Chapter 4
By the time Yolanda and Steve arrived at St. James’s Palace, the press pack had already settled in. The atmosphere was cheery. After all nobody had died. Journalists and technicians were clutching styrofoam cups of tea and trying to keep warm whilst they renewed aquaintances and chatted with old friends. Some of the younger male technicians and drivers from the British crews had already started to judge the relative attractiveness of the female foreign reporters. A young lady from an Italian TV company was currently leading the pack with an overall score of 9.5 out of 10. She had long, shiny, wavy black hair almost down to her waist, bright red lipstick and was wearing a satin blouse as black as her hair and a dark grey pinstripe pencil skirt. When the camera was on she seduced the lens with every fibre of her being, and as soon as the red light went off she scowled like a hungry toddler, wrapped herself in a blanket and tottered to the warmth of the broadcast van in her stilettos, much to the amusement of the judging panel.
Currently in second place with 9.25 out of 10 was a young French reporter who, like Yolanda, was obviously having a few wardrobe problems. Her bottom was almost bursting out of a bright red woollen skirt which was fastened at the back with a large safety pin and the judging panel were in stitches watching her angrily shouting at her cameraman, clearly gesturing that he shouldn’t be filming anything below her waist. It seemed that Prince William’s sudden announcement had not given many of the assembled reporters time to look their best. Many of the female reporters were quietly fuming that the millions of people who would be watching the news on their HD TVs would certainly not be seeing them in their best light. They were also hoping that the story would continue into the next day, so they might get a chance to go shopping, have their hair done and hopefully erase the memories of today’s screen appearances.
Yolanda’s legs appeared first from the passenger door of the BBC van and were instantly noticed by the only black member of the judging panel.
“Aye, aye lads. Have a butchers at that. Now there’s a bit of colour in the contest. She is bloody gorgeous. Home grown talent as well. She is a 10.”
Yolanda didn’t look in the direction of the group of men but her instinctive radar had already picked up that she was being observed. She went off in search of the producer who had already arrived to secure a good spot for the broadcast. Once she had found the producer, she learned that they needed a report as soon as possible for the BBC News Channel, but she managed to get permission for the time to change her blouse. She picked up the Tesco’s bag from the van and set off quickly to the nearest pub to use their toilets to change in privacy. There was a tiny pub just fifty yards away up an old alleyway and the ladies toilets were on the second floor up a very narrow staircase. On the way up, Yolanda had to press her back against the wall to allow a young woman in a bright red skirt to get past. Yolanda noticed the safety pin and the obvious foreign appearance and thought that perhaps she wasn’t the only one with wardrobe issues.
The small toilet wasn’t the best place to get changed but she had known worse. She had once covered a story about a drastic increase in the price of pork at a livestock auction in Norfolk where she had had to change her blouse in the middle of a field with a barn full of pig farmers looking on. A pokey toilet on the third storey of a pub wasn’t too bad. She quickly applied a little rouge to highlight her cheekbones, arranged her curly afro a little, just a touch of the metallic lip gloss she was fond of and she was ready. Now she had a clean pressed blouse she felt that she looked nice enough to make her mother proud. And she so loved to make her mother proud. Yolanda’s father had been killed in tragic circumstances when she was only eight years old, and her mother had worked three jobs to give Yolanda and her brother everything that they needed when they were growing up. After Yolanda first appeared on the BBC news the entire housing estate in Haringey where she lived was so proud that one of their own was doing so well. Some of the women on the estate who had never given Mrs Ojukwu the time of day were suddenly treating her like a close friend. Mrs Ojukwu took it all in good spirits though. She had plenty of genuine friends who she could share her true feelings with.
Steve checked the shot. It wasn’t bad. Yola looked great of course, but there was a good shot of the Palace in the background with two Grenadier guards on duty in their bright red jackets and fluffy bearskin hats. The scene was perfect picture postcard London and although the weather wasn’t great this footage being seen around the world would be sure to boost visitor numbers to the capital.
“OK, Yola. 5 seconds…..4….3….”
“We can now go over live to our reporter at St. James’s Palace, Yolanda Ojukwu. Yolanda, what are the latest developments?”
“We know that Prince William arrived at just after 11:30 driving into the entrance to Clarence House from The Mall. And we know that the Duchess of Cambridge arrived at around 1:20 at the entrance just down the road here off Cleveland Row. There have been no announcements from the Palace spokesperson. The world’s press are gathering here in force, Julie, I’ve counted reporters from 12 different countries and that number is growing by the hour. There are also a growing number of royal fans gathering on The Mall, and here in Cleveland Row. I will be talking to a few of them in a little while.”
“Thank you, Yolanda. We will join Yolanda again if there are any further developments from St. James’s Palace.”
Less than a hundred yards from where Yolanda was standing, Prince William was regaining consciousness in a windowless room in the bowels of St. James’s Palace. He had been carried there by the dark suited man after his father had injected the knockout drug into his bloodstream. As he moved back into consciousness he was first aware of pain in his head and then an awareness of light as he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred at first but he began to make out the image of his wife sitting on the bed. Her tender smile was very reassuring.
“Oh William!” she said eagerly. “Are you OK my darling?”
“I think so. Where am I?”
“You’re in a room in the palace. Your father was worried about you because you were so excited, so he gave you a sedative to calm you down so you wouldn’t do anything silly.”
“How did I get here?”
“I think one of the security people might have carried you here.”
“I remember being in the library talking to Pop and then ….. nothing.”
It was slowly starting to dawn on William that his own father had drugged him and imprisoned him. He felt an anger growing inside himself, but he tempered it with a calm resolve that he had been developing over many years. In all the scenarios that William had played out in his mind over the years William had imagined similar actions from his family. He had thought that if he told anyone of his wishes then they might have locked him away in Balmoral or Sandringham drugged out of his mind. He was sure that they could invent a tragic sickness which the public would just about believe. He also feared that his helicopter would crash into the ocean. Helicopters crash all the time. It wouldn’t really need much of a cover up. Another possibility was an assassination. A shot from the crowd. And he would cease to be nuisance.
He thought to himself that he was still alive and he was still thinking clearly. So far he was doing a lot better than many of the imagined outcomes of his royal rebellion, but he knew that he was going to have to be very smart in order to keep it that way. His first decision was to try and determine the reaction of his wife to his public declaration.
“So, Kate, what do you think about my statement?”
“Oh darling! What were you thinking? You can’t just change your whole life like that. You have a destiny to be a great man. All the people love you and they want you to be King. Almost half the people think that you should be King before your father. That fact alone must make you realise how much they love you.”
William thought that all this was absolute nonsense, but at least it revealed where his wife stood. He didn’t think badly of her for it. After all he
had never told her of his doubts. She became his wife knowing all that it entailed. At least she had enjoyed the free choice as an adult to decide whether or not to join the circus, unlike himself who was born into the show. He was an adult now, but it seemed that a future King didn’t have the freedoms that were enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights supposedly for every human being born on this planet. He wouldn’t be the first husband to deceive his wife, but that didn’t make him feel any better about the lie that he was about to live.
“Oh, Kate! I’ve been a bloody fool haven’t I. Can you ever forgive me? You have been so strong with all those bloody intrusions and I have gone and cracked up under the weight of it all. You must think that I’m such a weakling.”
“Oh William, don’t be ridiculous. I love you and I respect you.”
William was thinking that if this was really true, she might have at least tried to uncover his true desires before she had revealed her own clear wishes. William continued with the subterfuge,
“Do you think the damage is done? Or can I somehow take back my foolish words?”
“Your father says that it hasn’t gone too far. The Prime Minister is going to buy some time by saying that you’ve been under a lot of stress and that it was this that had led to you to act against your true beliefs.”
“Oh thank goodness. But people will think that I am such a fool.”
“I don’t think so, William. I think that the people will think that this shows that you are just being human.”
Kate’s last sentence was amusing. The human without any human rights. William felt like a slave to the system. He may have been a very pampered slave, but a slave nonetheless.
William smiled at his wife,
“Do you think they will let me out of my prison cell now?”
“I don’t think you were really a prisoner, darling.”
William was thinking that being drugged unconscious and locked in a windowless room was a pretty good definition of having been made a prisoner, but he didn’t argue the point. King Charles 1st was also once a prisoner in St. James’s Palace. He spent his last night there before his execution. William was hoping that his immediate future was a little more fortunate than that which befell King Charles.
The young couple left the room to go and find the Prince of Wales and reassure him that all the apples were still securely on the cart, and the monarchy would survive long enough for Prince Charles to become the 3rd King to bear that name.
The famous black door of 10 Downing Street swung open at exactly three o’clock which was a great relief to all the radio and TV producers who were planning to cover the Prime Minister’s scheduled statement. George Barclay emerged from the building and swiftly approached the microphone stand with his chin up and his shoulders back. Mummy was watching and she was very pleased with her son’s posture.
“Good afternoon. I would like to make a brief statement regarding the announcement that was made this morning by His Royal Highness, Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge. I will not be answering any questions today.
This morning, Prince William made a short statement at a charity visit which appeared to draw into question his desire to withdraw from the line of succession to the British throne. I have been in conference with His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales and he assures me that Prince William’s words do not actually reflect his true feelings. The Prince has recently been the victim of a number of press intrusions into his private life and it is in the light of this fact that we need to consider his statement. I understand that in due course, Prince William will be reassuring the nation that he will be diligently continuing in his present role and humbly accepts all the responsibilities of his position. Thank you.”
As soon as he turned away from the microphone, the bobby on duty knocked on the famous door which was promptly opened to allow the PM back into the safety of the building.
Paul Smith, the editor of the Sun was watching the Prime Minister’s statement with his editorial team in his operations room.
“So what the hell are we supposed to make of that?”
“That had Billy Herbert’s hand all over it,” Jane replied.
“Perhaps we need to check the young prince’s features very carefully when we next see him – they may have replaced him with a double,” Alec Boothe opined. “At the moment I’m thinking the headline might be ‘Did He Or Didn’t He?’ or ‘Wills – Will he or Won’t he be King?”
The editor was still not impressed with any of the suggested headlines.
“He did quit. That much we know. We can report that fact without fear of any misrepresentation. The whole world’s heard him and seen him say it. I imagine I’ll be getting a call from Downing Street before long asking me to highlight the PM’s ‘explanation’ of the events, but the news is still what William said. Let’s get a quick poll commissioned. How about a simple question, Will you be happy with King Harry? I need some stories related to Diana too. Any excuse to get her photo in the paper is good for sales. Oh and let’s do a piece on that young BBC reporter. I’ve never seen her before. What’s her story? She’s very attractive and she has a unique look – maybe fashion can link something in with that. OK people, let’s get busy!”
Chapter 5
Following the Prime Minister’s announcement, most of the press crews realised that there wouldn’t be any reason to remain at St. James’s Palace. Yolanda was just about to set off for the tube station and make her way back to Haringey and Steve was going to get the van back to the base in White City. Getting into the van, Steve noticed that there was something under the wiper blade on the driver’s side. It was a green envelope, greeting card size. Steve took it out and saw the name, YOLANDA OJUKWU, written in capitals on the outside. Steve ran over and gave it to Yolanda.
“This was under the wiper, Yolanda. Maybe it’s a note from Prince William. I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you tomorrow if we’re assigned together. Take care.”
“Thanks. See you, Steve.”
Yolanda opened the envelope. There was a piece of lined paper inside. On the paper there was a mobile phone number and three words….. Please Call Me…..
Yolanda instantly thought that it might be one of the lads from one of the crews so she had a quick look around to see if anyone was looking at her. Everyone seemed busy with their own thing so she took out her phone and dialled the number. A female voice answered,
“Hello.”
“Hello. This is Yolanda Ojukwu.”
“Hello. Thank you for calling me.” The woman sounded upset. “I have to tell you something. It’s about today.”
Now Yolanda felt a little rush of adrenaline. It was a mixture of fear and excitement. “OK. What is it?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone. Can you meet me in Green Park in ten minutes?”
“Yes. I can.”
“There are benches on the path which runs along Picadilly. Please go and sit on one of those benches and I’ll find you.”
“OK.” The line was dead.
Yolanda didn’t want to walk past the crowd of royal fans who had gathered at the end of Cleveland Row, so she went up St. James’s Street and on to Piccadilly. She entered the park by Green Park tube station and walked down the path. There weren’t many benches. The first one was occupied by a man reading a newspaper. The second one, fifty yards further on, was empty. Yolanda sat down. She pulled the collar of her black woollen coat up around her neck, and put her white, woollen Benny hat on.
After two minutes a white woman in a black skirt and a blue anorak sat down on the bench next to Yolanda. She had her hood up so Yolanda couldn’t really see her face.
“Thank you for coming,” the woman said.
“No problem,” Yolanda replied.
“I have to tell you something. I don’t know what it means and I don’t know what anyone can do, but I just have to tell someone.” The young woman had a London accent and she sounded very upset.
“OK. You can tell
me.”
“I work in the kitchens in Clarence House, and this morning at about 11:20 all the staff were told to go to the staff quarters immediately. They said it was for security reasons. It happens all the time so I didn’t think anything of it. Anyway I was baking cakes and they were almost done so I was just waiting a bit until they were done. On my way back to my room I heard someone coming and I didn’t want to get into trouble so I just a hid round a small stairway and I saw Prince William and he was unconscious and he was being carried down the corridor by a big man in a dark suit. That’s it.”
The woman got up and walked off as soon as she had finished her story, leaving Yolanda to stare at the trees with a blank expression on her face…..What the hell am I supposed to do now?….
A Royal Resignation Page 4