the sky was still as black as a coal cellar outside. She put on the light.
‘Take my robe. I’m warm now.’ She pulled off the kimono and threw it towards him.
He pressed it appreciatively to his face, before pulling it on. Of course, it gaped across his chest, but it was better than nothing, thought Bella. The bedroom was icy. He thrust his feet into his dress shoes at the same time. ‘Thank you.’
He opened the door, indifferent to the rules, scandal, or even his own dignity.
‘What the fuck?’ he said with pardonable asperity.
It was Julian Madoc. ‘I’m really sorry, sir.’ He even sounded it. ‘But the King says, please will you join him in the study as soon as possible? There’s been a development.’
‘What sort of development?’ demanded Richard disagreeably.
‘More internet comment, I’m afraid. And an unfortunate photograph of Her Majesty. The Press will be here any time.’
‘Here? You mean you’ve set up a Press Conference?’
Madoc was clearly shocked by the suggestion. ‘Certainly not. But outside, you know. In the village. Asking people for their stories. Bringing their chequebooks. We need – that is, the King feels we need an agreed line.’
There was a pregnant pause. Then Richard said, ‘Oh, very well. We’ll be down as soon as we’ve climbed into our Arctic weather wear.’
He closed the door firmly. Bella pulled the covers up to her nose and watched appreciatively.
‘I fancy you in blue silk.’
He grinned briefly. ‘You fancy me in anything. Thank God. Damn, I’m so tired of worrying about the bloody Press. Oh, well, I suppose we’d better get dressed and join the Council of War. Have you got a good thick sweater, or shall I bring one back for you?’
She liked the idea of wearing his clothes. ‘Almost certainly mine isn’t thick enough.’
He nodded. ‘Right. I’ll bring you one.’
He went, leaving Bella to wonder dreamily whether any returning adulterer whom he met on the way would keep quiet about the fact that the Prince of Wales darted about Drummon House in a blue silk kimono.
By the time Richard returned, Bella had pulled on all the clothes she had brought with her, pretty well. He was wearing thick tweed trousers, double-knit socks and walking boots, and a green military jumper over several layers of natural fibre.
Bella purred. ‘Love the combat gear. Not as swashbuckling as a blue silk kimono, of course, but you look ready for action.’
He eyed her consideringly. ‘I can always take my Aran sweater away again.’
‘No, no, please. Please. I didn’t mean it.’
The big white thing was as solid as a horse blanket and just as cosy. Bella pulled it on over her stylish but inadequate cashmere and instantly felt her frosted muscles start to thaw. It was ludicrously too big, of course. The sleeves hung over her hands, but it smelled of Richard’s shampoo and she knew that smell.
‘Thank you,’ she said, basking a bit.
He put his arm round her and they went to face the music.
The study turned out to be a relatively small room, so that the big fire there did actually have some effect. The Queen was sitting beside it, looking elegant as always but concerned. The King was reading a printout.
George had been wrong about the absence of mobile phones. There was a photograph of the Queen with her tiara over one eye. It had been all over the Twittersphere by midnight.
The King handed the print out to Richard.
‘I don’t understand some people. Don’t they have anything to do except criticise others?’ he said irritably.
Richard ran his eye down the messages Julian Madoc had printed out.
‘Someone called LoyalSubjekt101 said Bella attacked the Queen last night and has posted a photograph of Mother with her tiara coming off at the party,’ he sighed. ‘And then a bunch of idiots who need to get a life started arguing about whether it was deliberate or an accident, political or personal, spite or a republican gesture.’ He cast the sheets away. ‘Oh, this is just ludicrous. Why are we wasting our time on it?’
‘Exactly,’ said the King with gloomy satisfaction.
But the Queen said, ‘We can’t just ignore it, Richard. These are very nasty allegations. Someone might actually try to hurt Bella, in retaliation. Pansy tells me there have been rumours for weeks.’
‘Then let’s kill the rumours,’ said Richard calmly. ‘Tell ’em we’re getting married and they can bloody well like it or lump it.’
The Queen put a hand over her eyes.
Bella said frostily, ‘Excuse me? Do I get a vote on this?’