The Little Lady Agency and the Prince by Hester Browne

Author:Hester Browne [Browne, Hester]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Adult, Humour, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781416539063
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2008-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

13

The Worst Week of My Life actually started really well. The solicitors rang first thing to let me know that my offer had been accepted and I was able to call Peter, my landlord, and thank him for the good news.

‘I’m so glad, my dear,’ he told me. ‘I know you’ll be very happy there.’

‘I will,’ I promised him, delight bubbling through my veins. ‘I definitely will.’

I managed to hold myself back from ringing Jonathan immediately, so I could keep it as a special surprise that evening. I planned to slip the spare keys on his keyring when he wasn’t looking, then reveal all. It would make a lovely change – me giving him a set of spare keys for once.

But things started to go awry when he called me to check that I was on my way to Paris, as requested.

‘It’s impossible,’ I told him, looking at my diary. ‘I can leave at lunchtime, but there are some appointments I simply can’t cancel.’

‘If you were sick, you’d have to,’ he argued.

‘But I’m not sick. You just want me to come to some meetings, and I can’t, because I have meetings here.’

Jonathan said something in French that I didn’t understand, and then I realised he was talking to Solange.

‘I’ll be there this afternoon,’ I said, over the top of him. If he couldn’t be bothered to listen to me that was his problem. ‘If you want to make them evening appointments, we can do that, but I really can’t let these particular clients down.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he said, finally returning his attention to me. ‘I didn’t catch that.’

‘I’ll be at the Gare du Nord at four,’ I said briskly. ‘Call me if you arrange dinner discussions, otherwise I’ll look forward to us having that romantic night in that you keep promising me.’ And I hung up.

About five minutes later, Wesley Clayton-Phipps arrived, to discuss the ‘decent burial and memorial service’ for his mother’s beloved black Labrador, since she was too distressed to do it herself. It was her last link with her husband, who’d died ten years ago, and a more loyal companion to boot. I could sympathise with that.

An hour later, I helped Simon Howard draft a best man’s speech, as well as his own groom’s speech; I advised Lionel Gill on how to phrase his Soul Mates ad for the Guardian so as not to offend as many readers as last time; and instead of lunch, I went out to the latest cake shop on Gabi’s list, to enquire whether they could make a wedding cake featuring Aaron’s favourite cars round one tier, and sugar-craft shoes round another.

Gabi, of course, was disparaging about Jonathan’s bossiness, thrilled about my new property-owning status, and insanely curious about my day at the polo.

‘It was on LBC!’ she said. ‘I hear it was packed with celebs – I wish you’d learn how to use that camera on your phone, Mel. Something about a high-profile guest dismantling one bomb and the police accidentally detonating Zara Phillips’ iPod? They didn’t mention Nicky by name,’ she added.

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