Katy Birchall - Secrets of a Teenage Heiress

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.’