Gustav warily took the end of the pink and silver bejewelled selfie stick and attempted to position it correctly, almost knocking Freddie out as he swung it through the air.
How could he not know how to use a selfie stick? He wasn’t even old! Do castles not get Wi-Fi or something?
Ducking swiftly out of the way, Freddie gave the prince an enthusiastic thumbs up. Silence descended upon the room as everyone waited in anticipation. Keeping his head in position, Prince Gustav tweaked his shirt collar with his free hand before clearing his throat and forming his lips into a mild pout. After a few seconds, there was a small click.
‘Did it work?’ Prince Gustav asked, swinging the stick clumsily back towards Freddie.
Freddie unclipped the phone and everyone held their breath as he inspected the photo.
‘Well,’ he said, breaking into a wide grin and holding out the screen so Prince Gustav could see. ‘I’d call that a royal whopper!’
‘Not bad for my first selfie!’ Prince Gustav exclaimed. ‘Let’s do another!’
Oh. My. God. This literally could not get worse.
I guess this whole tragic scenario made me look bad because technically I had broken into the hotel suite of Prince Gustav, but he started it – he ‘borrowed’ my selfie stick without permission, which, if we’re going to get technical, was actually Mum’s fault because she took it upon herself to lend it to him without saying a word to me. And it is MY selfie stick, not hers to just give away to whomever she likes, so that counts as THEFT.
‘Matthew!’ I had shouted earlier, slightly out of breath from running full pelt across the lobby. I almost dropped Fritz, my dachshund, as I slid across the marble floor, stabilising myself on the reception desk.
I rang the gold bell vigorously. ‘Matthew!’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
Urgh. Cal Weston, Matthew’s annoying son was sitting on top of the far end of the desk, watching me curiously. He was in the year above me at school, not that we ever spoke there. I couldn’t seem to avoid him in the hotel, though, he was always lurking around like some kind of weirdo. What kind of loser spends their free time at the place where their parent works?
OK, so technically I do, but I live here so it’s different.
‘None of your business,’ I said, ringing the bell again. ‘Matthew!’
I caught Cal rolling his eyes.
‘You know,’ I said, glaring, ‘you’re not meant to be sitting up there. Guests are arriving all the time and you shouldn’t be the first thing they see.’
‘But you screeching like that is the first thing they should hear?’
I scowled.
‘If I stay sitting up here, are you going to snitch on me?’ He sighed, looking back to his laptop screen. ‘Like you did last time.’
‘I did not snitch!’ I protested. ‘That was your fault! That peacock was COMPLETELY out of control and . . . oh, never mind. MATTHEW!’
‘Can I hold Fritz?’
‘No,’ I snapped. ‘He only likes nice people. MATTHEEEEEEW!’
‘Yes?’ a calm voice answered behind me, making me jump out of my skin.
‘There you are! I’ve been ringing the bell for a billion years.’
Cal snorted. ‘You’ve been here two minutes.’
I ignored him. ‘Matthew, I need to report a crime.’
Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’ He moved behind the reception desk, straightening his dark green, gold-buttoned uniform. ‘Here at Hotel Royale?’
‘Yes, here at Hotel Royale,’ I said, tapping my nails impatiently on the desk. ‘That’s why I’m telling you and not the police. Someone’s been into my room and stolen my selfie stick. The one Vivienne Westwood designed for me especially.’
I ignored Cal’s snigger.
‘What is all this racket?’ Audrey, the general manager, came clacking across the reception hall in her polished stilettos. ‘Flick, I thought you were meant to be doing your homework upstairs.’
I rolled my eyes. Even though she’s not my mum, Audrey sure acts like it. She is so good at bossing everyone about in the hotel that the queen once tried to hire her to boss everyone about at Buckingham Palace instead, but she turned down the job to stay here. Which I guess was good for my mum and everything, because she didn’t lose her manager, but it also meant that I’m stuck with Audrey watching me like a hawk.
‘I was just telling Matthew that I have been the victim of a heinous crime.’
Cal let out a loud ‘HA!’ and shook his head.
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Don’t you have anywhere better to be?’
‘And miss this entertainment? Are you kidding? I’ve got a front-row seat here.’
Fritz began to scrabble about impatiently in my arms, so I plonked him on top of the reception desk. It was so polished that when he tried to walk along it, his legs kept slipping and sliding, like Bambi on ice. If I hadn’t been so distressed about my selfie stick, it would have been hilarious.
‘No, Flick!’ Audrey scolded, snatching Fritz and holding him at arm’s length, so his back legs were just flailing about in the air. Audrey has never really had a way with dogs. ‘What have I told you about putting Fritz on the reception desk? Take him off.’
‘I’ll take him!’ Cal offered. She handed him over quickly and promptly checked her suit thoroughly for dog hairs even though he hadn’t even touched her.
Technically, pets weren’t allowed at the Royale but two years ago, after months of my dedicated pestering, Mum had caved. Now Fritz comes with me everywhere, except to school, and even Audrey has admitted that he is particularly handsome ‘for a dog’. His social media profile is really growing and the guests love him too. One guest, Mr Dancy, stays at Hotel Royale three or four times a year and he always brings Fritz a new jumper to keep him cosy during the winter months. Today, Fritz was wearing a blue one with ‘HOT DOG’ printed on the back. He has an extensive collection of knitwear these days.
‘Why were you causing a fuss?’ Audrey asked, leading me away from some guests who were swanning in through the revolving doors laden with designer shopping bags. Matthew, as head concierge, went over to greet them and ask about their day. Delighted to see him, they immediately launched into a full description of all the sightseeing they’d done and a dull story about one of them getting stuck in a telephone box. Poor Matthew always has to pretend to enjoy these boring, repetitive conversations and he’s been working here FOREVER, like, fifteen years. He laughed and gasped in all the right places. He was very convincing. Mum should really give him a raise for this daily torture.
‘Flick?’ Audrey prompted,
