by Janet Gover
‘I’m George. George Harper.’ He held out his hand.
‘Lauren Phelps.’ She shook it.
George pulled a notebook out of his pocket and wrote down her name. ‘And the hairdresser is?’
The question eased Lauren’s fears. She told the photographer Maria’s name and that of her salon. This would be good publicity for her friend, even if she didn’t win. Lauren couldn’t let her own bad experience get in the way of something that might help Maria.
‘Look, the judges are coming,’ George said. ‘I’ve got to move on. I don’t want to get in their way. Good luck.’ He smiled and moved off down the line of contestants.
‘Who was that?’ Maria was back.
‘Official photographer. You might get some publicity out of this.’
‘Great. Oh – the judges are almost here.’
‘Don’t worry, you’re a cert.’ Lauren believed it too.
* * *
Lauren saw George Harper again as she took her place for the finalists’ parade. He was waiting at the end of the catwalk, his camera clutched in his hand. He saw her and smiled ruefully. Lauren grinned back. She was more than happy to be standing behind the winner. Maria too was excited with her second place.
As the music started, Lauren lifted her head high and straightened her back. If George Harper was going to give Maria some publicity, she would do her best to make his shots look good. When her turn came, she strode down the catwalk. Copying the models she had seen in glossy magazines, she pouted and posed, tossing her head to better display the extravagant hairstyle. George’s camera flashed wildly as he nodded his encouragement.
‘That was great,’ he told her later, as everyone was packing to go.
‘It was fun,’ Lauren admitted.
‘Now, I just want to make sure I’ve got all the details.’ George pulled out his notebook and pencil.
Lauren checked he had the name and address of Maria’s hairdressing salon.
‘And your name and agency?’
She reminded him of her name. ‘But I don’t have an agency.’
‘You’re not a professional model are you?’
‘No. But today was such fun, perhaps I should give it a go.’
‘I would have thought you’d be too busy for that.’
Something in the reporter’s tone began to bother Lauren. It was as if he were somehow mocking her. ‘I think I should go now,’ she said. ‘My friend will be looking for me.’
‘I understand.’ George stood up as she did.
Lauren hesitated, unsure what to do next. ‘Mr Harper. I hope you’ll …’ Her voice trailed off. What could she say? That she hoped he really was reporting on the competition? That she hoped he didn’t know who she was, or what her day job currently entailed? Of if he did, he’d keep it secret.
‘Thank you for your time, Lauren.’ He held out his hand.
Lauren shook it. She watched him walk away, hoping she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.
‘Lauren. I’ve been looking for you.’ Maria approached through the rapidly emptying hall. ‘Who was that?’
‘The official photographer.’ Lauren’s feeling of unease was growing.
‘He wasn’t harassing you about you-know-who was he?’
‘No … No’
‘Then you should stop worrying.’
‘I know.’ Lauren realised she was taking some of the gloss off Maria’s big moment. ‘I gave the salon a good plug.’
‘Oh, great. Thanks.’
‘I just hope he uses it. It would be a shame to have gone through all this fuss and not get any publicity for you.’
‘Fingers crossed.’
‘What do we do now? Are you finished here?’
‘Yes. We should load all my stuff back in to the car. Then we’ll go and celebrate.’
‘I don’t know …’ Lauren started to say. She really wasn’t in the mood for a celebration.
‘Come on, Lauren. I won’t take no for an answer.’ Maria started them moving towards the door. ‘Some of the others are going to a new club. We should go too. You look great – it would be a shame not to show off a bit.’
Reluctantly, Lauren allowed herself to be led away.
* * *
By midnight, the bars and nightclubs of the city were in full swing. Not surprisingly for a nation that based much of its economy on tourism and its internationally renowned universities, the kingdom attracted its share of the young, rich and beautiful in search of new experiences. The grand town houses and country estates were also home to many of Europe’s old families and much of its old money. This potent mix fuelled an exuberant nightlife. A nightlife that a prince could sample as he wished.
But tonight, he didn’t wish it.
‘Turn the car around, Thomas. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Nicolas stared out at the passing buildings without really seeing them. He hadn’t actually wanted to go out this evening. He just needed to do something after a restless day wondering where Lauren was. It bothered him that she hadn’t called after her abrupt departure. He wondered where she was and what she was doing. He wondered even more what she was thinking. Had those kisses destroyed their developing friendship? Or had it turned a professional relationship into something more? Nicolas didn’t know if a kiss had opened his world to new possibilities, or brought it crashing down around him.
He ran his fingers through his hair, telling himself for the hundredth time that there was nothing he could do, no answer for him, until he next saw Lauren. If only he knew when that would be.
In the driver’s seat in front of him, Thomas Lawry moved his head, obviously listening to some message through his security communications. He nodded then turned at the next corner.
‘What is it?’ Nicolas asked.
‘There has been a disturbance nearby, sir. Outside one of the nightclubs. I thought it best to avoid it.’
Nicolas agreed. He needed to stay well clear of such disturbances. It had nothing to do with the press office warnings. He didn’t want to disappoint Lauren.
Back in his apartment at the palace, Nicolas tossed his jacket onto a chair and poured himself a drink. He sank back onto the soft leather of his armchair and stared into the silky amber liquid in the glass. It glowed in the dull light as he turned the glass in his hand. He was still staring at the glass, the liquor untouched, when someone knocked on the door.
‘Yes.’
‘I am sorry to disturb you, sir.’ Courtauld came into the room.
‘What is it?’
‘Leo Falconer from the press office is here, sir.’
‘Really?’ Nicolas placed the glass on the table and stood up. He glanced at his watch. It was well after midnight. ‘What is he doing here at this hour?’
‘He says it’s important, sir.’
‘Very well.’ Nicolas automatically reached for a jacket then changed his mind. In the middle of the night he had no need to be formal. This wasn’t the first late-night meeting he’d had with his press officer. They were never pleasant and he had no reason to expect this would be any different; although he was at a loss to know what it was about. As far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything wrong this time.
‘Your Royal Highness.’ Falconer entered the room, holding some papers.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve been talking to the editor of the Herald, sir. He sent these to me.’ Falconer placed the printed pages on Nicolas’s desk. He spread them out so every word was clear. As was the photograph.
‘I’m afraid we have a problem, sir.’
Chapter Nine
Lauren was dragged from sleep by the sound of her phone ringing. She rolled over and opened her eyes. The glowing numbers on her bedside clock shimmered for a few seconds, before sliding into focus.
06:10.
Who could be calling at this hour? She slid slowly out of bed and padded through the open doorway into her living room looking for her phone. As she reached for it, it
fell silent. Lauren glared at the glowing screen and its missed call from an unknown number for a few seconds, then turned back to the bedroom. Her bed was warm and welcoming, and it felt as if she had barely closed her eyes when they were forced back open again by the same ringing. Lauren looked at the clock but couldn’t believe twenty minutes had passed since she’d lain down. Moving a little more smartly, she reached the phone before it stopped ringing.
‘Hello …’
‘Lauren? Lauren Phelps?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘Johnson is my name. From the Herald …’
‘The Herald?’ Even through the haze of sleepiness, Lauren wasn’t about to talk to anyone from the tabloid. They may have found her but that didn’t mean she had to talk to them. ‘Go away. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’ She slammed the phone down.
She shook her head, trying to gather her scattered wits. Without conscious thought she headed for the kitchen. She found a glass, opened the refrigerator and poured herself some orange juice. The crisp, cool liquid helped to clear the fuzz from her brain. Unlike Maria, Lauren wasn’t really a night owl. She had never been one for nightclubs and loud parties lasting to the small hours of the morning. She had left the celebrations early last night – at least early by other people’s standards. Tired of the loud music and sweaty atmosphere in the club, she had slipped out just before midnight and caught a taxi home.
Glancing at the kitchen clock, she decided she had managed only about five hours’ sleep. That was just not enough, particularly after the emotional roller coaster of the past few days. She would go back to bed; she needed the sleep. She also wanted to delay thinking about how she would face the man who had changed her whole world with a kiss.
Rinsing her glass, Lauren pushed all thought of the troublesome prince firmly to the back of her mind. She’d never get back to sleep if she let him intrude on her thoughts. She didn’t even make it back to her bedroom before her phone began to ring again. A horrible suspicion began forming in her mind as she reached for the handset.
‘Yes?’
‘Lauren Phelps.’
‘Yes,’ she replied cautiously, ‘who is this?’
‘My name is Destry. I am a correspondent with Whatyouneedtoknow dot com.’
Lauren lowered her hand and stared at the telephone. The man on the end of the line continued talking. The occasional word carried to her horrified ears.
‘… about the prince … exclusive interview … we’ll pay for your story …’
Lauren dropped the telephone as if it were red hot. It clattered onto the table but she could still hear the horrid voice talking at her. ‘Go away,’ she screamed. She grabbed the phone and hit the power button. Another ringtone began almost immediately, but it was a moment before she realised it was the landline, which she rarely used. Lauren dropped to her knees and reached for the phone cable. She tore it from the wall socket and the strident clamour fell silent.
Lauren remained on her knees, her hands over her face trying to block the words that were ringing in her ears. She didn’t understand what was going on, but whatever it was she was beginning to feel terribly afraid of what she might be facing in the next few hours.
At last she got to her feet. Barely aware of what she was doing, she walked to the window and looked out onto the street. Colourful logos on the sides of the cars and trucks proclaimed their media affiliation, as did the satellite dishes on the roofs of the television trucks. About fifteen or twenty people, all carrying microphones or cameras, clustered at the foot of the building’s stairs. She quickly stepped back, pulling the curtain closed to block the view.
The knocking on her door seemed almost inevitable. Lauren looked around wildly, as if seeking a hiding place or someone to run to. Suddenly her comfortable, homely flat didn’t feel safe any more, and she had no idea what to do.
Lauren didn’t know how much time she spent standing frozen in the middle of her living room. She just realised the knocking on the door had stopped. Then she heard a familiar voice raised in anger just outside her door.
‘I said get out. I don’t know how you got in here, but I’m telling you to leave or I’ll call the police.’
Maria!
Lauren crept to her door and listened to the muffled sounds from outside. The noise gradually faded, then came a gentle tap.
‘Lauren?’
Lauren had the door open before Maria could use the spare key she held in her hand.
‘Maria, I’m so glad to see you.’ Lauren practically dragged her friend in before slamming the door closed again.
‘Are you OK?’ Maria hugged her gently.
Lauren stepped back. ‘Not really.’
Maria nodded sympathetically, then took charge.
‘I think you need to get out of here. We’ll go to my place. They’re not bothering me, so you can stay there while we figure out what to do.’
Lauren nodded gratefully. It felt good to have Maria here.
‘But first, Lauren, I think you’d better get dressed. You don’t want them spotting you dressed like that.’
Lauren looked down at the baggy T-shirt and shorts that served as her night attire. She ran her fingers through the multi-coloured hair, still sticking up in a parody of the previous day’s punk hairstyle. She grinned ruefully.
‘That’s better,’ Maria encouraged her. ‘Now, hit the shower.’
When Lauren returned she was dressed and her damp hair was once more assenting to the dictates of gravity. Maria was watching television, the sound turned so low that Lauren could barely hear it. As her friend entered the room, Maria quickly dived for the set to turn it off. Lauren stopped her.
‘I might as well see what this is all about.’
‘Are you sure?’
She wasn’t, but she had to do it. Lauren stood close to the antiquated television, turning the dial slowly through the early morning news shows.
It was worse than she could ever have imagined.
This time even the so-called serious news shows had been unable to resist the sensation. A royal romance with a difference. A palace paramour in black leather and silver studs. A punk princess dressed in torn lace accessorised with a tattoo and attitude. Every station had the photographs, and they made the most of them. As she flipped channels, Lauren conceded that George Harper was a good photographer. He was probably also a very rich one now, thanks to her stupidity.
Some of the stations were also featuring the Herald’s front page with its exclusive interview with the woman they described as ‘Nick’s Punk Playmate’. Lauren’s hand paused in its frantic channel switching as she let the words sink in. Possibly fearing a libel suit the television station was playing it carefully. Lauren dropped onto the sofa, feeling as if she just couldn’t keep going for another minute.
‘These people are just horrible.’ Maria waved the remote at the TV and hit the off button. ‘All those lies. I mean, it’s not as if the two of you are even involved.’
Lauren didn’t answer.
‘Lauren?’ Maria wasn’t going to let her get away with silence. ‘You’re not, are you?’
‘No,’ Lauren answered swiftly. ‘Of course we’re not. He just … We just …’
‘Just what?’
‘He kissed me. Then I kissed him and he kissed me back.’
‘That explains a lot.’ Maria took Lauren’s hand to pull her back to her feet. ‘Right, let’s get up to my place.’
‘Why?’ Lauren asked. ‘I’ve taken the phone of the hook. They can’t get in. I can stay here.’
‘No you can’t. You’ve got a phone call to make.’
‘Phone call?’
Maria didn’t answer; she just looked at Lauren and raised her eyebrows.
‘Oh.’
‘That’s right. Who do you think woke me this morning? He called and told me something like this was happening and sent me to get you.’
‘Why didn’t he call me?’
Maria just pointed to the mobile with it
s dark screen lying on the table.
‘Oh.’
Together they moved to the door. The silence outside was encouraging. They slipped out of the flat and quickly ran up the stairs, Lauren feeling horribly exposed. She breathed more easily as Maria locked her own door securely behind them.
‘Right.’ Maria pointed at her telephone. ‘You call him. I’ll make coffee.’
‘I don’t want to talk to him.’
‘Lauren, you have to some time.’ As Maria spoke, the phone rang.
Maria picked it up, watching Lauren as she did.
‘Yes.’ Maria nodded as she listened to someone speaking at the other end of the line. ‘Yes, she’s here. Hold on.’ Maria held out the phone.
Lauren hesitated a second then took it. ‘Hello.’
* * *
Standing in his office with the phone pressed to his ear, Nicolas winced. She sounded so uncertain. Almost afraid. Her voice held no trace of the confident and independent spirit he found so captivating. Lauren sounded like a lost little girl and he wanted put his arms around her and keep her safe.
‘Lauren,’ he said, ‘are you all right?’
‘I don’t know.’
Where was the defiance? The cutting retort he had come to expect. Guilt came crashing down on him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘This isn’t your fault. I’m the one who should say sorry.’
‘No. Lauren, you have done nothing wrong.’
‘Talking to that reporter wasn’t wrong, but it was stupid,’ she said.
‘You didn’t really give him an exclusive interview?’
‘Of course not. It wasn’t even an interview really. We talked about the hairdressing competition. I tried to give Maria a plug for her shop. You didn’t even get mentioned. Not everything is about you.’
There it was, he thought, that flash of humour and irritation. Anger would make her stronger. He chuckled softly as the weight lifted from his shoulders.
‘Do you think this is funny?’ Lauren’s voice demanded in his ear.
‘No,’ he hastened to assure her. ‘Not at all.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it? And please tell me it involves that executioner of yours.’
