First published in paperback in Great Britain 2018

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2018 Katy Birchall

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2018

ISBN 978 1 4052 8650 3

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1786 1

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For Sam, Luke and Lily

Have you read the It Girl series,

also by Katy Birchall?

Superstar Geek

Team Awkward

Don’t Tell the Bridesmaid

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Front series promotional page

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Q & A with Secrets of a Teenage Heiress author, Katy Birchall

Back series promotional page

Prince Gustav stole my selfie stick.

And now I was stuck hiding in his wardrobe, while his PA attempted to teach him how to strike the perfect pose.

‘Instagram is all about confidence,’ the PA explained, as Prince Gustav nervously checked his teeth in the nearest mirror. ‘Loosen your shoulders and show them some attitude. They want to see the real you.’

I peered through the wardrobe keyhole out into the suite as the PA adjusted MY selfie stick and waited patiently for Prince Gustav to finish rolling his shoulders back and forth.

‘Are you ready?’

‘I don’t know, Freddie.’ Prince Gustav sighed dramatically. ‘I was sure I wanted an Instagram account but now I feel very stressed about the whole idea.’

‘I understand,’ Freddie agreed, ‘but that’s why I’m here to talk you through it. And it’s really about time that we had one up and running. Soon you’ll be taking selfies wherever you go without any assistance.’

‘What do I do with my head?’

‘It’s all very simple. I’ve done plenty of research and downloaded all the best apps so we can get the filter just right.’ Freddie ushered Prince Gustav nearer to the window. ‘First, we need the perfect lighting. There you go, that’s great. Now, tilt your head.’

‘I feel like a Labrador.’

‘It’s a great angle,’ Freddie insisted and all the security men and women in the room nodded in agreement. ‘Perfect! Now, take the selfie stick and when you feel ready, just click that button at the bottom.’

Prince 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, as I watched him distractedly. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh yeah, right. So, my selfie stick has been stolen. It’s very important. Fritz always uploads a new photo to his Instagram account at 5.30 p.m. on the dot and the selfie stick is key to the whole operation.’

‘Fritz uses the selfie stick?’ Audrey looked confused.

‘Of course not! It’s for the angles, it’s to do with the allegory.’ I sighed. ‘You wouldn’t understand. The important thing is to find it before 5.30 so I can post his next picture, otherwise we’ll be letting down thousands of people. Forty-five thousand, to be exact.’

‘I see.’ Audrey smiled. ‘I think I know what’s happened here. You need to speak to your mother.’ She checked her watch. ‘She will have just finished a meeting and has five minutes until the next one. Let me give her a call, wait here.’

She marched back to the reception desk and into the office behind it. A few moments later, she reappeared. ‘She’ll be with you in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat?’

She gestured to the purple velvet armchairs in the corners of the reception hall. I gladly took Fritz back from the evil clutches of Cal, and sat him on one of the armchairs while I nestled into the other one. As we waited, Fritz sat up regally on the plush velvet, enjoying the adoring waves he received from guests coming into the hotel.

When we were little, Cal and I used to sit in these armchairs for ages, spying on all the guests, whispering made-up stories about who each person was and what they did, and then laughing our heads off, until Audrey would come along and shoo us away. That was obviously a long time ago, when Cal wasn’t such a weirdo and we were friends.

FINALLY Mum came down the grand staircase, already looking impatient. She always looks impatient when it comes to me, even though I’m her only child and therefore should be the sole reason for her being.

I reminded her of that the other day, when she was annoyed with me for setting off all the smoke alarms in the hotel because I’d put a pizza in the oven but got distracted by YouTube videos of dogs eating peanut butter and forgot about it. Firstly, it was her fault for NEVER letting me order room service even though we live in a hotel with a Michelin-star chef, and secondly, most parents would have been thrilled that their beloved child was showing an interest in cooking at the delicate age of fourteen. But noooooo, I got in big trouble just because all the guests and staff had to be evacuated and it made the news headlines because everyone thought there had been this big fire in the grandest hotel in London. The PR team had to work through the night persuading guests and members of the press that everything was fine and it was in fact all down to a pizza, which now resembled a lump of coal, on the fifteenth floor.

As Mum walked towards me, I could kind of see what people mean when they say that she has this authoritative aura about her. Just the way she walks in and sits down seems to command the attention of a room. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her slump or look scruffy. Even at weekends, she dresses as though she might be going to a meeting at any minute. I also think a lot of her power comes from the fact that she never raises her voice. Ever. Even that time when Cal and I let that goat loose in the ballroom, or last week with the pizza thing. When she’s disappointed or angry, she just gives you this look and it makes your insides go icy cold.

Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of that look WAY too many times.

‘Would it be possible to remove Fritz so that I might sit down? Perhaps he could sit on your lap,’ she suggested, sharing a knowing look with Audrey who was watching us, bemused, from behind the reception desk.

‘He likes having the chair to himself.’

‘Flick,’ Mum said in a warning tone.

‘Fine.’ I sighed. ‘But if he gets angry, I’m blaming you.’

‘I am happy to take full responsibility.’

I got up and slid my hands under Fritz’s belly to lift him from the chair. He growled immediately. ‘I tried telling her,’ I said to him under my breath.

‘I hear you’ve been asking about your selfie stick?’ Mum said calmly, sitting down in the armchair as Fritz settled on my lap.

‘Yes, it has been stolen. Potentially by an overzealous fan of Fritz’s. I suggest we close down the hotel and search all the rooms. We should start with the opera singer on the third floor. I don’t trust anyone who wears a wig that big.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Flick,’ Mum said, before standing up again to greet a waiter passing by, on his way to the kitchen.

‘Good afternoon, Ms Royale and Miss Royale. And . . . uh . . . Mr Fritz.’

‘Good afternoon, Timothy.’ Mum smiled warmly. ‘How is that Italian coming along?’

‘You remembered! It’s going very well, thank you.’

‘Wonderful. I always wanted to learn Italian but never quite mastered it,’ Mum confessed. ‘The furthest I really got was . . . wait for it . . . spaghetti Bolognese!’

They both burst into laughter as though Mum had said something genuinely funny.

I really hope Mum hasn’t passed her humour gene down to me. It’s very niche.

I coughed impatiently.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ the waiter said, getting the hint, before he scurried off towards the staff lift that went down to the kitchens.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Mum sat back down again. ‘A fulltime job and he finds time to study because his fiancé is Italian and he wants to learn it by the time of the wedding. Very impressive.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘OK, Mum, that’s very nice and everything, but can we please focus on something actually important? This is serious! Someone’s broken into our flat. Potentially a selfie-obsessed opera singer!’ I leaned in towards her. ‘Now, I’m happy to tell you that I will keep the police out of this and not press charges if the selfie stick is returned safely to me.’

The corner of Mum’s mouth twitched. ‘How grown up of you, but there’s no mystery here and certainly no thief. I lent your selfie stick to a guest. Prince Gustav Xavier III, in fact.’

I blinked at her. ‘What?’

‘I lent your selfie stick to Prince Gustav. You know he’s staying here, don’t you? In the Sapphire Suite.’

‘You lent my selfie stick to some prince? Why would you do that?’

‘Matthew overheard him talking to his PA in the lobby. Apparently he bought one in Duty Free but misplaced it. He seemed distressed so Matthew informed me of the situation and I offered him yours so they wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of purchasing another. Plus,’ she added, winking at Audrey, ‘Prince Gustav is rather handsome.’

‘Mum! Gross! And that selfie stick is mine and Fritz’s!’

‘The prince only needs it for today. His PA promised they would return it tomorrow. I had one of the staff leave it in his room about an hour ago, ready for his return from afternoon tea with his aunt.’

‘But what about me?’

‘What about you?’

‘I need it!’

‘I’m sure you can cope without it for one evening.’

‘No way! Not only does Fritz have to prep for his Instagram post, but I was planning on doing a practice run of a vlog today and I need the selfie stick to test all the angles.’

‘Vlog?’ Mum raised her eyebrows.

Here we go.

‘I thought we discussed this, Flick,’ Mum said sternly. ‘I was very clear about my opinion.’

‘Yes, you were. And I’ve taken your thoughts into consideration.’

The corner of Mum’s mouth twitched again. ‘And?’

‘And I’ve decided they’re void.’

‘Flick,’ Mum began in her best warning tone.

‘Mum, look, all my friends agree that I would gain millions of followers like that –’ I clicked my fingers for effect – ‘if I started vlogging. All the other heiresses are doing it. At my age most of them have handbag and perfume ranges, thanks to their online profiles. I’m fourteen years old now; you have to let me do my own thing. You know, like in The Little Mermaid.’

‘The Disney film?’ Mum looked baffled. ‘What’s that got to do with vlogging?’

‘Duh. Her dad is all clingy and so she leaves him to go and live with the hot prince. You know, Mum, you could learn a lot from King Triton’s mistakes.’

‘Hi, Christine.’

I sighed dramatically as Cal came over, his laptop nestled under his arm. Why was he always butting in?

‘Hello, Callum,’ Mum said brightly. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, I was just on my way to see Chef. I hear he’s got a new strawberry mousse on the menu.’

‘He does, it’s outstanding.’ Mum turned to me. ‘Have you tried the new mousse?’

‘I don’t care about mousse!’ I cried. ‘What about my selfie stick?’

‘Trust me, this mousse is to die for.’ Mum turned back to Cal, completely ignoring my distress. ‘I hear you came top of the class again in your English paper?’

Cal blushed. ‘Dad told you, huh? It was only one essay, it’s not a big deal.’

‘He’s very proud of you, and so he should be. You always were very hard-working.’

I couldn’t help but notice Mum direct a wistful glance towards me as she said that.

Which was very unfair considering I would be just as hard-working if SOMEONE didn’t go around lending random princes my selfie stick and thus keeping me from uploading said hard work.

‘Still hoping to be a journalist some day?’

‘That’s the big plan.’

‘I can introduce you to Nicholas Huntley, if you’d like,’ Mum continued. Cal’s eyes widened.

‘Why would you want to meet him?’ I crossed my arms, annoyed that the conversation was moving away from the problem in hand. ‘Isn’t he just the guy who married that actress, Helena Montaine?’

Hotel Royale was one of Helena Montaine’s favourite places to dine, so she was often here for big meetings with famous directors or with her new husband, Nicholas Huntley, and her daughter and step-daughter, the It Girls Marianne Montaine and Anna Huntley. It was always a big deal when they were in the building, as there would be hordes of paparazzi outside waiting to get a photo. Famous people stay at the hotel all the time, but Mum was particularly friendly with Helena and her husband. I often saw her enjoying a drink with them in the cocktail bar, talking about really boring topics that no one cares about, like the news and stuff.

‘Nicholas Huntley happens to be the greatest journalist of all time,’ Cal said pompously. ‘And he’s written some of the most important books about war weaponry there have ever been. His book on tanks won the Baillie Gifford Prize.’

I yawned as he finished his sentence. There is seriously no one in the world as boring as Cal Weston. Except maybe this Nicholas Huntley person and his tank books.

‘Tell me, Callum,’ Mum said, abruptly standing up and straightening her white tailored jacket. ‘Do you spend your evenings vlogging?’

‘Uh.’ Cal looked confused. ‘No. It’s not really my thing.’

‘You see, Flick?’ Mum looked back down at me. ‘Cal doesn’t vlog.’

‘That’s because he has nothing interesting to say,’ I protested, as Cal rolled his eyes. ‘It’s me the people want to know about.’

‘We’ll talk about this later. You’ll have to do without the selfie stick for one night. And so will Fritz.’

‘But Mu–’

‘End of discussion, Flick,’ Mum said firmly. ‘Now, I’ve got another meeting to get to. Good to see you, Callum. Keep up the hard work.’

She patted Cal on the shoulder and walked back across the reception hall and through the revolving doors to her car waiting outside.

‘You’re starting a vlog?’ Cal sniggered. ‘About what?’

‘About my life,’ I huffed. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Why would anyone want to know about your life?’

‘Excuse me, I featured on the Daily Post ’s “50 Heirs to Watch” list. So there.’

‘Yeah, you came in at number forty-nine,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Real impressive.’

I glared at his back, then stomped loudly towards the lift with Fritz, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Audrey and Matthew, and prodded the button for Floor 15. Leaning against the back mirror of the lift, I cuddled Fritz as the blinking light passed the other floor numbers.

The whole thing was completely ridiculous and totally unfair. Just because Prince Gustav Xavier III is a prince, it doesn’t mean he can go around stealing stuff. And, what’s more, HE’S NOT EVEN A REAL PRINCE! The monarchy in his country hasn’t properly existed since FOREVER, but he still swans about the place using the ‘prince’ title, going to the best parties and stealing other people’s selfie sticks.

That was when the idea hit me. He wasn’t actually using the selfie stick right now because he was at afternoon tea with his aunt! Mum had said it had been left out for him for when he got back. So I could sneak into his suite, grab the selfie stick, take it back to my room for Fritz’s photo shoot and then if Prince Gustav needed it later, he could come and ask and I might be inclined to lend it to him. I congratulated myself out loud to Fritz on such an excellent plan. He barked in agreement.

All I had to do was break into Mum’s office in the flat and get hold of her master key, which opens every room in the hotel. And that was a doddle. I’d had a key cut for her office without her knowing when I was nine. I would be in and out of Prince Gustav’s room in a matter of seconds without anyone noticing. Easy.

Obviously now that I was hiding inside Prince Gustav’s wardrobe while he pouted in what he referred to as a ‘mysterious yet alluring way’, I regretted that decision.

I had been so close to victory. I’d had the selfie stick in my hands when I heard a booming voice echoing down the corridor. I had run to the door to check through the peephole and, sure enough, there was Prince Gustav, striding towards me, arguing with one of his many security guards about the pros and cons of social media.

I quickly threw the selfie stick back down and, after running about the room in a panic, I clambered into the wardrobe and crouched back as far as possible.

Attempting to get comfortable without making any noise, I realised that the chances of my mum finding out about this were really quite high. If Prince Gustav decided to don different outfits for his new Instagram account, which, judging by his levels of enthusiasm, was highly likely, I was busted.

My only hope was that Prince Gustav might have to rush off to a party or something, leaving the coast clear.

‘Keep this up, Your Royal Highness, and you’ll have more Instagram followers by the end of the day than all the Kardashians put together!’

I sighed as Prince Gustav pulled the bouquet of flowers out of the vase on the dressing table and struck a rose-sniffing pose.

‘Very creative, Your Highness!’ Freddie cheered. ‘Something for the ladies!’

That was when disaster struck.

The dulcet tones of Fritz’s high-pitched bark went off in my pocket: my text alert. I had forgotten to put my phone on silent and I was suddenly getting a flurry of messages. Who was texting me this much? I reached for my phone but it was too late.

I heard quick footsteps and someone yell, ‘GET BACK, YOUR HIGHNESS,’ before the wardrobe doors were dramatically swung open and I found myself squinting up at the prince’s burly security men.

‘Hi,’ I squeaked, ducking my head to look through their legs at Prince Gustav, who was standing against the back wall with a security guard shielding him, the selfie stick still swinging from his hand and the flowers scattered all over the floor. ‘Welcome to Hotel Royale, Prince Gustav. I’m Flick.’

He blinked back at me in shocked silence.

‘Great pictures, by the way. Instagram won’t know what’s hit it.’

Yep. Mum was definitely going to kill me.

Flick! OMG I had to text you straight away. You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Are you there?

Flick? Are you there? Helloooooo!

OK, I’ll just tell you anyway. I was just in the garden talking to Mum and A BIRD LANDED ON MY HEAD

Seriously, it just landed right on there!!! I didn’t even have any food on my head or anything, it just perched there! According to Dad it was a sparrow. I’ll send you all the pics now! Mum took a hundred of them! Enjoy!

Hey Grace, sorry for the late reply.

Got myself in a bit of an awkward situation here involving a prince.

Talk later

OMG your life is so cool compared to mine. You’re hanging out with royalty and I’ve spent the evening with a bird on my head!! Oh well. At least it didn’t poop in my hair! See you at school!

‘Fan. Demand?’

That’s how my mum spoke those words, as though there was a full stop between them. She always speaks like that when she’s really angry – no long sentences but every word coming out of her mouth is said veeeeery sloooooowly to make sure her victim feels as nervous as possible. Luckily, I’m pretty immune to that tone these days.

‘Yes.’ I nodded, folding my arms and wondering how long this was going to take. This whole selfie-stick debacle had taken up most of my evening already.

Mum looked at Audrey and Matthew – both of whom were standing a few metres away watching the proceedings – supposedly to see if either of them had any comments at this stage. Neither of them said anything, so she turned back to face me.

Fritz was there too, lying across my feet, which is this weird thing he does. I don’t mind it because if I’m not wearing shoes it keeps my feet warm, which is handy, but sometimes I forget he’s there and get up to do something and he suddenly tips off and goes rolling across the floor. I would find those occasions funny if he didn’t get in such a strop with me afterwards.

‘Just so I’m clear,’ Mum began, leaning back on her desk, ‘“fan demand” is . . . your explanation?’

‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘Otherwise none of this would have happened.’

‘What. Do. You. Mean?’

‘I tried explaining this to you earlier but you refused to listen.’ I sighed. ‘I had to upload a new post on to Fritz’s Instagram feed at 5.30 p.m. That’s when I had promised his legion of fans that the next photo would be up. I didn’t want to let them down! It would be like that time Matthew promised he’d get me front-row tickets for Cirque du Soleil at the last minute but it wasn’t his priority and I ended up in Row F behind some stupid lady with a topknot.’

Matthew gave a small cough. I smiled graciously at him.

‘Don’t worry, Matthew, you forgive and forget.’

‘Go. On. With. The. Story,’ Mum growled. Seriously, someone get the lady a Strepsil.

‘Well, I couldn’t upload the photo without the selfie stick. It just wouldn’t have worked with the rest of the vibe of Fritz’s feed. It’s very specific and artistic. And I didn’t have any appropriate stock photos I could use instead. So I was just going to pop in to see Prince Gustav, ask for the selfie stick for five minutes and that would be that! But he wasn’t there.’

‘So you just . . . decided to break in and steal it?’ Mum asked slowly.

‘You know, when you say it like that, it really sounds a lot worse than it was. I mean, technically Prince Gustav stole the stick from me.’

Mum closed her eyes for a moment and let out a long, deep sigh.

Seizing the opportunity, I pulled out my phone, checking for messages. Thankfully there were no more photos of Grace with a bird on her head. There was just one from Ella reminding me that I’d borrowed her mascara at school yesterday and could she have it back. Ella can be so whiny when she wants to be. Which is a LOT of the time.

‘I guess we’re done here,’ I said, preparing to stand up.

‘Not. Quite.’

I slumped back into the seat. Mum walked slowly around the desk to sit down in the large leather chair behind it. She put her head back and looked up at the ceiling before ever so slowly lowering her eyes back down to meet mine. Talk about dramatic.

‘Mum, I really have to get back to my friend. It’s important.’ I waved my phone about.

‘I’m sure the important business of a fourteen-year-old can wait while we try to get to the bottom of why you took it upon yourself to break into Prince Gustav’s hotel room.’

‘I told you, to get my selfie stick. Mum, were you even listening? I just explained the whole thing.’

‘Did I or did I not ask you to do without it. For. One. Night?’

‘I was going to put it back,’ I pointed out. ‘Mum, no offence, but you’re kind of overreacting.’

Mum pinched the top of her nose, which is a signal that she is concentrating. Hard.

It is highly dangerous to interrupt her when she is pinching the top of her nose. I know this because I once interrupted her pinching the top of her nose at a cashpoint. She’d had a mind blank about her PIN and all I did was point out that she was being really embarrassing standing in the street, pinching the top of her nose. According to her, she had been this close to remembering her pin but my ‘loud’ interruption had disturbed her and so her card got swallowed. She spent the next few days droning on and on about how frustrating it was to be waiting for a new debit card and then giving me pointed looks. The word ‘scapegoat’ comes to mind.

Whatever, I selflessly let that one go. But I know now never to interrupt the weird, nose-pinching thing.

I began texting Ella back while I waited for Mum to conclude her nose-pinching, but stopped when Audrey gave a not-so-subtle ‘ahem’, and waggled her eyebrows at me. I put my phone back in my pocket.

‘I want you to listen to me very carefully, Felicity,’ Mum began, lowering her hand and opening her eyes. ‘You are going to go and see Prince Gustav – NOT when you decide, Audrey will book an appointment with him – and you will be on time for the appointment and you will apologise profusely for your behaviour and assure him that nothing like this will ever happen again. Is that clear?’

‘Crystal. Audrey, let me know a time that suits. Can I go now?’

‘I’m. Not. Finished.’ Mum clasped her hands together, resting them on the desk. ‘You will be grounded for two weeks.’

‘WHAT?’ I sat upright, disturbing Fritz who snarled loudly. ‘You can’t do that! It’s Ella’s party next week!’

‘I can do that, and you’re lucky it’s only two weeks and not longer. In addition, you will help around the hotel in whatever way Audrey and Matthew see fit. If you’re going to be stuck here every evening, you might as well make yourself useful.’

‘Are you serious?’ I looked at her in disbelief. ‘Like . . . chores?’

Audrey stifled a laugh. Traitor.

‘Yes, chores. I suggest you begin by helping the catering team in the kitchen. I’m sure they have some dishes that need washing. You can start right now.’

‘Well, what am I supposed to tell Ella?’ I huffed. ‘She was counting on me going to her party.’

‘You can tell her that your mother is punishing you because you broke into the room of Prince Gustav Xavier III and you’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.’ She stood up and gestured towards the door, indicating the end of the conversation. ‘I’m sure Ella will be able to handle your absence from her party with grace and understanding.’

I snorted.

Clearly, Mum had never met Ella before. Last time she invited me to one of her ‘exclusive’ sleepovers, I couldn’t go because my aunt was over from New York. I’ve never been invited to one again.

‘What about Fritz?’ I argued, after the party plea didn’t work.

‘What about Fritz?’

‘I need to walk him and stuff.’

‘You can fit that in around your chores. Or you can ask Jamie if he will kindly take him on an extra-long walk during the day.’

Jamie was one of the sommeliers and also Fritz’s daytime walker. He was mad about dogs and offered to walk Fritz when Mum had just bought him and was working out what to do with him while I was at school. Apparently, Jamie likes to discuss the new wines he introduces to the menu with Fritz on his daily walks to the park – it helps him remember all the details about the vintages and vineyards.

‘Audrey,’ Mum continued, ‘if you could accompany Flick down to the kitchens and explain the situation to Chef, I would be very grateful. I have to make an appearance at an event in the ballroom. And if someone could pick her up from the kitchen and escort her back to our flat in an hour, I would also appreciate it.’

‘I am not a child,’ I hissed, sweeping Fritz up from the floor into my arms, and stomping to the door.

Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘You could have fooled me.’

Audrey waited for me to drop Fritz back off at the flat and then walked me down to the kitchen. Chef was running around trying to prepare everything for dinner and, after a brief word with Audrey, he welcomed me to his team and pointed at the pile of dirty pots stacked next to a large sink in the far corner.

‘You’ll be out of everyone’s way there.’ He smiled, with a wink at Audrey.

I shot them both a dirty look before Chef gave me the thumbs up and sped off to season a sauce. Audrey put her hand on my shoulder.

‘It’s not that bad,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’ll be back for you in an hour. Try to stay out of trouble until then.’

I shook her hand off and stropped over to the sink, eyeing up the repulsive neon orange washing-up gloves. I held one of them up for inspection.

‘Ew.’ I sniffed and looked around. A young chef was rushing past holding a ladle. ‘Excuse me!’ She came to a screeching halt.

‘Yes?’

‘Are these the only gloves you have?’

‘Sorry?’

‘For the washing-up,’ I explained impatiently. ‘Don’t you have any other types? Any other colours?’

‘No, those are the ones we all use.’

‘Fine.’ I slapped the gloves down on the side. ‘I just won’t use them.’

‘Uh.’ She looked about, unsure. ‘We . . . we have to use them. It’s health and safety.’

‘They’re disgusting. I’m not using them.’

‘Put those on, please, Flick, no argument! You don’t want me to report bad behaviour to the boss, do you?’ Chef appeared out of nowhere. ‘Ah, there you are, Sasha. I’ve been waiting on that ladle. Come along, we mustn’t disturb Flick. She has a big job with those pots.’

Sasha shot me a sympathetic look before she scurried after him holding up the ladle dutifully. I should have known Chef Kian would find this all one big joke; he always liked a good laugh at my expense. I carefully slid on the orange gloves and, letting out a long drawn-out sigh, I leaned forwards to work out how to turn on the large rinsing tap.

‘Well, well, well, look who it is.’

I reluctantly turned to face Cal Weston, who was grinning gleefully at me, a spoon in one hand and a bowl of strawberry mousse in the other.

‘It’s been a while since you graced the kitchens with your presence.’

‘Stalking is a crime, you know,’ I said angrily, reaching for the washing-up liquid. ‘It’s sad that you just follow me around.’

‘I was here first. If anyone’s following anyone, it’s you following me.’

‘Why are you even down here? Don’t you ever go home?’

‘The kitchen is the best place to be. It’s the land of free food.’ He took a large mouthful of mousse. ‘We used to hang out here all the time before you got too good for it.’

‘I did not get too good for it, I just got a life.’ I began to scrub the biggest pot in the pile. ‘Unlike some people I know.’

‘Ouch! You are such a hothead.’

‘I am NOT a hothead,’ I seethed. Cal always teased me about being a hot-tempered redhead, even though I continually corrected him that my hair wasn’t red, it was auburn. And at least my hair looked like it had been brushed once in a while, unlike the bird’s nest he was sporting on top of his head.

‘I heard on the grapevine that you have an appointment with Prince Gustav,’ he commented.

I scrubbed harder at the stubborn grease around the side of the pot. ‘That’s right. He’s trying to suck up to me so he can get an invite to the Christmas Ball.’

‘Oh, the Christmas Ball. Nothing to do with you having to apologise about hiding in his wardrobe then?’

I ignored him and concentrated on my impossible task. The washing-up was going to take me all night at this rate.

‘I need a favour.’

I laughed, not bothering to look up. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes.’

The sincerity of Cal’s voice took me by surprise. I turned to look at him and saw he was watching me carefully, an earnest expression on his face. I put down the pot, turned off the tap and folded my arms, pretending not to care that the washing-up liquid mixed with water and grease was now dripping from the gloves down my clothes.

‘What favour?’

‘It’s for a competition I’m entering.’ He put down the bowl and got out his phone, showing me the website page for Young Journalist of the Year. ‘I need to write a feature that will stand out. The winners are announced just before Christmas.’

‘So? What’s that got to do with me?’

‘An interview with Prince Gustav would definitely stand out. Maybe you could mention it to him when you go for this meeting,’ he said hopefully.

I burst out laughing and swivelled back to the sink, turning on the tap and picking up the pot again.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, shoving his phone into his pocket.

‘Well, for one thing, you’re a teenager, so the chances of Prince Gustav giving you an exclusive interview are slim. And for another thing, you’ve spent the whole day – no, wait, the last few years – being rude to me, so I’m not going to risk looking like an idiot in front of him for you.’

‘I think you managed to look like an idiot in front of him all by yourself today,’ he snapped.

‘I know, why don’t you write a feature about hanging out at a hotel for no reason, getting in everyone’s way and annoying everyone in sight?’

He didn’t say anything as I reached for more washing-up liquid, squirting as much as possible across the pot until the sink was full of bubbles.

‘Forget I said anything,’ he said quietly, picking up his bowl and turning away.

‘Cal, wait.’

He stopped.

‘Don’t say anything at school about me washing-up, OK?’ I shook some bubbles off the gloves. ‘It’s not exactly a great look.’

He glared down at the floor and shook his head before walking off. I had no idea if that meant he’d tell people or not, but I wasn’t that worried. Even if he did it’s not like anyone would listen.

My arm got tired from all the scrubbing so I turned off the water and pulled off the gloves. I wiped my brow and looked down at my handiwork. Somehow I had managed to splash water everywhere and I hadn’t even finished one pot. How does anyone have the time for this sort of thing?

I looked at my phone in case I had any messages: none. I put it down on the side and looked around to find something else to distract me. I spotted a door a few metres from where I was and remembered that it used to be some sort of pantry. Chef would always find me sitting in there in my pyjamas, stuffing myself with chocolate. I smiled as I remembered how I used to try to pretend I’d accidentally locked myself in there, but the chocolate all over my hands would give me away. Chef found it hilarious and would slip me a cookie before sending me back upstairs to bed.

I checked that no one was looking in my direction – they were all busy running around, paying no attention to me. I crept over to the door and pulled it open. Just as I remembered, it was lined with shelves bursting with baking supplies, and at the back there was a massive chocolate cake. Moving forwards to inspect the cake properly, the door, which had been propped open with the back of my foot, shut behind me. I tried the light switch but the bulb must have been broken. I went to push open the door again but it wouldn’t budge.

Oh no.

I threw all my weight against the door but it was firmly shut. I cursed myself for leaving my phone on the side; I could have really used the torch.

‘Hello? Chef ?’ I called out, pressed against the door.

No one came.

Feeling my way to the back of the pantry, I sat down and waited. I put my head in my hands. This was a disaster. Chef would tell Mum and who knows what sort of job she might give me next? Spider catcher? Shower cleaner? Listen to Matthew talk about the room booking system? I shuddered and hoped that that Sasha person might come this way again looking for another ladle, realise that I was gone and put two and two together. She seemed nice. A problem-solver.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, the thought crossed my mind that I might actually die in this pantry.

How depressing.

In order for that not to happen any time soon I would need sustenance and I could smell the chocolate cake on the shelf, right next to my head. I carefully felt for the silver tray that it was sitting on and pulled it out to place it gently on the floor. There was no doubt that this cake was for some kind of occasion or event – Chef wouldn’t just be keeping a cake in here for no reason. I would have to make sure I didn’t spoil it. I remembered that when I’d seen it from the door, there had been some kind of message on the top layer, spelled out in small white chocolate buttons. With my eyes adjusting to the dark, I could make out the white buttons scattered across the top. I began to pick a few off, careful not to take too many, confident that Chef wouldn’t notice a few less chocolate buttons. They were delicious.

Suddenly the door swung open and light poured into the room. ‘And in here, Boss, is the polo team cake itself !’

I heard gasps and then my mum’s voice broke the silence. ‘Flick?’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Chef, aghast. ‘Some things never change.’

I blinked up at them. ‘Finally! I was running out of oxygen.’

I scrambled to my feet.

‘Someone needs to fix that light,’ I instructed. ‘And what is the point of having ugly washing-up gloves for health and safety, if you have dodgy doors that lock people in pantries?’

‘You just turn the handle,’ Chef explained, looking confused.

I glanced down at the door handle. I could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. But then I didn’t remember searching the door, just pushing against it. Whoops. Oh well, I’d better run with it.

‘It’s broken,’ I insisted. ‘Anyway, I’ll get back to my washing-up now. I was really getting into it.’

I darted past Mum to the sink and began to battle with the washing-up gloves again. After a few moments, I heard footsteps behind me.

‘Flick, would you mind turning round for a moment, please?’

I grimaced at Mum’s stern tone and slowly swivelled to face her.

The cake had been placed on top of the work surface and Mum was standing on one side of it with her arms crossed and Chef was standing on the other with his hands on his hips, a team of young chefs gathering behind him.

‘Hey, everyone.’ I waved my glove slightly overenthusiastically, spraying Chef with water. ‘Oops, sorry.’ I laughed. Chef did not laugh back. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

‘What’s up?’ I asked innocently.

‘Well, you see, Chef and his pastry team have been toiling long and hard to create this splendid cake for Great Britain’s polo team. They have an important tournament coming up and they’re holding a party for it this evening here at the Royale, in the ballroom.’

‘Cool.’ I nodded. ‘Good luck to them.’

‘Interesting choice of words,’ Mum said calmly. ‘Chef, would you be so kind as to inform my daughter what the top of the cake said after you painstakingly arranged mini chocolate buttons to spell it out in an intricate calligraphy style?’

‘“Good Luck, Polo Team”,’ Chef grumbled.

‘Thank you, Chef. Flick, did you, by any chance, help yourself to some of the chocolate buttons when you were stuck in the pantry for all of five minutes?’

‘I may have had a few,’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t know how long I was going to be in there! I thought I might starve!’

Sasha let out a giggle and I smiled at her gratefully. Anything to lighten the atmosphere. She stopped quickly though after a sharp look from Chef.

Mum continued. ‘Could you come over here and read what it now says on top of Chef ’s “Good Luck, Polo Team” cake?’

I began to pull off the washing-up gloves. ‘Actually,’ Mum said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t bother taking those off. Come on, come over here and read it out.’

I shuffled towards them and leaned over the cake to see what all this fuss was about. When I saw what had happened, I burst out laughing. Mum and Chef shared a look of irritation.

‘Well?’ Mum prompted, as I clutched my stomach from laughing so hard. ‘Read it out.’

I attempted to stifle the overwhelming giggles. ‘Good lu–’ I couldn’t hold the laughter back. ‘Good luck, p–’ I couldn’t breathe I was laughing too hard. ‘Good luck, p–’ Tears were now streaming down my face.

‘Felicity.’

My mum’s fierce tone snapped me out of it immediately. I wiped my eyes before whispering what was now written across the cake.

‘Louder, please,’ Mum demanded. ‘The chefs at the back didn’t quite hear you.’

I took a deep breath. ‘“Good Luck, Poo Team”.’

Sasha erupted into infectious giggles. Chef stared at her until she stopped but when he turned his back on her I could see her shoulders still shaking.

‘It looks like you ate a rather important “L”. It is lucky Chef has the time to redo it before he brings it up to the ballroom in a few minutes, after I’ve finished giving my speech to the guests.’

I looked down at my feet, my jaw aching from trying not to laugh.

‘Right.’ Mum clasped her hands together. ‘Chef, if you could kindly put the finishing touches to the cake, I would like to have a serious word with my daughter.’ She paused. ‘For the second time today.’

Chef began to bark out orders and the kitchen burst into life again. Just before she rushed off to find some more chocolate buttons, Sasha grinned at me. At least I cheered someone up.

Mum waited until we were on our own before she spoke again.

‘I would hate to extend those two weeks of being grounded to two months.’

‘Two months?’ I gasped. ‘Mum, you ca–’

‘Flick,’ she interrupted sharply, ‘I should have thought you might have learned by now that telling me what I can and cannot do does not help your case.’

I pursed my lips.

‘Two strikes,’ she said firmly. ‘Strike three and it’s two months. Understood?’

I nodded.

‘Excellent. And you’ve gained yourself an extra hour down here.’ She pointed to the sink behind me. ‘Those pots won’t wash themselves.’

‘Oh no.’ Ella didn’t look up from her phone. I may be reading into things but I’m not sure she was all that bothered about me missing her party.

‘Yeah.’ I nodded solemnly, having taken great pains to explain the situation in thorough detail. ‘I did everything I could to change Mum’s mind but you know what she can be like.’

‘Sure.’ Ella looked up at Grace, who was leaning on the locker next to her, fiddling with her split ends. ‘Your brother and his friends are definitely coming, right?’

Ella and I had never actually spoken to Grace Dillon properly before this term but since Grace’s brother in the year above suddenly got hot over the summer, Ella wanted her to hang out with us. According to Grace, her brother discovered the gym AND hair product at the same time. It also helped that he could play a guitar – at least, that’s what Ella had swooned at when he played with his band in assembly at the beginning of term. Personally, I don’t see the attraction. I would never date anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to wear a sleeveless vest. Anyway, after his performance, Ella invited Grace to join us for a post-school smoothie and that was that; she became part of our elite group.

At first, I thought Grace was going to be this irritating suck-up as she actually did her homework and was top of the class for almost everything. But then one lunchtime, she made me laugh so hard that lemonade went right up my nose. After that, I quite liked her being around and she had this cute little habit of texting me about random stuff. She was obviously ecstatic to be allowed to hang out with us at school, which meant she was never in a bad mood, unlike Ella and her boring mood swings, which were becoming a lot more common these days.

Ella and I first bonded when our mums were both featured in this big newspaper article about leading businesswomen in the UK. Her mum is a co-founder of this online luxury furniture company, which apparently is a big deal, but obviously nowhere near as cool as being a hotelier. Anyway, Mum hosted a big exclusive party for all the women on the list at the Royale and Ella came with her mum. Ella and I both found the party super boring but the photographer took our picture and we were in the back pages of Tatler magazine. Ella showed everyone the picture and we instantly became the most popular girls in the year. After that it just made sense to keep hanging out together, especially when we both had important parents and such good dress sense.

Although, seriously, I wish she’d shut up about Oliver Dillon and his loser band.

‘Absolutely,’ Grace said enthusiastically. ‘He’ll be at your party. I told him to invite his friends and I know that Liam and Tom were both keen.’

‘Well done.’ Ella smiled smugly. ‘It will be nice to have some mature boys there.’

‘I wouldn’t count on those two to bring up the maturity levels,’ I added. ‘Wasn’t it Liam who drank a whole bottle of Worcester sauce for a dare?’

‘Oh yeah.’ Grace giggled. ‘He threw up everywhere.’

‘Oliver seems mature,’ Ella said consideringly, taking her pocket mirror out and examining her eye make-up.

‘Really is a shame I can’t go,’ I prompted.

‘Has Oliver dated anyone at school?’ Ella asked Grace, ignoring me completely. This was getting ridiculous. Couldn’t she concentrate on anything else? Or me at least? She could show some emotion that I wouldn’t be able to make it to her party.

‘Why? Are you interested in him?’ I said, cutting to the chase.

‘Oh my God, no, I’m not interested. I was just asking.’ Ella fake-laughed before turning seriously to Grace again. ‘Has he?’

Grace shook her head, before adding excitedly, ‘He asked the same about you, though.’

‘Really?’ Ella snapped her mirror shut, her eyes widening.

‘Yes, last night.’

‘And what exactly did you say?’

Grace’s cheeks turned pink under the pressure of Ella’s fixed stare. ‘Um . . . I just said that you had that thing with Aidan . . .’

‘Grace! ’ Ella hissed. Grace cowered.

‘Was that wrong?’ she asked timidly.

‘Why would you say that? Now he’s going to think that I’m unavailable!’

Grace’s face was now a bright red. ‘N-no, I’m sure he doesn’t think that. I can tell him that it’s over with Aidan, I just wasn’t certain.’

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Grace. She was very petite – the smallest girl in our year – so she looked even more vulnerable as Ella, who was one of the tallest, towered over her. Ella wasn’t going to be forgiving. She never was. I would have to save the day.

‘I think it’s a good thing.’

Ella rounded on me. I could see Grace’s shoulders visibly relax as the heat was diverted on to someone else. ‘What do you mean?’

I sighed at how clueless she was. ‘If he wants to go out with you then he needs to make an effort. He can’t just date you because he makes the decision to.’

Ella hesitated as she considered my point so I continued. ‘You deserve the best, he has to prove that he is the best. Does that make sense?’

‘I guess,’ Ella said, her brow furrowed.

‘Good work, Grace, you’ve probably made your brother keener than ever. Not that you’re interested in him, right, Ella?’

‘Right,’ she said unconvincingly.

‘But hey, he might just win you over at the party.’

Ella nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, he might. Not that I’ll be waiting around for him to make a move.’

‘Duh, obviously not.’ I paused. ‘But just in case, how about you borrow my black leather mini that you love so much?’

‘Really?’

I was satisfied to note that Ella turned to look at me properly for the first time since we’d started talking.

‘Your new one?’ she asked. ‘But you haven’t worn it yet.’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ I forced a smile. ‘It will look great on you.’

I hated lending anything to Ella. And not just because she never told anyone who complimented her on it that it was in fact MY stuff, but also because it meant I could never wear it again. Last year at a summer pool party, I wore a pair of really cute designer pink shorts that I had stupidly lent Ella the weekend before. And then Zoe, one of the girls in our year, asked me if I had borrowed them from Ella. It was MORTIFYING. Ella is my friend and everything, but I don’t copy anyone. They copy me. I obviously had to go home straight away and change, and I threw the shorts in the bin. My brand-new leather skirt was now doomed to the same fate. But I guess it’s like when celebrities go on those reality TV shows, eat bugs and dance and stuff, and come out with a new lingerie line and book deal. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made to get what you want.

‘Great!’ Ella whipped out her lip gloss, added another layer to her already way too shiny lips and snapped the lid back on. ‘It really is such a shame that you can’t come to the party, Flick. It won’t be the same without you.’

Finally. The reaction I had been waiting for. Even if I did have to sacrifice my leather mini in the process. She flounced off towards her classroom and Grace breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Thanks so much, Flick. I thought she was going to yell at me then. You always know what to do. I wish I was more like you.’

I gave her arm a comforting pat.

THE DAILY POST

Skylar Touches Down in London!

By Nancy Rose

American teen pop star Skylar Chase has landed in the capital as she embarks on her first UK tour. The popular singer has been touring the world ever since her debut album exploded on to the charts, propelling her to number one for weeks, and beating the world record for longest album in the top spot. ‘I’m excited to be here in London,’ the eighteen year old told the Daily Post exclusively. ‘I’ll be here for a while to work on several projects, so I’m looking forward to seeing the sights as well as getting down to some hard work.’ Rumour has it that while she’s here in the UK, she will be staying at London’s famous grande dame hotel, Hotel Royale. Only the best for this pop princess!

‘Is it true? Is it true?’

Grace’s sudden squealing jolted me from my phone. While the others had been sitting together, going on about Ella’s party in the last few minutes of our lunch break, I had happily tucked myself away in a corner for some online shopping.

‘Is what true?’ I asked grumpily, quickly closing the page of leather skirts.

‘This!’ Grace shoved her phone, which was open on some celebrity gossip website, under my nose.

‘Skylar Chase is in London,’ I read. ‘So?’

‘Look at where she’s staying!’ Grace cried, her long black hair swishing into my face as she leaned over to point it out to me.

I read further down the piece and by the time I had scanned the paragraph, my desk was surrounded by an excitable, whispering crowd. This always happens when someone super famous stays at the hotel. Everyone at school becomes obsessed with following me around, asking for the celebrity’s autograph or even sometimes just showing up at home. As my school is near to the hotel, this happens quite a lot. Matthew gets all grumpy when he has to shoo them away.

Ella pushed her way through the group at my desk before plonking herself importantly on the chair next to mine.

‘Well?’ she asked, tilting her head curiously.

‘I’m not sure,’ I answered honestly. ‘It makes sense that she would be staying with us, though. Where else would she go?’

‘Oh my God,’ Grace squeaked. ‘Imagine if you see her in the lobby!’

‘Would she give you tickets to her tour?’ Ella asked, shooting Grace a look of irritation as Grace practically hopped up and down on the spot.

‘I’ll probably get backstage passes.’

Grace’s jaw dropped open. ‘Do you think you’ll get more than one backstage pass?’

‘Grace, calm down,’ Ella scolded, before rolling her eyes at me as Grace’s face fell.

I smiled to myself, remembering a year ago when Ella had practically torn my arm off in her excitement of her favourite boy band staying at the hotel, begging me for tickets or a chance to bump into them in reception. Now she had her new minion to impress, she was better at keeping up appearances.

‘If I get more than one pass, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’ll ask her if we hang out later.’

‘Hang out?’ Grace whispered, glancing nervously at Ella to confirm her tone and pitch were more acceptable.

‘Of course.’ I shrugged. ‘Mum often asks me to hang out with the VIP guests, you know, just to be polite.’

Grace put a hand on her heart as though to steady herself.

It wasn’t a complete lie, either, Mum did sometimes force me to give up my evenings to hang out with guests, so that part was true. The more questionable part was the VIP side of things.

What actually happened was that any time Mum wanted to talk to a guest and they had a daughter or a son my age, she would insist I join them – for some reason, Mum seems to think that being a similar age means we will automatically get on. I’ve always had to stand there awkwardly and silently with some loser teenager while our parents talk rubbish until my promised hour is up and I can escape back to my room ASAP.

I never get to talk to anyone I’ve actually heard of, like famous actors or pop stars. Usually they have so much security it’s impossible to get to them and I’m under strict instructions never to pester them or get in their way. The only time I really get to be in the same room as celebrities is the Hotel Royale Christmas Ball, which is my favourite night of the year and the biggest and best party in the world. Famous people and royal families from across the globe come to the hotel all dressed up in these amazing designer ballgowns, and they’re always all over the front pages the next day. It’s basically the Oscars but way better because there are no boring speeches and no one cries. Usually.

But other than the Christmas Ball, Mum always says that famous guests come to Hotel Royale to escape the fuss, and it’s important to her that they feel they can relax in the hotel without feeling they’re being watched or scrutinised. So there was no chance that Mum would let me go near someone as famous as Skylar Chase; I was never allowed to bother any celebrities.

But no one had to know that.

‘You know, Flick –’ Ella smiled – ‘if you want to bring Skylar along to my party next week, I wouldn’t mind.’

Gasps rippled through our audience.

‘That is,’ she continued, ‘if you manage to persuade your mum to let you come.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Everyone around us burst into chatter and Ella looked extremely pleased with herself, no doubt dying inside at the idea of Skylar Chase attending HER party. Obviously, it was never going to happen but I couldn’t shoot her down straight away, not with the whole class watching.

Hey Grace

Hey Flick! Wassup?

Not to be weird but . . . are you following me home?

What?! Course not!

OK. It’s only . . . I can see you

What do you mean? I’m on my way home. Which is the opposite direction to the hotel

I can see you behind that lamp post

What lamp post?

The one you’re hiding behind

That must be someone else

I just saw you type that text

Must be someone else texting while we’re texting too. Weird coincidence!

I can literally see you. Right there behind that lamp post

Are you sure you’re not following me? No offence, but that’s kind of creepy

I told you that if I see Skylar Chase, I’ll call you immediately, OK? And when I’m not grounded any more, you can come to the hotel after school

THANK YOU!

No worries. You can leave the lamp post now and go home

I totally wasn’t following you That would be weird

Right

I had to come this way to check out . . . this lamp post

Sure. That makes sense

It’s a historical gem

Go home Grace

When I got home, I couldn’t help but get a teeny bit excited that Skylar Chase might be there. There were LOADS of photographers and reporters lurking around the entrance, getting in the way and ignoring the dirty looks from the doormen, who were attempting to welcome guests. I’m not supposed to talk to journalists, especially not about guests staying at the hotel, and thanks to Mum not letting me do any self-promotion they’re never interested in taking my picture. But some of the reporters know who I am and they gave me a friendly nod as I went round the revolving doors into reception.

What if I actually did bump into her? I looked about for any sign that the biggest pop star on the planet was staying in the hotel but everything looked exactly as it always did: Matthew was speaking on the phone behind the reception desk, a porter tipped his hat at me as I walked past, and guests wandered by on their way to their bedroom or the tearoom. The only thing that was different was that the extravagant flower arrangements around the lobby had been changed from pink flowers to purple ones.

‘Ah, Flick, I’ve been waiting for you.’

I grimaced as Audrey came down the stairs. Before this whole Skylar-Chase thing distracted me, I’d been planning on racing straight to my room when I got home, thus avoiding any run-ins with Audrey or Matthew. My dawdling had cost me.

‘I’m impressed. I thought you might run straight to your room and try to avoid me,’ she admitted.

‘Why would you think that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because on any other occasion that your mother has asked you to help someone in the hotel, you’ve rushed to your room, locked the door and pretended to be asleep.’

‘Did you want something, or were you just looking for me to tell me off ?’ I huffed.

‘I need your help with a small task in the restaurant.’

‘Great, OK, but I have to go and walk Fritz and then I’ll be with you.’

‘I thought you might say that, which is why I asked Jamie to take Fritz out about fifteen minutes ago. I’m sure Fritz is having a marvellous time in the park right now. So, to the restaurant.’ She smiled, ushering me towards it. ‘You can help set up for the first dinner sitting.’

I was surprised by how mild the job allocation was – how hard can it be to set out a few knives and forks? – but I groaned loudly for effect so she wouldn’t think I was getting away with it.

‘Ah, Timothy.’ Audrey beckoned over one of the waiters folding napkins. I recognised him from the other day when he annoyingly interrupted my conversation with Mum about the selfie stick. ‘Flick will be assisting you for the next hour. Is it OK if I leave her in your charge?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said cheerily. ‘Welcome to the team, Flick.’

I did my best unimpressed face.

‘I’ll let you get started then,’ Audrey said, clapping her hands together before sauntering back to reception.

Timothy gestured for me to follow him to a trolley on which there was a large, shiny silver tray. Piled up on it was what looked like a hundred different pieces of cutlery.

‘Terrifying, isn’t it?’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon get the hang of it. I’ll run through what each knife and fork is for, and so on and so forth, and then you can watch me do some settings before having a go yourself. Does that sound like a plan?’

I pursed my lips together.

‘Er . . . great,’ he said nervously. ‘Let’s begin with the forks.’ He selected several forks from the tray and held them up. ‘This is a fish fork, this one is a dinner fork and this one is a salad fork. Then you’ve got this little mite, the cocktail fork.’ He chuckled but stopped at my expression, placing the forks down quickly. ‘Now, the knives. This one is a –’

‘Timothy!’

Another waiter walked briskly towards us. ‘Apologies for interrupting, Miss Royale. Timothy, you’re needed briefly in the kitchen.’

‘Right, well, Flick, you just wait here a minute, I’ll be back in a tick. And then we’ll go through the knives.’

‘Can’t wait.’ I rolled my eyes and sat down.

Timothy and the other waiter shared a look before they hurried away. I picked up one of the forks and examined the patterns engraved into it, wondering why we didn’t have such fancy cutlery in our apartment. Mum is so stingy.

Throwing the fork on the top of the cutlery pile with a loud clang, I looked impatiently about me at the vast, empty dining room. I eyed up the door in the far corner which led to the piano room, a much smaller event space for musical performances – Cal and I used it to spy on dinner guests when we were little until we got told off for getting in the way. Timothy was nowhere to be seen and, no doubt, he would be kept busy for a while in the kitchen. Technically, I’d done what I’d been told to do and the person in charge of me was shirking his duties. Smugly, I rushed over to the door. I hesitated when I heard Timothy’s voice coming down the corridor towards the restaurant. It was now or never. I pushed the door, slipped through and closed it behind me quickly, leaning back and breathing a sigh of relief. No more fish-fork lectures for me.

‘Mwahahaha,’ I whispered gleefully to myself, revelling in the silence of the piano room and my cunning escape. It would be easy to slip up to my room from here using the back stairs without being seen by Audrey and Matthew who are always front of house. No one would catch me here.

‘Hi.’

I yelped as someone stood up from the stool behind the grand piano.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw who it was.

Skylar Chase.

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