Page 64 of The Heir Apparent
“You’re late, Your Highness,” she said mildly.
“I beat the makeup artist, didn’t I?” I called from the floor where Chino had me pinned so he could nuzzle my face.
“You’ve got pond hair,” she said, typing away. “Go shower and I’ll have the makeup artist attend to the Dowager Duchess first.”
I managed to wrestle free from the dog’s frenzied attention so I could make my way upstairs.
“Oh, and congratulations,” Mary added. “We cracked fifty.”
I stopped and turned. She was still tapping at her screen, trying to keep a neutral expression on her face, although I could see that grin of hers tugging at the corners of her mouth while she tried not to gloat about my improving likeability score.
I walked over and gave her a high five. She smirked, holding up her hand reluctantly, though I could see her eyes were sparkling.
“Thank you, Mary,” I said. “Only half the British population is suspicious of me, and that’s entirely due to your efforts.”
She smiled and turned back to her phone. “Actually, only twenty per cent are truly suspicious. The other thirty just aren’t sure yet. But we’ll get them in our column soon enough.”
Almost everyone wonders how much people like them, but very few have it quantified down to the decimal point. It was hard not to become fixated on the number and the many ways it could be shifted. I was not a politician who could simply enact good policies. I couldn’t give charming interviews like a celebrity. My job was only to be. Winning back the favour of the British public was a lengthy process that might take the rest of my life. Focus groups suggested my critics could never forgive that I once shirked my duty to the family. “Selfish” was a word that came up a lot. I pointed out to Mary that people had used the same word to describe my mother, along with “vulnerable” and “hysterical.” Now she was revered, even by people who were too young to remember her when she was alive.
“There’s only one way to get numbers like Princess Isla, ma’am,” Mary said, unmoved.
It was true. In death, Papa finally got the one thing he had always wanted: the adoration of the British people. He was easy to admire once they didn’t have to endure his lectures, his cantankerous nature or his devotion to the woman he loved instead of the woman they loved. Louis, who had been cherished from the moment he was born, was well on his way to sainthood. Our young king who never was.
The Wimbledon match was part of Mary’s strategy to demonstrate that my family had welcomed me back. WhenAmira and I were offered tickets, Mary had suggested that I invite Demelza and Birdie along as well. The tabloids adored a “young royals” story, and we were guaranteed theDaily Post’s front page. My relationship with the Clarence girls had thawed over the last few months, but I would hardly describe them as my friends. And while Demelza now had enough information to cause some serious damage to my reputation, none ever emerged. I could never decide whether that meant she could be trusted, or that she was smart enough to know I would be able to trace it back to her.
Once I was showered, dressed and made up, I met Amira in the car. I was in a navy and white striped shirt, tucked into matching trousers that could almost pass for pyjamas. But with a pair of stilettos, the outfit was effortless and tailored. In every public appearance, Mary insisted that one element of my outfit read as slightly rebellious—a bending rather than breaking of convention. This time, it was a vivid red lipstick, which had never been expressly forbidden for royal women but was rarely worn.
“How was the pond?” Amira asked. She was in a white sundress and a black YSL logo belt, sure to make Demelza curl her lip in disdain. Most royals preferred to buy a belt that looked like it came from Marks and Spencer but actually cost £1,000.
“Nice,” I said. “You should come with me one day.”
She guffawed. “Never.”
We set off down the gravel drive, beneath the old oak trees that formed a rustling canopy over the palace entrance in summer.
“You know who’ll be there today, don’t you?” Amira asked.
“No.”
She looked at me, something hard and gleaming in her gaze. “Colin.”
“How do you know?”
“He texted me this morning to ask if you were coming.”
I leaned back against the headrest and swallowed. We hadn’t seen each other since our disastrous visit to Colin’s country estatethat ended with me making a mistake in a library and Birdie slipping over in her own blood. And now we would be reunited while the world’s media watched.
A few weeks earlier, Amira and I had driven up to Lincolnshire in her Range Rover to spend the weekend at Colin’s family seat. I was used to lavish homes—I was Papa’s daughter after all—but Lutton Hall was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was twice the size of Elton Park, and the main home had been demolished and rebuilt several times since the fifteenth century to ensure its architectural lines remained fashionable. The estate had its own chapel with a 55-metre clock tower; there were turrets, arched windows and an enormous two-storey library. I had never been there before, but when I heard my footsteps echo through the cold stone cave they called a drawing room, I remembered that Papa had once described the Bellingham estate as “a garish mongrel that makes Versailles look chic.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it,” Colin said as he welcomed us into the house. Like Louis, he wore £250 Ralph Lauren knits with ratty holes in the sleeves and at the elbows.
“No,” I said. “It’s—”
“It’s terrible,” he insisted. “My great-grandfather didn’t have the best taste, but no one can justify the cost of undoing it again. It’d be tens of millions of pounds.”
“Well, if there’s one thing you don’t have, it’s tens of millions.” Amira sighed. “Am I staying in my usual room?”
For the weekend we were joined by a few of his friends—all Old Etonians—as well as Demelza and Birdie. We spent most of the day drinking champagne and shooting clay pigeons. I had never learned how to do it, so every target sailed through the air unscathed when I tried to bring it down with my shotgun. After a while, Colin appeared behind me and wrapped me in his arms as he murmured instructions in my ear.
