Secrets of a Teenage Heiress

  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 eye
s. 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 t
o 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.’