‘CPS?’ said Kumari.
‘Close Protection Service,’ said Ophelia. ‘A bodyguard. There’s a small team, but one assigned to you in particular. Like Dave is for Benedict.’ She turned back to Mrs Pilding, changing position elegantly. ‘What’s next on the list, Mrs P?’
‘Elocution,’ said Mrs Pilding.
Kumari frowned. ‘Wait a minute. Elocution? Why?’
Mrs Pilding’s eyes narrowed. ‘How can I say this, ma’am . . . your accent . . .’
Kumari turned to face her and crossed her arms. ‘I’m from Yorkshire. This is a Yorkshire accent.’ It wasn’t even a particularly strong one anymore. Years of living in London had worn it down.
‘Precisely, ma’am. People may . . . struggle to understand you.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Kumari. That wasn’t the word she wanted to use, but swearing at this woman was not going to help.
Ophelia gave her an exasperated look. ‘Kumari, darling. Remember what I just told you five minutes ago?’
Kumari frowned. ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is not about the institution. This is about identity. You want me to be a nod to the people you don’t touch at the moment. This is how I identify.’ She held up a hand and counted off her fingers. ‘First, I’m a doctor. Then, I’m a woman. Then, I’m British. And then, I’m northern.’ She lowered her hand. ‘But all you seem to be seeing is brown.’
The silence in the room told her everything. Even Ophelia seemed to be lost for words. Kumari sighed. It wasn’t like this was a new thing. She’d had it all her life. From the dinner lady who claimed she could never understand her, despite her accent being exactly the same as everyone else’s, to the patients who said, ‘Isn’t your English good’ in surprised voices. This happened all the time. Why was she surprised to find it here?
Ophelia rallied first and said, ‘To be fair, darling, that is what everyone else will be seeing too.’
Mrs Pilding gasped. Ophelia rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, not us,’ she said, gesturing vaguely behind her, as though her family were standing just by her shoulder. ‘We’re just glad Benedict’s happy. I mean everyone else. You will be a public figure, Kumari. You’re going to be seen by thousands of people. Millions, even.’
At least Ophelia didn’t bother sugarcoating it. Kumari took a deep breath and looked at the other women in the room. Fine. If that was the way it was going to be, she would deal with it the way she’d always dealt with it. Firmly.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I understand that this is the way things have always been done, but we’ve got an opportunity to change things here. Shake up a few things. Ophelia – people who see me as brown first will inevitably underestimate me. How can we use that?’
The three other women turned to look at Ophelia, like they were watching a tennis match.
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed and then she smiled, a wicked, mischievous smile. ‘Oh, I like the way you think. If you’re up for it, Helena will think of lots of ways to use that.’ She clenched her hands in a little excited motion. ‘I like it.’
‘For the clothes, we can move one step away from the “safe” options. Maybe even use some designers who you wouldn’t normally use . . . or even throw in a sari.’ Kumari gestured towards Mrs Pilding. ‘With an appropriately modest blouse that covers up all the midriff.’ She opened her hands in a widening gesture. ‘For special occasions.’
‘Splendid,’ said Ophelia. ‘Within reason, of course.’
‘Of course.’ She couldn’t believe how well this was going down. ‘And we won’t erase my accent because all the people who believe you’re snobbish and out of touch will love that I have a regional accent.’
‘But . . .’ Julia spoke for the first time. ‘I believe Mrs Pilding makes a good point about being understood. While most people in the UK will understand you perfectly well, it’s possible that those from around the world may not.’
Mrs Pilding gave a triumphant nod.
Kumari thought about the times she’d had crosswise conversations with Lucy before Lucy got used to her accent. OK. Maybe that was a fair point. ‘All right, how about a compromise. I’ll learn to soften my accent. I’m not moving over to received pronunciation, but I’ll make an effort. Does that work?’
There was no disagreement.
‘I like Sinead’s ideas for clothes,’ Kumari said. ‘I’m not sure how this works, but I’d like to explore that, please.’
Sinead glowed. Mrs Pilding looked less pleased, but didn’t say anything.
‘As for the rest – what was it? Deportment? Protocol . . . all of that. Bring it on.’ She was bright, she knew that. She’d never shied away from work. She could do this.
‘Excellent,’ said Ophelia. ‘Julia will liaise with you to organise your diary. Mrs Pilding and Sinead, will you be able to get in touch with Julia to arrange timings for your meetings with Kumari?’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Pilding.
‘I’m still doing some work finalising a proposal for one of the charities I work for,’ said Kumari.
‘If you let me know when your meetings are, I will make sure to work around them.’ Julia made a note.
‘Wonderful. Is there anything else anyone needs?’
‘No. I think we have everything we need,’ said Julia. She glanced at the others. There was clearly a pecking order among the support staff too and Julia seemed to be somewhere near the top in this room. Kumari felt a kick of nerves. Hierarchies were everything in this place. She had to find where she was in the order every time she walked into a room. She didn’t know who to trust. Ophelia, maybe. At least she knew that Ophelia wouldn’t do anything to harm her brother.
The other women did their curtsies to Ophelia and left the room. Ophelia stood up. ‘I think that went well,’ she said.
Kumari felt adrenaline draining out of her, leaving her feeling hollow. ‘Did it? I didn’t come across as too bossy?’
Ophelia laughed. ‘Of course you did. But a top secret princess tip for you: don’t be afraid to be bossy if it gets things done. In this place, where things have run along the same worn tracks for generations, you’re different. You’re upsetting the order of things. As you say, we are at a point of change. Own it. Do what you need to do.’ She smiled. ‘Our mother tried, you know. She had ideas about how things could evolve, but this place couldn’t change then. It wasn’t ready. But now . . . we may not be able to change everything, but we can make a start.’
‘Are you sure it’s ready now?’ said Kumari. ‘To change, I mean. People like the old-fashioned values and the pomp and ceremony. Lucy’s family come over just to gawp at the palace from the outside.’
‘We’re more useful than that,’ said Ophelia. ‘You’ll be surprised what a well-placed hint here and there can do.’ A frown flitted across her features. ‘We’d never interfere with government of course, that’s not allowed. But in international affairs and humanitarian causes, we are useful.’
Kumari didn’t doubt that. ‘Well, thank you. For arranging all of that. It’s a really steep learning curve for me.’
‘Oh, think nothing of it,’ said Ophelia. ‘It’s nice to have a project.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘Now, my darling, I must run. Was there anything else you needed?’
‘Actually, yes. Sinead, the assistant. Is there any chance I could have her as my dresser? It would . . . allow Mrs P to devote her full attention to you.’
‘And I do need a lot of attention,’ said Ophelia cheerfully. ‘I shall have a word in the appropriate ear.’ She planted an air-kiss centimetres away from Kumari’s cheek. ‘Later, dear heart.’
Chapter 19
The Vista Post
Is Kumari set to become a new style icon?
Prince Benedict’s girlfriend, Kumari, has yet to set her own style, but commentators are already speculating on the effect of having a woman of ethnic heritage linked to the royal family. Both of the princesses are known for their distinct styles: Princess Helena’s tailored and traditional and Prin
cess Ophelia’s more vibrant and youthful. Up-and-coming designers will be clamouring to catch the eye of the newest addition to the young royal posse. Princess Ophelia, for example, has made the career of many a young designer by choosing to wear one of their creations.
From what we have seen, Kumari’s taste oscillates between a sari for formal occasions and high street styles for informal. Time will tell which of these two style choices will come to the fore.
Photo caption: Kumari at the charity event where she first met the prince. [Photo credit Greg Frankish]
Photo caption: Kumari and the prince seen going into Harrods. Kumari wears a Marks & Spencer coat and jeans from Next. [Photo credit Farnaz Masud]
Kumari looked out of the car window at the gathered press and slipped her sunglasses on.
‘Ready?’ Ben asked. He too was wearing sunglasses. He was in cricketing whites because he would be playing later to support one of his educational charities. Kumari was in a lemon and white dress, with styling that hinted at Indian paisley patterns. Sinead had paired it with a scarf and a lightweight blue jacket and white shoes. Everything had been altered so that it fitted perfectly. Kumari wasn’t sure which one of them had been more nervous about this, her first public outing as the prince’s girlfriend. The Annual Krantz Solutions Fundraising Cricket Match wasn’t the biggest event in Benedict’s calendar, but it was sizeable enough to be scary. As the engagement hadn’t been formally announced, she didn’t wear the ring. It was still a precious secret.
There was a barrage of camera clicks as the car door was opened for Ben first, then her. Ben came round and held a hand out to help her out of the car. He managed to give the impression of being solicitous without ignoring the cameras. She stepped out and there was another flurry of clicking. They walked down the slightly muddy red carpet to the VIP entrance. Once they got inside, Ben squeezed her hand. ‘Well done. First pap walk accomplished.’
They were met by someone involved in the charity and ushered into the VIP enclosure. Kumari had the surreal experience of people photographing her on their phones as she went past. She held on to her clutch bag. When she’d asked for a bag she could sling on her shoulder, Sinead had said that having something to hold was important. Now she realised why. It gave her something to do with her hands and, as Sinead had pointed out, it was a good shield to stop people from touching her. Choosing Sinead as her dresser had been a stroke of genius. Mrs Pilding’s training meant that Sinead knew exactly what was expected, but she was new enough to be flexible. She was also very talented. Exactly what Kumari needed.
She shook hands almost mechanically. All these people wanting to speak to her and Ben felt vaguely oppressive. Turning her head, she caught sight of Dave, never more than arm’s length away. Before they set off, Dave had introduced her to another CPS officer, a middle-aged lady called Danielle, who was just behind her, watching her in the same manner as Dave watched Ben. She had thought that having a bodyguard would be an off-putting and intrusive experience, but now realised that it was incredibly reassuring. She didn’t know if Danielle would be her permanent bodyguard, or if they’d get to the level of ease that Ben and Dave had reached, but she was grateful to have her.
Thanks to the training she’d been having of late, she found small talk wasn’t too taxing. She asked people about the work that the charity did, which was genuinely interesting. Ben, not too far away from her, did his thing, making it look effortless. She couldn’t help noticing the variety of responses people had to her. Some people’s gaze was frank and curious, a few of the younger women gave her looks of animosity, most of the aristocratic and super-rich (she was amazed to find she could now tell the difference between aristocrats and people who were just plain rich) just ignored her unless she was right next to Benedict. It was a clear message that she was there only at the behest of the prince. On her own, she was nothing.
Well, bugger that. No one was going to make her feel insignificant. She stamped down her insecurity, stood a little straighter and smiled. ‘Own it’ Ophelia had said. Own it she must. She beamed at the next person who came to talk to her. Thankfully, it was someone wanting to compliment her on her dress.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, they sat in the VIP enclosure to watch the cricket. She knew the basic rules. She had spent a lot of her childhood watching cricket on TV. Or rather, her father had watched the cricket, while Kumari read a book and glanced up occasionally to watch the replay of an exciting shot.
Ben disappeared off to play. He walked onto the pitch to cheers. He raised his bat to Kumari and she waved back.
‘You’re Benedict’s new girlfriend, are you?’ said the elderly lady, a dowager marchioness, who was sitting next to her. The seats in the VIP area were evenly spaced, so that everyone had decent elbow room.
‘Yes,’ said Kumari.
The older woman pulled out a pair of glasses, put them on and peered at Kumari. ‘Yes, so I see,’ she said. She put her glasses away. ‘Tell me, young lady, do you ride?’
The question was so random that Kumari was taken aback. ‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘I had a few lessons when I was young, but not since.’
The lady leant forward to look past her at Ben. ‘Well, I dare say Benedict will fix you up with lessons before long.’
He had suggested it, as it happened. So had Ophelia. It was on her list of things to do, but she was damned if she was going to let that tone pass.
‘Or,’ Kumari said pointedly, ‘not.’
The lady’s bright-eyed gaze moved to her. She looked her up and down. ‘Yes,’ she said, stuffing about three vowels into the word. ‘I don’t suppose it’s your sort of thing.’
Kumari gritted her teeth and smiled. She knew how to deal with this. It was the same as when dealing with certain matriarchs in Sri Lanka. They liked to goad you to see if they got a reaction. Deflect. Don’t react. ‘How about you? Do you ride?’
‘Not anymore,’ said the old lady. ‘My hips won’t allow it. But I do have a few horses. Racers, don’t you know.’
‘Oh, lovely. How are they doing? Any winners among them?’ Yes. She was getting the hang of this.
The lady launched into a list of horses and races and times. Kumari kept up her interested face. She could do this. She could do this.
Later, when she went for a drink, she was cornered by a gent who insisted on telling her about his time in India. She couldn’t get a word in to say that she’d never been to India, she was Sri Lankan.
Suddenly, a voice said, ‘Dr S, how lovely to see you again.’
She turned and was relieved to see a familiar face.
‘Rhodri.’ She was so happy to see him that she nearly hugged him.
He air-kissed her cheek, his hand stopping just short of touching her elbow. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked quietly.
She gave a small shrug.
‘You’re doing great,’ he said in an undertone. He turned to the man she’d been listening to. ‘Rhodri Ellesmere-Jones, sir.’ He shook hands with the man who looked taken aback.
‘Benedict’s girlfriend and I were just discussing India,’ the gent informed Rhodri.
‘I’m sure it was very informative,’ said Rhodri. ‘Especially as Dr Senavaka here is from Sri Lanka.’
The gent huffed. ‘Same thing,’ he said.
‘It’s really not,’ Kumari said.
‘If you’ll excuse us a minute. I need to introduce Dr S to someone.’ Rhodri guided Kumari away.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered.
‘I actually do want you to meet someone.’ He gestured to a girl, beautifully groomed and surprisingly like Rhodri.
‘This is Gwyneth, my sister. Gwyn, this is Kumari, Ben’s girlfriend.’
Gwyneth gave her a friendly smile. Kumari recognised her from the hours she’d spent looking up people on the Internet. Gwyn occasionally got linked to Ben because they were at the same parties. Ben had told her that they were friends and that Gwyn was definitely not interested in him because she had a girl
friend she kept hidden from everyone in the family, apart from her brother.
They did the air-kissing thing. ‘Rhodri’s told me so much about you,’ Gwyn said in her lilting Welsh accent, that was stronger than Rhodri’s. ‘Apparently, Ben’s potty about you. About time he met someone nice.’
Kumari laughed and decided she liked Gwyn.
‘Rodders!’ Ben appeared, looking hot. The two men greeted each other with a handshake and hug combo.
‘Out so soon?’ said Rhodri.
‘Never was much good at cricket.’
Ben kissed Gwyn on the cheek. ‘Hello, Gwyn. What are you up to these days?’
‘Oh, this and that, you know how it is,’ said Gwyn.
‘We’re just monopolising your lovely Dr S here,’ said Rhodri.
‘For which I’m profoundly grateful,’ Kumari said.
‘She got trapped talking to old Lord Postie,’ Gwyn told him.
Ben grimaced. ‘He’s easy to talk to,’ he said. ‘Just keeps going. Doesn’t actually require any input from you.’
‘So I gathered,’ said Kumari drily.
‘So, Rodders,’ said Ben. ‘What have you been up to?’ They chatted for a bit. Rhodri and Gwyn were friendly and fun. They made Kumari feel insulated from the frosty reception of the others.
A floppy-haired young man with a clipboard edged towards Ben and Rhodri. ‘Um . . . Your Highness,’ he said.
Ben turned, smiling.
‘I’ve been asked to escort you and Dr . . .’ he paused to look at his clipboard ‘ . . . Se-na-va-ka, to the stage.’
‘Oh, right. Yes,’ said Ben.
Kumari took a step forward. The intern didn’t move. He looked expectantly at Rhodri. There was a moment of confusion. Kumari rolled her eyes and stepped up, so that she was standing next to Ben.
Rhodri gave a bark of laughter. ‘Oh, you poor boob,’ he said. ‘I’m not Dr Senavaka. She is.’
The boy went bright red. Kumari sighed. All this training and etiquette lessons and nothing had really changed.
Christmas at the Palace Page 18