if something was going through his mind. Something he wasn’t sure about.
‘What is it, Mr Vishwanath?’ asked Amelia.
Mr Vishwanath thought for a moment longer. ‘Would you like to meet her?’ he said at last. ‘The old lady, as you call her?’
‘Not particularly,’ said Amelia.
‘Are you scared to?’
‘No. Who is she?’
‘The Princess Parvin Kha-Douri.’
CHAPTER 7
The thought of meeting the old lady really was a bit scary, even though Amelia had told Mr Vishwanath that it wasn’t. But the thought of meeting a princess was exciting. And no one could have been more excited than Eugenie, even though she wasn’t even going to meet her.
‘A princess!’ she said, for about the fiftieth time.
‘I know,’ said Amelia, for the forty-ninth.
‘A real princess!’
‘Eugenie, I think we’re all aware of that now,’ said Kevin.
They were walking home after a hockey game, carrying their sticks.
‘You’ll have to curtsy, Amelia,’ said Eugenie suddenly. ‘Properly. I’ll show you how.’
Eugenie dropped right there on the footpath, flinging out her arms and almost hitting Kevin with her stick. It was a low, extravagant curtsy, head bent, nose only a couple of centimetres from the pavement.
Eugenie glanced up at Amelia. ‘Now you do it.’
‘Eugenie, I know how to curtsy.’
‘Show me.’
‘Eugenie, I know .’
Eugenie looked at her doubtfully. Then she straightened up. ‘Well, you’ve seen now, anyway,’ she said rather pompously. ‘You can practise at home.’
They started walking again.
‘She’s too old to be a princess,’ said Kevin.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ demanded Eugenie.
‘Princesses are meant to be young.’
‘And then they get old.’
‘Then they’re meant to be queens.’
‘Only if they marry a prince, or if they’re heir to the throne. But they’re always a princess. No one can take that away from them.’ Eugenie sighed. ‘A princess . . . Princess Parvin Kha-Douri.’ She murmured the name softly, as it was almost too precious to say out loud.
‘Well, it seems ridiculous to me,’ muttered Kevin, ‘still being a princess when you’re that old.’
Eugenie didn’t reply to that. She stuck her nose in the air.
They stopped at the Sticky Sunday ice-cream shop. Kevin got a double scoop of Caramel and Hazelnut. Amelia got Raspberry Ripple and Walnuts ’n’ Cream. Eugenie spent a long time examining all the possibilities and got a small serve of frozen yoghurt. They sat down on the stools along the wall.
‘If you don’t want to see her, Amelia,’ said Eugenie, ‘I’ll go instead.’
‘Mr Vishwanath didn’t invite you,’ said Kevin.
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’
‘He invited Amelia.’
‘And she doesn’t know whether she wants to go.’
‘Of course I want to go,’ said Amelia. ‘It’s just . . .’ Eugenie and Kevin watched her expectantly.
‘What?’
Amelia didn’t say. She had told Eugenie and Kevin that Mr Vishwanath had invited her to meet the Princess – not what she had done half an hour before he made the suggestion.
Eugenie watched her for a moment longer. Then she leaned forward earnestly. ‘You must go, Amelia. A princess! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.’
Kevin shook his head. ‘Don’t go if you don’t want to.’
‘Kevin!’ Eugenie almost shrieked.
‘What difference does it make if she’s a princess? I bet she thinks she’s terribly important, but just being a princess doesn’t make her more important than anyone else.’
‘Of course it makes her more important than anyone else!’
‘Why? Just because she’s the daughter of a king? Just because she was born into a particular family?’
Eugenie shook her head impatiently. Then she glanced at Amelia, and shook it again, as if to ask what you could do with a person who said things like that.
Amelia frowned. Perhaps Kevin was right. The fact that a person was born into a