Majken can’t know this. Neither can Goldsmith. Nor can any of the groups that wish for a unification because that would put Blair’s life at even more risk than it is now.
“Can I suggest that this is all done as quick and as quietly as possible?” Micky leans forward. His hips have been giving him trouble, an infection, and he’s finding both being on his feet and walking painful after longer than a few minutes.
“Release a press statement rather than giving the speech yourself. Lie low over Christmas until Burns’ and then we should have an absolute agreement to announce.” Her advisor looks between Micky and Blair. “And we let both countries know that if they prolong signing the agreement, we’ll look to the other. You have a bargaining chip.”
Blair nods. “Apart from the hospital tomorrow, I think my engagements should be carried out by alternatives.” She refers to few titled royals, lairds and ladies, who are carrying public duties in exchange for a small salary. “But the press release must go out after the hospital visit, not before. I don’t want the hospital being overshadowed.”
It’s become important to her, the Children’s Hospital in London for which we attended the fundraiser months ago. Tomorrow is keeping the promise she made of a visit, with children excited to meet a real life princess so it’s a proper gown that looks like something a princess would wear and some of her mother’s jewels.
“Monday then. You’ll have met with Goldsmith’s team by then anyway on Sunday.”
She nods. “Then I think we’re done.”
She stands, so everyone follows suit, some protocols never dying and we leave the room after her.
“The queen is not for moving.” Micky’s words are a whisper in my ear. “Last week pissed her off, but you know that.”
I did. It was hour after hour of negotiations, trying to improve on the trade deals that had been cut by her grandfather and half a dozen prime ministers before Goldsmith, none of whom had ever managed anything more than a stale mate. Import and export taxes, restriction on movement between the countries, a hard border. Years for her to learn about; covenants and laws dating back decades that couldn’t be untangled.
And a man who craved power.
Blair was tired.
“I heard she said very little on Thursday.”
Micky nodded and grinned. “’Yes’, ‘No’ and ‘check what we’ve already agreed.’ That sums it up. Goldsmith and his team were flummoxed. Isaac said very little though. He just reminded them of previous discussions.” Micky’s eyes light up. “Have you decided who gets to hold her hand in public yet?”
He knows. Given that he oversees all the security he couldn’t not. His words cause a spark of jealousy to yank through me because as much as I can manage sharing Blair in a bed, the thought of more, of her and Isaac becoming more, destroys something inside.
“Fuck off, Micky.”
He laughs. “She was never going to be conventional. Never will be. And neither were you. It’ll all be fine, ye ken.”
I’m not sure how it can be. Too many lies and as long as I’m near her I’m a grenade ready to be exploded at any time.
* * *
When I get back to my office I check my phones. There’s a message from Majjie. One sentence.
She needs to change her mind.
She knows. Somehow she knows.
* * *
Blair is smiling. She’s in a ward with children who are being treated for cancer. A little girl who’s lost her hair is in her arms and the two of them are talking about sweets and chocolate as if there’s no other topic more important.
“Are you really a princess?” The girl asks.
“My daddy’s the king.” Blair smiles again.
“So do you have gowns and a tiara?”
“I do. But I prefer to wear jeans and T-shirts and run around outside. Gowns are difficult when you need to pee and the tiaras are quite heavy.”
The little girl giggles and the nurse encourages her to let Blair move on with the promise of drawing a picture for the princess.
We walk down the ward a little, preparing to move onto the next before the new extension is officially opened. Isaac is in the distance, talking to a small boy who’s wearing superhero pyjamas, here on behalf of Goldsmith.
