stay exactly where you are, Mr Martinez, I’ll bring her across as soon as she’s finished talking to the mayor. But I’m afraid that does not include your guest. The princess is not accustomed to having to speak to two people at once, so perhaps the young gentleman would be kind enough to stand back a little.’
‘Of course he will,’ said Martinez, without consulting Sebastian.
‘Now, I’d better get going, or this show will never get off the ground.’ The ambassador made his way across the crowded lawn, avoiding stepping on the red carpet, as he walked back into his office.
The guest of honour was seated in a corner of the room, smoking a cigarette and chatting to the ambassador’s wife. A long, elegant ivory cigarette holder dangled from her white gloved hand.
The ambassador bowed. ‘We’re ready, ma’am, whenever you are.’
‘Then let’s get on with it, shall we?’ said the princess, taking one last puff before stubbing out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray.
The ambassador accompanied her out on to the balcony, where they paused for a moment. The bandmaster of the Scots Guards raised his baton, and the band began to play the unfamiliar sound of the guest’s national anthem. Everyone fell silent, and most of the men copied the ambassador and stood rigidly to attention.
When the last chord had been played, Her Royal Highness proceeded slowly down the red carpet and on to the lawn, where the ambassador first introduced her to President Pedro Aramburu.
‘Mr President, how nice to see you again,’ the princess ventured. ‘Thank you for a most fascinating morning. I did so enjoy seeing the assembly in session, and having lunch with you and your cabinet.’
‘We were honoured to have you as our guest, ma’am,’ he said, delivering the one sentence he had rehearsed.
‘And I have to agree with you, Mr President, when you said that your beef is the equal of anything we can produce in the Highlands of Scotland.’
They both laughed, although the president wasn’t sure why.
The ambassador glanced over the president’s shoulder, checking that the prime minister, the mayor and Mr Martinez were all planted in their correct positions. He noticed that Martinez couldn’t take his eyes off the princess. He gave Becky a nod, and she immediately stepped forward, took her place behind Sebastian, and whispered, ‘Mr Clifton?’
He swung round. ‘Yes?’ he said, surprised anyone knew his name.
‘I’m the ambassador’s private secretary. He has asked if you would be kind enough to come with me.’
‘Shall I let Don Pedro know?’
‘No,’ said Becky firmly. ‘This will only take a few minutes.’
Sebastian looked uncertain, but followed her as she weaved her way through the chattering crowd of morning suits and cocktail dresses, and entered the embassy by a side door that was being held open for her. The ambassador smiled, pleased that the first part of the operation had gone so smoothly.
‘I will indeed pass on your best wishes to Her Majesty,’ said the princess, before the ambassador guided her across to the prime minister. Although he tried to concentrate on every word the princess was saying in case anything needed to be followed up, he allowed himself the occasional glance in the direction of his study window, in the hope of spotting Becky coming back out on to the terrace, which would be the sign that the meeting between father and son had taken place.
When he felt that the princess had had quite enough of the prime minister, he moved her on to the mayor.
‘How nice to meet you,’ said the princess. ‘Only last week, the Lord Mayor of London was telling me how much he’d enjoyed visiting your city.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ the mayor replied. ‘I am looking forward to returning the compliment some time next year.’
The ambassador glanced in the direction of his study, but there was still no sign of Becky.
The princess didn’t last long with the mayor, and discreetly made it clear that she wanted to move on. The ambassador reluctantly fell in with her wishes.
‘And may I be allowed, ma’am, to present one of the city’s leading bankers, Don Pedro Martinez, who I am sure you will be interested to know spends the season at his home in London every year.’
‘This is indeed a great honour, Your Majesty,’ said Martinez, bowing low, before the princess had a chance to speak.
‘Where is your home in London?’ enquired the princess.
‘Eaton Square, Your Majesty.’
‘How very nice. I have a lot of friends who live in that part of town.’