biggest news story in the whole world. Which one of us is offtrack here?”
Absolute lunacy, but why did it seem to make a certain sort of sense? “Mr. Crispin. I’m not the subject of this story.”
“You’re the subject of every other story. Come on, just tell me something good and then we can talk about silver.”
Ben tried another tack. “I find it difficult to believe a businessman like yourself would be so concerned with gossip, Mr. Crispin.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Crispin said, suddenly lofty. “But if my wife finds out I talked to you and didn’t get any good dirt, I’m through!”
***
“Breakfast with the leader of the opposition went well?” Nicholas asked as he and James lunched together in a private upstairs room in Nicholas’s favorite restaurant in Mayfair.
“Extremely well, actually.” Not that James showed any favoritism in matters of politics, which was completely forbidden—but he’d still been less sure of his welcome with the opposition. Instead he’d been warmly congratulated and assured of support.
“And the medal ceremonies?”
“A few of the more elderly ones seemed surprised to see me,” James admitted. Had they thought Prince Richard would take over as heir immediately? Perhaps. And yet—“After the first moments, though, that awkwardness went away. It all went quite smoothly. More than usual, as a matter of fact.”
“The papers have been beside themselves, the red tops especially, but TV’s been very favorable for you.” Nicholas grinned. “You’re going to pull this off. You know that, don’t you?”
“Too early to say.” Yet James could feel hope bubbling inside like newly opened champagne. “I hope you haven’t been pestered much.”
Nicholas paused. “Not by the press.”
By Richard, he meant. James took a moment to consider how to phrase his next sentences. Nicholas didn’t share Prince Richard’s old-fashioned outlook or his lust for the throne, but Richard was still his father, and Nicholas was a loving son. James simply said, “If this doesn’t go the way I’m hoping—well, you should realize that I think you would make a very fine king.”
“Kind of you to say, but I rather hope we never find out.” Nicholas looked slightly seasick. He’d always fought to have as much freedom as his royal role allowed. If he moved up in the line of succession, as Prince Richard so hoped, that freedom would be curtailed forever.
James raised his water glass. “To never finding out.”
Nicholas clinked his glass against James’s, then said, “Isn’t that bad luck? Toasting with water instead of wine?”
“Don’t be superstitious.” He had enough to worry about that afternoon without fretting over old wives’ tales.
The first public event was by far the hardest. James’s stomach clenched in fear as he stepped out of his car, but then he was greeted with the same polite applause, the same smiling officials, the same flowers as ever. It took him five minutes to believe that it was all coming off, another hour to realize that it was coming off
well
.
Either those who disapproved had stayed home, or else not that many people disapproved. James knew the odds were in favor of the former, but he also knew that the many TV cameras were recording him carrying out his duties just as before, to Britons who seemed as happy to meet him as ever. If that image kept being broadcast night after night, he’d be able to prove that he could still be a good king.
No one was unpleasant to him. No one! In fact, most people were even more eager to please than usual, falling all over themselves to smile and nod at everything he said, lest they be considered homophobic. Essentially, everyone had been transformed into a Dog for a day, and all the Dogs had become Puppies—positively wriggling with the need to be friendly, and beyond any sensible conversation. This added a slightly absurdist twist to the day, but he could manage.
See? There wasn’t any reason to
Absolute lunacy, but why did it seem to make a certain sort of sense? “Mr. Crispin. I’m not the subject of this story.”
“You’re the subject of every other story. Come on, just tell me something good and then we can talk about silver.”
Ben tried another tack. “I find it difficult to believe a businessman like yourself would be so concerned with gossip, Mr. Crispin.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Crispin said, suddenly lofty. “But if my wife finds out I talked to you and didn’t get any good dirt, I’m through!”
***
“Breakfast with the leader of the opposition went well?” Nicholas asked as he and James lunched together in a private upstairs room in Nicholas’s favorite restaurant in Mayfair.
“Extremely well, actually.” Not that James showed any favoritism in matters of politics, which was completely forbidden—but he’d still been less sure of his welcome with the opposition. Instead he’d been warmly congratulated and assured of support.
“And the medal ceremonies?”
“A few of the more elderly ones seemed surprised to see me,” James admitted. Had they thought Prince Richard would take over as heir immediately? Perhaps. And yet—“After the first moments, though, that awkwardness went away. It all went quite smoothly. More than usual, as a matter of fact.”
“The papers have been beside themselves, the red tops especially, but TV’s been very favorable for you.” Nicholas grinned. “You’re going to pull this off. You know that, don’t you?”
“Too early to say.” Yet James could feel hope bubbling inside like newly opened champagne. “I hope you haven’t been pestered much.”
Nicholas paused. “Not by the press.”
By Richard, he meant. James took a moment to consider how to phrase his next sentences. Nicholas didn’t share Prince Richard’s old-fashioned outlook or his lust for the throne, but Richard was still his father, and Nicholas was a loving son. James simply said, “If this doesn’t go the way I’m hoping—well, you should realize that I think you would make a very fine king.”
“Kind of you to say, but I rather hope we never find out.” Nicholas looked slightly seasick. He’d always fought to have as much freedom as his royal role allowed. If he moved up in the line of succession, as Prince Richard so hoped, that freedom would be curtailed forever.
James raised his water glass. “To never finding out.”
Nicholas clinked his glass against James’s, then said, “Isn’t that bad luck? Toasting with water instead of wine?”
“Don’t be superstitious.” He had enough to worry about that afternoon without fretting over old wives’ tales.
The first public event was by far the hardest. James’s stomach clenched in fear as he stepped out of his car, but then he was greeted with the same polite applause, the same smiling officials, the same flowers as ever. It took him five minutes to believe that it was all coming off, another hour to realize that it was coming off
well
.
Either those who disapproved had stayed home, or else not that many people disapproved. James knew the odds were in favor of the former, but he also knew that the many TV cameras were recording him carrying out his duties just as before, to Britons who seemed as happy to meet him as ever. If that image kept being broadcast night after night, he’d be able to prove that he could still be a good king.
No one was unpleasant to him. No one! In fact, most people were even more eager to please than usual, falling all over themselves to smile and nod at everything he said, lest they be considered homophobic. Essentially, everyone had been transformed into a Dog for a day, and all the Dogs had become Puppies—positively wriggling with the need to be friendly, and beyond any sensible conversation. This added a slightly absurdist twist to the day, but he could manage.
See? There wasn’t any reason to
Similar Books
