by Annie Dyer
“By the time I’m back, Ben’ll be reigning. And that’s probably right. He’ll help you blend in more.” He finally sits down, stretches out and folds his arms. He oozes pissed-off.
“Not sure he’ll be the same at blending in at some of the places we go.”
He raises his brows and looks moody. “It’s getting too dangerous taking you there.”
He was right. He often was. It wasn’t like we made a regular thing of going or planned it, not now. Not since tensions between us and England were as high with people demanding a better agreement or even for us to re-join a union with them.
“Guess I’ll have too…” The door opened and I shut up, watching the stream of men enter the room. Lennox is there; Gethin, his head of security; Murray; Franklyn; Kelvin, the head of the intelligence unit and three others who I know from various meetings but tried to avoid. And Ben. I try not to look at him.
“Guess you’ll have to what?” Lennox sat down next to me.
“Visit Micky after his op.” I turn and smile, my brother will know I’m lying.
He smiles and says nothing, then looks round the room. “Everyone’s here. Dad’s not feeling great so he’s giving it a miss.”
That worries me. This is the second day when his health’s not been good.
The meeting starts, there are conversations around places I’m due to go to, functions I’m attending, people who have been hanging round, my pet stalker who’s recently been done for indecent exposure. I’m spoken about like a commodity, which should annoy me and if I stew on it too much, it does, but I’m used to it by now and I am a commodity. I’m owned by my country. Their princess.
Ben sits across from me at the table. Like the rest of the men, he’s wearing a suit, charcoal grey with a light pink shirt and no tie. His shoulders look broader and it seems he’s given up shaving, because the fair stubble’s still there. When we were kids he was clean shaven, now he’s rougher.
The observation turns me on.
Cuba was too long ago.
About fifteen minutes in, I’ve tuned out and I’m thinking about all the ways I can have a normal night where I’m just Blair and not a woman with a title and a duty. Lennox is getting heated with Kelvin over an upcoming rally where he’ll be making a speech about working together and improving relations between us and England and Kelvin is pretty much asking him to tone it down.
At this point, my head is on a beach in Bali. Or Hawaii. Or the Maldives. I’ve always wanted to visit the Maldives. It isn’t that I don’t know about this, it’s my job to, but I can’t concentrate and I wish I could go to my room and scream, read one of my mother’s romances. Find some relief.
“What about the threats to Blair. They can’t be discounted.” Ben has said nothing much until now which hasn’t surprised me. He was always quiet, waiting until the right moment, when he had something to say. Like now.
I sat up. I hadn’t heard anything about threats, although it would be nothing new.
“What’ve they come up with now?”
Ben looks at me, serious, his eyes piercing through the distance between us.
“They’ve mentioned places you go that are unpublicised. Sent photos. Made threats to your life. We don’t know who they’ve come from. Yet.” The last word is a promise.
Will you still defend me?
Always.
“I wasn’t aware of this.” Lennox is trying to make himself broader, puff out his chest. He’s done this with Ben sometimes when we were kids, and Ben was taller, bigger. And never rose to Lennox’s jibes.
Ben doesn’t respond. “I know there have been threats before that have been taken seriously, but these seem like an insider has passed on details.”
Lennox is looking irate now, pissed that no one has told him sooner and he’s hearing this from someone who’s worked for us for days.
“Insider?” Lennox stands up.
I don’t bother glaring at him. I know my brother. His fire rages for seconds, just long enough for him to try to exert some authority before he implements common sense.
“Possibly.” Ben takes off his suit jacket and undoes his cuffs, pushing up the sleeves. I try to stare at Micky instead who looks at me as if I’m a naughty child and he knows exactly what I’m doing.
“What are we doing about this?” Lennox’s face is turning red. It doesn’t suit him.
“Sit down.” I keep my voice calm. Firm. “It’s threats to me, not you, and I’m not freaking the fuck out.”
“Language, Blair.” He sits down.
I ignore his reprimand.
“We wait. We do our jobs. We keep everybody safe.” Ben’s looking at me as he speaks because I’m who this is about. I’m his job.
“Can I see the threats? I might know something.”
No one speaks. They just look at Ben.
“Yes. Later.”
He doesn’t tell me that they’re not nice, because that would be obvious. He doesn’t treat me like I’m a porcelain vase, because I’m not. He doesn’t treat me as anything other than a human, because at this moment in time, I’m not anything more.
“What about the ball at the weekend?”
Shit, I’d forgotten. Almost forgotten.
Micky glares at Lennox. “We do what we normally do. Ben’s got this sorted and I’m not dead yet.”
Lennox looks at me. “You need to listen to what they tell you to do. Until we make this go away.”
I look back. “Maybe you need to do what you’ve been told and tone down your speeches.”
Lennox shakes his head and says nothing.
We’re at an impasse.
Like always.
Ben stands up, picks up his jacket. He looks at me but says nothing. I notice tattoos on his right forearm, the beginning to a sleeve and he sees me looking.
The last time I saw his arms they weren’t inked. I want to find out what else he has tattooed. I want to study each design.
“I’ll find you later. Show you what we’ve had.” His words are directed at me.
I stand. This meeting is done whether Gethin and Murray want it to be or not. “Thank you. I might be able to help.”
He nods and leaves. I feel Micky watching me, Lennox oblivious.
“You dinnae want to go there, Blair,” Micky says quietly when he walks past me. “Don’t become a cliché. I’ll still take you out.”
I don’t look at him. “He’ll be with us.”
Micky chuckles. “And?”
I laugh. There isn’t much more I can do.
The last Saturday of June. The garden looks as if several nurseries have exploded over it with the amount of blooms and petals. Several stages have been set up, decking that will be a nightmare for anyone in heels and four outside bars.
This afternoon was the garden party, held by the queen twice a year to celebrate and honour citizens who have served their country and community. My mother plays her usual gracious part; greeting and chatting, finding out small details and remembering them. This is where she excels, Scotland’s mother.
I watch her from the side lines, not needing to be on show today. This is about her.
“She hasn’t changed.” The voice startles me and I turn to see Ben. He’s blending in, wearing a white button down and dark tan pants.
“She’s a constant.”
Ben nods, standing next to me as if he’s been there for this every year.
“Is everything okay?”
He almost smiles, the sides of his mouth twitching just a fraction.
“You don’t have to look so serious all of the time. It is okay to crack that smile.” I beam at him.
He doesn’t return it. Instead he looks away.
“Ben, we don’t…” It hurts too much to not be able to talk to him like we used to, back when we were different people. The pace of change has torn holes in the fabric of who we used to be, but I recognise something there that’s the same boy who pulled my hair and kissed me like I never had been before. Or since.
>
“Not now, Blair. I can’t get distracted.” He doesn’t look at me.
I slip away wearing that painted smile and looking as if his words haven’t just poured acid onto a gaping wound.
Day guests are slowly ushered into the converted barn that was used for weddings before Scotland had a monarchy for the second time. For a few minutes the absence of voices haunts the gardens and the corridors into the castle. It’s this time between events that’s the strangest.
I’m never alone here. I know there are more security guards positioned around than people would recognise. I know who they are by the way they stand and look, how their eyes flicker. And they don’t smile. Just like Ben, any emotions are left at the door.
“Blair, you need to get ready for the meal.”
My mother’s voice sounds just as it did ten years ago. It isn’t a reprimand and it isn’t that she doesn’t think I’m capable of being organised, it’s just how she works. Organised, methodical.
“I’m heading to my room.”
She walks with me, glides. My mother should’ve been born for this life, yet she was a commoner. Like Elise. But unlike Elise she’s never made her ambition obvious.
“Have you seen the guest list or the seating plan?”
I haven’t. I pretend I like the element of surprise. “Saving it for later as a treat.”
My mother rolls her eyes.
“You’re sitting next to William Goldsmith.”
The Prime Minister. I hadn’t known he was coming.
“And this is significant because…”
“They’re hoping you get along.”
The bright light that’s filtered into the corridors from the open doors from the rooms has dimmed. The warm sunshine looks like it’s about to capitulate into a summer storm. I recognise the signs, the feel to the air, the darkness. The loch will be an inky pit and the wind will now bring a chill, a nip and a bite from sharp teeth.
“Who’s idea?”
“Your brother’s.”
“And you agreed?” We reach my suite.
“It was the first time he’d shown an interest in the politics of a dinner. I didn’t think. Look, Blair, it’s an evening. Not an arranged marriage.” She stands and faces me.
My mother chose this life and embraced her role. She doesn’t expect the same from me other than not to undo the work they’ve done. If I told her I wanted to marry the caretaker she’d have been supportive as long as they were going to treat me like I deserved.
It isn’t the first time I’d been seated next to a dignitary at a dinner for reasons other than practicalities. Murray sees me as a pawn to be played and sacrificed for the good of various policies, and he and my brother have been spending too much time talking in small secret rooms.
“He’s not my type.”
“Thank God for that.” She isn’t joking. “Just take the information and use it as you see fit.”
She’s given me a head start.
I smile and close the door, looking at the dress that’s been laid out for me to wear. Chosen.
I open my wardrobe and put it back. I have no desire for a pastel ball gown tonight. My role isn’t princess who needs to be courted so I pull out a dress I’ve worn once before, but not in the palace. Not at a formal.
It’s tight fitting, the back bare to the start of my ass but the neck at the front is high, trimmed with iridescent stones. The arms are three quarters and tight, making the bare skin of my back stand out even more and the length stops just above my knee.
It isn’t a dancing dress. It’s a stand and drink cocktails dress. And I feel like me in it.
I shower, straighten my hair, apply make-up, stand down the artist who’s sent to help because he’s rushed off his feet with having so many other people there, partners of politicians, ladies, duchesses. Elise.
The mirror reflects a different woman than usual. My brother wants bait, for me to reel William in and forge a connection that I have no intention of strengthening. These political games aren’t mine for the playing. Instead I’ll make a statement.
Security are discreet and blended, just like my mother’s make-up will be. I don’t see Ben but there’s no way he won’t be on duty, not tonight, not with so many strangers present.
“Blair.”
Lennox’s voice fills the corridor towards the sunroom where everyone is gathering for champagne and canapes.
I turn, see him immaculately dressed in a tux, his hair gelled and styled. See eyes the same as mine. We are both grey tinged with silver. Business.
“I thought you were wearing a ball gown.”
“I didn’t want to.”
His mouth opens, his words stuck. He has never told me what to do, not since the first time he tried.
“I thought you’d dance…”
With William.
“I’m not in the mood for dancing.”
“Blair…” He shakes his head.
“I’ll talk to him, drink with him, but I’m not pretending anything that isn’t true.”
“Is this because - ”
He stops, a dignitary and his wife passing us. She gives me a knowing smile and clutches her husband’s arm. I know them, recognise them as English delegates, or him at least.
“Let’s socialise.” I take my brother’s arm, give the smile I’ve practiced enough so it no longer seems fake, and we enter the sunroom that’s now surrounded by storms.
I don’t see Ben. Waiting-on staff pass by with trays of champagne and delicate morsels to ward off any hunger for those silly enough to have avoided lunch so as to not spoil their appetite. English sparkling wine is also served, trying to balance our cultures. What we can’t source in Scotland we buy in from Europe, with whom our trade deals are strong. But today and tonight aren’t about those divisions; we’re meant to be working towards healing those fractures between our countries, only not everyone will have the same agenda. Peace isn’t always beneficial for everyone.
William catches my eye from across the room. He’s talking with Murray and a few others. My brother has been captured by an English woman who is something to do with diplomatic relations. Elise is glaring.
The prime minister lifts his champagne to me, giving me a foppish grin. It’s genuine and I know he’s going to come over, seeing him excuse himself.
“You’re alone.”
I’m staring out of the window at the loch and the rain hammering down on it.
“I’m in a room full of people. I don’t have that privilege.”
“I know what you mean.”
I’m not sure he does.
“You must get bored of these events.”
I don’t. I’ve grown up with them and I like to watch, see, predict which beds people will go to, or who will be the one to spill secrets they had no right to share. But tonight I’m tetchy. Glancing around the room, I don’t see Ben. There’s no way he’ll be having a day off when this is occurring, not this early into a new job.
“I enjoy them. The castle is so quiet when there isn’t an event on, but today has been busy.” It’s the correct response, lining up a reason for not dancing or conversing or being charming. And it has been a long day.
He smiles and I feel sorry for him. “I know how you feel. I find the events where I have to go out and meet the most tiring and you’ve had that today. Only they’ve been in your home. Does that not feel intrusive?”
“It’s what I’m used to. Just like your royal family used to have to open up their residences.” But we don’t do it for the money to upkeep the places. There’s enough investment that comes in from other countries, secret billionaires with their own private interests.
The world is never as straightforward as just anything.
We don’t need to tangle a web to deceive.
“I’m not sure I’d want strangers in my bedroom. I like to keep some things private.”
He’s not lying. There’s little about William’s private life although the gutter press has been trying to
dig as much as they can into who he’s slept with. Other than a couple of photographs taken while he was at university, there is nothing.
“The room the public sees is fake. It’s what would be mine if I lived in that part of the castle. We have our own wing.” I’m not telling him anything he wouldn’t be able to find out and he probably knows already.
“It sounds mysterious.” His smile is teasing. “How royalty actually live.”
“Probably pretty much the same as you.”
I take another glass of champagne as the tray passes near. Two is my maximum before eating, especially if I want to keep a memory of people and what they say and do. There’s no chance to relax, not for anyone.
“You don’t have any secret passages or anything?”
I laugh. He sounds genuine. “No. Just normal stuff. Furniture, televisions, speakers. A sofa, unless you’re my brother and have gaming chairs instead.” Because Lennox had never grown past that.
We filter into the same room as last for dinner, William sticking with me, my loyal lap dog. He’s memorised the seating plan and part of me wonders whether this was his suggestion, whether he mentioned wanting to sit with me and it was passed on to Murray and Lennox.
There’s still no sign of Ben. I don’t need to glance around the room to know he isn’t there. There are a few of our security team having dinner, talking to guests who will have little or no idea of who they’re actually speaking to. Or maybe they do.
The talk is pleasant. Safe. Like last time, we don’t discuss politics. Like last time, I act pretty, keep it light. His hand brushes mine a few times, he’s attentive, maybe asks too much about me. It’s nothing I haven’t had before.
The dancing starts late, after more drinks and a buffet of gateaux and trifles and cake. There’s the obligatory toast and the whisky, then a band.
I don’t dance. I stand at the edges, watching as Lennox swings the diplomat from before around the floor and Elise takes the hand of the English prime minster. Late at night, there are shadows, and that’s where I stay. Not hiding.
Watching.
And being watched.
