‘I very much doubt it,’ snorted Granny. ‘Anyway, I think that’s a family piece. Alexander’s mother used to wear it.’ She turned to me with a curious look on her face.
‘What?’
‘Oh, I was just wondering . . .’
‘What?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘there are only three women on this yacht. I doubt Nicky’s planning to give it to me, and it would be awfully precipitous for him to give it to Leonie after one day, even for Nicky, so . . .’ She raised her eyebrow. ‘Maybe it’s a thank-you gift for doing such a good job on his prospects?’
‘But this is an engagement ring!’ I blurted out.
Granny and I stared at each other.
‘Is it?’ I demanded. ‘Do you know anything about this?’
She shook her head. ‘Darling, I know he admires you more than he lets on, and I know Alexander thinks you’re the bee’s knees, but no one’s said anything to me. At least . . .’ She looked thoughtful.
Various flashes of conversation at home now came back to me. Had Granny been planning this all along? To throw me and Nicky together, so I’d be the suitable girl to marry him and bring decency and balanced accounting to the New Hollenberg? And instead of me training Nicky up to be an old-fashioned prince, had this been their way of introducing me to his lifestyle? The clothes, the dinners, the credit card – had it all been some kind of test?
That might explain why she looked both ecstatic and very shifty at the same time.
‘But we haven’t even . . .’ I faltered, embarrassed. It was utterly incomprehensible to me that Nicky the Playboy would even consider proposing to someone he hadn’t managed to get into bed, but maybe Nicky the Heir to the Throne had different criteria. I wasn’t all that up on royal marriageability. In fact, I was way out of my depth.
‘Kissed?’ asked Granny, lifting her elegant eyebrow in a conspiratorial manner.
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ I confessed. That moment in the car after dinner crackled in my mind. I could have kissed him on any number of occasions now, I realised, and he would definitely have kissed me back. In fact, some of the soul-baring moments we’d shared had been more romantic than a grope in a taxi would have been. ‘Sort of, but not like that, and we definitely haven’t . . . you know.’ I opened my eyes wide.
‘I see,’ said Granny solemnly. ‘Whatever you told him about respecting a woman must have sunk in, in that case. I’m most impressed, darling!’
I squirmed, despite the thudding of my heart. You try discussing your sex life with your grandmother, and coming to the grim conclusion that it’ll never match up to hers.
‘Well, what are you going to say?’ she asked, clasping my arms.
I hung my head, unable to think straight. What was I going to say? I couldn’t possibly marry Nicky, but I felt we’d become friends, if nothing else. What with our dysfunctional families and odd backgrounds, we understood each other and I’d been more honest with him than I had with anyone, Jonathan included. Maybe he was in love with me. Weirder things had happened and God knew I’d been cringe-makingly wrong about these things before.
‘I absolutely adore Nicky . . .’ I began, then ran out of words.
Granny peered at me, mistaking my inner turmoil for massive emotion-overload. ‘Melissa, darling! I know it’s very soon after Jonathan, and I’m sure Nicky would be happy to wait, if you needed more time to think, but I must tell you, this is the most sensible thing he’s ever done. Just tell me . . .’ She tipped my chin up, so she could see into my face with her cool blue eyes. ‘But you must tell me honestly, darling, because this is terribly important. Do you love Nicky?’
Oh, dear. I blinked hard, searching for the best words. It obviously meant a lot to Granny, me and Nicky. Maybe she saw it as the chance she and Alexander never had. But at the same time I was somewhat annoyed that Granny of all people should have been planning my future behind my back – just like Daddy and Jonathan!
‘Granny, of course I have feelings for Nicky, but if you must know I’m rather cross that you could be planning something like this without telling me!’
‘What?’ said Granny. ‘I don’t follow, darling. I really had no idea . . .’
We stared at each other, then we stared at the ring. Then back at each other.
‘Oh, dear,’ I said. ‘I know he’s a prince and everything . . .’
Granny tipped her head to one side, resting one feline cheekbone on her knuckles, and looked up at me, her mouth curving ruefully. ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘it’s not done me the slightest good, but let me at least give you the benefit of my hard-won experience. Let me tell you about me and Alexander . . .’
22
‘There are no such things as princes, not really,’ she began wryly. ‘And I have been courted by at least three in my time. They’re just men, and men with better excuses than usual. Real princes are normal chaps who treat you like a queen.’
‘But Alexander!’ I protested. ‘He’s a prince and he’s totally charming!’
Granny sighed. ‘I met Alexander when I was nineteen, when I was singing at the Cavalier Club off Regent Street after the war. I just got up on stage one night as a dare, when I was there on a date. I sang ‘Hard-Hearted Hannah’. The manager asked me to come back – and I said, why not? You would have loved the Cavalier Club, darling – it was all velvet drapes and huge crystal chandeliers, and you never knew who would be sitting on the next table. There’d be dukes, gangsters, actresses, all throwing back the cocktails and carrying on until breakfast the next morning. Quite scandalous, but terribly chic.’
‘Didn’t your parents mind?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I’m afraid to say I ran rather wild in those days. Daddy and Mummy were in the middle of their divorce by then, and it was all getting pretty unpleasant – put me off marriage for years. I bought a little flat in Kensington and let them get on with it. Besides, I had stacks of admirers. Champagne every night, and hot-house blooms from country estates sent to the back door, and men proposing . . .’ She smiled. ‘I was only nineteen, but I pretended to be twenty-two.’
I’d seen photographs of Granny singing in her figure-skimming lamé evening gowns and long gloves, lit up in a smoky spotlight, surrounded by dinner jackets and ladies in tricky little veiled cocktail hats. She might have been nineteen but she had the heavy-lidded expression of a thirty-two-year-old thrice-divorcée.
‘Alex came in one night with a group of friends, and they had the special front-row table. As soon as I saw him looking up at me, I felt I’d known his face for years. It was divine, just like electric shocks. We couldn’t tear our eyes away from one another, and I was almost too nervous to sing, but he waited until the club closed at five, and took me out for breakfast. We went to a cafe he knew that opened for the flower traders at Covent Garden – he bought me coffee and every single orchid on sale that morning.’
‘How romantic,’ I breathed.
Granny nodded. ‘It was terribly romantic. Anyway, I moved into the flat he kept in Mayfair and I became what you’d call his mistress. But,’ she added quickly, ‘it was a lot more than that, Melissa. We spent all the time he had in London together, going to the theatre, and to parties, and concerts. Alex talked about marriage, and where we’d live, and what our children would look like, and I absolutely longed to be swept away by him. We were desperately in love. But business came first. Hollenberg. His father was negotiating with practically everyone to get the family reinstated in some form and had some far more suitable specimens lined up than me.’
‘But, Granny, you were perfectly suitable!’ I protested. ‘Your father was a High Court judge!’
She pulled a face. ‘Well, lots of people were in those days, darling. And they were divorced, and Mummy was quite notorious, and I’d had . . . a few admirers, shall we say? But what you must understand is that despite all this, Alex and I were very serious about each other.’ She gripped my hand tightly, and I got the impression that we were now approaching the tricky part.
‘Alex started to spend a lot of time abroad, dealing with his family. They were all over the place – Paris, New York, the south of France – and I started to get a bit, well, cheesed off. Just like you were cross about Jonathan. I was about your age by now, darling, and in those days a girl was on the shelf by the time she was twenty-two. I wanted to know where I stood. I didn’t care for the idea of being his mistress for ever, twiddling my thumbs until he flew in. And I didn’t like the idea that being his mistress meant there was a full-time official post for someone else. I was quite the society girl by then – I’d given up singing, you see . . .’
‘After the hit record,’ I added.
‘Yeeees,’ said Granny. ‘And quite frankly, it wasn’t as though I was short of potential husbands. Everyone used to come to my bashes in Mayfair – I had chinless wonders hanging off the fire escape. Percy, your grandfather, was sending me some special peony he’d crossbred in my honour, three times a week, constantly taking me for tea at the Ritz, begging me to marry him. Not to mention a certain rather charming actor who shall remain nameless. Oh, yes, and him. I’d almost forgotten him,’ she added, more to herself, then stopped.
I held my breath.
‘Alex flew me to Paris on Valentine’s Day, in 1958. He said he had something to tell me. I thought he was going to propose, more fool me. He didn’t. He told me he was going to marry some Hungarian countess called Celestine – a second cousin, or something – because it would more or less guarantee them getting their castle back.’ Granny’s lips tightened, but I couldn’t tell who she was angry with: herself, I suspected. ‘He was upset, and I was devastated, but I think he expected we could carry on as normal, once I’d calmed down. Of course we couldn’t. That is not what I call princely behaviour.’ She twisted her mouth ruefully. ‘It didn’t get him his castle back in the end, either.’
‘So what did you do?’ I asked, though I think I already knew.
‘I flew home and married your grandfather. He knew all about Alexander, but he waited for me, and when he asked me again, I said yes.’
‘Did you love Grandad?’ I asked. I couldn’t bear to imagine Granny heartlessly marrying herself off to someone she didn’t love, just to get her own back. It just didn’t fit with the Granny I’d adored all my life.
She met my eyes, and, for the first time, we were seeing each other as women, with the same vulnerable hearts, and romantic but pragmatic blood in our veins. I knew whatever she said would be honest, and I braced myself for my opinion of her to be changed for ever.
‘Yes, I did,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Not the same way that I loved Alex, but I did love your grandfather. He was a sweet man, much older than me, you know, with grown-up children from his first marriage. But he was kind-hearted, and quite dry once you got to know him. He had his peonies, and his table tennis and someone to run his houses and his cellar, and I had the security and the company, and someone to beat at the crossword. And the title, of course.’ She tutted ruefully. ‘Quite nice to be an official Lady. It might not have been a whirlwind romance, but we had the sort of love that lasted thirty years, whether life was stormy or dull, and that counts for a lot, you know, Melissa. Respect.’
‘And what about Alexander? Did you stay in touch?’
Granny sighed, and didn’t answer at once. ‘It’s very hard, isn’t it, when people you love turn out to be not the way you hoped?’ She touched my hand, and I nodded sadly, knowing she meant Jonathan.
‘Alex tried to get in touch with me many times, but I knew that if we met, we’d just be tempted to start an affair, and I promised myself I’d never, ever get involved with a married man. And I was cross for a long time about the way . . . things ended.’ Granny looked quite fierce. ‘After Percy died, Alex called me and asked if he could take me out to dinner. I wasn’t sure, but he’s so charming, he persuaded me. I realised we were old enough to let things go and be friends. I’m glad he did.’ She looked down at her own diamond rings. ‘Then, when Celestine died last year . . . Well, that changed things again. I’d always like to think there’s room for forgiveness. But, what I wanted to say to you, darling, is . . . if I’d waited for Alexander to give me a fairy-tale life, I’d be a bitter, lonely old woman by now. And instead, I’ve been very happy.’
She touched my cheek tenderly. ‘If I hadn’t married Percy, I wouldn’t have had your mother, and there wouldn’t have been any you! Darling, I know you’re feeling down about Jonathan, but please don’t expect Nicky to provide some kind of happy ever after. Because it’s not up to him, it’s up to you.’
‘I don’t expect him to!’ I protested. ‘I mean, he’s gorgeous and much less of a moron than he seems, but really, Granny – do you honestly think he’s my type?’
‘We all like to think we know what Our Type is,’ she pointed out. ‘But hormones have a habit of bypassing that.’
‘It’s not that, there’s . . . there’s someone else.’
‘Really?’ asked Granny. ‘Who?’
I blushed.
‘Please God don’t say Jonathan,’ she groaned.
‘No!’
‘Thank heaven for small mercies. Who, then? Nelson?’
I nodded, and a little smile broke through the tension on Granny’s face. ‘Oh. Well, now he really is a prince, Melissa. Nelson Barber is everything I’d wish for you, and he absolutely adores you, that’s quite clear.’
‘Do you think so?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Oh, yes.’ She took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Hard-working and honest might not be as glamorous as a yacht and helicopters, but believe me, darling, they’re a lot more precious. Does Nelson know how you feel?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Well, I’ve been engaged to Jonathan, haven’t I? God, I’ve been so stupid, trying to fix him up on blind dates – and now here he is with Leonie and they’re getting on like a house on fire! She’s had a makeover, and now even Nicky’s been listening to her lectures about international tax havens. It’s amazing what a half-head of highlights and a push-up bra can do.’
Granny went silent, then said, ‘Well, what if Nicky suddenly took an interest in Leonie?’
‘What?’
‘Well, if Nelson thought Leonie was interested in Nicky, he wouldn’t touch her with a bargepole. And if Leonie thought Nicky fancied her – she’s an accountant, isn’t she? Which fund would you rather invest in?’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that a bit sneaky, though?’
‘Ingenious, darling.’
I looked at the red ring box on the desk, and the inner joy I’d started to feel curdled in my stomach. It didn’t change the fact that Nicky had an engagement ring in his cabin. Not only was this going to lead to a horrendous, embarrassing situation, but we were stuck on a yacht. With no taxis to spirit us to safety.
‘What am I going to say if Nicky does propose?’ I wailed. ‘I’ve only ever been proposed to once, and that didn’t go very well!’
‘You say, “I’m terribly honoured that you’d consider spending the rest of your life with me”,’ Granny began, with a suspiciously practised air, but before she could carry on, I heard footsteps pass the porthole on the deck above, and Nicky’s voice say, ‘I don’t know – I’ll just go and find her, shall I?’
I nearly jumped out of my palazzo pants. ‘Quick!’ I said. ‘Out!’
Fortunately, the boat’s palatial dimensions meant that we had just enough time to slip out, and pretend to be emerging from Granny’s stateroom when Nicky sauntered down the steps.
Granny and I both stared at him, as if seeing him for the very first time.
‘What?’ he drawled, running a hand through his thick dark hair. He raised an eyebrow in my direction. ‘Hey, I know I’m a good-looking guy, Melissa, but you’re making me feel quite shy, staring at me like that!’
‘I’m fine!’ I squeaked, not knowing what to say.
He peered more closely at me. ‘Melissa?’
‘She’s still a little shaken after your
cavortings,’ Granny intervened smoothly, putting a hand on the small of my back and shoving me towards the stairs. My eyes stayed on Nicky, despite myself. ‘I prescribe a stiff gin and tonic, darling. Nicky, can you arrange that for us? We’re just going for a spot of sun.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, creasing his brow. ‘Leonie’s wondering where you are, by the way. Nelly’s boring her senseless with his reef knot anecdotes.’
‘Hahahahahahaha!’ tinkled Granny and led me upstairs.
I’d barely settled myself into the soft mass of cushions in the sunpit when a generous G & T arrived in a huge tumbler, and I drank deeply from it, my hands shaking so much the ice rattled.
Granny arranged herself and her gauzy layers of designer linen on a sun lounger next to Alexander, who was already tanned to the deep bronze of Daddy’s dinner gong. Nelson had gone off to inspect some new GPS system, according to Leonie, for which I was quite grateful, but she seemed eager to chat, for which I wasn’t.
I lay back on the cushions, in the shade of a broad green umbrella, and tried to think what Honey would do. It was all so bizarre. What was the etiquette on being proposed to by a prince? How could I let Nelson know how I felt?
‘Nelson’s a nice man, isn’t he?’ Leonie observed, breaking into my thoughts. ‘Bit like a Labrador.’
‘Sort of,’ I said. A twinge of jealousy bit me. I was the only one allowed to see him as a Labrador, thank you. ‘He’s a bit grumpy in the mornings, though. And he won’t drink non-organic milk because of dairy mastitis.’
I wondered, guiltily, just how far I could put her off, in the name of telling the truth. Not that I had any right to interfere in Nelson’s life when it was me who had set him up with Leonie in the first place. Especially if he liked her.
‘Hmm,’ said Leonie. ‘I don’t go in for organic food personally. Just ten per cent extra for a bit of mud, isn’t it? Paranoia tax. But I’m really impressed with his ethical investments,’ she went on. ‘He’s obviously very clued-up on tax breaks.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Very much so.’