Page 105 of The Heir Apparent
“For god’ssake, old man,” Richard snapped. “We know how to walk down a garden path without instruction.”
At precisely ten-thirty, the gates parted, and Richard and I set off for church, crunching through the snow as a group of cousins and lower-ranked royals trailed behind us. In thedistance, I could see the press pack and all the people who came out to watch this strange tradition of ours. The crowd broke into applause as we passed them.
“Don’t forget to smile, Richard,” I said. “These are the most important family photos of the year.”
He said nothing.
I glanced at him. “You might be surprised to know that I’ve decided to forgive you for threatening me. But my forgiveness is conditional. If I ever hear of you hiring private investigators, or talking to the press ever again, I will be done with you. And I think we both know I can make your life very hard.”
Still he said nothing, glowering as we walked. The faces in the crowd were beaming at the sight of us. We were meant to be the ideal family, though we had failed more than most. The least we could do was give the people one photo to which they could aspire.
“You really are a stupid little girl,” he finally muttered.
“Not so stupid that I couldn’t outwit you.”
“You’re just like Freddy,” he went on. “You haven’t a clue what it was like to grow up with your father. He was always so weak, so shy. Every time we had to do this walk as children, he’d cry because he was scared of strangers. It never made sense to me that he was meant to be king when he couldn’t even wave at a couple of photographers without blubbering.”
I held my smile in place, thinking about the time I once wept on the palace balcony because I was afraid of the crowd below.
“When he grew older, he fell in love with that woman, and he wouldn’t give her up,” Richard said. “He wanted her more than he wanted the crown. It was like being in the back seat of a car careening towards a cliff, and Freddy was behind the wheel, wailing like a fool that he’d never wanted to be the driver in the first place.”
The church appeared ahead of us, and Richard and I both gave a friendly wave to the reverend, who was waiting on the steps.
“You might think you have what it takes to do this now,” Richard continued, “but I know better. You’re spoilt and you’re selfish, and you will make yourself unhappy, because that’s what you do. And even if you manage to keep your dirty little secret under wraps, the people will always sense this weakness in you, just as they sensed it in your father.”
I stopped suddenly, and Richard stopped as well. It was an odd moment—one wrong note in the flawless symphony Stewart had conducted—and I could sense the photographers taking notice. Usually, we all went straight up the church steps and greeted the reverend before heading indoors. But I was standing in the snow with my uncle, and a sizzle of camera shutters filled the silence as the crowds watched to see what I would do. I smiled at Richard and put a hand on his arm.
“You’re not half the man my father was,” I murmured. “Now stay one step behind me. Remember who I am.”
After the church service, we went home for lunch, where Granny was waiting for us. As her heir, I came into the dining room first, followed by Richard and Florence, then Demelza and Birdie. A flock of distant relations streamed through the door last. There was always too much food on the table—ham and lobster, freshly baked rolls, stuffing and sprouts, pudding with brandy butter.
“Is Amira not joining us this year, Lexi?” a second cousin asked as we sat down at the table.
“No,” I said. “She and her parents have gone to South Africa for the holidays.”
“Next year then.”
I nodded and smiled, though I knew it would be a very long time before Amira set foot in a royal household again. Once her bags were packed, and the car idled outside Cumberland 1 to take her to the airport, Amira and I held each other for a long time, promising to call each other every day.
When I went back to my bedroom, which had once been Mum’s office, and was meant to be a nursery for Louis andAmira’s child, I found a black velvet box on my pillow. Inside was the emerald, glimmering with monstrous beauty. For both the women who wore it, the ring was meant to be a shield. The stone had once been a brooch gifted by my great-grandfather to his wife. Papa had it reset on a gold band, hoping their love might inspire his own. Instead, it hung like an albatross from Mum’s delicate hand. Louis hoped the ring on Amira’s finger would evoke the fairytale our parents’ marriage was once supposed to be. I held it up to the light, just once, and remembered the way Mum would absentmindedly twist it on her knuckle, the way it would dwarf Amira’s small hand. I had no desire to try it on. I would cherish it, but I would never wear it. It would stay with me for the rest of my life, along with the witch marks and the polaroid of Louis and Kris—hard evidence of my family’s often hidden capacity for love.
After lunch, we moved to the drawing room to watch Granny’s pre-recorded Christmas address. The Clarences tended to elbow everyone out of the way so they could squeeze in beside her on the lounge. I took my usual seat in the bay window at the back. For half a century, Granny had appeared on our screens at exactly three o’clock every Christmas afternoon, standing in front of a twinkling tree to reflect on the year almost past.
“This Christmas season, I have been pondering the act of service, the gift a person gives in dedicating their life to others,” Granny said on the television. “Service can take many forms. For some, it leads to accolades and fame. For others, it is as simple but sacrosanct as caring for the ill.”
As Granny spoke, I sensed that I was being watched. Richard was staring at me across the drawing room, his dark eyes burning, his mouth set in a bitter frown. Neither of us looked away. I wondered if he might take my forgiveness or if he would succumb to his worst impulses, forcing me to invoke the second part of my plan. It was his choice. I already knew what my future held, while Richard didn’t have a clue what lay ahead of him.
I looked back at the TV screen as it faded to black, and the room burst into applause.
“Well done, Granny,” Florence said. “I think that might be your best one yet.”
“Yes, well,” Granny said as she rose from her chair, forcing everyone else to their feet, “you do fifty in a row, you get pretty good at it.” She looked around until she found me sitting in the bay window alone. Papa had always resembled her, and for one fleeting moment, he was in the room with us.
“Lexi,” she said. “Get that ill-behaved dog of yours. We’re going for a walk around the grounds.”
So I followed my grandmother down the hall and out into the snow, knowing Richard was watching my every move, deciding what he might do next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
