Dramas of a Teenage Heiress. Katy Birchall
that, you said you would be using the bag tomorrow? Forgive me, but isn’t that up to the designer?’ she said, tilting her head as though talking to a baby. ‘Lewis often lends me first-off-the-line items for his collection, so that I can display them on my vlog, and I wouldn’t bother showing any item that has already been photographed on someone else. I don’t do sloppy seconds.’ She sniffed. ‘Especially after . . . a dog.’
Fritz growled.
‘Fritz’s bag will be available for anyone to buy, it’s just that this particular handbag here on display was made especially for him because of the inscription,’ I explained, patiently. ‘I can show you if you —’
‘I don’t know if you know, Felicity, but my vlog is really very popular, so the things designers lend me get a lot of views and I doubt Lewis will want to miss that opportunity.’ She paused before doing that thin-lipped smile again. ‘Tell me, Flick, does Lewis Blume give you items for your vlog?’
Then she picked up the handbag and let it hang daintily from her wrist, as though modelling it to the room.
Which is when I kind of exploded. Because that comment about the vlog may have sounded fine to an innocent bystander BUT it was in fact a very pointed thing to say, because Nancy Rose knows full well that my vlog, launched earlier this year, hasn’t exactly had the attention I hoped it would.
So, I did what anyone would do in that situation and I snatched the handbag from her and put it on my own wrist. Where it belongs. Next to Fritz.
And you know what? She snatched it right back from me. Which was VERY childish.
I obviously had to reach out and grab the handle to take it back again.
Next thing I knew, I was having a tug of war with Nancy Rose over The Fritz handbag and everyone was staring and gasping, and Fritz started barking because he didn’t want her to ruin his special handbag with her pointy talons, AND THEN Nancy Rose LET GO of her side of the handle, causing her to go flying backwards.
Seriously, hasn’t she ever played tug of war before?
That’s how she ended up on the floor. It was her own stupid fault for not holding on to the bag properly. I did NOT tackle her. And Fritz didn’t go anywhere near her. He would never bite anyone.
Which is exactly what I told the security man, Jeremy, as he led me out of the party. And Jeremy nodded along and offered me a Fruit Pastille while I waited for my driver, which I politely declined because I had no idea how long the packet had been in his pocket and it looked a bit squished.
But still, it was a nice thing for him to do and you could tell he was totally on my side.
I paused to take a deep breath.
‘I see.’ Mum nodded.
‘That is the full story. Mum, we have to leave the country,’ I pleaded, burying my face in my pillow. ‘Thanks to Nancy Rose’s version of what happened last night, everyone is saying mean things about me.’
‘Not everyone. Prince Gustav Xavier III tweeted this morning, saying that you are a very nice young lady with exceptional selfie-stick skills and he can’t imagine that a word of her story is true.’
‘Wait.’ I poked my head out the duvet. ‘Prince Gustav is on Twitter now? I thought he was still getting to grips with Instagram.’
I remembered all too well the painful incident of having to watch the European socialite prince attempt to use my selfie stick for his first Instagram post (which I’d witnessed from inside his wardrobe, because I was trying to steal the selfie stick back from him . . . but that’s another story). Thankfully, since then he’s started dating Skylar Chase and not only has the wardrobe incident been forgotten but also he’s got better at taking photos. He’s even been experimenting with filters.
‘He must be building his brand.’ Mum shrugged.
‘You know, Mum, I was considering apologising to Nancy Rose. I woke up this morning feeling a bit guilty about the way I acted.’ I pursed my lips. ‘But then I saw her vlog and now I’m NEVER apologising.’
‘Yes, I don’t exactly agree with how she’s gone about things, but —’
‘There was a fleeting moment when I thought that this whole thing might boost my vlog’s popularity. Any publicity is good publicity kind of thing. But do you know what?’
Mum looked at me blankly. ‘What?’
‘I checked my subscribers this morning and the numbers have gone DOWN.’
Mum didn’t exactly look distressed by this new information. She’d never wanted me to have a vlog. She had banned me ages ago from having a YouTube channel until Cal, the son of her most trusted employee, head concierge Matthew, and someone I had known since we were little, had persuaded her it would be a good thing for me to do.
I don’t know why she trusts Cal’s word over mine. Although he is quite smart and he never gets into trouble at school, whereas I’ve already had detention twice this term: once for stealthily answering my phone in assembly (it was Sky calling from LA, what was I meant to do? Ignore her? She’s won a Grammy. You do NOT ignore people who have won Grammys); and the second for missing an entire maths lesson because Grace spilled ketchup on my purse and I had to pop home to the hotel and ask Amy in housekeeping how I could get it out before it stained. Which, if you ask me, is a perfectly good reason to miss out on a few sums but whatever.
Still, I’m just as responsible as Cal. I proved it too last term when Mum grounded me FOREVER after I hid in Prince Gustav’s wardrobe in his hotel room. And then she grounded me again because I sneaked out one night with Sky to attend a fashion show when I was supposed to be doing my homework. That was the end of my social life for a while. Stuck here in the hotel, I spent the whole time helping everyone out, tagging along with all the different teams and learning the ropes, which was all excellent research for my vlog.
But it turns out it’s not that easy to gain followers on YouTube and now, thanks to Nancy Rose, everyone thinks I’m awful. There’s no chance people will want to hear a word I have to say.
‘How many hits has her vlog about me got now?’ I asked Mum. ‘You can refresh the page on my laptop.’
Mum turned to my desk, on which my laptop was sitting already open on Nancy Rose’s YouTube channel. She leaned over and clicked the refresh button.
‘Well?’ I sniffed, watching her. ‘How many?’
She examined the screen and then straightened, looking shocked.
‘Uh . . .’ She hesitated, before shutting my laptop firmly. ‘It doesn’t say.’
I groaned and slumped back on to my pillows. Mum was a terrible liar.
‘Flick, don’t let this get you down. We do, however, need to have a serious talk about your behaviour at the launch, but we can leave that until later.’
‘Can’t wait.’
‘And don’t worry about Nancy Rose’s silly vlog. By this evening, everyone will have forgotten about it.’
By the evening, the ‘silly vlog’ had gone viral and a mass of paparazzi had gathered outside the hotel.
I know this sounds crazy, but I think I actually prefer it when I’m wrong and Mum is right.
Flick, are you OK?
I keep trying to call
Sorry, Grace, I’m kind