Love Falls by Esther Freud Page B

was, she scanned the faces of the people waving their Union Jacks, enlivened with happiness and patriotic fervour, almost hysterical with the luck of a fine day.
    ‘His Royal Highness’ – a voice cut through the babble of the crowd – ‘Charles, Philip, Arthur, George, Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Crick and Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles and Great Steward of Scotland, will shortly be married in St Paul’s Cathedral to . . . Lady Diana Frances Spencer.’
    Lara thought how inadequate Diana’s name sounded beside his. Couldn’t she have more, an extra title or two, just for today? Baroness of Nursery Schools, Hairstyle Trendsetter to the Outer Nations of Knightsbridge and World’s End. Earlette of Sloane Square, Loafer to the Court of Sunday’s Mail . Princess of the Pure and Hopeful, Beloved Especially of Ginny.
    Just then they caught sight of the royal carriage. Prince Charles was arriving, the shape of his head unmistakable from above, even in his hat. His hair, Lara was sure, parted for the occasion even further to one side. But where was she? It was Diana the crowd wanted to see. Will she be late? She’ll have to be. Three minutes. Is that the traditional time allowed, before everyone gets jumpy? Charles was inside the cathedral, as were the Queen and the Queen Mother, both in blocks of colour, the same from top to toe. There was Prince Philip, Princess Anne, the Princes Andrew and Edward.

The camera scanned the crowds, and then there she was, in her coach, her face veiled, her father redder than ever beside so much white. ‘As commoners,’ the commentary informed them, ‘they are not entitled to a military escort but must make do with police on horseback.’ But the crowd didn’t care about the uniforms of the Spencers’ escort. What they longed for, even more than a sight of Diana, was a sight of Diana’s dress. The coach was stopping. They were going to see it. There was an intake of breath in the room as Diana uncurled from the carriage. And there it was. Hideous. More hideous even than anything dreamed up by ¡Hola! . Lara shot a quick look round, but everyone was transfixed by the fairy-tale sight of someone transformed from shy and awkward into a princess. Diana was moving now, ignoring her train, leaving her bridesmaids to do battle with it, attack it like an unruly sheet. She pulled away, determined, gliding up the steps, disappearing through the doors of the cathedral, her train following finally until it was out of sight.
    â€˜Fuck.’ Tabitha’s voice yawned up from the sofa. ‘Help me up, someone. I need a wee.’
    Roland stayed where he was but, once his wife was on her feet, he watched her go, moving precariously through the crowd of her family, swaying as she reached the door.
    â€˜Piers,’ Roland hissed, and when Piers turned round, he winked at him. ‘You’ll be next.’
    Piers turned back to the screen where Charles and Diana were now standing side by side, Charles, scrubbed and gleaming, Diana hiding in her shroud of white.
    â€˜Yes,’ Piers murmured, refusing to be drawn in, and he squeezed May’s hand.
    There was silence again while the marriage ceremony began and not a word was said until Diana was asked to repeat the list of Charles’s names and managed to mix them up.
    â€˜Noooooo,’ they all shrieked, and they heckled her, giggling and smirking, relieved to have someone to break the tension for them. By the time everyone was quiet Charles and Diana were married.
    â€˜Well.’ Andrew Willoughby yawned and stretched. ‘He’s gone and done it now.’ And giving Pamela a pinch on the bottom as she stood up, he said that was enough of Great Britain for this summer; he didn’t want to hear another word about it until next year at least.
    One by one everyone stood up