Page 12 of The Heir Apparent
But something told her this was the place Isla would enrol the twins. Everyone knew she had spurned hired help and did all the child rearing herself. She refused to go on international tours longer than a fortnight.
This was the place. Vikki knew it.
By the next week, Amira and Kris were enrolled in Astley to begin in the Michaelmas term of 2007. Kris, who had already spent a year at Whitmer, was incensed. His mother would not listen to his entreaties, his bargains or his tantrums. He was going to Astley with his sister. Madhav was concerned, but after thirteen years of marriage, he respected his wife’s slightly witchy sense of the future. She would have made a great day trader, he often thought.
Six months before the term was due to start, the school asked the Shankars if they’d be willing to submit to a background check. They offered no more detail than this, but Vikki knew her gamble had paid off. She bought herself a Tank Louis on a gold and diamond bezel band to celebrate.
In September 2007, Louis and I stood at Astley’s school gates in our stiff new uniforms, smiling for the cameras. My skirt was long and itchy, but Mum had assured me I could change intothe trousers she’d bought once the photographers were gone. Louis stood between Mum and Papa, aware they’d spent most of the morning locked in one of the bitter arguments that never seemed to cease these days.
The headmistress suggested we divide into two groups—one parent and one twin—so we could go see our new boarding houses, which were on opposite ends of a grand quadrangle. Papa took my suitcase, engaging in a little vaudeville display for the cameras by pretending it was so heavy he simply couldn’t budge it. I slapped his arm playfully.
I didn’t meet Amira that day in Old Court. She was in the suite opposite mine, sharing with three other “Shells,” as we first years were known. We would meet three days later during a treasure hunt that was designed to acquaint Shells with the 200-acre campus.
Across the quad in Bishop’s Quarters, Princess Isla and Prince Louis walked into the two-bed suite where the heir was to spend the next five years. Inside was the boy handpicked to be his suitemate. The palace had been intimately involved in the choice, finally settling on a slightly older boy of Indian descent. It was thought by several aides that a bit of diversity would play well with the British public, who were paying £82,000 a year for the two of us to attend this school. It was also considered a bonus that he was from Mayfair, and therefore was perhaps more inclined to honour the code of silence that governed the upper classes.
“Louis, please meet your suitemate for the year,” said the headmistress. “This is Kris Shankar.”
The boys shook hands. They made eye contact as their fathers had taught them. They were both tall for their age, made confident by money and privilege and their adoring mothers.
“And ma’am, this is Kris’s mother, Victoria Shankar.”
From the ancient stone bay window, Vikki stepped forward and curtsied. She was in a black Chanel skirt suit for the occasion, her hair twisted into a low chignon. It had taken herfifteen years to reach this place. She had no idea that beyond the casual meeting she had orchestrated, there were still miles and miles left for us all to travel together. She had no clue how much she would be willing to sacrifice to reach the summit of her ambitions.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said smoothly, just as she’d practised. “I’m so glad our boys will be here to look after each other.”
CHAPTER SIX
3 January 2023
I’d been drifting on the edge of sleep, remembering the days when sleeping in these rooms was a regular occurrence. Mum, if she was staying over too, would often creep in at dawn and tuck herself in beside me.
“Let’s make a raft,” she’d whisper as she wrapped me in her warm arms.
“Where are we going?” I’d murmur.
“How about Fiji?”
“That’s so far. How are we going to get all the way there in a raft?”
“The trade winds will blow in our favour. I’ll make a sail out of my coat and we’ll glide all the way to the South Pacific.”
I blinked awake. Amira’s side of the bed was empty. The velvet drapes kept the room almost completely dark, but the silver clock on the bedside table read 11 a.m. In Hobart, it would be dark by now. I’d be doing rounds in my squeaky Crocs, only the beeps and flashing lights of ICU machines to set the pulse of the night.
I fished out my phone from under the mattress where I’d stashed it before I went to sleep. I now had close to 120 messages. There were a few from Jack and I almost dialled his number, buthe was probably asleep. He loved nothing more than going to bed at 9:30 p.m. I called Finn instead.
“Doll!” he shouted above a cacophony of voices. “Hang on babe, I’m at Sonny—I’ll go outside.”
“No, you’ll have to line up again!” I laughed. “I’ll call you later.”
“Nope, absolutely not. I’m walking away from an extremely handsome stranger as we speak.” He seemed to drop the phone from his cheek, and I could just make out his muffled voice as he spoke to someone next to him. “Don’t go anywhere, I just need to talk to my friend real quick. She’s having a bit of a hard time.”
I waited as the bar noise faded to nothing. I imagined him standing on Elizabeth Street under the streetlights. “Alright, I’m outside. How are you, doll?”
“I’m okay. It’s weird being back here again.”
“When did you get in? We were worried about you. Jack’s been trying to get through for ages.”
I remembered Jack’s breath on my lips before the annoying distant buzz became a rapidly approaching helicopter.
