of a certain age will recall that Jane’s daughter was one of the young bridesmaids in the Prince’s wedding to Emma…
“I was not cavorting. We simply ate dinner,” Richard boomed as we read.
“Yes, and then had a very leisurely nightcap, it sounds like,” Eleanor said. “We all know what that means, Richard.”
Next to me, Nick closed his eyes. “I wish we’d gotten here fifteen minutes later,” he said.
The door to her quarters burst open and the Queen herself stuck her head out into the hallway. “Stop lurking, Nicholas, and come in.”
“I really can’t see that this is any of their business,” Richard said, from his spot on the silk sofa. Both his arms and legs were crossed.
“I’m not going to leave them skulking about the hallway,” Eleanor snapped as she sat back down in her armchair. “Besides, luncheon is about to arrive. I thought perhaps sushi?” she said, peering at me. “Some very soft Brie?”
“Sounds great,” I chirped. There was no way Eleanor had ordered sushi. She once told me that the idea of placing raw fish in her mouth was as appealing as being forced to catch it herself.
“I should be off, then,” Richard said.
“No,” Eleanor said, turning back to him. “We’re not through discussing this.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” Richard said. “The last time I checked, it’s completely acceptable to have dinner with whomever I like.”
Eleanor picked up her own copy of the Evening Standard and peered at the photo they’d run of Jane. She was attractive in an earthy way, and was apparently an accomplished equestrian. She’d also been nicknamed Pain Jane for the amount that men and women alike were drawn to her despite their other attachments.
“She’s always been trouble,” Eleanor said. “Didn’t her previous husband work for Putin?”
Richard rolled his eyes. “No, Mother,” he said. “Pucci.”
Eleanor shrugged as if this were mostly the same thing.
Richard stood up. “I cannot believe you’re angry about my having dinner with an old friend,” he said. “This is controlling even for you.”
“She’s an addict. She can’t help but shop,” Eleanor snapped. “It’s one thing to socialize with her at an event, but this cozy public dinner, then taking her home with you? Ending up in the paper? It’s unbecoming.”
Nick flinched with his whole body. I found myself pretending to be entranced by a figurine of a shepherdess on the side table to my right.
“Unbecoming?” Richard echoed. “I’ve never done anything unbecoming in public in my life. I never even tried to remarry because you said it was inappropriate with the boys so young. Then you said it was inappropriate after we told the truth about Emma. Then you told me it was inappropriate after the wedding, when Christiane was supporting me during the trauma this one caused.” He pointed at me.
“The Greek monarchy disgraced itself,” Eleanor sniffed. “You can’t be part of that.”
“And now Christiane is engaged to be married to that prat who keeps saying he’s descended from Napoleon, and I”—and here, he had the good grace to look melancholy—“am still married to a woman who hasn’t spoken to me or recognized my face for half my life.”
“You said it, Richard,” Eleanor said. “You are still married.”
“Then let me divorce.”
“Never,” Eleanor said.
“Gran—” Nick interjected.
“Absolutely not.”
“Twenty-five years without a partner,” Richard said, “is a bloody long time, Mother, and I think the public might support me. Did you ever think of that?”
Eleanor sighed deeply and pressed on her closed eyelids. “The public,” she said slowly, “does not want its future king drooling around the singles scene like a bulldog in heat. It invites scrutiny, and it will diminish the monarchy if you have an active personal life playing out in front of them like a tawdry little television drama.”
Richard’s color was high. “You would prefer I had flings in dark corners? You are colder than I thought.”
“What you do in private is your affair,” Eleanor said. “Carrying on in public…”
“Dinner is not carrying on,” Richard said, an octave higher than usual. “Why are you doing this? Is it because you’re bitter that you’ve lived so long without affection, and so you’re consigning me to the same fate? Well, congratulations. You wore the crown alone. Let me know when history gives you a medal for that.” He angrily buttoned his blazer. “But I’m not a priest. And I’m certainly not celibate. You may not have needs, but I do.”
“Please no,” Nick muttered.
“Neediness is a fatal flaw,” Eleanor said stubbornly.
“I have always done what you’ve asked. And all it’s ever brought