Kumari looked at Ben and smiled. She didn’t often get to see him drive. They mostly got driven places in the company of serious security people.
Today, Ben looked more cheerful than she’d seen in weeks. It suited him. He wore glasses when he was driving. They suited him too. She’d always liked men in glasses, but with Ben it went to a whole new level. The glasses transformed him from the perfect prince that she’d seen on TV to her very own flawed but wonderful Ben. Sometimes it was nice to be able to forget about everything else and just enjoy being with the man she’d fallen in love with. She reached across and patted his thigh.
He gave her a smile that made her melt.
‘Not far now,’ he said. They drove up to some formidable-looking gates. The guard peered into the car. Ben gave him a cheerful wave. The guard touched his cap in a salute and let them through.
‘Really not far now,’ said Ben. His eyes sparkled.
‘You’re very excited about this, aren’t you?’ said Kumari. As her apprehension mounted, his excitement seemed to be increasing. She’d known these few days were important to him, but she hadn’t realised quite how much.
‘It’s Christmas,’ said Ben. ‘This is what Christmas means to me. As kids, we always came here for Crimble. Regardless of where we were in the world, on Christmas Eve, we had to be back here for Grandma and Grandpa’s Christmas bash. I’m excited because this year, I get to share it with you.’ He grinned.
Kumari melted a tiny bit more. She often used to work the Christmas shift at the hospital, which wasn’t exactly festive. If she wasn’t working, she’d spent Christmas at home with Amma and Thatha – with lots of Christmas specials on the telly and the chance to catch up on much-needed sleep. Last year was the last such relaxed Christmas. Ben had said that Christmas was about family. There were only three people in the family she’d grown up in.
Ben’s family, on the other hand, was huge. Besides, this was the full-on royal Christmas experience. The fear that she might do something hideously wrong formed a knot in her stomach. She took a deep breath. It would be fine. Ben would be there. So would Ben’s sisters, father and stepmother, all of whom Kumari got on well with. She sighed.
A frown flitted across Ben’s brow. ‘You OK? You’re not nervous, are you?’
‘Well, I am a bit,’ said Kumari. ‘This is your family do. It would be scary enough even if they weren’t the royal family!’
‘You’ll enjoy it once you get there. Grandpa, once he’s had a good meal and a couple of cocktails, is a hoot.’ He reached across and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘And the food is always amazing.’ He paused. ‘I hope they have the crumble. I love the crumble.’
Kumari looked out of the window. Ben seemed so excited about all things Christmas and Sandringham, it was quite sweet.
She still needed to talk to him about Boost Her!, but she couldn’t bring herself to puncture his Christmas cheer. She thought of her list of people who were on the decision-making committee at the Trust. Two of those people were Ben’s sisters. Both would be there over Christmas, she was bound to be able to find a moment to chat to them.
Even though they had passed the outer gates, there was still quite a lot of land to drive through before you got to the house. Pasture rolled by, glittering with frost in the winter sunshine. The weather forecast had predicted snow, maybe even a white Christmas, but there was no sign of it so far.
‘Here we go,’ said Ben. The road curved and they were on the main approach to the house. Trees lined a straight avenue. At the end of the road, behind low, ornamental hedges, was Sandringham House, it’s mismatched wings stretching out either side.
It was mostly made of red brick, with windows and the large central portico picked out in white. It wasn’t symmetrical, more like an ‘L’ shape – the long main house and an extra wing on one side. Small domes and turrets dotted the roofline where different generations had added bits to the original building. She looked upwards. There were only three floors, not counting the dormer windows in the roof, but the place seemed to stretch for miles either side. She could well believe that it had over 700 rooms. They called it Sandringham House, but it was really a palace.
‘Wow,’ said Kumari. Even at this distance, it was impressive. ‘That’s amazing.’
Ben’s grin widened. ‘I love that you have that reaction,’ he said. ‘These places were built to inspire wonder.’
Kumari thought of the National Trust properties she’d been round on family holidays with her parents. Every year they had the debate about whether they’d visit enough places to make an annual membership pay for itself. Every year, they’d decided, quite correctly, that they wouldn’t.
She had gone from that, to seeing palaces every other day. Prince Benedict, once one of the most sought after single men in Britain, was taking her to Christmas in Sandringham . . . with the royal family. It was like she’d left her life behind and stepped into a fairy tale.
They drove past the formal gardens. With topiary. How could you not be impressed by this? ‘Are they just regular places to you?’ she asked her husband. ‘Don’t you notice them anymore?’
‘Not always,’ said Ben. ‘Every so often, I have a moment of “my goodness, that’s a beautiful house”. I suppose, if you were into it, you’d know about the architecture and histories that go with the houses. Now those are fascinating. My cousin, Georgie, went through a phase of spouting random facts about houses once.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘Do you remember Georgie?’
Yes, she remembered Georgie. She was a cousin. Some time ago, Kumari had been given a list of who was who, along with their formal titles and photographs. She’d scribbled down Ben’s names for them along the margins. She was still more likely to remember their first names rather than keep track of who was duke or earl of what.
They arrived at the top of the drive, which then split off into the main sweep and a few side roads. Ben drove them round to a courtyard at the side, where a few other cars and four-wheel drive vehicles were parked around a neat square of grass. A couple of uniformed members of staff came running up. Ben jumped out and opened the boot for them to unload.
‘Welcome back, Your Highness,’ said one of the footmen, older than the others.
Ben said, ‘It’s Trent, isn’t it? How are you?’
The man beamed. ‘I’m very well, sir. It’s a delight to see you.’ He dipped his head in a bow. ‘And you too, ma’am.’
‘Likewise,’ said Kumari.
‘Shall we take these to the white drawing room?’ said Trent.
‘Yes, please,’ said Benedict. He took Kumari’s hand. ‘Come on. I’ll show you around.’
They crunched back across the fine, beige gravel to the main entrance where a butler was waiting for them. He took their coats. The entrance was a small, warm affair with pale, polished wood and lights in sconces. Ben ushered her through an arch into the saloon where people were sitting on the sofas or standing around chatting. There was a chorus of greetings. Everyone knew who she was, which wasn’t surprising as she was the one who was new and, let’s face it, her brownness stood out against the mass of white faces. Kumari had met them all at the wedding. Some she’d met again at various functions.
People had to arrive in order of ‘seniority’, which seemed to mean, roughly, that the higher in the order of succession you were, the later you turned up. Kumari and Ben had almost finished greeting everyone when Ophelia breezed in, resplendent in russet and orange. A few minutes later one of Ben’s nieces hurtled in, heralding the arrival of Helena.
Ophelia greeted Kumari with an effusive hug. Helena, always more reserved, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile. Now that the children were there, the hum of conversation went up in volume a little.
Kumari finally understood what Ben had meant when he said they could kick back and relax. There was chatter and laughter as the various members of the family talked and teased each other. Two teenage boys – Ben’s cousins – stood together looking awkward a
s their mother and aunt discussed their education. Cousin Georgie was sitting in one of the single armchairs, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Georgie’s brother, Edwin, was talking to an uncle about something. Take away the antique furniture and the accents and it was pretty much the same as every large family gathering there ever was.
The Prince of Wales and his wife arrived. Soon afterwards a butler came in and rang a small bell. Everyone went quiet.
‘Her Majesty and the Duke of Hereford will arrive in ten minutes,’ the man said solemnly. There was a general drift to retrieve coats and go to the porch at the front of the house.
Kumari took her lead from Ben, standing next to him in the correct place. The rest of the royal family, even the children, knew exactly where to stand. She tended to have to count places until she got to where she was meant to be. It had been part of her training. She stood in between Ophelia and Ben, her warm coat buckled. She watched as Ben played with Maria, making the little girl’s teddy pop up from behind her father. He was good with kids.
Helena caught her eye and raised her eyebrows. She glanced from Ben to Kumari and gave her a questioning look. The implication was clear. When are you going to have children? Everyone seemed to be obsessed with the subject – Ben’s family, her family, the newspapers, even her mother’s friend Sonali Aunty. Everyone wanted to know. Kumari rolled her eyes. Like it was anyone’s business but theirs. Despite Ben being keen to have kids, they had agreed that they would give themselves a year to settle into life together before they thought about having children. She was glad he’d agreed to that, because there was so much of this life that was new to her, the thought of having to deal with pregnancy as well was just too much.
She watched as Ben made his niece laugh. He would make a great dad . . .
Her train of thought was cut short as the queen’s car arrived. When the door opened to let the great lady out, all the men bowed their heads and the ladies, Kumari included, dipped a curtsey.
Her Majesty surveyed the gathering of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren and beamed. Her husband, the Duke of Hereford, came to stand beside her. He clapped his hands together. ‘Well then, you lot. Let’s get this party started.’
*
Kumari checked her dress in the mirror. Her hair and make-up had already been done for her by Sinead, who was currently getting out Kumari’s jewellery. Given her minimal make-up style, it took relatively little time to do her face, but her hair, which she preferred to wear up, often took longer. The dress was a pink-and-blue shot silk cocktail dress with gold working on one shoulder. Her version was a little longer than the one the designer normally sold and had gossamer-light silk sleeves. It had been designed by an up-and-coming British–Nepali designer. Kumari smiled. One of the things she liked about being in the spotlight was being able to give smaller stores a helping hand.
Ben had asked early on that she try to wear British-made clothes wherever possible. This, she was happy to do. She put on a sapphire and diamond necklace that Ben had given her as a honeymoon present. It wasn’t ostentatious and complemented her outfit.
Ben knocked on the connecting door. Sinead caught Kumari’s eye. Kumari nodded. ‘One second, Ben,’ she said.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ asked Sinead.
‘No. I think I’m OK,’ said Kumari. She ran a mental checklist. Face, hair, dress, shoes, jewellery. All done.
‘I’ll be waiting when you come back up. I’ll help you with the next dress.’ Sinead bowed and left the room.
Kumari said, ‘Thank you.’
She waited for the door to close and said, ‘Come in, Ben.’
They had been given adjoining rooms, with a door linking the two. Both rooms had four-poster beds, covered with blankets, and a few other items of furniture, but no fireplace. Surprisingly, neither room was particularly big. After the acres of space in Kensington, the rooms felt tiny. But, Kumari reflected, looking around the room, still a good size.
With the curtains drawn, it felt dark, despite the lights. It was also a little chilly. There was a heater plugged into the wall, which wasn’t turned on. Ben had assured her that the staff made sure the rooms were warm at bedtime, but had warned her that it took a while for the chill to lift in the morning. Kumari had asked her PA to pack her warmer pyjamas.
When Ben stepped into the room, Kumari did a little twirl. ‘What do you reckon? Will I do?’
Ben grinned. He stepped closer and pulled her to him. ‘Not a day goes by I don’t marvel at how lucky I am to be married to you.’
She put her arms around his neck. ‘You say the nicest things, my love.’
He kissed her nose. ‘How are you doing? Are you still nervous?’
‘A bit.’
‘Well, you look fantastic.’
She stepped back from him and tweaked her skirt where it had been crushed. ‘So what happens at this bit then?’
‘We eat tiny cakes and sandwiches and catch up on the gossip. Grandma likes to have a good old natter about who’s doing what and whose horses have foaled. She gets told all of this stuff anyway, but I think she likes to get a personal spin on things. Uncle Richard was saying he hasn’t seen her outside of formal occasions since our wedding.’
He gave her his arm and they stepped out.
They walked companionably along the corridor, pausing to acknowledge the various members of staff they passed.
As they walked, Kumari started to worry about how she would fit in. Everyone had been wonderfully welcoming, but she’d made her first misstep two weeks ago. It was such a shame that it had happened just before she met the family again. Thinking of that reminded her of the Boost Her! initiative. She glanced at Ben. No time like the present. ‘Ben,’ said Kumari quietly.
‘Mmm?’
‘What would happen if we were to make an anonymous donation to a particular charity?’
Ben paused mid-step. ‘Oh no, please tell me you didn’t. Because we’re in enough bother already with your unguarded comment to Victor.’
‘That was an accident. I was just so shocked. I felt there must be something I could do. I promise I haven’t done anything,’ she said. ‘I’m just asking what would happen.’
‘I don’t know, but I know it wouldn’t be good. It’s a case of, if it happens once, where would it end? We have systems in place for philanthropy, Kumari. They are there for a reason. I regularly pay into the running costs of the foundation. The foundation raises money and coordinates projects in a way that is open and transparent. Don’t worry. It’s a great cause. Something will come up.’
‘But what if something is time-critical?’
‘It can’t be helped.’
‘But—’
‘There’s a certain cadre of journalists who would love to get hold of a story that suggests that “the royal family are siphoning taxpayers money off to their cronies”.’ He made air quotes with his free hand.
‘But I’m not talking about taxpayers’ money. I’m talking about your private wealth.’
‘I know, but it wouldn’t make a difference. You can point that out until you’re blue in the face, but no one will believe you. Don’t you remember what you went through when they found out you were dating me? The tabloids . . . they’re not after the truth. They’re after scandal and any half-truth is enough for them to whip one up.’ Ben stopped and took her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry. We are not in a position to offer Boost Her! direct help, especially now that you’ve alerted people to the fact that you might try to. They will be watching everything that is connected to that charity now. Everything.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘I thought you understood the gravity of this.’
‘I do. But . . . there has to be something I can do! I can’t let the project die before it’s had a chance.’
‘Kumari. The rules exist for a reason. Think about it. You’re thinking you want to help someone who is doing a great job and happens to need some help urgently. You like them. You want to help, righ
t?’
‘Yes.’ Was that so bad?
‘Now imagine you’re on the outside. You have a project, probably equally as worthy. You’ve tried to get the attention of a royal patron but haven’t managed it yet. Or worse, you’ve met a royal and they’ve completely forgotten you exist. Then you see another charity being given special favours because someone in the royal family likes them more. How would you feel?’
She didn’t have to think about it for long to know that he was right. It would look terrible. ‘I see,’ she said. She sighed again. ‘I do.’ They resumed walking down the corridor. ‘It’s just so . . . frustrating.’
‘I know it’s hard to stay neutral,’ said Ben. ‘But stay neutral we must.’
Even though she could see what he meant, the idea of sitting back and doing nothing made her feel so . . . trapped. What was the point of having power and influence if you couldn’t use them to help people? All this softly, softly, carefully, carefully stuff was all well and good, but it wouldn’t come through in time to save her project. As far as she could see, there was only one option – speak to everyone on the committee quietly to ensure the project got further funding and find a way to make a private donation to bridge the gap. There had to be a way of doing that without arousing suspicion. There had to be.
They had arrived outside the White Drawing Room. Voices spoke in plummy, aristocratic accents. Someone laughed. Kumari drew a deep breath. Here it was. Christmas with the family.
Ben gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. I’m fine.’ She pulled in a deep breath in preparation. ‘Let’s go.’
Ben leant closer. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Even when you’re nervous.’
She nudged him. ‘Stop being corny.’
‘But I do,’ he said, batting his eyelids theatrically at her.
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