London, England
October 2017
You live on a glittering stage
When I open the door to Wren House, I'm accosted by Ken before I even have a chance to fully take off my coat or greet one of the pets.
"There you are!" he exclaims eagerly.
I narrow my eyes a little. "Yes, here I am," I reply, my voice perhaps a tad wary as I try to figure out what has him all excited. "I had a dress fitting," I add. "You knew that."
"I did," he confirms. "But I've been waiting for you. I want to show you something."
"O-kay." I draw out the word. "Where is it?"
"Not here," he explains. "Or, not in here, anyway."
Slowly, I shrug my coat back on. "Well, then." I gesture towards the door. "Lead the way!"
Ken puts on some shoes, but forgoes a coat of his own, which at least narrows down our destination a little bit. We're either going straight for the cars, or we're not leaving the palace complex at all. He's certainly not planning to walk far, given that it's a typical rainy autumn day in London.
Ducking my head between my shoulders, I follow Ken as he walks in large strides away from the fleet of cars and towards the front of the palace. We pass by Nottingham Cottage (affectionately known as Nott Cott) and walk past the majority of the interlinked palace complex.
As we do, I remark, "I didn't expect you'd be home so soon. Weren't you supposed to be busy with the state visit?"
"They gave me a break," Ken explains, chuckling. "I just did the welcome ceremony and then passed off the President and his wife to our Prime Minister for some political bragging. What's betting they're arguing which country did more for democracy and citizen's rights?"
That makes me laugh. "I shouldn't think it's a competition! The French win that one hands down."
"We have the Magna Charta," Ken points out. "That's nothing to snub at."
"Unless my history teacher was mistaken, it gave some rights to nobility, while the majority of people were left out in the cold, sometimes quite literally," I reply, enjoying our banter. "The French, on the other hand, had the French Revolution, which not only established the rule of the people but also did away with the monarchy – something, I might add, that the British still haven't managed!"
Grinning, Ken reaches out to pat my cheek. "Ever the revolutionary, aren't you?"
"And proud of it," I shoot back, nodding firmly.
"Did you history teacher also tell you that the French had no less than five different monarchs in the century after their revolution, some of them multiple times?" Ken wants to know. "And that's only counting those who were undisputed!"
"She… might have neglected to mention that," I admit reluctantly. French history didn't feature heavily in the curriculum and if I was taught about it, chances are I forgot most of it. But in my defence, my brain has limited storage capacity and who really needs to know how many monarchs the French had?
Ken laughs. "See, the French weren't as adamant about the rule of the people as they like to think they are. But enough about them now! I still have to sit through a mind-numbingly boring state dinner with the President today, so I'd like to focus on more pleasing matters for now. To that effect, if you'd walk through here, please?"
He stops and motions towards the Clock Tower rising towards out left. Taking my hand in his, he leads me through the gate beneath the clock and into Clock Court, which used to be primary entrance to KP as envisioned by Wren. (It's a marvel, sometimes, how many of Owen's history lessons stuck. Certainly much more than what poor Mrs Shatner tried to each me!)
"I'd just like to have you know that I'm perfectly familiar with the State Apartments," I inform Ken teasingly. "Also, at this hour, they're bound to be teeming with tourists."
"And we don't want to run into the tourists," he agrees good-naturedly, "which is why we're not going to the State Apartments. If you'd turn this way, please."
He gestures to a door on our right that is covered by a small white portico and has some stairs leading up to it. I'm familiar with most parts of KP, but I don't think I've ever been here.
"What is this?" I ask as we climb the stairs and Ken opens the door. "I mean, what's in here?"
"It's the Clock Tower Wing," Ken explains and holds open the door for me. "At the moment, it's mostly offices and some storage space. The museum people occasionally hold special exhibitions in the first floor rooms."
"Well… okay then." I raise my eyebrows, not quite knowing why this would be relevant to me or what he could want to show to me in here, but then shrug and decide to go along with it. He has his reasons, I'm sure.
Upon entering the building, we find ourselves in a corridor with black-and-white chequered tiles on the floor and elaborate moulding along the walls and around the door frames. Just at first glance, it already looks quite a bit fancier than Wren House, which is nothing to snub at itself.
"Come on," Ken encourages, tugging at my hand and leading me along the corridor. Occasionally, he stops to open a door and show me the room behind it. I nod and hum appreciatively at each room, though as he predicted, they're mostly just non-descript office and storage space, with the exception of a dusty, ancient-looking kitchen on the ground floor. The first floor rooms are mostly empty and pleasingly bright, with large windows overlooking a private garden to the south, while the second floor has dormer windows that give its rooms a cosier feel.
I patiently traipse after Ken as he shows me around three floors, where the rooms all lie on one side of long corridors, like pearls on a thread. When I just think we're done, he opens a room on one end of the second floor corridor and proceeds to show me another set of rooms, also spread out over three floors but with a slightly more intricate floor plan. A lot of them stand empty or appear to be makeshift offices, which, I admit, does make me wonder how the royals can afford to waste so much of what is really prime real estate! I mean, it's not like they can just rent these rooms out to anyone, but to let them stand empty like this doesn't seem prudent either.
"So?" asks Ken once we're back in the ground floor, looking through the front door at the white porte-cochere next to the clock tower that I pass several times a day on my way to the front gate of the KP complex.
"So?" I parrot.
"So, how do you like them?" he elaborates.
I frown at him. "The rooms?"
"The apartments," he clarifies. "The first one was apartment 1a and the second was apartment 1. They used to be one big apartment until Princess Louise, sister of Edward VII, died in 1939. They were split later on, with one half given to my grandmother's Aunt Augusta after her Swedish husband died and the other half lived in by her Uncle Francis and his family. His wife, Elizabeth, didn't die until 2002. Since then, both apartments have been vacant, or at least not properly lived in."
"Uh-huh," I make, nodding slowly. I'm still not entirely sure where he's going with this, but it's beginning to dawn on me.
"I thought about knocking them back together and moving in," Ken adds, thus confirming my suspicion.
My first instinct, I admit, is to laugh out loud. Ken looks slightly put out.
"What?" he asks. "What's funny about it?"
"Nothing, really," I assure, trying to squelch my laughter. "It's just… how many rooms did we just look at? Fifty?"
"Forty-one," he corrects, still a bit miffed. "I didn't even show them all to you either."
I have to try very hard not to laugh again. "Forty-one rooms, Ken! For two people! We could sleep in a different room every day of the month and still have some left to spare!"
"For one, they're not all bedrooms," he points out, "and for another, we hope not to remain just two people, right?"
"Right," I confirm, sobering slightly. We have, of course, talked about children and certainly agree that we both want them. We haven't settled on a number yet, but we're in agreement that we do not want as many as my parents have. I love my siblings, but that was a no-brainer!
"So, we'll need more rooms at some point in the future," Ken remarks.
I smile, shaking my head slightly. "But not forty-one! Even if we end up having three children, Wren House is still large enough for us all. And, I mean, we're happy there, aren't we?"
Ken doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me over to one of the windows, before sitting down on the wide stony window sill. When he looks up at me expectantly, I sit down next to him, meeting his gaze with a curious one of my own.
"We're very happy at Wren House," he begins after a moment of collecting his thoughts. "I've lived there for most of my adult life and I was never happier than during the past sixteen months with you. We created a lot of happy memories there, but that's also true for your Brooklyn Shoebox, for our Oxford home and the mews house of Tatty's parents. Leaving those places didn't mean we lost the memories, did it?"
I shake my head. "No, it didn't. They're all in here." To demonstrate, I knock against my head, making Ken chuckle.
"They are," he agrees. "It will be the same with Wren House. We keep the memories even when we move out."
"But why do we have to move out?" I wonder. "It has plenty of space."
"It's not a small place," Ken concedes, "but we have more space requirements than the average family."
"We do?" I raise my eyebrows at him. So far, I always felt that Wren House served us just fine.
Ken nods, absent-mindedly lacing his fingers through mine. "We have staff, for one, and at some point, it would be nice to have some formal rooms to entertain."
"We only have Mrs Franklin working in our home," I point out. "The rest of them have their offices."
"Which are bursting at the seams," Ken adds. "It was a tight fit before, but with Elena, Bilal, Anisa and Ronan joining the team, they're practically stacked on top of each other."
I can't argue with that. The staff offices are pretty crowded these days.
"So…" I pause briefly, looking around the entrance room of what I now know to be apartment 1. "How would this work? Would the communications office be next to our living room? I mean, I really like all of them, don't get me wrong, but I'd like to be able to keep the work separate from our home."
Smiling, Ken shakes his head. "So do I, believe me! My thought was that we'd use one of the apartments to live in and one to house staff offices and reception rooms for entertaining."
"I suppose you also thought about which apartment is better suited for which use?" I ask, raising both eyebrows.
"I'm not set on it, but I'd probably turn over 1a to work purposes," Ken replies. "It's a little less private because you can see some of the windows when approaching the main palace via the public footpath."
I shudder. "We definitely don't want people staring into our bedroom!"
"That would be awkward," Ken agrees, chuckling at my apparent horror.
"What kind of reception rooms do we need?" I want to know, trying to overcome the mental image of long-lense cameras directed at our bedroom window.
"If we put staff in the second floor and ground floor rooms, I think we can mostly follow the set-up that existed for the first floor rooms when Princess Augusta lived here," Ken explains. "That would leave us with a dining room, a drawing room, a formal study and a library. There also used to be a master bedroom here, but I thought we could turn that into a boardroom for meetings. With an update, the downstairs kitchen could be used by staff and for any dinners we want to give."
"You've clearly given this some thought," I remark, admittedly a little impressed by his planning.
He shrugs. "I thought I might have some convincing to do, so I wanted to be well-prepared. But these are all just preliminary thoughts at this stage. We can change it around to your liking and we can even drop the idea altogether if that's really what you want."
I take a moment to consider that, before raising my shoulders in a shrug. "I obviously need to think about it some more, but it doesn't hurt to draw up plans, does it? I mean… we are going to renovate all this, aren't we?"
Ken laughs. "Of course we are! I'm not asking you to move anywhere this neglected. There's probably structural and conservation work to be done, too, which will be paid for from public funds. Private renovations are done on our own dime, but that's what my grandfather Frank left me some money for, right?"
"I don't know if that was what he had in mind, but it will certainly come in handy," I agree.
There's some part of me that bristles at having Ken be the one to bankroll everything, but at the same time, I know that to be nonsense. He's the reason I'll be needing staff offices and reception rooms in the first place, so it's only proper that he stumps up for it. And besides, what's his is mine and all that, right?
"Should I have Anisa bring in some architects next week?" Ken asks. "Just to make some plans and gauge what's possible and how much work there is to be done?"
Clearly, cost isn't much of a factor to him, but then, I know that grandfather Frank wasn't exactly a pauper.
"Sure, drawing up plans sounds good," I agree. "And while they're at it, do you think those architects of yours could look into putting a roof terrace on top of the lower annex of apartment 1?"
Ken looks taken aback for a moment. "A roof terrace?"
"Yes." I nod. "There's that square annex that only has two floors. It would be great for adding a roof terrace on top of it. I loved the one I had in the mews house. It was great for tanning." Installing one here probably also won't come cheap, but if cost isn't an issue to him…
"I'm not sure monument protection rules will allow us to do that, but we can certainly look into it," Ken replies cautiously. "If it's not possible, we always have the garden though. It's split in two parts currently, but if we merge them together again, it's several times the size of our current patch of grass. With some extra trees, we can also shield it from prying eyes, so despite its location, it'll be very private."
"Lottie will like that," I remark, smiling. "Georgie, too, but there's a chance greater than zero that he's already gone exploring the garden without our knowledge."
"More likely than not," agrees Ken with a laugh.
My smile widens, satisfied at having made him laugh. "And speaking of George and Lottie, shall we go back to them? I haven't had my share of cuddles today yet."
"Impeccable plan," he commends while getting up from our seat on the window sill and pulling me with him.
We leave apartment 1 through the main door under the porte-cochere, but we don't make it back to Wren House for pet cuddling, because when we step outside, a car halts in front of us. Moments later, a frowning Teddy and a pale Amy climb out and with one look at them, I already know that the cuddling will have to wait. I can recognise a problem that needs solving when I see one.
"Hello you two," Ken greets them and from the tone of his voice I know that he, too, has noticed that something is wrong.
"Are you okay?" I ask, deciding not to beat around the bush, and look from Amy to Teddy.
He grimaces. She swallows, visibly fighting for composure.
"We've just come back from the big palace," Teddy explains. "Mum is unwell and will probably skip tonight's dinner."
He doesn't have to say anything else, because the implications of his words are immediately clear to all of us. With Leslie out of the picture, Amy is the highest-ranking female in the land and will have to play a much more active role during the state dinner than planned. And she was already nervous about it as it was!
Knowing what the prospect will mean to her, I quickly walk over to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She tries her best to smile bravely, but it doesn't look very convincing.
"Can't you bump up Persis?" I ask, directing the question at both Ken and Teddy. Not that Persis would feel very comfortable with the role either, but she's become so much more confident and I know she'd handle it just fine.
Ken, however, shakes his head. "It'll look weird. The Order of Precedence is public and to give Persis a more visible role than Amy would make people ask questions."
Pressing my lip together, I just about stop myself from asking, 'who cares?' I know that the royal show is a carefully orchestrated combination of approachability and tradition and that sometimes, the individual has to grin and bear it so that tradition can be followed.
"I thought about approaching Aunt Mary," Teddy tells us. "She used to pitch in for Mum all the time in the past, even when Persis was there. It never was much of a problem, perhaps because she's from another generation and people are so used to her taking over from Mum. They might accept her taking precedence over Amy, too, just this once."
"They might, but it's a moot point. Aunt Mary is in Zagreb," Ken informs him matter-of-factly.
"Zagreb?" Teddy repeats quizzically.
"A commemorative event. Fifty years ago, some members of a Comex expedition were killed in a traffic accident in Zagreb. Aunt Mary went to attend a service in their memory," Ken explains.
Upon hearing that, Teddy visibly deflates and I feel Amy's shoulders sag beneath my arm. Ken looks sympathetic, but there's not really anything he can do. The only person who can actually help Amy right now is…
"Can I go?"
When I speak, all three turn to look at me.
"To Zagreb?" asks Teddy, frowning.
I laugh. "No, to the state dinner. Correct me if I'm wrong, but when I'm accompanying Ken, I take my precedence from him, right? So that would put me above Amy even now."
"Yes, that's true," confirms Ken.
"So, let me attend instead of Leslie," I suggest. "It's a perfect solution. Amy gets pushed down one again and doesn't have to be more visible than she would have been with Leslie there and the staff don't have to change the entire seating plan because they're short a woman."
"That could work," replies Ken slowly. "Are you sure you're up to it?"
Certainly more than Amy!
But I don't say that, of course. Instead, I shrug modestly. "I've met the French President before, haven't I? I'll be fine."
"This is a different French President though," Ken points out, a lightly teasing tone to his voice. "Part of their contribution to democracy is that they have regular elections and sometimes, that means the head of state changes."
"I know it's a different French President!" I insist, narrowing my eyes at him. "I don't live under a rock, thanks a bunch. I'm just saying that I've met the other one and it wasn't so bad, so how much worse can this one be?"
"Not much. He's a perfectly pleasing fellow," replies Ken who has, after all just welcomed the man to British shores. "He's perhaps more reminiscent of his Canadian colleague than his predecessor, but you have experience with that, too. Oh, and his wife is very charming as well."
"See? I'll be fine," I reiterate, projecting more confidence than I perhaps feel, but now is not the time to be nervous. "Besides, someone told me those state dinners are mind-numbingly boring anyway, so my greatest challenge will probably be not to fall asleep!"
Thus having his own words thrown back at him, Ken laughs and I know that I have him convinced. I'm going to a state dinner!
"So that means you'll come?" asks Teddy tentatively, having followed Ken's and my conversation silently up until now.
Amy, I notice, is looking at me hopefully from the side and I give her a reassuring smile. She smiles back cautiously and I can feel the tension drain from her body.
"It looks like I'm coming," I confirm to Teddy. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to call in the infantry."
"The infantry?" repeats Ken, looking amused.
"I have to get dolled up for a state dinner in less than three hours and I don't even have anything to wear," I point out to him archly. "This calls for reinforcements!"
"In that case, we don't want to keep you," Ken replies, laughing, and gestures for me to leave.
I do so, already fishing my phone from my coat pocket as I walk back to Wren House. Luckily, everyone picks up quickly and I manage to line up my reinforcements in no time. Rhea is able to move another client appointment so she can take care of my hair and make-up. Tatty arrives at Wren House half an hour later, carrying a clothing bag with a gorgeous midnight blue dress that originally belonged to her grandmother Lolly. Katie, who herself isn't senior enough in the royal pecking order to attend the state dinner, comes shortly afterwards with some diamond hairclips she nicked from her mother. My own wardrobe yields some sparkly silver high heels and Great-Aunt Tanya gleefully sends a car and driver with my jewellery for the evening.
She refuses to give me any say in what jewels she sends, merely asking for the colour of my dress and then proceeding to inform me that she has it all under control and just to trust her. With no other option, I'm left to do just that, hoping against hope that Great-Aunt Tanya might have discovered restraint in her hundredth year.
Not so, of course.
When, under the curious gazes of Rhea, Tatty and Katie, I open the jewellery boxes that the driver delivered to an amused Ken, they reveal enough diamond and sapphire jewellery to buy a small country. There are earrings, a necklace, two bracelets and several rings. The pièce de résistance, however, is the tiara I know to be named the Sapphire Wave Tiara and to have belonged to Empress Marie of Russia, Tanya's own great-grandmother.
Carefully lifting it from its box, I hold up the tiara into the light, causing the sapphires to shimmer and the diamonds to sparkle.
Even Katie whistles softly. "Now this is something!"
"It's gorgeous," agrees Tatty, looking unusually impressed.
Rhea, meanwhile, is examining the tiara with an expression that veers between reverent and practical. "Very beautiful!" she agrees. "It has no proper base, so it might be tricky to secure, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. Shall we?"
Indeed we shall.
The following two hours are an utter whirlwind of activity that leaves me coiffed and primed to perfection. Luckily, they don't leave me with any time to think, so I don't really have a chance to start fretting either. For all my bravado in front of Teddy and Amy, the prospect of playing such an important role in a state dinner is slightly more daunting than I'm willing to admit, but whenever my thoughts stray that way, something happens to distract me again, thus keeping my mind well-occupied with practicalities.
It's really only when we all line up for the official pictures – Ken, the President's wife, Owen, the President and me – that the reality of it all catches up with me. Here I am, officially hosting a formal dinner in Buckingham palace, wearing priceless historic jewellery and being tasked with entertaining the president of an important allied nation. (Good thing my French is functional, if a tad rusty, and that I actually have some working knowledge of France. If this had been the president of, say, Sri Lanka, I would have hopelessly embarrassed myself!)
I'm trusted to represent the British nation and I suddenly know that if, sometime in the future, someone were to ask me when I first felt like a real princess, this, right here, would be the very moment I'd point to.
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 DogMonday:
Yes, I imagine walkabouts like these cause the PPOs to be especially on alert, but at the same time, they're a normal part of the royal job. They have procedures in place for these kind of events and it's all planned as much as possible. It probably makes them less nervous than Rilla spontaneously deciding to visit a public market or something ;). As for Rilla herself being reminded of her security scares, I believe this is slightly different for her because she knows that this is a planned event. She's a trusting person by nature and if her PPOs say it's fine for her to do this, she buys into that. Also, there are barrier between her and the people and an empty street behind her, so if it becomes too much, she can always take a few steps back to have space around her. She isn't engulfed by the spectators in the way the paparazzi used to when they hunted her. That gives her more control overall and that, in turn, makes the situation easier for her.
Regarding the car ride, I think what we're seeing here is Rilla doing things her way, or beginning to. Ken would never express similar concerns as openly in front of the staff, no matter how much time he spends with Otto. He's just too reserved for that and keeps his staff at an arm's length in general. Rilla's approach is different though. She's more open by nature and she actively tries to build a relationship with the aides that is more friendly and trusting than the polite professionalism Ken has chosen. It's their different natures at work we're seeing here - and I think it's to Ken's credit that he doesn't try to stop Rilla from doing things her way, even if it's not how he would have handled matters.
I thought it would be fun to have her mother and sisters advise her for the photo shoot and to have each of them pick an outfit. The clothes Rilla wears for this one are either from her own wardrobe, borrowed from her sisters or bought new. She can't take loans from designers, for fear of it looking like she's taking advantages of her position, so she or someone close to her has to shell out the money. You guessed correctly that I'd definitely prefer the teal dress (and I can see how sheath dress would be... unexpected if one is unfamiliar with the term ;)). The white lace dress could definitely veer into being bridal, but my mental image of it is fairly laid-back. There's a white lace dress that Kate wore on tour in Australia (to Bondi Beach, I think) and I'm picturing something in that general style, so nothing too fancy.
I'm not sure what's the exact protocol for information about a royal's outfit being released but from what I gather, more often than not, no information is given. There are bloggers who're very adept at figuring out what a particular royal is wearing, but the staff rarely confirms a designer or label. Thus, if Rilla hadn't given those girls the information herself, they likely would have ended up frantically searching the internet for that coat. I dare say that one Rilla finds her feet with these public engagements, she will know how to politely brush off questions like that, but in this particular situation, it's just easier to answer the question than to figure out a polite way for saying "I won't tell you!" ;).
Yes, September 30th for the Wales visit and early to mid-October for the French state visit in this chapter. Not long to go until the wedding anymore!
