Marrying for Money [antikvár]

PROLOGUE May, Royal Park Hotel, London What is the correct etiquette when the three-month-old Maltese terrier you've just picked up from Harrods' pet department poops in the middle of the carpet in a smart London hotel room? Do you: a) Use one of your numerous shopping bags to poop-scoop the offending deposit, then attempt to freshen up the remaining stain on the shagpile using the swanky hotel shower gel as a carpet shampoo? b) Call Housekeeping, full of embarrassment and contrition, apologize profusely and offer a hundred pounds in cash to whoever has to clear the mess up? c) Go shopping, leaving the dog mess exactly where you found it, with the subtle addition of a one-pound coin on a Post-it note, as a tip for the maid, right beside it? Alas, Marcella Hunter chose the latter route. She tapped her new puppy Choate on the nose - 'Naughty boy, Choate!' -tucked him into her crocodile-skin Hermes Birkin handbag and headed for Harvey Nicks as planned. Nothing was going to interrupt her busy shopping schedule. Half an hour later, the hotel maid, unable to see over the enormous pile of bed linen she was carrying, put her foot right