Page 114 of The Unlikely Heir
Herbert’s unflappable mask stays firmly in place. “I’ll just leave your breakfast by the side of the bed, Your Royal Highness. Would you like some breakfast brought up for your visitor?”
Oliver rolls over, squinting his eyes in confusion at Herbert.
And I see the exact moment when Herbert realizes the identity of my overnight guest.
He drops the tray. Its contents shatter all over the floor in a cacophony of clanging.
“I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness. Uh…Prime Minister,” he stammers, scrambling around to clean up the mess.
“It’s okay, Herbert,” I say, sitting up abruptly. Watching Herbert scramble to clean up the mess, I can’t help but feel it’s a premonition.
Oliver and I are creating a mess that will leave a lot of people scrambling.
ChapterThirty
Oliver
Two days later, I’m back at Buckingham Palace. This time it’s not for a clandestine meeting with the Prince of Wales but instead for my standard weekly meeting with Queen Katharine.
“Your Majesty.” I bow my head then move forward to shake her hand.
“Oliver. Nice to see you.”
My weekly meetings with the queen, while Parliament is in session, have always been part of the privilege of being the prime minister.
But lately, I’ve been tense during them. It feels disingenuous to sit across from Queen Katharine talking about our foreign policy plans and new government initiatives without mentioning that I’m head-over-heels in love with her grandson.
She wouldn’t approve of our relationship, of course. Her loyalty is to the crown above everything else. And there is no way mine and Callum’s relationship can be construed as good for the crown.
“Have you had a busy day?” she inquires as we take our usual seat in the armchairs.
“We’ve been preparing for our next round of trade negotiations with the EU.”
“That must be keeping you busy,” she says.
As we discuss the details of our trade negotiations, Queen Katharine is her usual reserved mix of interested and insightful.
She has the scope of history, having counseled seven other prime ministers. No topic is off limits between us, from political to personal, but she still remains absolutely politically neutral. Before I came into the job, I’d heard other former prime ministers discuss how important the queen’s counsel was to them, how she was the one person they could say anything to and know it wouldn’t be leaked.
It’s like having a therapist, and I have often found that in the course of explaining a particular problem I’m having, a solution becomes apparent.
I’m fairly sure she won’t have a solution for the biggest problem I’m facing right now.
I rub my forehead.
There’s a tightness about the queen’s mouth as she changes the topic away from EU trade negotiations.
“I was wondering, have you been monitoring the protests against the monarchy?” she asks.
“We have been watching them closely,” I say carefully. I don’t want to go into details of how closely my cabinet is watching the swelling numbers of people calling for an end to the monarchy, demanding that the government hold a referendum so every person can vote on whether the country should continue as a constitutional monarchy.
I haven’t talked to Callum about it either because all cabinet discussions are confidential. It’s not really pillow talk either, the fact that a growing number of people essentially want Callum out of a job, no matter how hard he’s trying to serve them.
“I feel it shall settle down,” Queen Katharine says. There’s an edge to her voice that I think means she’s not completely certain. She only hopes her words are true. “The focus will move to Prince Callum’s investiture. Callum’s a very different type of royal, but I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing. The monarchy always needs to modernize to survive.”
I pull at the cuff of my suit, unable to meet her eyes as I study the armrest of the Louis XV chair.
“Yes, he’s definitely a different breed of royal,” I say.
