Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (Extract)

Chapter 4

Caitlin had always been amazed that a man so horrible as her husband should have quite so many friends. From little old ladies to the dizzy heights of royalty, everyone liked Hugh Kirkwood.

His greatest friend was Douglas Oakes whom he had known since Harrow. Hugh had cold-heartedly set out to become his friend because Douglas was the Marquis of Pennington and a Marquis was just one step down from a Duke. Douglas, however, had such a good-natured, easy-going personality that it was impossible not to like him. And Hugh had liked him a whole lot more after he married a genuine princess.

The Marquis and Marchioness of Pennington finally arrived just before eleven, in Douglas's favourite gold Aston Martin, escorted by a fleet of unmarked police cars. Douglas wore his family's green and mustard tartan, Princess Victoria was unusually resplendent in floor-length gold lamé. Like most of the British Royal Family, she was happiest in jodhpurs and co-ordinating mud.

As Victoria and Douglas entered the ballroom a sudden quiet came over the guests. Hugh quickly disposed of Amanda and tried to battle a route through the crowded dance floor. Victoria, however, had caught sight of Caitlin attempting to blend in with an extravagant flower arrangement and waved enthusiastically.

"Yoo-hoo! Caitlin!"

Caitlin felt the unrelenting glare of two hundred pairs of jealous eyes swivel in her direction. Much as she liked the young Princess, she would far rather crawl into a dark corner and hibernate. But she took a fortifying gulp of champagne and made an effort to appear more cheerful, hindered as Hugh suddenly materialised beside her.

"Your Royal Highness!" he beamed. "How wonderful that you could make it. What a terrific gown. Dolce & Gabbana?"

"Haven't the foggiest," grinned Victoria. "Douglas bought it. Sometimes I think he only married me to make the perfect accessory to his car."

The DJ, having been primed by Hugh, whipped off Lady In Red and placed a rather scratchy Goldfinger on his turntable. Douglas's absolute hero, apart from his cricket captain at school almost thirty years ago, was James Bond.

Douglas was delighted. "My favourite song!" He offered Caitlin his arm. "Care to dance, my dear?"

It was her worst nightmare. Although Caitlin had once danced professionally in the West End, the last time she had performed in public, at a charity concert before the Prince of Wales no less, she had accidently floored the male lead and stuck her foot through the high-tech scenery. Enough embarrassment to make anyone take up alternative employment.

Muttering about twisted knee ligaments, she attempted to go into reverse. She only succeeded in crunching Hugh's foot with her stiletto heel.

He pushed her back onto Douglas's welcoming arm and relieved her of her champagne glass. "Enjoy yourself, darling," he said with tangible sarcasm. "And do try to stay upright. There's a dear."

Victoria watched her husband depart onto the crowded dance floor and then looked hopefully at Hugh. But Hugh, having to repay several favours, started to manoeuvre her in the direction of the bar.

"Let me get you a drink, Your Royal Highness. And introduce you to some people I know you would love to meet."

"Super," said Victoria, glancing sadly back at the dance floor. She turned towards the bar but a tall, handsome young man blocked her way. He had blond hair flowing well past his shoulders.

"Your Majesty," he hiccupped, bowing so low his nose almost scraped the floor. "Would you care to dance?"

"Fabian!" bellowed Hugh.

"Why, that would be lovely." Victoria smiled and, taking his proffered arm, quickly steered him into the centre of the dance floor without giving either Hugh, or her outraged bodyguards, so much as a backwards glance. "Thank you very much for asking me."