Gus
What a miserable week. The media descended on Dalholm like a nasty blizzard, lining Centre Street with photographers, videographers, and wired reporters.
They roamed the shops and every side street. They booked the hotels in New Hamlet and filled the pubs.
They hounded arriving guests or anyone who dared step onto the grounds for air or a visit to Old Hamlet, shouting things like, “What can you tell us about the queen’s secret love child?” Or “What does the king consort think? The princes?”
Some focused on the event at hand. “Have you seen Lady Holland’s wedding dress? Can you confirm the designer was Bray-Lindsay?”
Others shouted toward the heavy castle walls for Prince Gus to confirm he had a new love.
Social media and the news were full of video clips from Gus’s conversation with Daffy on the quay, of ball guests like the band members of Meant 2 Be, singer-songwriter Edward Tucker, and Prince Stephen and Princess Corina of Brighton Kingdom arriving at the castle.
A royal ball was going to be somewhat of a media storm, but the secret baby angle added hail, thunder, and lightning.
On top of the bounty-hunter media types, the formal, age-old press arrived from America, England, France, Australia, Ireland, Brighton, and well, everywhere.
But the melee of media was nothing compared to missing Daffy. No amount of persuasive words or actions convinced her to join him at Hadsby this weekend.
He’d sent flowers. Cards. Texts. They talked every night about the madness in Dalholm, her adventures in creating Daffy 3.0, music, television, movies, news, sports, even their love for one another. But she refused to attend the ball.
“Is this what I have to look forward to when we’re married? Sheer stubbornness?”
“Who says we’re getting married?” She sounded serious, but he heard the smile in her voice. At least he hoped so.
Last night she’d regaled him with a story of being chased by paparazzi. “Are you the lass in the photo with Prince Gus?”
Several reporters had rung up, wanting to know about her girlhood diary. How they got her number, she didn’t know.
“They have their ways, Daffy. Trust me.”
The press mess in Dalholm, along with her experiences in Port Fressa, only strengthened her resolve to avoid the ball. She feared she’d be the teeny tiny firecracker that would blow up the tinder box.
Gus hated to admit it, but she was probably right. Did he want the start of their relationship under such scrutiny and craziness?
However, he was not willing to give up so easily. He confronted Mum the Wednesday before the ball. “Ring Daffy and invite her to Hadsby. Please.”
Mum remained steadfast. “If she wants to stay away to avoid further scrutiny, respect her decision. Frankly, I think you should get over this little crush, but you’re a grown man, so I leave you to it.”
Gus steered clear of her for a day and a half to guard against saying something he’d regret.
Then Thursday Mum’s secretary announced a family portrait out on the old eastern portico Saturday night before the ball. Mandatory. Even Holland protested the evening.
“Your Majesty, won’t we be too busy? We’ll have formal photos after the wedding.”
“Surely we can spare a few moments for a private family portrait while dressed in our finest.” Mum poured a coffee and sat in her favorite chair. Dad listened in, telly remote in his hand. “I’ve always wanted one on the portico and now I shall have it.”
“Mum, the portico is a hundred meters from the castle.” John stood beside his future wife. “We’ll be dressed for the ball. The grounds will be soggy from all the rain. The portico foundation is cracked and old. It will snag Holland’s gown.”
“I’ll have a runner put down. Edric, the coffee is good. Would you like a cup? As for the photo, we’ll drive out and back in the carts. I want a group shot, then one of your dad and me, then John and Holland, and then Gus.”
“To what end?” He was with John and Holland on this one. “Mum, we have a thousand family portraits. We’ll have wedding photographs. We don’t need one Saturday night. At least not on the portico. And not one of me, alone.” The image of him posing by himself while his parents, his brother and his fiancée snuggled would make Daffy’s absence all the more pronounced.
“We do if I say so.”
Mum was not afraid to use her I’m-the-queen card. Even Dad had to discern if he was confronting his wife or his queen.
Perhaps there was an underlying reason for this sudden family portrait. To focus her heart on her husband and sons instead of the mistakes, or rather decisions, of the past.
