Chapter Fifteen 2 May 2023 #2
Mary had been particularly happy with the Hackney school visit, which culminated in a dance session in the assembly hall.
I had thought nothing of joining in—what else are you supposed to do when little kids ask you to dance with them?
But I could see in Mary’s face on the drive home that she was nervous about how my antics would be received.
That afternoon, the Daily Post had published a photo of me doing the twist with an adorable boy in glasses, my hair swishing around my shoulders.
The next day, the photo was picked up by most of the UK broadsheets, and by the week’s end it was the cover of an American gossip magazine.
It was a surprise to discover that I might be good at these things.
I’d once believed that such abilities had passed through me like a recessive gene, flowing instead to Louis, so that all the warmth, all the charm, all the magic of our mother was possessed by him.
Even more surprising was the possibility that I might like doing it.
Colin and I reached the doorway to the ballroom, my arm still through his as the photographer trained his lens on us.
He leaned in close to my ear. “I swear, I usually stick to the broadsheets, but I take a peek at the tabloids now and then to see what you’re up to.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. We were among the final couples to enter the room, just ahead of Granny and the Bahamian prime minister, Edward Knowles.
A hundred and seventy guests standing behind their chairs stared openly as we walked by them.
When we reached the head of the table, I stopped and Colin bowed again.
After a battle between Mary and Richard’s officer over who would be seated next to Granny, the head of the table had been arranged by rank, with the result that I—Granny’s heir—was placed in Papa’s old seat to her left.
Richard had ended up two seats down on her right, sandwiched between the British and Bahamian prime ministers.
Colin grinned and leaned forwards. “My seat’s quite a bit further up the horseshoe than this,” he whispered. “But we’re all going to Demelza’s cottage after dinner. I hope to see you there.”
He turned and walked away before I could respond, finding his seat next to Amira and smiling back at me over the candelabras.
Granny glided past her guests with Prime Minister Knowles, and the room was totally silent as she took her seat and got herself settled.
Then there was a collective exhalation, the orchestra began to play and everyone sank into their chairs.
After the toasts, a line of pages in red coats entered the ballroom carrying plates, which they placed before each guest in perfect unison.
Once the entrée was served, guests relaxed a little and began to engage in polite conversation.
The Bahamian prime minister’s wife, Sonia Knowles, was to my left.
As it turned out, she had been a virologist in Miami before her husband entered politics.
We discussed India’s newly achieved status as a polio-free country and breakthroughs in mRNA vaccine development.
“And if you stay in England, will you return to being a doctor, Your Highness?” she asked me.
I picked at the steamed halibut before me. “I’m taking a year off, but there is always a possibility I could finish the final year of my residency here.”
“A junior doctor in the NHS who is also heir to the British throne,” she said, smiling like she had a secret.
“We’re not sure exactly how or where I could practise,” I admitted. “But I would like to try. Right now, I’m just taking a break.”
“Yes, I remember that first year off—how nice it was to rest. It was only meant to be a year for me as well.” She smiled enigmatically again and sipped from her water glass. “Now it’s been fifteen.”
I chewed carefully and swallowed. “Whatever happens, I would like to dedicate my life to public health. Either as a doctor… or a monarch.”
She shrugged. “The republican movement is very strong in the Bahamas these days, so who’s to say whether you’ll ever be our head of state.”
“I understand.”
“But either way, I would watch your reign with interest.”
A fleet of lamb rumps was placed before us with military precision.
At the sight of the main course, Granny turned towards me with a sigh.
She always spent the first half of a meal conversing with the guest of honour on her right before switching to the person on her left.
Papa had once told me the nicest gift he could give Granny in these moments was a little chat about dogs and horses.
Five months after the death of her son and grandson, the luminosity of her face was returning.
But she continued to wear black, and I suspected she would remain in mourning for the rest of her life.
“How is Chino’s training coming along?” she asked.
“I’ve got to be honest—he’s still sleeping in my bed.”
“Oh, dear girl, no.”
“And he still pulls terribly on the lead. I let him off at Richmond Park the other day and he chased a herd of deer around for fifteen minutes.”
Granny tittered behind her hand. The official photographer, who was standing in the centre of the horseshoe, surreptitiously snapped a shot.
After coffee and dessert, the pipers glided into the room; their deafening song signalled that the meal was over.
Granny rose, prompting all the guests to get to their feet as well.
I always marvelled at her serenity in moments like this.
She was unhurried as she gathered her purse and signalled for the Knowleses and me to follow her from the room.
An undulation of bows and curtsies moved through the crowd as she passed.
In the grand hall, Granny shook hands with the Knowleses, said goodnight and left me to see them out of the palace. Sonia took my hands between hers.
“I will pray for you as you make your decision.”
“Thank you,” I said, and watched as she followed her husband to their waiting car.
I wondered if she had kept up with her virology literature after fifteen years outside the lab.
I was still quietly studying. With no more hospital rounds to occupy my sleepless nights, I had been reading medical journals by lamplight.
But perhaps I’d eventually miss a few papers, and then it would become easier to let the discoveries accumulate on my bedside table.
Eventually I would be a scientist in name only.
The hall swelled with people as the guests made their way out of the ballroom. I had arranged with Amira to meet behind the main staircase so we could make a quick getaway. Moments later, she appeared on Colin’s arm.
“He wants us to go to Demelza’s house,” she groaned.
“Yeah, come on, let’s go,” Colin said.
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Demelza and I had spent the past five months pretending the other didn’t exist. If I passed her in the Cumberland quadrangle, she would nod at me, her gaze landing somewhere left of my face.
Sometimes I would arrive at the palace for an audience with Granny only to find Demelza and Richard by her side, teacups perched on their knees and smirks on their lips.
Mary was convinced they somehow knew my schedule and were inserting themselves into Granny’s calendar in the hope their social calls would roll into our official business.
They were rarely invited to stay on for our meetings, but the tabloids were always told otherwise.
“Oh, come on,” Colin said. “It’ll be fun.”
“Yes, you should come,” Demelza said, suddenly turning the corner and appearing before us. She looked me up and down. “Everyone’s invited, especially my dear cousin.”
I gave in and nodded. My days were spent in the presence of greying courtiers, most of whom seemed to disapprove of me. I wore pantyhose and drank tea. I saw London from the window of a speeding town car. The idea of some mindless conversation and a few drinks with people my own age was appealing.
We had our driver meet us at the back entrance so we could avoid the photographers waiting at the gates. How ridiculous we must have looked—three girls in tiaras and a boy in tails squeezing into the back of a Rolls-Royce.
“Oh, shit, we forgot Birdie!” Demelza screeched as the car approached the gates of Cumberland.
“Shall I turn back, ma’am?” the driver asked, alarmed.
“No, she’ll sort herself out. Onwards, driver.”
Demelza’s cottage was among a cluster of buildings on the outer edge of Cumberland Palace.
With three bedrooms, it was considered one of the humbler abodes available to family members, but it had the best view of the gardens and could be accessed without passing through the inner quadrangle, meaning that, unlike Amira and me, Demelza avoided the older relatives who watched our every move.
The house had clearly been styled by an interior designer, with antiques borrowed from the Royal Collection Trust interspersed among the trendy pieces ubiquitous on every rich girl’s Instagram.
But the place was a mess, with piles of clothes everywhere, tea bags mouldering on saucers and three mismatched stilettos on a stained marble coffee table.
A baby-pink Ultrafragola mirror was badly in need of a spray and wipe.
“Jesus, Demi, get a cleaner in here, would you?” Colin said, pulling bottles of Bollinger from the fridge.
She stuck her tongue out at him as she tossed her heels and flopped onto her couch.
The doorbell kept ringing as all the young people from the banquet arrived, still dressed in their gowns and tails.
Had there been a group chat? Had Colin and Demelza whispered the plan in the ear of every guest who looked under thirty-five?
Birdie was the last to arrive, dressed in her big blousy Erdem gown, which looked like an old lady’s floral bedsheet on her.
“You forgot me,” she wailed. “I had to get a lift with a staffer from Number 10. I was wearing a ballgown in a Ford Focus.”