Isle of Wight, England
August 2014
Never made promises lightly
Sailing, it turns out, is pretty hard work.
I cheerfully and not at all regretfully declared myself to be useless at it after almost strangling myself with a rope within the first ten minutes. I was thus shown a designated spot near the back where I'm not in anyone's way and am simply left to enjoy the sun and the cool sea breeze.
Rearranging my legs, I turn my face into the sun and close my eyes. I'm wearing a pair of shorts and a cute t-shirt (anything less would hardly be appropriate, even if yesterday's papers hadn't happened), so I'm expecting to have a nice tan by the end of the day.
In short, I'm definitely living the good life.
"May I sit with you?" I hear Leslie's voice somewhere above me.
Opening my eyes, I peer up at her. "Sure, absolutely." Quickly, I shuffle to the side to make space on my blanket.
Carefully, Leslie sits down next to me, folding her legs beneath her. She's wearing luxurious linen trousers and a crisp white shirt. Somehow, neither fabric shows even the tiniest of wrinkles, much less something as plebeian as sweat stains. It's as if, when faced with the elegance and beauty of Queen Leslie, not even a simple article of clothing dares to mar the perfect picture.
Having found a comfortable position to sit, Leslie looks at me and smile. "They suit you," she states, indicating the bow-and-pearl earrings I'm wearing.
(I haven't yet stopped thinking of them as 'Queen Alexandra's earrings'. Maybe that'll change with time.)
Automatically, I reach up to touch one of the earrings. "They're beautiful. I love wearing them."
Leslie nods. "When Kenneth and I went through the vaults to look for a gift for you, he honed in on them immediately. He knew you'd like them."
"He's got a pretty good hang of my taste in jewellery," I confirm. After all, he gifted me quite a few pieces between the gold circle necklace and the bow-and-pearl earrings and there was not one I didn't like.
"An important quality in a man," Leslie remarks with a conspiratorial smile.
I laugh. "Imagine having them give you ugly jewellery and then having to wear it so as not to hurt their feelings!"
"That would be unfortunate," agrees Leslie. Turning her head, she shows me her own earrings, uncut rubies set in gold, at least one centimetre diameter. (They must have cost a pretty penny.) "Owen gave me these for Christmas," she explains.
"So we know where Ken got his good taste in jewellery," I deduce.
"It would appear so," confirms Leslie with a laugh.
She turns to look at her family, sailing us over the sea with admirable ease. Teddy has indeed been cast as a navigator of sorts, standing at the wheel and giving commandos the other three follow with differing levels of good cheer. As usual, his theoretical knowledge is quite vast, even if he's not the most adapt at the practical aspect of it. At least he knows all the vocabulary, like gib and tiller and sheets (which, it turns out, is not just what you put on a bed), when it's all gibberish to me.
As Leslie watches her family, I take the opportunity to discreetly look at her out of the corner of my eye. In the three years of not meeting her, I imagined all kinds of things about her, but in the six months of getting to know her, I found most of them not to be true. She's… she's nice. More reserved than Owen and less likely to open up to someone quickly, but given her history, that's hardly surprising.
She also has bouts of melancholy and needs time for herself often, withdrawing for hours or sometimes even for an entire day. This morning, she took breakfast in her room and I know her children were a bit nervous she would pull out of our sailing trip, but in the end, she turned up on time and with a smile. When she did, it was as if a weight lifted off the entire family.
They're all of them remarkably light and cheerful all day, which is lovely to see. Right now, Persis is scolding Ken for almost hitting her with what I think is called the boom, causing him to catch her in a bear hug from behind and start to tickle her. She screeches in protest, but it's mixed with laughter.
"Do you know I can't remember the last time I saw them like this?" asks Leslie thoughtfully, gazing at her children.
"I suppose it must have been difficult to get everyone together when they were all studying in different places," I ponder.
Leslie turns to look at me, her expression very open. "That's the outward reason, but we both know it runs deeper."
Yes. We do.
"This is the longest Kenneth has spent with us since leaving school," Leslie tells me. "Normally, he flees within the first week."
I swallow, unsure what to say. "I'm sure he's not fleeing, per se," I try to assure her, though even to myself, I'm sounding unconvincing.
"Oh, he is." Leslie, as usual, isn't sugar-coating anything. "Being with us like this is making him feel…" She hesitates.
"Left out?" I suggest.
I don't want to betray Ken's confidence, so I don't want to say too much, but this is clearly something Leslie is already aware of. She's very perceptive with regards to the feelings of others, though when it comes to Ken, both she and Owen are helpless when it comes to acting on it.
"Yes, left out," confirms Leslie slowly. "It's been like this for so long, but I don't know what to do about it. When I try to reach out, we sometimes have moments when I feel like he's opening up, but then, suddenly, he clams up and withdraws again."
Sighing, she looks at me. "When he first met you at the UN party, we talked on the phone the next day and he was so open and talkative that for a moment, it really felt like he was allowing me to be part of his life. But when I asked after you a week later, he was cagey and didn't want to speak about it. It's always like this."
Yes. Tell me about it.
Of course, I don't actually say that. Instead, I remark more carefully, "It can be difficult to get through to him when he doesn't want to talk about something."
Leslie gives me a somewhat wistful smile. "And yet, he opens up to you more than to anyone else."
"How do you know?" I ask, truly curious to understand her thinking.
"I look at you two together," Leslie answers, "and I look at him."
She nods at Ken, who has since let go of Persis and is now wrangling one of the ropes (sheets?). When he notices us looking at him, he smiles and raises a hand in a wave. I blow him a kiss, making him laugh, before the swinging boom forces him to quickly duck away.
"That he's here today – that he's here this summer – is because of you," Leslie states, sounding very sure.
I'd protest for propriety's sake, but I know it's the truth. Without me here, he wouldn't have come back after the remembrance ceremonies in Belgium.
"You create a balance," Leslie adds, turning to gaze at me pensively.
"A balance?" I repeat questioningly.
Leslie pauses as if to organise her thoughts. "I noticed it last night. Persis sat with Owen and Teddy with me, as it usually is. Normally, Ken would have been on his own, but yesterday, he had you with him. Being the oldest child, he was always the one who stood alone, but now he has a person."
"I like being his person," I reply simply.
Leslie smiles. "I know."
Somehow, I think she really does.
"I think that might be why he can bear being with us," she continues thoughtfully. "With you by his side, he doesn't feel like the odd one out anymore. He's more relaxed, allowing us in, and I can see the others respond to it. Teddy and Persis love having him around and having him engage with them."
Briefly, I think back to yesterday, when Ken partly put the blame for the pictures on Teddy – unfairly, in my opinion. I wasn't so sure how much Teddy liked having his brother around then, but I did have a talk with Ken about it later in the evening and I know that this morning, he apologised, so I guess it turned out alright.
They certainly look like they get on well right now. They look… like a real family.
(It's a bit sad how remarkable that observation is.)
"I don't want you to feel like it's your responsibility to bring this family back together, but…" Leslie hesitates. "I hope we will have Kenneth and you with us again like this in the future."
"I'd like that," I reply with a smile.
Leslie smiles back. A moment of silence settles between us, but it's not of the uncomfortable kind. It's easy and relaxed and it's only when a sudden thought strikes me, that I break it.
"Why do you call him Kenneth?" I ask.
A look of confusion flits over Leslie's face. "It's his name."
"Yes, I know." I frown as I try to think of a way to voice my thoughts. "It's just that everyone else calls him Ken. And I noticed that you and Owen have nicknames for Persis and Teddy. They're Monkey and Bear, but Ken is always –"
"Kenneth," finishes Leslie for me.
I shrug, then nod.
She seems to consider my question, her expression thoughtful. "The simple answer is that he asked us not to call him by his childhood nicknames anymore. When he was small, we called him Kenny, or Kangaroo."
"Kangaroo?" I repeat, a little amused.
Leslie laughs quietly. "He had this Kangaroo plush toy," she explains. "Owen received it when he was on a tour in Australia while I was pregnant. It was hand-crocheted by this nice lady, pouch and joey included. I don't know what made us pick that particular toy over the thousands of others we were given, but when he was small, Ken was inseparable from that Kangaroo. With the names being alliterative, I think it came naturally to call him that, too."
"What made you stop?" I ask.
"He asked us to," answers Leslie, sounding a little wistful. "It must have been after his first year at boarding school. He came back home and declared that Kangaroo and Kenny were names for little boys and that he wasn't a little boy anymore."
"In some ways, I think he wasn't," I remark cautiously. "Not after…"
Leslie's face twitches. "No, not after that."
She swallows, before mustering a smile. "We had to respect his wish not to want to be called by a nickname anymore. I can't see him wanting to be called Kangaroo now either."
The thought makes me laugh. "No, probably not." Sobering slightly, I add, "But you might try calling him Ken, like everyone else does. It feels… less formal."
Inclining her head thoughtfully, Leslie seems to ponder my words. "It does, doesn't it? Do you think he'd allow it? Us calling him Ken?"
"I don't see why he wouldn't," I answer truthfully.
Almost automatically, my gaze is drawn towards Ken, who's working together with Owen to re-orient the main sail. (At least I think that's what they're doing.) Persis stands next to them, hands on her hips, surveying their handiwork critically.
Once the sail is set and secured, Ken looks over at Leslie and me (I have a feeling he's been keeping an eye on us throughout). Noticing both of us observing him, he exchanges a quick word with Owen, before relinquishing his position to his sister and ambling over to where we're sitting.
"Enjoying the sun?" he asks as he crouches down next to me, dropping a kiss on my shoulder.
"It's nice," I confirm, stretching my legs and grinning at him.
He briefly rubs my ankle, before looking at his mother. "And you've been keeping Rilla company?" He says it jovially enough, but I know he still doesn't fully trust her not to scare me away. (It's funny, because there isn't a person less scary than Leslie. She's complex and sometimes hard to read, but she isn't scary.)
"We've had a nice chat, haven't we, Rilla?" replies Leslie. If she notices his reservations, she doesn't show it.
"Absolutely," I agree, making sure to sound especially enthusiastic.
Ken briefly searches my face, but when I just smile back openly, he relaxes. "I'm glad you're having fun." By looking from me to his mother, he's including her in the sentiment, which is a nice touch.
"We are," confirms Leslie. "It's nice to have some bonding time, isn't it, Rilla? And we love having you here as well –" She hesitates, before adding, "Ken."
When the nickname registers, he looks at her a little oddly. His expression is surprised, but not necessarily displeased. "We're enjoying it," he states after a moment and nudges me slightly. "Aren't we, love?"
"Very much so," I confirm brightly.
"I'm glad," replies Leslie, her eyes brimming with emotion. "I'm very glad."
In what appears to be a spontaneous gesture, Ken reaches out to touch her hand. She quickly grasps his fingers and squeezes them, before releasing them just as fast. Again, Ken looks surprised by that, but not in a bad way. He pulls back his hand slowly and gets back to his feet. "Well, you two keep enjoying the sun. I'm afraid I have to get back to work."
"Have fun!" I tell him cheerily and wave at him.
Laughing, he ruffles my hair. I swat his hand away and hurry to redo my ponytail, before the wind tussles it beyond repair. Ken nods and smiles at his mother, who returns the smile gratefully, before he walks back over the deck of the boat to join Owen and Persis in their wrangling of the sails. (Seriously. I know there's logic to what they're doing, but it honestly defeats me.)
"That went well," I remark, peering after Ken.
"Yes," replies Leslie after a brief pause. "Yes, it went well."
The day continues to go well, too, with the sun shining bright and welcoming from the sky right into the early hours of evening. The wind blows us hither and tither over the sea of the Solent, before the motor reliable manoeuvres us back into Cowes harbour just in time for dinner.
Royals being royals, we're awaited by a fleet of cars to take us back to nearby Osborne House, just as we were earlier by accompanied by a second boat carrying various PPOs, because no-one wants to dare the crown falling to Uncle Al.
It's just a short ride back to Osborne and despite the picnic we had on the deck of the cutter (another word I learned today), I feel my stomach rumble in appreciation of the upcoming dinner.
Ken, alas, has other plans.
We've only just gotten out of the car, when he stops me from proceeding towards house. (Palace. Castle. Whatever.)
"Take a walk with me?" he asks, clasping one of my hands and rubbing his thumb over the back of it.
My stomach grumbles in protest.
Briefly, I look at the front door longingly, imagining the delicacies awaiting me there. But when Teddy, in passing, promises to save us some food, there's really no excuse not to join Ken.
"Sure," I agree, procuring a smile for him.
Taking one look at me and my clothes (still just shorts, a t-shirt and boat shoes that saw a boat for the first time in their life today), Ken reaches back into the car and grabs a pullover. When he hands it to me, I gratefully accept. It's too big for me in a way that is deliciously cosy and it smells of him. Pulling the sleeves over my fists, I snuggle into it.
Ken nods at his family in parting, before putting an arm around my shoulders and steering me along the path leading around the house. (It still feels weird to call it a mere 'house'. I know that strictly speaking, it's called that, Osborne House, but it's just too massive for it to not be a weird name. Teddy says the architectural style imitates an Italian palazzo and honestly, 'palace' fits it so much better.)
The sun setting behind us casts everything in a reddish-golden glow that is a sight to behold. We walk in silence, first through the formal gardens, then along the paths winding themselves through the park.
I've been told that Osborne's grounds aren't nearly as big as those of Sandringham or Balmoral up north, but they're certainly extensive enough. In addition to the main house, there's the usual collection of outbuildings, including a stable block and a proper working farm called Barton Manor. As far as leisure goes, there's a walled garden, the tennis court, an entire golf course (usually open to the public, because the royals are generous like that), a cricket field, the Swiss Cottage of Queen Victoria's children (brought here from Switzerland and used as a playhouse by generations of royal children) and, of course, the private beach.
"Are we going to the beach?" I ask Ken, once I notice we're heading straight to the east.
"I thought we might," he confirms. "Do you mind?"
Considering this, I move my head from side to side. "Is it…" I trail off. Saying 'safe' sounds melodramatic, but I don't know how else to put it.
"I promise that no-one is getting anywhere close to that beach as long as we're here," Ken assures me. "Reed had a look at the security arrangements and gave them an update. Reed is nothing if not thorough."
Poor Presley.
"No photographers lying in wait then?" I ask, but I'm smiling to show that it's a joke (well, mostly).
"No photographers," promises Ken. Pulling me closer and kissing the top of my head, he adds, "Though seeing us together might convince them you're not having an affair with my brother."
Looking up, I can see that his grinning, his eyes sparkling with amusement. I elbow him in the side for good measure, but secretly, I'm glad he can make jokes about this. There's absolutely nothing to those lies, but I know more than one man who would have been suspicious. Ken, however, truly was serious about trusting both Teddy and me.
"I don't think I'd survive taking both princes off the market," I reply easily. "There'd be retaliation from all the women still harbouring the Disney dream." (There are surprisingly many of those, I think, given that reality doesn't have much to do with Disney at all.)
"It would be greedy of you," agrees Ken, laughing softly. I elbow him again.
We've reached the beach, walking down to it over a small gangplank. The beach not very big, but considering it's private, there's plenty of space. The surface is mostly pebbly, but Ken finds a sandy spot for us to sit down. I snuggle into him, my back against his chest, his legs on either side of mine and his arms wrapped around me.
The sea stretches out in front of us, not a ship or boat in sight, except for a police boat patrolling the perimeter in the distance. I'd wonder about how disruptive it must be for naval traffic whenever the royals are here, but honestly, right now, I don't particularly care. I'm cosy and comfortable and a little sleepy (and even my stomach has settled down).
"Do you like it here?" Ken asks quietly.
"Are you kidding me?" I reply, incredulous. "I mean, look at it! How could I not?" With a sweeping gesture, I indicate the scenery around us.
Ken laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Touché. That's not what I meant though. I meant… in general."
Hmm…
"Just here?" I ask, wrinkling my nose in thought. I have a feeling he's talking about more than this.
"No, I… all of it, I think," he clarifies.
I nod slowly. That's what I thought.
Looking out over the water, I take a moment to organise my thoughts. "I like it. I genuinely enjoy spending time with your family, no matter where, and of course, this spot is beautiful. I'm enjoying this vacation very, very much."
"And what about…" Ken pauses briefly. "What about… beyond the vacation?"
Huh?
I crane my neck around to look at him. He's untypically cryptic today. I don't usually know him to beat around the bush like this.
"I don't think I know what you mean," I admit slowly. (I mean, I'm pretty sure I have an idea, but… I want to hear what he's thinking.)
Ken blows out a breath of air, before settling his chin on my right shoulder. "What I mean is… look, I know I've been asking a lot of you this past year and – "
"Just this year?" I interrupt, turning my head and raising an eyebrow at him.
He smiles ruefully. "No, you're right. I've been asking a lot of you from the very beginning," he corrects himself.
I nod and turn back to face the sea, satisfied with his admission.
"I've done a lot of thinking – I even talked to my parents – and I want you to know that I'm aware that the only reason our relationship is still going strong is because you made it so," Ken tells me quietly. "If you hadn't sacrificed what you did, we wouldn't be here today."
"No," I agree. "No, we wouldn't be."
It might be kinder or more polite to contradict him, to say that I didn't make all that many sacrifices and anyway, he played a big part in keeping the relationship alive as well, but… I mean, it's not like I think I did all the work, but I'm pretty sure that another woman – a cleverer woman – would have walked long ago. There were prices to pay to get us here and I paid more of them than he did. It's only right for him to acknowledge that.
"I'm glad we are here though. Are you?" Ken asks and it seems to be a genuine question, almost as if part of him thinks I might say no.
"Otherwise, I wouldn't be here," I reply simply. That's what it all boils down to, after all. If the joy of being with him didn't outweigh all the drawbacks, I wouldn't have stayed.
I feel Ken breathe in deeply, then slowly let go of the breath. The warm air makes my skin prickle.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you," he finally continues. "For putting up with everything. For putting up with me."
Turning around, I put a hand to his cheek and give him a soft kiss. "It has its good points," I assure him, smiling.
He returns the smile, but I can see there's something still on his mind, so I give him a gentle nudge. "Tell me."
Again, he takes a moment before he replies, "I feel we're in a very good place right now, aren't we?"
"Yes." I nod, still turned to face him. "I'd agree."
"Good." Brushing my hair to the side, he kisses my forehead. "We're in a good place – a great place, even – and there's no need to rush anything, but… I want you to know that for me, this is for keeps. There's a… a weight to the future that I don't think we need, not right now when we're happy as we are, but when I do look into the future, I see you and me. Not that I want to take that decision from you – and given all of my baggage, I know it's a huge decision – but, well, I love you and for me, this is it. You and me. Us."
I take a deep, deep breath.
It's not that his words surprise me, per se. If I didn't think our relationship was serious to him – or, indeed, if it wasn't serious to me – I wouldn't have seen any sense in staying in it and working at it for nearly four years. It's been a long time since he's given me any reason to doubt his commitment – not since February, to be honest – and I'd be lying if I pretended the future hasn't been on my mind as well, but… I guess he's never spelled it out this clearly before. He's shown his love and his commitment, but he's not spoken about it like this before.
To his credit, Ken waits patiently as all those thoughts – and a hundred more – run through my mind, over and above each other, in all possible directions. It must be nerve-wrecking for him, but he doesn't say a word, simply rests his chin on my shoulder and waits for me to grapple with what he told me.
Before I answer, I turn around fully, so that I'm kneeling facing him. I want to look at him properly when I say my bit. His face, I can't help noticing, is very still, but there's a storm of emotions in his eyes.
"I… I can't say how happy this makes me," I tell him, speaking slowly to make sure everything comes out exactly right. "And I agree that there's no rush to change anything right now. Things are good and I don't think I'm ready for the whole royal hoopla yet, but… but yes, when I look into the future, I see the same thing. You and me."
If Ken sat almost unmoving before, he makes up for it now. Before I fully realise what is happening, he has pulled me towards him, one arm around my waist, the other hand cradling my face, and is kissing me with all the love and joy and passion that could possibly fit into a single kiss.
It's a long, long while before we finally part again and even then, we keep close, our foreheads touching.
"One day," Ken murmurs against my lips, "I will ask you to marry me, Rilla Blythe."
"One day," I whisper back, looking up at him with shining eyes, "I might just say yes."
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Fields of Gold' (written by Sting, released by him in 1993).
