Chapter 5
ATONING
DUNCAN
London Daily Times
We have finally received a statement from Buckingham Palace.
They promise that by day's end The Prince of Wales will speak to the media regarding his misdeeds.
Another statement was released from Scotland Yard this morning.
It appears they are investigating the hack into Lady Leroux's messenger account.
No word from the palace on matters of a cybersecurity issue.
Insiders say Her Majesty is “beyond cross” and “livid” with the wayward princess.
We are not sure what the Palace's strategy will be, but Britons are speaking up.
Here is a spattering of views on the issue:
“He's no longer a young man. He needs to get his act together and act like a grown man.” -Harry, 77
“End taxpayer welfare for these [expletive]!” -Maurice, 28
“It is time the monarch wises up! Her Majesty is a star, but her son is a joke!” -Edith, 54
“Send him back to military service to do something useful and remind him of what really matters!” -Edward, 45
“The boy was best when he was in the RAF. Perhaps he should learn to work again?” -Harold, 72
“I am sick of these people having things paid for to run around and be useless when we cannot heat our damn houses!” -Mohammed, 37
“I think he should ask himself what he wants. Will he ever be fit to marry? Have children? It's a shame!”-Cecilia, 45
“It makes the most sense to send you to Wales,” Mum said.
Father had all but given up on me at this point. He sat in a corner so far away that I might as well have not existed to him. Now, while I swung in the wind, he was reading.
“Send me? What as if I were off to a home for wayward boys?” I scoffed.
I looked to the Fixer’s assistant. She was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way.
I noticed her fabulous tits immediately, but it was her arse that pleased me most. She was curvy.
Young. Blonde. I’d have had a go if I knew it wouldn’t get me killed.
I assumed fucking the assistant was off the table, but damn if I didn’t consider it!
Of all the people in the room, I wanted to get a laugh out of her. No dice. She shot a disapproving look.
“You should be so lucky!” Mum countered. “Duncan, you need a bloody redemption arc. Abi and Ella brought up an excellent point about where you could visibly make an impact. We came up with a scheme, and I am sure it will suit better than being banished and loathed forever, yes?”
“Who is Ella?” I asked.
The assistant stared daggers. Well, I fucked that one up!
“Oh, God, I am so sorry. I forgot you had a name,” I tried smoothing things over but made it worse.
Ella passive aggressively smoothed her skirt over and sat, arms crossed. She hated me. All hopes of seeing her naked in the future after I won hearts and minds back drifted off into space. There would be no figuring out what was under that navy dress of hers. No. She was gone to me—dead.
Dad took his reading glasses off and shook his head. “Stop while you’re ahead, Duncan.”
“Miss—”
I didn’t know her name.
“Mills,” Mum said. “Miss Eloise Mills. She asked us to call her Ella.”
“Yes. Apologies Miss Mills. I am dreadful with names. Which, in my industry, is a moral failing.”
The girl nodded absentmindedly, not disagreeing.
“Ella, why don’t you illustrate the proposed solution,” Lady Ferguson glared.
I may not have been her child, but she was allowed to boss me around as if I were. I felt the same pang of guilt I felt from my own mother’s disapproval.
“Um… okay,” Ella said.
“So, we believe a fresh start in Wales is appropriate.”
“Does no one think people will see that for what it is?” I asked.
“Let me finish, please, Your Royal Highness,” Ella said in a sharp, somewhat commanding tone. I wondered if she was as commanding in bed. Probably not. Girls like her were always afraid to take charge.
“Apologies. Please, go on.”
“There is a shortage of Air Traffic Controllers. And, as such, with your credentials—”
“They need ATC personnel. And you are certified,” Mum said.
It was decided.
“I’m sorry but… you want me to go and be ATC again? I’d rather light myself on fire in a carpark.”
I never wanted to be an air traffic controller, and I wasn’t about to start again.
“Would you rather your mother’s name continue to be tarnished?” Dad asked. “Would you ever like to be in people’s good graces again?”
I sat back. “Go on Miss Mills. What next?”
The younger fixer glared at me, setting her jaw.
I wondered if she knew just how badly I’d like to kiss the scowl off her face.
The worse things got and the more she loathed me, the more I wanted her.
I only thirsted after things I could not have before getting them.
It was all about the chase since Ness. Ness had been different—until she wasn’t.
“You will stay there for the next few months. We have a film crew—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Apologies, Miss Mills. No, mother. I am not doing anything with a bloody film crew. Jesus! It is bad enough to have to make a public statement today about something I don’t regret—”
“We have been over this, and I am not discussing it. You said you would do anything to redeem yourself. That you were desperate to do so. Well, here is a surefire way,” Mum said. “Unless you honestly don’t care how hard I have fought this fight for you?”
Her lip quivered and she fought tears.
“Excuse me,” she whimpered, getting up and leaving.
Dad glared and hopped up after her. I couldn’t have felt worse if I tried. We sat there in silence, awkwardly drinking our tea and coffee. I didn’t admire Miss Mills anymore. I couldn’t think about that. Thankfully, Mum returned after a moment and sat as if nothing happened.
“I will consider it,” I said. “But having to go back to that job—having it be so stressful—I don’t know if it helps. Doesn’t it make your job harder to risk cameras following me? Maybe I will be able to win them over enough with my charm alone?”
Mum shrugged. “I don’t want a film crew, either. But we will find the right presenter. It’s not forever.”
“I am not sure I want to do it, but I will keep an open mind. Can I at least get settled first?”
“Yes,” Mum answered. “You can stay at our house there—as per usual.”
Ms. Forrest suddenly let out a growl and bent over. Miss Mills was quick to whisper if she were alright. There was a back-and-forth sidebar.
“I am calling Mark,” Miss Mills hopped up. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t stand but, she’s in labor—”
“I’m so sorry,” Ms. Forrest apologized.
“No, go, go darling,” Mum said. “Abi, what can we do to help?”
“I don’t know. She’s going to call her husband. The baby isn’t due for a few more weeks.”
“It happens sometimes—when you least expect it,” Lady Ferguson said. “If you need to walk, just go.”
“That sounds best.”
I hopped up. “Let me help you.”
She took my hand, nearly squeezing it to death and was on her feet.
“I don’t think I will be here for the speech,” she apologized.
“I think you will have happier things to think about,” I chuckled.
At least someone would.