by Ray Timms
‘The tall feller with hook nose you mean, looks like Gandalf?’ Mo said as he slammed shut the lid of the boot.
‘That’s the one.’
‘He said to tell you that he was busy and that he’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Disgusting!’ Iris complained climbing into the front passenger seat.
Gavin was annoyed to think that no one could be bothered to show up and greet him. Surely the Scots could have had the Mayor or maybe the Chief of Police, and perhaps a couple of City Officials to show their faces?
You don’t treat the King of Scotland like this.
This inauspicious start wasn’t the only disappointment.
After the cab had pulled away Gavin had to raise his voice to be heard above the irritating din of a CD playing a Pretenders song, something about a million miles, or something along those lines.
‘You are taking us to Holyrood Palace yeah?’
‘Och aye.’
Already struggling with the Scottish accent, Gavin couldn’t quite get his head around this bearded Asian speaking like a Glaswegian.
‘It’ll feel really strange, the three of us rattling around in a huge palace Gav.’ Said Fiona.
Looking in his mirror at the woman on the back seat. Mo laughed. ‘You dinna get the entire palace. You only get a wee apartment on the second floor. Holyrood is a tourist attraction, open seven days a week.’
Feeling exhausted from having so little sleep last night, that, and the arduous train journey, Gavin’s mood wasn’t improved by that admission. It was as if in a matter of minutes his dreams of them living like royalty had been shattered. An apartment!
‘Here we are folks,’ Mo said swinging the car into a short driveway. He stopped at a pair of black and gold painted iron gates guarded by two policemen equipped with stubby rifles. ‘Welcome to Holyrood Palace, your new home.’
Slunk down on the back seat, Gavin watched the two coppers approach each side of the cab. The one his side stooped to stare at him. Gavin shifted in his seat. He managed a smile and got nothing back.
‘Who we got here Mo?’ Said the copper who was scrutinising Gavin.
‘This is the King of Scotland.’ Iris said stretching her neck so that she could give the police officer one of her stern looks. ‘And he aint happy.’
‘No, seriously, ‘ Mo said grinning. ‘This is the new king. Cruid told me to drop them off round the back.’
The copper at Fiona’s window studying Gavin looked into the gloomy interior. ‘Are you sure about that Mo, only shouldn’t he be wearing a crown?’ This cop grinned while the other one laughed.
‘Ok Mo,’ the cop at the driver’s window said stepping back and adjusting his grip on his rifle. He gave the new king an overzealous salute and said, ‘have a nice day, Your Majesty.’
The cab pulled through the gates and Gavin was able to relax. The experience took him right back to the last time he was in Scotland when he was arrested for an alleged assault on a Sainsbury’s parking attendant who had the gall to ticket him for parking in a disabled bay. It was only after the Custody Sergeant had removed his shoelaces and locked him in a cell that he stopped his ranting. Gavin knew that he really oughtn’t to have tried to stuff the ticket down the warden’s neck. But, it was hardly an assault, the way the cops described it. The Sergeant told him, “you have a choice Mr Brewson, I can either charge you with the offence of an assault on a public official or we can go down the route of Restorative Justice, whereby you will give the person you offended a full and sincere apology. Which is it to be?”
Left with those options Gavin felt he had no choice. It grated on him but he told the grinning parking warden. “I’m sorry…. Ok?”
It was exactly how Mo had described it. Holyrood Palace was teeming with tourists.
‘Jeez, how are we expected to live in this menagerie?’ Gavin said to Fiona as the cab, taking it slow, cruised down the winding tarmac road heading over to what looked like the ruins of an old church.
‘This isn’t good,’ Fiona remarked. ‘Once your face is known Gav, when you’re famous that is, we’ll never get any peace round here.’
Mo steered the cab round the back of the Palace and pulled into a staff-only parking bay.
Gavin remained in his seat and waited for Mo to open his door. When instead, he walked right past and went to the back of the car and started offloading their luggage, Gavin had to do it himself. Walking in a tight circle Gavin stretched a crick in his back. Half way round he stopped when he saw Cruid heading his way.
The tall man, with an erect posture, at Cruid’s side, Gavin guessed was in his fifties. The man was wearing tartan trousers and matching waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. Spotting the regimental motif on his tie, Gavin guessed–ex-military. The astonishingly good-looking woman accompanying the two men wasn’t wearing any make-up that he could detect. He thought she must be in her mid-twenties. She had on a black figure-hugging two-piece suit, the hem of which ended just above the knee. Her shoes were good quality black leather with two-inch heels. Her strawberry blonde hair had been imaginatively plaited on top of her head and held in place with a black diamanté comb. When their eyes met her smile was open, friendly.
Cruid stood in front of Gavin and held out his hand.
‘Welcome to your new home, Gavin, Fiona, Iris.’ Cruid said making a point of acknowledging the king first. ‘I do apologise for not being at the station to greet you. Unfortunately things moved so quickly I hadn’t enough time to organise anything.’ Cruid lied smoothly. Changing the subject before Gavin could challenge him, Cruid turned to the Scot at his shoulder. ‘Allow me to introduce Henry Pyke who is the Palace Housman. Henry in addition to supervising the kitchens and being responsible for managing the household maintenance teams will be responsible for your welfare.
‘Welcome to Holyrood Palace.’ Henry said giving each of the ladies a slight bow and a gentle handshake.
‘And this is Penny Braithwaite.’ Cruid said to Gavin.
Pulling his hand free of the Houseman’s vice-like grip, Gavin’s tortured smile couldn’t quite hide the pain. By contrast, Penny’s hand felt soothingly cool.
‘You poor things must be exhausted after such a long journey?’ Penny’s blue eyes look soft, sympathetic.
Gavin smiled. In the presence of her poise and her beauty his edgy frustration vanished.
Seeing the soothing effect that Penny had on the irate Brewson, Cruid was able to relax a little. He said.
‘Penny, is to be your Private Assistant. She will handle all your appointments, your post, your meetings and any other admin duties.’
Cruid tried to sound sympathetic.
‘You must be feeling exhausted after such a long train journey?’
‘It was boring,’ Iris said tugging at her coat that got trapped in the car door when she slammed it shut. ‘And shouldn’t you lot be calling him Your Majesty?’
Over the hairpin bend in his nose Cruid looked down at the woman.
‘Ah, but you see,’ Cruid’s ice-blue eyes bore into the mother of the King’s, ‘until Gavin’s Coronation, probably in a few weeks time, calling him Your Majesty would be premature and highly improper.’
Anxious to shift the conversation away from potentially contentious matters, Cruid said.
‘Henry, has arranged refreshments for you up in your apartment. Would you like to go up and see the lovely rooms that we have set aside for you?’
He was thinking, why am I trying to appease this obnoxious little turd? He should be grateful. How many people get the offer of becoming a king for Christ’s sake? He should think himself lucky. I worked my backside off to get him a three-figure salary, and an eye- watering expenses account, the lucky little shit.
Gavin was feeling tired and confrontational. He looked Cruid straight in the eye when he said.
‘On the drive here, Mo told me that the top floor is reserved for royalty. Would you care to explain why we don’t get to live in the third floor apartment?’
Cruid looked to Pyke for the explanation.
Almost caught out by Cruid dropping him in it, hiding his displeasure, the Houseman said.
‘Ah, well you see, for many years, and before my time here at the Palace,’ Henry said, ‘the third floor has been Her Majesty’s permanent Edinburgh home. I’m sure you can appreciate how inconvenient and inappropriate it would be to take over those rooms that are full of her personal effects.’
‘Sure, I can appreciate that.’ Gavin said turning to Cruid. ‘So how about you give her six months notice to quit.’
Cruid looked shocked.
Making him wince Gavin punched the old guys shoulder. ‘I was only joking, Cruid.’ Gavin grinned widely.
‘Oh.’ Cruid looked relieved.
‘Give her twelve months notice.’ Gavin grinned mischievously.
Moving the conversation swiftly along, Cruid said.’ If you care to follow me, we’ll go find your rooms.’
‘Where is the First Minister?’ Gavin said keeping up with Cruid’s long strides. ‘I would have thought the head of the Scottish Parliament would have been here to welcome her new king?’
‘Ah, I can explain,’ Cruid said. ‘Mary Dewar has asked me to pass on her sincerest apologies. She had planned to be here but then urgent affairs of government meant she had to change her plans.’
He lied and Gavin knew that he had. ‘I see, in that case will you be sure to pass on my best wishes to Mary and tell how much I am looking forward to me having a hands-on–working relationship with her. In this situation, the Scottish people need strong governance and great leadership.’
Cruid stopped the entourage in their tracks and looked round at Gavin. He hoped his arched eyebrows hadn’t given anything away.
‘I will of course do that,’ the next lie slid easily off his silky tongue. ‘I am sure Mary will be delighted to hear that you plan to have a hands-on approach to your position. I imagine the two of you will get along like a house on fire. Go up in flames more likely! He mused. ‘Now. This way if you please.’
Headed for a door at the far end, Cruid led the entourage through the ruins of Holyrood Abbey that in the mid-eighteenth century collapsed in on itself. ‘It is only a short walk. I have arranged for your bags to be taken to your rooms. I think you are going to love your apartment.’
Gavin looked up at the skeletal ruins overhead. The arched roof beams reminded him of the rib bones of the fossilised remains of Tyrannosaurus Rex in London’s Natural History Museum.
Walking stiffly, Cruid was still angry with Mary. It was embarrassing, the Brewson’s finding just Mo, the cabbie, there to greet them at the station. Ok, so she doesn’t like the idea of Scotland becoming a monarchy, but for goodness sake, it’s only a temporary arrangement. The minute they can trick Gavin into ending the need for Royal Assent, they can get rid of him. Worst-case scenario it might take a couple of years.
They passed through an oak door set in an arched opening. The other side of this was a flagstone passage. The limestone walls had recently been given a fresh coat of white paint. At the end of this corridor, they passed through a locked door that Henry Pyke had a key to. A shorter corridor led them to a flight of stone stairs. The steps, in the centre were bowed from centuries of wear.
‘Bloody stairs,’ Iris complained, halfway up the second flight. Puffing with the exertion, Iris sighed when they came to a carpeted landing. ‘This aint doing my poor old knees any good.’
‘Nearly there,’ Cruid said picking up the pace, anxious to dump them off. ‘For future reference, to save your knees, there is a staff lift at the far end. Henry will show you.’
‘Oh, now you tell me.’ Iris complained.
‘Here we are.’ Cruid said when they reached a conventional front door with a Yale lock.
‘I’m afraid I have to rush off,’ Cruid said the moment Henry had the door open, ‘only I am expected to attend an urgent briefing. Henry and Penny will show you round your apartment and make sure you are comfortable. I shall endeavour to come and visit you when work permits.’
Hurrying down the back stairs, Cruid was cursing Mary Dewar. ‘Why does that bloody woman always have to over-complicate my life? That bloody man, (Gavin) is going to cause trouble. I can sense it.
Penny was showing Gavin round the rooms that surprised and delighted him.
He was looking out a window when Penny casually said. ‘Have you been to Scotland before Gavin?’
Gavin looked away. Her innocent intrusion took him right back to that time he was arrested. Looking everywhere, but into her searching blue eyes, Gavin said.
‘A few years ago, Fiona and I visited Aberdeen, but we had to cut short our holiday.’
Innocently, Penny enquired. ‘Oh, that’s such a shame. Why was that?’
‘Yeah, well, it didn’t quite work out as we hoped, it rained most of the time… and … and then I caught a chill.’
Sensing that Gavin wasn’t happy with this topic, sensibly Penny dropped the subject.
The apartment’s furnishings were a little old fashioned for his taste, but some of the furniture was of excellent quality, with many antiques and paintings in gilded frames. Several antique Chinese rugs lay on the burnished oak floorboards helped subdue the creaking.
After inspecting the en-suite bathrooms and the kitchen Fiona and Iris came back smiling.
For the next three days, Cruid avoided the Brewson’s. Time enough, he hoped for Gavin to stop complaining about him being cooped up and not being allowed to leave the confines of the Palace grounds. It was at Mary’s insistence that Gavin in particular, didn’t get to leave the apartment. Her spies had been telling her what a big mouth he had.
It was a matter of inconvenience, and too late to change anything, that the Brewson’s were living just across the road from the Parliament Building, close enough for Gavin Brewson, if he was minded to just step across the road and walk right in on the seat of the Scottish Government.
Because it was a shorter walk Cruid left the Parliament Building via the public entrance and crossed Horse Wynd. At the Palace gates the staff checking the tourist’s tickets, waved the well-known politician through.
Penny, Gavin and Fiona, chatting amiably in one of parlours, looked up when Cruid walked in. Iris wasn’t there. She was taking a nap.
Sensing an air of calm in the apartment, people sitting around chatting, and drinking tea, Cruid relaxed a little. The women were never going to cause him any trouble. It was Gavin he needed to worry about.
After three days stuck inside the Palace, going stir-crazy, Gavin had run out of patience. He wasn’t allowed to do this–or do that–or go here–or go there– and he wasn’t to say a word to anyone without Penny’s say- so. It was all starting to get to him. When Cruid walked into the room, Gavin tossed aside the book on stress management that he had been struggling with and confronted the Minister.
‘Ah-ha, look who’s decided to show his face?’ Gavin said aloud. ‘It’s about time you paid us a visit Cruid. Where have you been? Did you not get any of my messages, telling you that I wanted to talk to you? Hello! Am I not the King around here?’
‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ Cruid said amiably to the two women. He wasn’t about to reward the behaviour of a man that was acting like a petulant two-year old. ‘You seem quite content.’ Cruid added playfully. ‘All tickety-boo, then I trust?’
Putting an arm around Gavin, Cruid led him over to the window and speaking as one might to a toddler he said.
‘Have you seen the views from these windows? They are quite spectacular… if it isn’t raining.’ He laughed’
‘Our apartment is lovely Cruid. ‘ Fiona said sending her husband a look that said don’t start!
‘Our apartment is not the issue here Cruid,’ Gavin said blanking out Fiona’s glare. ‘I don’t appreciate us being detained like common criminals. I am not Mary Queen of Scots who was imprisoned in those tiny rooms up there?’ Gavin pointed up at the celling, referring to the decapitated Q
ueen’s garret rooms. ‘The police and the security guards tell me they are only following your orders. Would you mind telling me why, when I signed that contract none of this was explained to me? This is not good enough Cruid. Need I remind you that I am the King? I am seriously beginning to question whether any of you people know what you are doing. I will be honest with you Cruid this whole operation seems farcical. I mean, where are all the dignitaries, the banquets? I don’t have a crown or a throne, let alone an official car. When I was head of parking enforcement, no way would I have tolerated this level of ineptitude.’
Cruid sucked air in through his teeth. Only Mary Dewar could ever get away with speaking to him that way. He bit down on the remark on the tip of his tongue and instead said.
‘I understand your frustration Gavin, but due to complications regarding protocol issues, to say nothing of security measures needed to keep you all safe, I have had to impose certain restrictions. The press are clamouring for interviews with you. With little experience of handling the media, I am afraid these animals will eat you up. Before we even get the crown upon your head, they will tear into you. Once we have the Coronation out the way we can then put in place the protocols needed to establish a satisfactory relationship with the press. Let’s just get the Coronation out the way, and then you’ll see, things will improve. In the meantime, might I suggest that the three of you go away for a week or so? The Highlands at this time of year can be quite spectacular.’
‘Us go away!’ Gavin said, surprised. ‘I am not leaving now. Cruid, I need to be doing something. Before I came up here I was the head of a busy department. I am not used to sitting on my hands and doing nothing. Could I not sign off these bills that said you said was an important function of my Kingship?’
Cruid paused to think about that. Gavin had given him an idea.
‘Gavin, I had been thinking along those same lines. Using the office facilities that you have here in the apartment, I can get you started on that.’
‘Sounds great,’ Gavin said spreading his arms. ‘When do I start?’
Cruid was thinking, Mary had been getting on to him about the number of unsigned Parliamentary Bills that were now overflowing on her desk. If he were to cut a few corners, get the Coronation done and out the way, say in the next few days, it would save an awful lot of money and at the same time allow him to expedite his plans. Then with Gavin now King Robert IV, all he had to do was slip under his nose an overly worded document, one that he may not be bothered to read through, and have hidden in the small print a paragraph that would annul the Royal Assent law. In effect Gavin would be signing his own death warrant, figuratively speaking.