Free Letters to a Princess by Libby Hathorn Page B

building in Darlinghurst. We were almost expelled. But worse than that, for me, was the fact that what we did ended up hurting you, when all I’ve ever felt for you is love and admiration.
    After we’d had our joke about pretending to really interview you and written our fake article, with our fake new love interest in your life, Hammond Zeigler, I just wanted to set the record straight. Way back then—truly! But Zoë kept procrastinating because for a while we kind of became megastars at school.
    ‘You’ve actually spoken face-to-face with Princess Di? No way!’
    ‘Was she as gorgeous as she is in photos?’
    ‘What perfume do you think she wears?’
    ‘Does she have French nails?’
    ‘Do you think they were Prada shoes or Gucci?’
    ‘Did she have more than one diamond ring?’
    On and on until I thought I’d scream, whereas Zoë answered everything convincingly and just seemed to love all the attention.
    Zoë kept telling me she’d sort it all out but she didn’t. I don’t know how many times I was on my way to the principal’s office to confess, when something or someone stopped me. It went on for three days. Then the Daily Telegraph got hold of the story, well, of the name Hammond Zeigler anyway.
    You see, Zoë had given my copy of our interview to another student whose dad works at the paper. It was a coincidence that her dad, Lionel Fitzsimmon, was also doing an article on you. Maybe not such a coincidence since all the papers and mags were having a field day about your being here in Australia. Anyway, there was a mix-up and Lionel gave the subs our Diana article instead of his. That’s how our fake Hammond Zeigler made it into the paper and out into the world. Simple as that.
    Worse was to come when we discovered that THERE IS A REAL, LIVE, FLESH-AND-BLOOD HAMMOND ZEIGLER! As you know by now, he’s a 55-year-old scientist who lives in Ohio. He’s married with four kids and has spent his life researching cows’ intestines! He’s not rich! He’s not handsome! He’s not very glamorous! And he’s probably ready to sue the pants off Zoë and me—or at least the Daily Telegraph!
    It was our bad luck that the real Hammond Zeigler was at a conference in New York at the very same timeyou were there. Why that should give the press or anyone else leave to surmise things, I don’t know. And aren’t journalists supposed to check their stories thoroughly?
    This real Hammond Zeigler found himself on his hotel steps surrounded by cameramen and reporters asking him about the nature of his relationship with you!
    He was so stunned. I think his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline! Princess who? You almost had to laugh at the expression on his face when the press suggested he might be in a relationship with you. He obviously thought it was a crude practical joke and tried to brush them off. Big mistake.
    I’m sure the look on my face would have been worth bottling too. When I first saw the whole thing on television I thought I’d have to kill myself! It was strange, the three of us—my stepdad, my stepbrother and I—were watching the news together because there were really bad bushfires just outside of Sydney and Graham had called us to come and see the footage. When the next news flash came up and I caught the name Hammond Zeigler, I nearly knocked over my stepfather’s prized coffee table because I stood up so quickly. I just kept saying over and over, ‘Oh my God no! Oh my God!’ so that Graham thought I’d gone mad—again.
    ‘Hammond Zeigler. It’s Hammond Zeigler,’ I kept repeating the name.
    ‘So?’ Marcus was intrigued.
    ‘Our Hammond Zeigler. But Hammond Zeigler doesn’t bloody exist. It can’t be Hammond Zeigler! Our Hammond Zeigler,’ I babbled.
    ‘She’s finally gone really mad, Dad,’ Marcus said.
    ‘Do you know him or what?’ Graham asked me, righting the coffee table. But I rushed from the room blubbering. The telephone was already ringing and of course it was Zoë.