
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Alexander shook his head. ‘And that makes all of us so unhappy. Ours is not an illustrious family, but it is an old one, and our name has never, ever, been dragged through the tacky papers this way. We do not want Nicolas to end up with a trapeze artist, in and out of the divorce courts, children everywhere.’
‘But, if he wants to—’ I began.
‘Nicolas does exactly what he wants,’ said Granny tartly. ‘That’s the point. Which is fine when you’re a merchant banker from Epsom. But he wants all the fun of being a prince, and none of the responsibility that goes with it.’
Alexander raised his majestic, sad eyes to mine. ‘What I would like to engage you to do, Melissa, is simply show him the right way to behave. For a few months.’
‘Improve his profile,’ added Granny. ‘Be seen with Nicky at a few art galleries and museums, instead of the usual trampy masseuses he falls asleep on in that nightclub.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘What’s it called? That one Prince Harry goes to.’
‘Boujis,’ I said automatically. But a dread thought was dawning on me. ‘Be seen with Nicky?’ What exactly had Granny told him about my agency? ‘You don’t want me to pretend to be his girlfriend, do you?’ I looked at Alexander. ‘Perhaps I didn’t mention it, but Jonathan is my fiancé. We were engaged at Christmas. He would . . .’ I stopped myself saying ‘go nuclear if I did this again’ and corrected it to, ‘be very reluctant to agree to my doing this.’
Alexander opened his mouth, but Granny cut in. ‘Think of it more as image consulting,’ she said. ‘Like a PR expert.’
Just as I was searching for the right way of pointing out that rebranding Prince Nicolas was more than most experienced PRs would take on, Alexander suddenly threw his napkin on the plate, got to his feet and excused himself.
Nicolas had appeared at the door, dressed in a tight shirt with three buttons undone, a pair of dark jeans held up with a belt that screamed ‘This buckle is made from gold by Gucci!’, and loafers.
I didn’t need to inspect his feet to guess that he wouldn’t have bothered with socks.
Granny and I watched as Alexander opened his arms wide, and escorted his grandson out of the dining room with all the appearance of warm family feeling. I knew enough about displays of warm family feeling to suspect it was anything but.
‘Probably going to lend him a tie,’ I suggested, to break the silence.
Granny put out a bejewelled hand and grasped mine over the table. I braced myself for some serious persuasion. No one in my entire family could ask for anything normally. More worryingly from my point of view, none of them could take no for an answer either.
‘Please, darling,’ she said in a low, impassioned voice. ‘You’re the only person Alex can turn to! I have heard him dream about that castle for forty-five years!’
‘Ladle on the emotional blackmail, why don’t you?’ I said faintly.
‘Think of it as a challenge, then!’ She arched her eyebrow. ‘And
‘She is not the same after the last divorce,’ agreed Alexander.
‘And Nicky’s father?’
‘We do not speak of him,’ he said gravely.
‘Racing driver,’ murmured Granny under her breath.
‘It has been made very clear to me that unless Nicky shows he can calm his behaviour, take on some responsibility, the deal cannot go ahead. And my family will lose this last chance. I must confess, yes, I would like to see him settled down, and thinking of a family, instead of just his own pleasure. But not with someone who’ll make the situation . . .’ he paused, ‘ worse. ’ Alexander looked up me, concerned. ‘I’m afraid he won’t meet the right girl, the way he is now. Would you want to marry him, Melissa?’
‘Well . . .’ I stammered, not sure what the polite response was.
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Alexander shook his head. ‘And that makes all of us so unhappy. Ours is not an illustrious family, but it is an old one, and our name has never, ever, been dragged through the tacky papers this way. We do not want Nicolas to end up with a trapeze artist, in and out of the divorce courts, children everywhere.’
‘But, if he wants to—’ I began.
‘Nicolas does exactly what he wants,’ said Granny tartly. ‘That’s the point. Which is fine when you’re a merchant banker from Epsom. But he wants all the fun of being a prince, and none of the responsibility that goes with it.’
Alexander raised his majestic, sad eyes to mine. ‘What I would like to engage you to do, Melissa, is simply show him the right way to behave. For a few months.’
‘Improve his profile,’ added Granny. ‘Be seen with Nicky at a few art galleries and museums, instead of the usual trampy masseuses he falls asleep on in that nightclub.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘What’s it called? That one Prince Harry goes to.’
‘Boujis,’ I said automatically. But a dread thought was dawning on me. ‘Be seen with Nicky?’ What exactly had Granny told him about my agency? ‘You don’t want me to pretend to be his girlfriend, do you?’ I looked at Alexander. ‘Perhaps I didn’t mention it, but Jonathan is my fiancé. We were engaged at Christmas. He would . . .’ I stopped myself saying ‘go nuclear if I did this again’ and corrected it to, ‘be very reluctant to agree to my doing this.’
Alexander opened his mouth, but Granny cut in. ‘Think of it more as image consulting,’ she said. ‘Like a PR expert.’
Just as I was searching for the right way of pointing out that rebranding Prince Nicolas was more than most experienced PRs would take on, Alexander suddenly threw his napkin on the plate, got to his feet and excused himself.
Nicolas had appeared at the door, dressed in a tight shirt with three buttons undone, a pair of dark jeans held up with a belt that screamed ‘This buckle is made from gold by Gucci!’, and loafers.
I didn’t need to inspect his feet to guess that he wouldn’t have bothered with socks.
Granny and I watched as Alexander opened his arms wide, and escorted his grandson out of the dining room with all the appearance of warm family feeling. I knew enough about displays of warm family feeling to suspect it was anything but.
‘Probably going to lend him a tie,’ I suggested, to break the silence.
Granny put out a bejewelled hand and grasped mine over the table. I braced myself for some serious persuasion. No one in my entire family could ask for anything normally. More worryingly from my point of view, none of them could take no for an answer either.
‘Please, darling,’ she said in a low, impassioned voice. ‘You’re the only person Alex can turn to! I have heard him dream about that castle for forty-five years!’
‘Ladle on the emotional blackmail, why don’t you?’ I said faintly.
‘Think of it as a challenge, then!’ She arched her eyebrow. ‘And
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