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CHAPTER SIX
‘I’MAFRAID HIS Highness is—’
‘Unavailable at the moment?’ Beatrice inserted, her words dripping with saccharine-coated sarcastic venom, not caring by this point that she was killing the messenger.
Thismessenger at least.
It had taken all her courage to make that first call and she had felt physically sick as she had punched in Dante’s personal number, only to have her call diverted to someone who had identified herself as ‘His Royal Highness the Crown Prince’s office’—not actually an office but a snooty-sounding female, whom Beatrice took an instant dislike to.
Over the last few hours her instincts had proved to be bang on. She also knew that her husband was ghosting her—every single number or email address she had for him came up as unrecognised or no longer available.
The only number that was taking her calls was this one.
‘His Royal Highness is not taking calls but I can pass on a message.’
‘Yes, you mentioned that,’ Beatrice cut her off before she went deep into auto message mode.
This was the fifth time now that she had tried to contact Dante and the fifth time she had been given the same runaround by this faceless underling with the nice line in patronising.
‘But if you would prefer to address your questions to His Highness’s legal representatives… Do you have the number of the law firm? I can—’
Eyes squeezed tight, Beatrice told her exactly what she could do, and heard the shocked, offended gasp on the other end. She wasn’t proud of it, but there were limits, and she had reached hers and then some.
In the periphery of her vision she was aware of Maya’s frantic hand signals as she mimed zipping motions across her lips.
She ignored them and smiled. She wasn’t enjoying herself, but it was a relief to stick her head over the parapet and stick it to Dante’s messenger.
‘I don’t actually have any questions, I just want to deliver some information.’
‘I will pass on any important information.’
‘It is personal information. Sensitive information.’
‘I am a personal assistant.’
‘In that case…why not?’ Beatrice came back smoothly. ‘Do you have a pen? Fine, yes, well, take this down, will you? Tell my husband…’ She ground the title home as she jabbed the pencil she had picked up into the stack of unopened post on the table. ‘Tell him that I thought he might like to know that he is going to be a father. Got that?’ she asked pleasantly, and decided to take the choked sound at the other end of the line as an affirmative. ‘Well, thank you so much for your help. I’ll be sure to mention your name when I speak to my husband!’ Her breath gusting fast and frantic, she ended the call, her glance moving from the phone, still grasped in her white-knuckled hand, to her sister.
She pressed her hand to her mouth and gave a nervous giggle, her eyes flying to Maya, who rolled her own.
‘You didn’t stick to your script.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Beatrice looked at the stack of bullet points printed on cards that had been meant to aid her calm delivery of the facts, even factoring in a potential mind blank when it came to telling Dante.
She had not factored in a red-mist moment.
‘I imagine you might get a response now,’ Maya murmured as Beatrice continued to look at the phone in her hand as if it were an unexploded bomb.
‘I lost my temper. What have I done now?’
It had been three in the morning before Beatrice had finally managed to drop off, so it took her a few moments to orientate herself and realise that the noise was not part of her dream, but real.
Someone—it didn’t take too many guesses who—had their hand pressed to the doorbell, filling the flat with a continual tiny rendition of the ‘William Tell Overture’, their landlord’s tasteful choice.
Maya appeared as Bea was dragging on a robe over her nightshirt.
‘How did he get here this quickly?’
Beatrice shrugged.
