“That’s because Florrie couldn’t get here through the fog,” she said, glaring after the departing servant. “Left me in the lurch. No sense of duty, these people, and no backbone. You and I would have made it, wouldn’t we? Even if we had to walk from Hackney? I tried to survive without her, but in the end I had no choice, darling, but to check into the Dorchester until the fog lifted.”

She led me into her delightfully warm sitting room and I peeled off outer garments. “I’m actually surprised to find you here. I should have thought Italy was so much nicer at this time of year.”

A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. “Let’s just say that the climate in Italy turned decidedly frosty all at once.”

“Meaning what?”

“Paolo’s horrid fiancée learned about me and put her foot down. She announced that she wants to get married right away. So Paolo’s father told him to shape up and do his duty, or else. And since Pappa controls the purse strings it was arrivederci to poor little moi.”

“You know, you’re beginning to sound like my mother,” I said. “I hope you’re not turning into her.”

“I think she’s had a divine life,” Belinda said, “all those playboys and racing car drivers and Texan oil millionaires.”

“Yes, but in the end what does she have?”

“Some lovely jewels at the very least, and that little villa in the south of France.”

“Yes, but in terms of family? Only Granddad and me and she ignores us both.”

“Darling, your mother is a survivor like me,” Belinda said. “I was upset for a day or so when Paolo showed me the door, but then I decided there are plenty more fish in the sea. But enough about me, what’s this I hear about a royal wedding?” She sank into the art nouveau armchair. I perched on the most uncomfortable modern sofa. “Don’t tell me you’ve been forced to say yes to Fishface.”

“Not if he was the last man on the planet,” I said. “No, much more exciting than that. I’ve been asked to attend a royal wedding in Romania, as official representative of the family. And I’m to be in the bridal party.”

“I say.” Belinda looked suitably impressed. “What a coup! That’s a step up in the world for you, isn’t it? One day you’re living on dry toast, the next you’re representing our country at a royal wedding. How did this come about?”

“The bride specifically asked for me,” I said. “Since we are old school friends.”

“Old school friends? From Les Oiseaux?”

“It’s the only school I ever went to. Until then it was all governesses.”

Belinda frowned, trying to think. “An old school friend, in Romania? Who was that?”

“Princess Maria Theresa,” I said.

“Maria Theresa—oh, God. Not Fatty Matty.”