Isle of Wight, England
August 2014

Go on your summer vacation

The view from Osborne House's breakfast room is nothing short of spectacular. It looks to the east, to the morning sun. There's a terrace directly below it, with manicured flower beds in what I learned is the Tuscan style. From the terrace, a wide path leads past a fountain and through the gardens. In the distance are the shining waters of the Solent.

Having seen it, I get why the royal family likes to come here for their holidays. It feels like a vacation here. It also feels like we're much further away from London than we actually are. Osborne House was built in what Teddy called the Italianate style and it wouldn't be amiss somewhere on the Amalfi Coast. The glittering Solent in the distance could easily be mistaken for the Mediterranean Sea as well.

In short, it is a very pleasing place to be spending my holidays. It's the first summer I'm not returning to Glen (not even a boss as understanding as Pamela gives me enough weeks off to do both) and yes, it does feel a little strange, but the Isle of Wight is a more than adequate alternative.

"Do you want some more?" offers Teddy and holds up the pitcher with orange juice (freshly squeezed, of course).

I push my glass in his direction and smile in thanks. Breakfast at any palace is always a scrumptious affair. As, to be honest, are lunch, tea and dinner. When it comes to food, the royals certainly don't go wanting.

"Any plans for today?" asks Teddy as he pours the juice.

"Ken should be back soon-ish," I answer and shrug. "I wanted to check with him first. We'll probably just make it a lazy day though."

"The best kind of day," replies Teddy with a quick smile.

I can't disagree. I've spent most of my days at Osborne just lazing around and it's been glorious. I already finished an entire book, I generally go swimming once or twice a day and I eat more of the delicious food than is good for my figure.

"I imagine Ken probably won't mind a quiet day either," I remark and take a sip of my juice. "Yesterday was quite hectic for him."

It being the centenary of the start of the Great War, Ken spent the last two days at various remembrance events in Belgium. It started with him attending the Last Post at the Menin Gate in Ypres the day before yesterday. The following morning, he was received by the Belgian King and Queen at Liege, followed by a big international remembrance ceremony at Mons and lastly, after a hurried trip back across the channel, an evening vigil at Westminster Abbey. (Look! I did my homework!) He spent the night in London and we're expecting him sometime –

Both Teddy and I jump when the door suddenly opens and Ken enters. Speak of the devil.

I start to rise from my chair to greet him, but when I get a look at his face, I slowly sit back down. His expression is thunderous.

"You." He points at a footman standing in a corner. "Find Presley and send him here."

The footman hurries outside, seemingly glad to escape the room. His colleague remains standing, shoulders drawn up, until Ken dismisses him with an impatient jerk of the head.

"Um… Ken?" I ask carefully and stand up. Next to me, Teddy shrinks in his chair.

Ken looks at us, as if seeing us for the first time. His expression softens a bit when his eyes meet mine, but there's still a deep crease between his brows. Sighing, he pushes a hand through his hair. "Good morning."

"Morning," murmurs Teddy.

"What is the matter?" I want to know, not bothering with niceties.

Sighing again, Ken rubs his face. "Have you seen today's paper?"

"Not yet," I reply. Looking down at Teddy, I can see him shake his head.

Ken holds up a rolled paper and suddenly, there's a sinking feeling in my stomach. This can't be good.

But before I get an explanation, there's a sharp knock on the door.

"Yes," Ken calls out and moments later, Presley enters. I've seen him around here often enough to know him to be head of Osborne House's security team.

Without a greeting of any sort, Ken tosses the paper on the table between us and Presley. "Have you seen this?" he demands to know.

"Yes, Sir," answers Presley.

Ken considers the other man for a moment, his eyes hard. Then – "Do better."

"Yes, Sir," answers Presley.

With an impatient wave of his hand, Ken dismisses him and Presley hurries to leave. Ken looks after him until the door is firmly closed, before reaching for the paper and looking down at it, frowning.

I exchange a look with Teddy, who shrugs helplessly.

I don't recognise Ken like this. I mean, he can take the staff for granted and, in the vein of those being used to having servants around, accepts their service without questioning it, but I've never seen him be this… well, rude. Usually, he's at least polite, if not falling over himself to be grateful. That dressing down he just gave poor Presley, however…

What is in that paper?

Pushing my chair back, I walk over to him and pluck the paper from his hand. He tries to grab it back, but I'm quicker, taking a few steps backwards until there's a safe distance between us. Only then do I look down at the paper.

There's a large picture of me and Teddy at the beach, waves lapping at our feet. Above it, in large block letters, is the headline All in the Family: Cinderella swaps Princes.

Slowly, I lower the paper and meet Ken's gaze.

"What is it?" asks Teddy, half-rising from his chair.

I toss him the paper without breaking eye contact with Ken. Moments later, I can hear Teddy groan. "Damn."

"Damn right," Ken agrees testily.

"They… they must have taken them yesterday," I remark, because I have no idea what else to say. I know because in the pictures, I'm wearing my new polka dot bikini that I only got when shopping in Cowes last weekend. It is very cute and I already know I will never wear it again.

Ken turns to look at Teddy. "You should have been more careful."

Teddy slides back down in his chair and lowers his head.

"It's not Ted's fault!" I protest, moving between them. "I didn't see any photographers either. They must have used long-lens cameras."

"Of course they did," Ken agrees impatiently. "But it's not like they haven't pulled that trick before. Teddy should have known better and Presley definitely should have anticipated it."

"It's not a security issue though, is it?" I ask, frowning. "Not really. It's just… photos." It doesn't feel like it's 'just' photos, but I'm trying not to focus on that.

Behind me, Teddy gets up from his chair. "Ken is right. It is a security issue. If they got close enough to use a long-lens camera, they were also close enough to use a sniper rifle."

A sniper rifle?

I stare at him.

Ken reaches out to slip and arm around my waist and draw me closer. "No-one is saying there was any real danger," he soothes. "But they should have extended the secure perimeter while you were at the beach. That they didn't is Presley's fault."

"But not Teddy's!" I insist. I still don't see how Teddy should have been able to prevent this.

"I should have checked what perimeter they were running," Teddy explains, looking downcast.

I frown. I don't think that's his job, to be honest. I mean, if it is, what are all those highly trained police officers even for?

But I don't press the point, instead reaching out to pick up the paper lying on the table in front of Teddy. Flicking through it, I notice that in addition to the big front page picture, there are more inside, all of them showing the same motif. Unconsciously, I re-draw the lines of the polka dot bikini with the tip of my finger.

"Why do they always print those pictures?" I ask no-one in particular. "Why always those pictures?"

I know the answer, of course. I'm not that stupid. It's just…

"You're upset," Ken states, his arm tightening around my waist. It's not a question.

I look up at him and shrug, trying to downplay the issue. "It's… it's nothing major. I just… it reminds me of when they photographed me in my apartment last winter. That was… not nice."

In fact, it was awful. I still remember how I felt upon seeing those pictures, the feelings of nausea and disgust. To know that all around the world, thousands of people were looking at pictures of me in my underwear… it made me feel violated.

I feel the same way now.

"No," agrees Ken, his voice strained. "It wasn't nice at all. Neither is this."

It isn't.

"We'll send them a warning," he promises, taking the paper from me and tossing it back on the table. "An official one, if need be. And I think you should get legal advice yourself. You were on private property and they had no right to violate that. They also had fair warning after the February pictures and this… this is too much."

Yes. It is.

"Will it help?" I ask.

Ken hesitates. "I don't know," he admits. "But it might. At least it should prevent them from reprinting that particular set of pictures." He nods at the paper on the table.

Of course, by then, everyone will have seen them. There's no getting that particular genie back into the bottle.

I press a little closer to Ken and he kisses the top of my head. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into my hair.

"I know," I whisper back, standing on tiptoes and hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

It's only when I hear a rustle behind me and remember that Teddy is still there that I take a step back. Looking over my shoulder, I see him stare resolutely at the window, his ears slightly pink.

From Teddy, my gaze falls back on the paper and for the first time, I truly take in the headline. My attention initially drawn by the pictures, I didn't pay it any heed before, but now –

Turning back to Ken, I hurriedly assure him, "There's nothing to that headline! I know it might look like that, but it wasn't. Persis was there with us. I don't know why they didn't photograph her. They must cut her out of the pictures. She's here now, too, she's just sleeping late. You can ask her. I promise –"

Ken silences me by putting a finger to my lips.

"I know there's no truth to it," he soothes me, holding my gaze. "It's alright."

I feel myself growing calmer, my breath slowing down.

"Good," I say simply.

And that could have been it, but from behind me, I hear Teddy remark, "Don't worry. He knows no woman would ever choose me over him."

Frowning, I turn to look at him. He is still looking out of the windows, but his words hang between us. There was something… something strangely bitter in those words. Too bitter, anyway, for gentle, kind Teddy.

I don't know what to reply, but thankfully, Ken does. Looking at his brother for a long moment, he tells him calmly, "I think no such thing, Ted. I just know there's no truth to that headline because she's my girlfriend and you're my brother and I trust you both. That's all there is to it."

For a second or two, Teddy doesn't react, but then he lowers his head, his face reddening. "Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't mean…"

"It's okay," Ken interjects quietly. "It's fine."

Letting go of me, he reaches over to squeeze Teddy's shoulder. When Teddy looks up, there's a moment when their eyes meet and something passes between them – a kind of understanding I don't think they often share.

It's only for a second or two, before Ken straightens again and looks at me. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I smile wryly. "I'm not okay yet, but… I will be."

Sadly, I've been through worse than this. And at least this time, I'm not alone.

I don't say it, but Ken seems to sense it anyway. He lightly trails his fingertips along the side of my face. "You're very brave."

Smiling, I shake my head. "I'm not brave, I'm just stubborn," I correct. "And in fact, I'm too stubborn to have those vultures ruin our breakfast. I hope you haven't eaten yet?"

It's an attempt to close down the subject (for now, that is) and Ken nods slightly to signify that he understands. We both know we will discuss it later, when it's just the two of us, until he's satisfied that I will truly be alright, but this is not the place.

In a deliberately cheerful tone, Ken answers, "Not so much that I can't eat again. And you, Ted? Full already?"

"Not at all," replies Teddy, daring a tentative smile.

And with that, we sit back down and return to breakfast. The paper gets unceremoniously brushed to the floor by Ken and really, that's exactly where it belongs.

We don't speak of the subject again that morning, not when Persis finally comes down for breakfast and not when the four of us take a walk through the grounds afterwards, making sure to steer clear of the beach that has proven to be not so private. (Maybe next time, I should use Queen Victoria's old bathing machine?)

It's only in the afternoon that I spot Ken quietly talking to his father and know that they're discussion the issue.

Owen and Leslie were also away yesterday to attend remembrance ceremonies. Owen attended a service in Glasgow, while Leslie was in London to re-open the Imperial War Museum. Later, they both joined Ken at the evening vigil and this morning, they stayed on in London to visit a poppy installation at the Tower, arriving back at Osborne just in time for tea.

Upon their return, they joined their children and me in one of Osborne's drawing rooms, where Persis was skimming through a book on elasticity training for horses, Teddy was working on his master thesis (due next month, if he wants to graduate on time), Ken was studying notes on his next royal engagement and I was pretending to read my second novel of the vacation, but was mostly just sitting there and letting my thoughts wander.

The entry of Leslie and Owen coincided with tea being served, resulting in everyone casting their books and notes aside to pay suitable attention to the little cakes and sandwiches and not-so-little scones being served.

Munching away on the food and chatting to Leslie, Teddy and Persis, it takes me a moment to notice Ken drawing Owen aside and speaking quietly to him, but when I do, I appreciate their discretion. I don't need those photographs to ruin even more of anyone's day.

"So, do you children have any plans for tomorrow?" asks Leslie and nibbles on a petit four (which is surprisingly French for this most English of meals).

"Rilla and I are considering giving the boys a rematch on the tennis court," Persis announces and winks at me over a cream-and-jam-laden scone.

"Isn't that rather unfair on them?" enquires Leslie, smiling.

She has a point. When Persis and I play against Ken and Teddy, we win every time. I'm far from being the long lost Williams sister, but I know which way to hold the racquet. Teddy, on the other hand, has two left hands when it comes to ball sports and is also liable to fall over his own feet. Ken's a better player than both of us combined, but Persis outplays him any day.

It would probably much fairer if we played mixed doubles, Ken and I against Persis and Teddy, but Persis is having none of it. (She loves winning, Persis does.) As playing with her means I rarely have to do more than stand around looking pretty and hit the occasional easy ball, I'm inclined to agree with her.

Right now, Persis seems to consider her mother's question about the fairness and unfairness of our teams. Popping the last bite of scone into her mouth, she mumbles, "They're big boys. They'll get over it. Besides, there's no-one preventing them from playing better."

Valid point.

Next to me, Teddy rolls his eyes. "How about we do a pub quiz this evening and see who's preventing you from being better at that?" he suggests sarcastically.

Persis considers him. "No."

Teddy shakes his head, clearly giving his sister up for a lost cause. Leslie catches my eye over the coffee table and smiles at her children's antics.

(There's something incredibly reassuring about the fact that royal siblings are just like other, normal siblings all over the world. Some truths are universal and sibling behaviour is definitely one of them.)

I return Leslie's smile, before reaching for a bite-sized piece of millionaire's shortbread. As I do, there's a knock on the door and moments later Elphinstone and Oliver walk in. They are, respectively, Owen's and Ken's private secretaries and no, I still haven't figured out whether Elphinstone is a first name or a surname. (Maybe he only has the one?)

Moving my gaze away from Elphinstone and Oliver, I look at Ken and see him call me over with a discreet movement of his head. Part of me is resistant, not wanting to be reminded of why the private secretaries were asked to come here, but the other, larger part, wants to hear what is being said. If it's about me, I should be there.

Quickly swallowing my bite of cake, I get up and walk towards the four men. As I pass her, Leslie touches my arm and gives me an encouraging smile.

When I reach him, Ken takes my hand. Owen's smile mirrors his wife's. Elphinstone and Oliver both nod politely.

"So…" I begin, squaring my shoulders. "What have we got?"

"We had Communications send a message to the editor of that… I hesitate to call it a 'newspaper'." Oliver grimaces slightly. "They were warned not to reprint or resell the pictures, seeing as they were unlawfully obtained."

"Is that certain?" asks Owen.

Elphinstone nods. "The Duke of Kendal and Miss Blythe were on private property and we established that to get the pictures, the photographers must have brought their boat closer to the shore than they were allowed to."

"We sent a warning to other media outlets, telling them not to buy or print the pictures," adds Oliver. "We think they will adhere to it. It's not worth the risk if they can't get it as an exclusive and it's too late for that."

"But the pictures are probably already on the internet," I point out, shuffling a little closer to Ken. He squeezes my hand.

"They are and unfortunately, it's difficult exercise any control over what happens online," acknowledges Elphinstone. "However, people need to search for them online, so there's less accessibility, especially for the older demographic. Additionally, in preventing the papers from reprinting them, we're preventing them from making money from the pictures."

Ken makes a thoughtful sound. "Can Rilla and Teddy sue them? Try to make them cough up some of that money?"

"We liaised with our legal advisors and they say there's a high chance of success," confirms Oliver. "Not only can a lawsuit prevent the papers from reprinting the pictures, damages will almost certainly be awarded."

"It was recommended that the Duke of Kendal also brings a lawsuit, to emphasise the point. The Princess Royal might also consider such a step, at least inasmuch as it concern the future publishing of these photos. I understand she was cut out of the original pictures, so there's a possibility that the parts showing her will be published later," explains Elphinstone.

Looking down at me, Ken asks, "What do you say? It's your decision."

I frown, thinking it over. "If I sue… do I have to go to court?" I don't want to go to court.

"Certainly not!" Owen assures me. "In cases like these, all parties sent their legal representatives."

'Legal representatives' sounds awfully serious. I wasn't aware I even had any.

"And… won't there be a backlash if I sue?" I want to know, still a little hesitant. "Won't people think I'm being unreasonable? I mean, it's not like… it's just a bikini."

"This is why we recommend that the Duke of Kendal also sues," replies Oliver. "The public knows that the royal family only takes legal steps if it's truly necessary. If there's a concentrated effort, we feel there will be more understanding. Should damages be awarded, we recommend they be donated, which is also sure to raise more goodwill."

Well… they're the experts.

"We don't want to pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do," Owen tells me. "And of course, Teddy also gets to decide whether he wants to sue or not."

"If you still need to think, we don't have to take action today," adds Ken.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elphinstone open his mouth, probably to protest that action has to be taken speedily, but a warning glance from Ken silences him. Looks like they're serious about not wanting me to feel pressured.

"If I sue… will that make it less likely that this'll happen again?" I ask.

"We can't make any promises, but we think it will make them think twice next time," answers Oliver. "If a future story is so good they feel the benefits outweigh any drawbacks, even legal ones, they will still publish, but we hope to be able to up the risks."

I nod slowly. They're all four of them looking at me and I know I need to answer, even if it's just that I still need to sleep on it.

Gnawing on my lower lip, I reflect on the conversation and, perhaps more importantly, on my feelings upon discovering the photographs today.

Nauseous, disgusted. Violated.

I raise my head. "We'll do it."

"Only if you're sure." There's concern in Ken's eyes and I squeeze his hand to show him that I'm alright.

"I am sure," I tell him. "It… it feels good to be doing something. I've had to quietly swallow so much of their nastiness and I think it's time I draw a line and let them know that they've crossed it. It's not about getting damages or even about revenge, it's about… standing up, instead of taking it all lying down."

It does feel good, too. It feels good to be proactive and to fight back. And yes, it also feels good that I'm not facing this alone anymore.

Ken searches my face for a moment and what he sees here seems to convince him, because he nods. "So, that's decided then."

Owen smiles and I could be wrong, but I think he looks a little proud. "Excellent!" he declares. Then, turning to Elphinstone and Oliver, "Please prepare all necessary measures. I will take the decision to my younger son and let you know what he wants to do. I think he will support a lawsuit though."

Which certainly makes things easier for me.

"Very well, Sir." Elphinstone bows his head and Oliver follows suit. They weren't told to leave, but it seems clear to them that their presence is no longer necessary. Nodding at both Ken and me, they both withdraw, quietly and quickly leaving the room.

"That was nicely efficient," remarks Owen when the door closes behind them.

"And hopefully, it will be successful," adds Ken. Letting go of my hand, he slips and arm around my shoulders and hugs me to him for a moment.

I smile at him. "I think it will be. And even if it won't… I'm already feeling better knowing that there's something I can do. That helps."

"Then I'm glad," Ken states simply.

"As am I," agrees Owen. There's a moment of silence, before he looks at Ken and says, "I really liked your speech yesterday."

It's an abrupt change of subject, leading me to believe that he's been trying to find a way to work that in elegantly for some time and finally gave up, just throwing it out there instead.

Discreetly peering up at Ken, I see that his expression is thoughtful. After a second or two, he inclines his head to accept the praise and replies, "Yours was very good, too. Very powerful."

Owen's face lights up, probably less at Ken liking his speech than at him being prepared to accept his father's praise. I have to agree that it feels like a step in the right direction.

A step is just a step though and neither of them knows what else to say, so I motion towards where Leslie, Persis and Teddy are still munching their way through the cakes and sandwiches. "Shall we see whether there's any food left?"

"Good idea. One of your best yet," answers Ken with a teasing smile. I swat at him, but it's half-hearted.

There is, as it turns out, plenty of food left (and I'm sure there's more of where it came from), so we can all liberally fill our plates, before finding a place to sit. Persis jumps up from her armchair immediately, perching on the armrest once Owen has sat down in it. Ken and I curl up in the other armchair together, while Leslie and Teddy continue to share the sofa.

"Did I hear correctly that there's a Tennis rematch in the works for tomorrow?" Owen asks his daughter while he selects a thin cucumber sandwich from his plate.

Persis nods. "Of course, we'll still win. Won't we, Rilla?"

"Sure," I agree and allow myself a triumphant little grin. Seeing it, Ken tucks at a strand of my hair. I smack his knee.

"No-one doubted that, Monkey," Owen assures Persis with an indulgent smile. "Though in the interest of keeping the family peace, what would you say to a sailing trip tomorrow?"

Persis eyes go wide. "Sailing!" It's clear she approves.

"What do you say?" Ken asks me quietly. "Do you fancy it?"

I'm… not sure? I've never gone sailing and from what I've heard, it sounds terribly complicated. But on the other hand… if it gets Ken to spend a day out with his family, I'm not likely to say no.

"Just don't except me to do anything, or else, we'll all drown," I warn.

Ken laughs. "Don't worry. We'll do all the work and you can work on your tan."

"Then it will be a day well-spend," I decide, grinning.

"So that makes four of us." Owen sounds satisfied. Turning to his wife and younger son, he asks, "Darling? Teddy?"

Leslie and Teddy exchange a glance, before she reaches up to ruffle his hair. "What do you say, Bear? You can be the navigator."

Teddy smiles wryly, but looking closely, it's clear to see that there's no real resistance. He draws out the moment of hesitation for a bit longer, before finally nodding, showing more reluctance than he probably feels. (I think he just doesn't want anyone to get the idea that he's suddenly started to enjoy sailing.)

"Marvellous!" declares Owen. "So, that is agreed."

It does appear so. A sailing trip with the royal family.

Let the papers write about that.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)?' (written by Peter Sarstedt, released by him in 1969).


To JoAnna:
It's disconcerting how quickly children grow, isn't it? Whenever I re-meet someone who was a child when I last saw them and is now a teenager, I feel discombobulated and I feel old ;). Nothing to remind you of time passing than a child growing up in the very same time you thought you weren't changing all that much.
Persis is generally not a people's person, which works against her often. She's kind and open with those she knows and trusts, but she feels awkward around strangers. With adults, she can at least rely on them to be polite, but kids are less predictable, so she feels especially uncomfortable around them. She's much more relaxed around her horses, being a professional and quite successful eventer. On the side, she does some well-tailored royal duties, but not as many as other family members.
Now, as for Rilla and those earrings... She didn't run screaming in the second when she thought it might be a ring, so we shall count that as progress ;). And she accepted the family heirloom, which is also something she wouldn't have done two years previously, so that's a sign of her being much more comfortable with this royal business. Ken is indeed being a bit cryptic (as usual), but he makes it fairly plain that he considers her part of his family, so we can safely assume they're both moving towards more commitment. About time to as well, after four years!
I, too, enjoy our chats very much! My review replies to you and my other lovely 'guest' reviewers sometimes make up a fifth of my word count per chapter ;). (No pressure at all, but if you like, you might consider making an account, so we could chat via PMs. Just something to think about :).) I definitely,
definitely feel you with regards to the "trying, writing, erasing, ranting" and especially the swearing at the PhD. While I wrote up the dissertation, the running mantra in my head was "why am I doing this, why am I doing this, why am I doing this?". (I have yet to come up with an answer.) It took me five years from the very start to submitting my dissertation (and I still have the oral exam to go, whenever it will happen under current circumstances), so I didn't exactly rush through it either ;). I mean, I always had a job unrelated to it and am well-settled in my professional life, so there was no reason to hurry for me, but it did exacerbate the "why am I even doing this"-thoughts even further. So, yeah, I'm definitely feeling you! Do you at least have an interesting subject to research and write about?