private lift from our flat on the fifteenth floor. She pushed the button for reception. ‘Don’t let Nancy Rose win.’
‘Her video has now gone viral and she’s even uploaded a second one to talk about her “brush with death” at my hands,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I think she’s already won, Mum.’
The doors pinged open and we stepped out into the main lobby. Even though I’ve lived at Hotel Royale all my life, I never get tired of the view when the lift doors open on to reception. My great-great-grandfather, who founded the hotel yonks ago, wanted it to be the grandest hotel in the world, so he made sure it had all these big columns and sparkling chandeliers and marble floors, then he shoved a load of gold leafing all over the plush wallpaper just in case it wasn’t obvious that this place was super posh. I like to think that my great-great-grandfather was a total drama queen who kept saying things like, ‘More gold, people, give me more gold !’
In my head for some reason he also has a French accent.
‘Good morning,’ Matthew said cheerily, shooting me a big grin as he came out from behind reception. ‘And how are we today?’
‘I hate my life.’
‘Excellent! Ready to smash that Monday morning!’
He winked at Mum. ‘Christine, Audrey was looking for you. She wants to run through your 9 a.m. meeting notes.’
I don’t know how Matthew is so jolly all the time. As head concierge, he has to talk to every guest and be super nice to them, even if they’re mean or grumpy, and he has to sort out all their yawn-inducing problems. Plus, he heads up the hotel’s booking system, which is the most boring spreadsheet in the world and he’s been doing it for YEARS. Last year, I was in charge of the spreadsheet for just one day and I was bored out of my mind. Somehow, he thinks he has the best job in the world.
‘I could never work anywhere but Hotel Royale,’ he once said to me with this twinkle in his eye. ‘It is magical.’
Which, you know, is sweet and everything, but I also kind of threw up in my mouth.
‘Thank you, Matthew,’ Mum said. ‘Is Audrey in her office?’
‘I’m here!’
Audrey’s voice echoed through reception accompanied by the familiar sound of her unbelievably high stilettos clacking across the marble floor. I know I should be amazed by how organised and important she is, being general manager of the hotel, but I genuinely think I’m more impressed by Audrey’s ability to walk around in those stilettos. I actually saw her run in them once, when she was ‘late’ for an important appointment and I swear, she looked just like those giraffes galloping through the plains on David Attenborough documentaries. Also, Audrey is NEVER late to anything but she always thinks she is, which means when she takes me anywhere we’re always a hundred years early.
When I mentioned her giraffe-gallop, though, she didn’t look very impressed. Whatever – they’re elegant creatures. Better than the comparison she made about me that time I borrowed some roses from reception and put them in my room for a party (because technically the hotel is MY house so by default they’re MY flowers). Audrey gave me this funny look when she found out and said I reminded her a bit of Edmund from the Narnia books. I googled him and that is NOT a compliment. He betrays his family for some Turkish delight, which is the worst.
I mean, what kind of moron chooses gross Turkish delight? If you’re going to go to all that trouble betraying people, at least let it be for something good, like cola bottles or a Dip Dab.
‘Are you available for a quick chat before our meeting, Christine?’ Audrey said, juggling some files in her arms.
‘I’m just going to put Flick in a car to school and then we can —’
‘Mum, I can walk to school.’
‘Not with them you can’t,’ she said firmly, nodding towards the crowd of photographers and journalists milling around outside the front steps.
Seriously, how do I have all this attention and yet NO ONE IS SUBSCRIBING TO MY VLOG?
Matthew organised a driver to pick me up from the side entrance, but the reporters weren’t fooled. Thanks to the constant flow of celebrities and high-profile guests staying at the Royale all year round, the paparazzi know the hotel layout pretty well and they’ve learned all our tricks. Some of them were covering the side entrance and as soon as I stepped out into the street towards the car, we were bombarded with questions and camera lenses.
‘Flick, why did you attack Nancy Rose?’
‘Do you have any comments about the incident?’
‘Flick, how do you feel about her comment this morning that you aren’t worthy of being the heiress to Hotel Royale?’
‘Flick, do you consider yourself a diva?’
‘Flick, did you attack Nancy Rose for attention?’
‘Would you describe yourself as a wild child?’
Mum slammed the door firmly behind me as I scrambled into the back seat and the driver, Peter, put his foot down. I let out a long sigh and buried my head in my hands as we pulled away. When I looked up I could see Peter glancing at me with concern in the rear-view mirror. Sky once told me never to listen to the questions and rumours that the reporters yell at you; she said they’re just looking for a reaction they can play on. But one question was still ringing through my ears as we arrived at the school gates.
‘Flick, how do you feel about her comment this morning that you aren’t worthy of being the heiress to Hotel Royale? ’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Cal said, after I found him waiting by my locker with Grace and Olly, and had filled them all in about Nancy Rose’s new declaration. ‘Of course you’re worthy of being the heiress to Hotel Royale.’
‘What does that even mean anyway?’ Olly added, rolling his eyes.
‘It means that respected heiresses shouldn’t be horrible brats and attack journalists. Not that I did,’ I replied, opening my locker.
I yelped as all my books came exploding out at me, scattering across the floor.
‘When are you going to tidy your locker?’ Olly laughed as the three of them bent down to help me pick everything up. ‘This happens every day.’
‘This does not happen every day,’ I protested. Olly and Cal shared a smirk as Grace helped me battle my books back into my locker and slam the door shut before they could fall out again.
Since the events of last term, I’d been hanging out with Grace, her brother Olly, and Cal a lot more and we’d become a sort of oddball friendship group. I’d only got to know Grace and Olly last year, but Cal I’d known forever. We used to be best friends when we were little and got into loads of trouble around the hotel, but then he turned into a big nerd who always wore headphones round his neck like they were an accessory and only talked about things like books and Star Trek, so, in his words, I had swiftly ‘dropped him like a hot potato’.
Which is such a nerd way to put it. No one uses
