The Ordinary Princess. Liz Fielding

      ‘Well, his wife was convinced—I was convinced—that it was a heart-attack.’

      ‘But it wasn’t.’

      ‘The doctor—and it was hours before he saw a doctor—suggested that it might have been over-excitement. But we didn’t know that and I couldn’t leave them in the middle of the street, could I?’

      Her aunt’s face clouded. As a photojournalist she’d covered many war zones and undoubtedly been faced with such dilemmas on a regular basis. But she’d been a professional. Had never forgotten why she was there. She’d always got her story.

      ‘I imagine,’ she said, after the slightest of pauses, ‘that at this point in the narrative McCarthy asked why you didn’t just call an ambulance, summon assistance from a marshal and find someone else to interview?’

      ‘When you put it like that it sounds so simple.’

      ‘It is simple. But I guess you had to be there, hmm?’

      ‘It was all a bit of a muddle, to be honest, and the queue in A&E was horrendous. There’d been an accident on a building site. A wall had collapsed—’

      The newsdesk had been trying to contact her about that. They’d wanted her to leave the protest march and cover the building site story, but of course she’d had to switch off her mobile phone in the hospital. She should have phoned in, told them what was happening, but she’d been too intent on staying with the story she had.

      ‘The old lady was so frightened. I couldn’t just leave her there. You do understand, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I understand.’ Her tone suggested that she understood that her great-niece was an idiot. But a sweet idiot.

      ‘By the time he’d been seen by a doctor and I’d got back to the demo I’d missed a mini-riot and thirty-two senior citizens being arrested for committing a breach of the peace.’

      ‘But you did have a human interest story about an old man who’d collapsed from over-excitement,’ Jay pointed out.

      ‘Well…’ She shrugged, helplessly. ‘No, actually.’

      ‘No? You didn’t get some heart-wrenching tale of hardship from this pair? In return for all your help?’

      Laura shrugged awkwardly. ‘Apparently their son is something big in the City. He would have been absolutely furious with them if they’d got their names in the paper.’

      ‘You mean he’s a pompous ass who’s embarrassed by the fact that his parents have minds of their own?’

      ‘Well, maybe, but you can see his point.’ She faltered beneath her aunt’s uncompromising gaze. ‘Maybe not.’

      ‘You are too kind for your own good, Laura.’ Then, because there was no answer to that, she asked, ‘What will you do now?’

      Laura sighed. ‘I don’t know. According to Trevor, I ought to forget journalism as a career. Maybe he’s right. I haven’t exactly covered myself with glory. Apparently a bleeding heart liberal like myself should stick to something more suited to my temperament.’ She winced as she remembered his withering scorn. ‘In fact he suggested I look for full-time employment as a nanny.’

      ‘In other words he hasn’t forgotten the incident with that woman who left you holding her baby.’

      Laura closed her eyes and banged her forehead on her knees. ‘I’m utterly useless. I’ll never make a journalist.’

      Jay looked as if she might be about to say something—but thought better of it. ‘You’re just young, that’s all. And a bit soft.’

      ‘They weren’t amongst the adjectives Trevor used when he told me to get out and never darken his door again unless I had something he could put on his front page without turning his newspaper into a laughing stock.’

      ‘He said that, did he?’ Jay leaned forward and topped up her glass. ‘That doesn’t sound like the sack to me.’

      ‘No, I got the subtext. My great-aunt is a personal friend of the newspaper’s owner so he’s covering his back. But, let’s face it, he’s safe enough.’

      ‘All you need is the right story.’

      ‘I refer to the answer I gave earlier.’

      ‘Hey—’ Jay leaned forward, touched her chin, forced her to look up ‘—whatever happened to your ambition to become a great crusading journalist?’

      It had been her ambition for as long as she could remember to emulate her great-aunt, see her byline on stories that moved the world. ‘Like you? It’s time for a reality check, Jay. I’m not going to make much of a difference if I get side-tracked by sweet old things who need their hands held. I should have been there today, reporting the anger of people who are sick of not being listened to. I should have been at that building site, asking questions about safety. Making sure people know what’s going on around them. I should—’

      ‘If you realise that, your day hasn’t been entirely wasted. Unless, of course, you plan to just give up and sit there feeling sorry for yourself?’

      Laura shrugged, found a smile from somewhere. ‘Just give me a minute, okay? I’ll get over it.’

      ‘What you need, my girl, is a good old-fashioned scoop. The inside story on someone famous should do it.’

      ‘Oh, that’ll be easy.’

      ‘I didn’t say it would be easy. I was the one who tried to persuade you that you should forget journalism and look for a sensible job.’

      Laura pulled a face. ‘My father was a mountaineer, my mother a travel writer, and you spent a fair amount of your time in the world’s trouble spots. The family genes would appear to have a sensible deficit.’

      Her aunt reached out, touched her arm briefly. Laura blinked, pasted on a smile.

      ‘Even so, I’ll pass on an exposé of someone rich and famous, if you don’t mind. It isn’t my thing.’

      ‘You aren’t in a position to be choosy, Laura. The important thing right now is to get you back in favour with the boss. If you really do want to be a journalist?’

      Again Laura sensed the unspoken suggestion that this might be the time to call it a day and give ‘sensible’ a try.

      ‘Of course I do!’ She just didn’t like some of the stuff journalists did. But Jay was right. She wasn’t in a position to be choosy, not if she wanted her job back. ‘An exposé?’ She pulled a face. ‘It would have to be someone totally unsympathetic. Someone I won’t go all gooey and protective over.’

      ‘That would help,’ Jay agreed, with a wry smile. Then, seriously, ‘Someone powerful. Someone who never gives interviews.’ And she picked up the gossip magazine she’d been reading when Laura arrived and offered it to her. ‘Someone like this.’

      Laura glanced at the cover photograph of a man in evening dress—a dark blue ribbon bearing an impressive decoration bisecting his imposing figure—arriving at some glittering state occasion, and then looked again.

      ‘Who is he?’

      ‘His Serene Highness Prince Alexander Michael George Orsino. Crown Prince of Montorino.’

      In his early to mid-thirties, the Prince had thick dark hair that no amount of cutting could quite keep from a natural inclination to curl and eyebrows that gave him a look of the devil. He was tall—he stood inches above his companions anyway—and dark. But forget handsome. A smile might have helped, but nothing would ever compensate for a nose that centuries of breeding had perfected for looking down, or the haughty arrogance of his bearing which instantly curdled her natural milk of human kindness.

      ‘Montorino? Isn’t that one of those fabulously rich autocratic European principalities?’ There had been a recent