table. ‘I’ll get in trouble. More trouble. “Poor little rich boy”, they’ll all say.’
‘It’s quite a defence plea though.’ I said this smiling at him. I couldn’t take his sob story that seriously but I still felt a twinge of sympathy. A very tiny one.
‘Nope,’ he said, ‘Sorry. Can’t use it. That was just for you to know. Not everyone else. And what about you, anyway?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What’s your story? Why are you here interviewing me?’
I felt awkward. ‘Erm, it’s not very exciting. I grew up in Surrey, then my dad died, so Mum and I moved to Battersea where she’s lived ever since. I was all right at English at school so my teacher said I should think about becoming a journalist. I think he meant more politics and news than castles and Labradors, though, no offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘But this is good for now.’
He nodded in silence. ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’
I laughed. ‘I’m supposed to be asking the questions.’
‘You are. I’m just being nosy.’
‘No, as it happens. I don’t. A bit like you, I guess, relationships aren’t my thing.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t imagine you with an Ed or a James, living in some terribly poky flat in Wandsworth.’
‘Oh, I see. You’re not a man of the people at all. You’re a snob?’
‘I’m teasing. Some of my closest friends are called Ed and James. But come on, Polly, you really must lighten up or we’ll never get anywhere. If we’re going to get married one day, you’ll need to stop being so stern.’
‘You’re ridiculous,’ I said. But I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. He was clearly the boy your mother warned you about but he was also charming. More charming than I’d thought earlier that day. More charming than the papers made out. Or maybe it was the wine?
‘Why shouldn’t we get married? I think you’re terribly sweet. And funny. And you clearly know nothing about horses which is also a bonus.’
And then he leaned forward and kissed me. Briefly. His lips brushed mine for two or three seconds, tops, before I pulled my head back. Slow reflexes, admittedly. But, in my defence, I was very drunk.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said in my most matronly voice, pulling away.
‘No?’
‘No. This is work. For me anyway. And just when I was starting to like you.’
‘Have I ruined it?’ he said, still leaning forward, still smiling at me.
I ignored the question. ‘Your seduction techniques might have worked on Lala, but not me.’
He sighed and sat back in his seat. ‘Good old Lala. How is she, anyway?’
‘She’s very well. Well… kind of. You know Lala.’
‘I did like her,’ he said, staring at the table as if in a trance. ‘It just wasn’t the right timing again.’ He paused. ‘Or it was something else. I don’t know.’ He looked up at me. ‘You won’t write about me and her though, will you?’
‘You and Lala? No. Don’t worry.’
‘Good. I don’t mind being written about that much but I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone else. I mean, I ask for it, I know. Others don’t.’
He threw back his wine glass and I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn’t. So, we sat for a few moments in silence while ancestors in wigs frowned down from the walls. The mood had changed but I wasn’t sure why.
‘Bedtime, I think,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Let me show you the way to your room.’
I followed him in silence back down the long corridor and up the stairs. I felt awkward about things. About the whole day. The entire family should be in an asylum. I knew Peregrine would expect my piece on the family to be glowing, to talk about how upstanding they all were. To put a gloss on life in the castle and be as flattering as I could about the Duke and Duchess. But the truth was they all seemed a bit lost. Trapped. Although, having met Jasper, I could at least write about how much more self-aware he was in real life, as opposed to how he was portrayed in the papers. I could definitely bring myself to do that, I thought, as I reached for the zip on the back of my dress. For God’s sake, it was going to take me about five hours to get out of this thing.
‘GOOD TIME THEN?’ ASKED the taxi driver as I got back into his car early the next morning, having fished out his card and decided I would sneak out early before breakfast, before any more awkwardness over bacon and eggs. I didn’t want to talk to anyone because I had the kind of hangover that I thought I might die from.
‘Mmmm, kind of,’ I replied, shutting my eyes.
‘See much of the Duke?’
‘A bit.’ Eyes still closed.
‘And the Duchess?’
‘I saw a bit more of her actually.’ I had to silence this. How could I silence him?
‘So you’re back to London then?’
‘Yup.’
‘Back to the Big Smoke. I don’t know how you do it. I like the quiet life myself.’
‘Mmmm.’ Could have fooled me.
‘Can’t be doing with all the stress of London, do y’know what I mean? People rushin’ about all the time. And all that noise. How d’you sleep at night with all that noise? All them buses and cars. And people.’
‘I can sort of sleep anywhere,’ I muttered. Like right now, I thought to myself, literally right this very second.
‘Nope, not for me. I’m happier up here. Just me and my Marjorie. I drive my car, she works in the local library. Loves it there, she does. Says she likes the peace.’
‘Mmm. I can imagine.’
‘Not much of a reader myself. But she loves it. Always got her head in a book, has my Marjorie.’
‘Mmm. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude but do you mind if I have a quick doze? I’m just a bit tired.’
‘No, no, right you are. You have a doze. I read an article the other day about sleep. What was it called?’ He paused. ‘“The Power of the Nap”, I think, something like that. I have trouble sleeping myself, do you ever find that? Not every night, just sometimes. My head hits the pillow and the brain’s still going, d’you know what I mean?’
I didn’t reply. My brain felt like it was about to dribble out through my
