Page 72 of The Impossible Princess
“As usual,” mutters Ella, who detests his way of practicing politics.
“—but there is no easy way to tell the entire country that the report is false. It drags us down to the level of the gutter press.”
“Perhaps Clara might withdraw from public life for a time?” asks Freja, whose only aim in life is more personal space. She means it for the best, but I won’t have it.
“No,” I say, rejecting the idea outright. “I haven’t done anything wrong or disrespectful, and it’ll look like I’m guilty if I slink off like a dog with its tail between its legs.”
Père raps his knuckles on the table. Pavian for, “Bravo, bravo!”
“It will be the worst possible thing for Max,” I say, bringing his name—his actual name—within these hallowed halls. Mama almost recoils from it.
“The young man is not our concern.”
My voice rises in response. “He’s my concern. If you knew him, you’d know that Max would never be party to such a thing. If we behave like I’m guilty, then it looks like he is too. I won’t allow this speculation to affect his career.”
“His career,” Mama echos. “He’s what rank, again?” she asks, leafing through her notes.
“Lieutenant commander, ma’am,” Caroline murmurs from the corner. Every gaze in the room swings towards the unexpected interjection. “Graduated top of his class at Knutsen Naval Academy. His current post is modest, but his future is promising.”
I blink, confused. Is this support? It is difficult to tell from the way she delivers the facts in an even, informative manner.
“Pity,” Mama says, like his career is already ruined.
Has she already decided his worth and determined that it’s too little to regret the loss of his career if it gets things sailing smoothly again? It’s a cold-blooded approach, but shame and regret burn through me. I haven’t been any better than Mama. Didn’t I break things off with Max as soon as our relationship became an obstacle to fulfilling my role? It’s a merciless assessment, but it brings hot, unblinking clarity. I’ve hurt him enough.
“Max didn’t have to say what he did at the naval base yesterday. He could have caused a scene and made it much worse for this family, but his statement has the potential to quiet the prime minister’s offices, at least in the short term. We owe him our thanks for that. For the long-term, I have a proposal,” I say. The monarchy will take a hit over this, but we can absorb it. We’re like an aircraft carrier with one rusted antenna snapped off while Max’s vessel is smaller and liable to be swamped in our wake if we don’t take care.
“The best way through this is to trust me with a patronage that has some heft to it. If I’m working hard and can be seen to be working hard, this reputation of mine will eventually slough off like so much dead skin.”
Exfoliation metaphor for the win.
Mama sighs as though saying, “Patronages again?” She is not won over.
Alma lifts her hand. “No, no. It’s not a bad idea. Clara’s assignments have been ridiculously light. When I was her age—”
“When you were her age, you were a sober-minded graduate student and the Princess Royal. I knew I could rely on your committed, loyal presence then, just as I do now.”
Alma takes a quick, bracing breath. A muscle jumps in her cheek but she doesn’t abandon me. “Clara knows how to work a room better than anyone at this table.”
“Royal duties require more than being charming,” Noah protests.
A surprisingly wicked smile spreads across Alma’s face. “Not something you’d know much about.”
“Brat,” he fires back, but it’s indulgent. They are close, those two.
“I want a shot at St Leofdag’s,” I declare.
Mama tilts her head. “The hospital?”
I nod, opening my computer. “Caroline, will you help me access the projection screen?”
She crouches in a ladylike manner before a console and digs around for the switch which will lift away the middling landscape to reveal a huge television screen. I catch Noah watching her, and I give him a bland smile. He frowns and jerks his eyes to the ceiling.
“You came prepared with a multimedia presentation?” Ella laughs, tugging my attention. She gives me a look that’s more Stanford game-day than Sondmark emergency. “Nice.”
“I came prepared to have my competence and judgment questioned.” I stand, reminding myself that this isn’t treason. It’s a plan. Max believed in me. I saw it every time he looked into my face. I borrow some of his certainty now.
I tap on the keys of my computer, and Caroline dims the lights.
