‘Yes. But we need to be awesome. The feedback says that they feel we’ll need a few days with a UK-based project coordinator as well as a local one. They’re probably right. So we need to redo the numbers.’
Kumari sucked her teeth. ‘That’s a significant change.’
‘We could do it,’ said Victor thoughtfully. ‘We’d need to work out how much extra it would cost. There’s some leeway in the costing, so we could go up a bit . . .’
Victor worked in the funding office of Better For All. They knew exactly how much everything cost. When Kumari had first come up with the idea, she had approached him to help her cost it. As part of the funding application process, Better For All had allowed each pitch a few hours of funding coordinator time, so that they could ensure they were asking for the right amount of money. Victor had worked on the project with her outside of the allotted time, focusing on how to get everything they wanted to fit into the budget they were applying for, while Kumari honed the application to make sure the pitch hit all the keywords and aligned with the charity’s objectives.
Kumari had the vision and wrote the proposal. Victor had the number-crunching expertise. If the project got funded, she would take on the role of project coordinator. If the project didn’t get funded, it meant Kumari’s involvement in the charity would go back to being a voluntary consultant for a few hours a month, helping review ongoing projects. It would be such a loss for Kumari and the women she hoped to help. ‘Can you do the numbers again?’ she asked.
‘That’s the problem,’ said Victor. ‘I don’t think I can. I’ve got too much on. I’ve got a few personal things coming up too, so I can’t help outside of work hours. I’m so sorry, Kumari.’
Kumari could hear from his voice that he was stressed.
‘Don’t worry, Victor, I’m sure I can deal with it,’ she said in her most reassuring voice. ‘You’ve helped me so much already.’
She chewed the inside of her cheek. She had been relying on Victor’s help. Could she do the work herself? She didn’t have the expertise and it would take her longer to find the information, but maybe . . .
‘There’s a temp here at the moment, Rita. She’s been covering a funding coordinator role,’ said Victor. ‘I could ask her if she fancies having a go at this. I know she’s been wanting something more substantial to work on. If it gets funded, it’ll look good on her CV, especially if she wants to keep working in the sector.’
Oh, thank goodness. ‘Would she mind?
Victor laughed. ‘I shouldn’t think so. She’s bright and I think she’ll find it interesting. I’ll ask her.’
‘Thank you Victor, you’re a star.’
‘You’re welcome, Kumari. You know I think this is a great idea. It could make such a difference.’
She told him about Ruby’s ideas for publicity and then, glancing at her watch, realised she had less than two minutes left of her break and quickly said her goodbyes.
As she speed-walked through the hospital corridors to get to her ward, she couldn’t help smiling to herself. Things were looking up.
Chapter 8
The Daily Flash
Has the prince finally met his perfect match?
The most eligible bachelor in the nation, Prince Benedict, was seen out with pop sensation Jenny Dawes-Green (27) at the after-party for the Radio Music Awards last night. The prince (32), who has been single since he broke up with his last girlfriend, Posy Wilberforce, is no stranger to partying. He has been keeping a low profile of late, a change from his wild partying days, prompting speculation that he is once again seeing someone.
Dawes-Green, the lead singer in the chart-topping indie band Herculean, was seen talking and laughing with the prince, who is currently sixth in line to the throne. Aside from being a talented musician, Dawes-Green is known to be a formidable business manager too. Could she be the mysterious new girlfriend who has tamed the party prince? At five years younger, is she too young for the thirty-two-year-old prince?
Photo caption: Prince Benedict returning to his party lifestyle?
‘I should get a haircut.’ Kumari poked a wayward lock of hair. ‘It’s getting to the unmanageable stage.’
‘Relax, you look fine,’ said Lucy.
They were in the ladies’ loos attached to the doctors’ restroom. They didn’t often get time to talk at work, but one of Lucy’s theatre patients had been cancelled, so she was taking a quick breather before going in to prep for the next one.
Lucy did a quick check to see the cubicles weren’t occupied, before saying in an undertone, ‘Besides, he’s seen you first thing in the morning. A bit of mad hair is hardly going to bother him.’
‘Yes, but next week we’re going out,’ said Kumari.
Lucy looked confused. ‘And the last couple of months you’ve been . . . ?’
‘I mean actually out,’ said Kumari. ‘We’ve mostly been meeting at his place so far . . . so it’s kind of a big deal.’
Realisation dawned. ‘Oh!’ Lucy’s eyes were huge. ‘Does that mean you’re official now?’
‘No. Not at all. It’s just that he thought it would be nice to see how it went. We’re going to some private club or other. He’s going to introduce me to his best friend. It should be reasonably quiet.’
‘Do you mind all the cloak and dagger stuff?’ asked Lucy. ‘It must be weird being the guilty secret. Like being the other woman.’
Kumari shrugged. She hadn’t thought of it like that. In fact, she liked the clandestine nature of her relationship with Ben. It was completely different to any of her previous relationships, even the one with Shane. She put it down to the fact that they were both that much older. They both had obligations, and they both took their work very seriously. It was nice that he respected hers.
‘I miss you,’ Lucy said suddenly.
Kumari looked at her friend. They didn’t see much of each other now – between their varied shifts and her being away in Ben’s apartment all the time, she and Lucy tended to communicate via text more than speech nowadays.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this.’
‘I know,’ said Lucy. ‘And I don’t begrudge you your fun for a minute, but . . . y’know. I miss hanging out with you.’
Kumari gave her a hug. ‘I miss you too.’ She released her friend and said, ‘I was thinking of asking Ben if he could invite you round to his place in Kensington at some point. I don’t know if it’s feasible . . . he has to run it past the security people, but . . . if you’re up for it?’
‘What do you mean, if I’m up for it? You know I’m up for it!’
‘I’ll ask him then.’
Lucy gave the sort of squeal that could only be heard by dogs and bats.
Another doctor walked in. ‘What are you two so excited about?’ she asked.
‘Neurotoxins,’ said Lucy.
The other doctor rolled her eyes. ‘Anaesthetists.’
*
The car dropped Kumari off at the entrance nearest Ben’s apartment in Kensington Palace. The butler, who was called Mr Forrest, even by Ben, let her in and greeted her as Dr Senavaka. She ran up the stairs like she belonged there.
Ben’s idea of a clandestine relationship involved her being picked up by specially arranged cars and brought to Kensington so that they could spend time together in his apartments. Or, as he called it, his ‘flat’. The fact that her actual flat would fit comfortably into one of the reception rooms in his place seemed totally irrelevant to him.
She wasn’t complaining about the low-key nature of their relationship. Her days of going out and partying were behind her now. Spending time at Ben’s place meant quiet nights in and home-cooked meals, there was no pressure to be sociable. He was a better cook than she was, she was eating better than she had ever done while single. They had slipped into cosy domesticity with surprising ease.
‘Hello, you,’ he said when he opened the door.
‘Hi.’ She
sniffed the air. ‘Something smells amazing. What’s cooking?’
He took the carrier bag she offered him. It contained two slices of cheesecake from a bakery near her flat. He preferred to make savoury meals, so she always picked up something for pudding. ‘I’m making roast chicken with Moroccan-style vegetables,’ he said, heading back to the kitchen. ‘It’s a bit random, but Ophie had this jar of harissa that she didn’t know what to do with, so she gave it to me. I’m using that up.’
Ophie being Princess Ophelia. Not the heir. The other one. Ben talked about his sisters with fondness. Being an only child, Kumari had nothing to compare his experience to, but, as far as she could tell, he and his sisters squabbled and loved each other just like any other siblings would.
Kumari took her shoes off, partly from habit, partly because she loved the feel of the thick carpet under her stockinged feet, and followed Ben into the kitchen. It never ceased to amaze her how far you had to walk to cross the room. There was so much space between the items of furniture.
Ben poured a glass of wine and pushed it across to her.
‘Actually,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to you about that.’
She gratefully took a sip. ‘About what?’
‘About my sisters.’ He opened the oven door and frowned at the chicken inside. ‘One sec.’
She waited while he fussed around with the food and wondered what he could want to talk to her about. The tension she had felt easing away returned to her shoulders. Until now, it had been about just them. They had both avoided bringing the outside world, including their families, into any discussions. Oh, they’d talked about growing up and how they fitted into their families in the abstract, but they’d never discussed them specifically. How could they? His family were the royals, directly descended from the current queen, while hers were a teacher and a nurse from Yorkshire, first generation immigrants from Sri Lanka. If she ever needed a reminder about how mad this relationship was, that was it.
Ben closed the oven again and came to stand next to her.
‘So, what about your sisters?’
He twizzled the stem of his wine glass. ‘We’ve been seeing each other for over two months now,’ he said slowly. ‘And I really, really like you.’
She didn’t say anything, but was suddenly aware of her own breathing, the pounding of her heart.
He finally raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘I’d like to introduce you to my sisters.’
Which would make her officially his girlfriend. Eeep. She wasn’t ready for that yet. Was she? What did that mean for her? For him? For her family? For work? She stared at him, too overwhelmed to speak.
‘Kumari?’
‘I . . . I’d love to meet them but does that mean . . . ?’ She gestured to the two of them.
Ben smiled and leant forward. ‘Well, yes. It would mean telling them we’re a couple. Which rather makes it official.’
She should have been deliriously happy, but all she could think of were the questions. She picked up her glass and took a large sip of wine. Her hand shook.
Ben stopped smiling. ‘Oh.’ Carefully, he removed her glass from her hand. He took her arm and led her into the sitting room, where they usually watched telly. He sat her down.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I should have led up to this a bit. I was so excited about the whole thing that I forgot how this must feel for you.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why it hit me so hard. I know who you are. It’s just that . . . Ben, it’s going to change things, isn’t it? If I’m formally with you.’
‘It is, yes.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I love you. I know it’s only been a short time but I have never been surer about anything in my life.’
‘I love you too.’ She did. Thoughts of him filled every moment she had to herself. A life without him was unthinkable. But . . . ‘This is a bit scary. Tell me. Tell me what to expect. Let me work things out.’
Ben let out a long breath. ‘OK. Well, once this goes public, you’re going to become famous, practically overnight. I don’t mean small-time Internet famous. I mean proper, intrusive famous. The press is going to start following you around. People will start digging up things about you and your family. The first thing we’ll have to do, once we tell my family, is to arrange for you to meet someone from my press team, so that they can work out if there’s anything they need to be aware of. We’ll have to arrange security for you, maybe. People you barely know will claim they’re your best friend and talk to the papers.’
‘I don’t like cameras.’ Her mouth felt dry. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’
‘Trust me, I don’t like them either.’ His face was grim. ‘But they are a fact of life around here.’
She had a sudden memory of photos of him, taken at his mother’s funeral. Even in the most private of grief, he and his sisters had been photographed.
She felt the tightening in her chest. ‘Will they hassle my parents too?’
Ben nodded. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll do what we can. Talk to the local police, get the press office to keep an eye out for the worst, but yes, they will attract some interest too, but nowhere near as much as you will.’
She let that sink in. ‘I’ll have to warn them.’
‘Yes, that would be wise. It may be an idea for them to go and visit friends or something for a couple of weeks when the news comes out. News tends to become “old news” eventually. Hopefully, if they’re not easy to find, the press will lose interest after a while.’
She thought about her family and their quiet, lower middle-class life. It was hard to imagine their routine being disrupted by anything, but he was right. They would need to do something to protect themselves from the spotlight.
‘And what about my work?’
‘While we’re only going out,’ he said carefully, ‘then probably nothing needs to change. There’ll be a few weeks of spotlight, but it’s likely to be manageable.’
The emphasis on ‘while we’re only going out’ didn’t escape her. She narrowed her eyes. ‘And if we become more serious? Like get engaged?’
His face told her everything.
‘I’m not giving up work,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s my career, Ben.’
‘But it’s a public-facing career. It will be difficult to maintain.’
‘Other people manage. Your brother-in-law is a lawyer.’
‘A lawyer with a very expensive law firm. Not many members of the public can walk in and talk to him on a whim,’ said Ben. ‘Unlike the hospital.’
She knew what he said was true, especially when she worked in A & E. ‘But it’s my career. I worked my arse off to get to where I am. I’m good at what I do. You can’t ask me to just drop it and become . . . a royal housewife or whatever it is your people call it.’
‘My people?’ Ben’s voice took on a sharper edge. His face reddened. ‘My people are the British people.’
‘No. Your people are the royal family. Trust me, that is not the same thing.’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Well “my people”, as you call them, would not expect you to be a housewife – although there was nothing wrong with being a full-time mother the last time I checked with anyone.’
‘That is not what I meant and you know it.’ Her voice had risen. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down, just a notch. ‘What I meant is, that I can’t not work. I would go mad. My work is important to me. It’s my career. My livelihood.’ She threw up her hands. ‘If I stop working, I will be entirely dependent on you! How will I ever find a job when we break up?’
Ben recoiled as though she’d struck him. He stood up from the sofa and backed away from her.
She realised what she’d said. ‘Ben . . .’
‘When?’ he said. ‘When we break up?’
‘I’m sorr—’
‘You don’t even have faith enough to say if we break up?’ Now his face was bright red. ‘Is that what this is to you, Kumari? A brief fl
ing? Some fun times before you go back to life the way it’s always been? A . . . a game?’ He put his hands to his head. ‘Well, it’s not a game to me.’
Kumari stood up too. ‘Isn’t it, Ben? Think about what you’re asking me to do. You’re not risking anything. But, me? I’d be risking my career, the lives of my family, everything I hold dear. Excuse me for not rolling over and accepting it.’
When he didn’t turn round, she felt a leaden weight settle in her stomach. He thought she wasn’t serious about him. That she had been playing with his affections simply for fun. Nothing could be further from the truth, but if that’s what he thought then perhaps this argument had been for the best. ‘I think I should go,’ she said quietly.
He didn’t turn around. He was still angry with her.
She walked away from him, past the kitchen where the dinner was still cooking, through the reception room with the carpet so thick it tickled. With each step she could feel the connection between them stretching. It was a pain that was almost physical. Her eyes hurt with the effort of not crying. She found her boots, stepped into them and knelt down to zip them up. They swam in front of her as her eyes filled with tears.
‘Wait.’
She turned, blinking back the tears. Ben stood in the doorway at the other end of the room. His face was a mask of misery. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
She straightened up, still kneeling. She might as well hear what he had to say. If she walked out now, she wouldn’t see him again. All he’d have to do is block her from his private phone and then, snip. End of connection.
‘You’re right about the risks and sacrifices I’m asking of you,’ he said. ‘I was so wrapped up in how I felt I didn’t stop to think about how you might feel.’
She nodded, the weight in her chest shifted a bit.
‘Thank you.’
He took a small step towards her. ‘Can we talk about this? Will you stay for dinner?’ He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘There’s far too much food for me to eat by myself.’
Could they talk? The pain in her heart made her want to stay. The stubborn, bloody-minded side of her was still smarting and wanted to leave. Her hands hovered over her boots. If she left, there would be no more Ben. No more teasing about her having a spectacles fetish. No more evenings sitting on the sofa talking about how they would change the world. No more comparing notes on humanitarian causes they both supported from their very different vantage points. No more laughter. It would be a future bleached of all things good.
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