As Dr. Marks fielded questions from two or three reporters, Phillip stole away to see Lizzy. He darted a glance at her folder and saw the pages covered with notes, not squiggles and doodles as he’d expected, but proper notes featuring key words from the speech. He was surprised, and then blamed himself for thinking she was too frivolous to be interested in the environment.
“I’m so happy you could be here.”
“I’m sorry I was late. My driver did the usual maneuvers to evade our paparazzi tail and I made him double back so they could follow us here. They’re outside the door I should imagine. Get you a bit of attention at least. Did you think I wasn’t coming?”
“I confess I did think it.”
“I said I’d turn up for you, Phillip.”
“And you have.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay for the luncheon itself but I would like to tell Dr. Marks how much I enjoyed her talk.”
“I’d love to introduce you.”
He guided her by the elbow to the spot on stage where Dr. Marks was speaking to the rather bored reporters.
“Excuse me, Dr. Marks. I hate to interrupt but a friend of mine has to leave early and wished to be made known to you. Eliza Margaret Penelope, Princess Royal of the UK, may I present Dr. Sharon Marks. Sharon, this is my friend Lizzy.” He said, unable to hide how chuffed he was to have Lizzy on his arm, Lizzy interested in his favorite topic.
Dr. Marks was a bit dazzled by her, he observed, and the reporters were holding up their phones to snap photos and take video of the meeting.
“I so enjoyed your speech. I’ve a particular interest in the use of wool to make bricks. I have a place in the Cotswolds known for its sheep and since sustainability has lately become a cause close to my heart, I find it of great interest.”
“Now, Your Highness, it’s an honor to have you here. The use of wool and seaweed to reinforce bricks has made them nontoxic and highly sustainable with abundant local materials, and the bricks are far less prone to cracking—they’re actually stronger than a conventional clay brick that has to be fired.”
One of the donors stepped out to make a call and the paparazzi rushed inside. Seven photographers started firing their digital cameras in her direction, the whiz and hiss of their shutters startling the scientist, though Lizzy went on as though they weren’t there at all. Phillip resisted the urge to put himself between Lizzy and the cameras, knowing this was what she’d come for, to submit to having her photograph taken in order to get him some notice in the press. He felt protective, a little angry at the intrusive way they got so close to her, the way they said her name to get her to look at them.
“Liz! Oy, Liz, no need to be stuck up, give us a smile!” One of the reporters bellowed.
Phillip saw her jaw clench, just for an instant, before she rewarded the rude photographer with a dazzling grin.
“Phillip, do come here.” She beckoned. “I want to thank you for introducing me to Dr. Marks. If it weren’t for Phillip here, I wouldn’t know half what I do about environmentally kind practices.”
“How do you know the princess, eh, Phillip?” A reporter said.
“Phillip is an old family friend.” Lizzy said, taking his arm and tilting her head to look at him with a blindingly sunny smile as if he were the person she was fondest of in all the world. Remembering just in time that it was for show, to get him notice for the by-election, he took up the thread.
“I was at school with Lizzy’s brothers and we’ve been mates for near on twenty years. Her Highness was generous enough to spare a bit of time to show her concern for sustainability.”
“I’m grateful to have the opportunity to learn more about an issue that must gravely concern all thinking Britons. The best friends make us better people, or so my grandmother told me, and Phillip is truly the best.” She favored the reporter with one of her smiles and held fast to Phillip’s arm.
“When you did your intro speech, Phillip, why’d you say Lizzy?”
“Ah, I should think that would be obvious. I was mid-sentence when a member of the royal family walked in and I lost my train of thought for a moment. You must admit our Princess Royal is a bit of a stunner so who could blame me for going off my trolley at the sight of her.” He said.
There, they should scent blood in the water now, he thought. Rumors of a royal romance would get the notice of the nation far quicker than any statistics on wool bricks. Lizzy petted his sleeve and he looked at her.
“I have another event. Forgive me but I must be going, Phillip. Ring me later?” She said softly, but not so softly that the reporters couldn’t pick up on it.
Lizzy kissed his cheek lightly and took her leave. He wasn’t the only one in the room who stared after her, astonished.
Later on, he stole a glance at the trending topics on Yahoo and saw her name. When he tapped it, he was favored with a series of photos of the two of them speaking to Dr. Marks, a snap of her kissing his cheek, holding his arm. He tapped the image and saved it before reading on. Instead of proclaiming a romance or an endorsement of his political ambitions however, the headlines all ran along the line of “Large Liz Tops 12 Stone!” with a cartoon arrow pointing at her bum. Phillip narrowly stopped himself from throwing his phone in disgust. Not because he hadn’t got the attention he intended, but because she had tried to do something good and had got skewered in the press for her appearance. Maybe she was right that no one much cared what a princess did unless she got fat or divorced.
***
Lizzy’s mobile lit with Phillip’s number and she caught herself smiling.
“This is your sovereign. How may I be of service? I am, after all, the property of the UK.” She said.
“I wondered if I might return the favor and escort you to whichever dull official event you have to attend next.”
“Next week we have a state dinner in honor of the Danish visit, but they’ll never allow you to attend as my escort. Strictly family only, so Carrie alone will join us, poor darling. Let me think…well, unfairly enough, Bea had the short straw on the breast cancer fundraising awards but she’s out of the country at the moment and I’m rather unfortunately in town so I was bidden to stand in. I have to present some poor woman with a prize in honor of her dead mum. It should be ghastly. And there’s dancing.”
“That hardly seems appropriate. Posthumous awards are rarely so cheerful that people would want to dance. Will there be drinks?”
“Loads of them I hope. It’s tonight. Could you, please? I don’t much want to turn up alone and be…what was it? A sad bastard eating beans on toast.”
“If you ever need help with the proper sad bastard etiquette I’m an expert. The knack is to appear disappointed but not bitter.”
“Do you think I did you any good today, at the science lunch?”
“I’m sure a great many Britons know my name now who didn’t before. Even if they don’t, it meant a great deal to me that you came.”
“All the press said was I have an enormous bottom.”
“I did see that. The headline, I mean. Not your bottom. Your bottom was, I’m certain, appropriately sized and drew no attention to itself.”
“I know why they do it.”
“Don’t tell me it’s because you have a big bottom. I’ll be forced to argue with you and at Eton we were told never, ever to disagree with a lady.”
“Quite rightly, and especially if that lady happens to be your sovereign. The reason they do it is I wasn’t fitting their idea of me. I wasn’t having pink fringe in my hair or going out with some outrageous musician. I was doing something normal and suitable and since they’re not used to it, they had to slap me down somehow.”
“That’s unfair. Although to be honest you’ve rather chosen the image you spoke of by taking up with people like Magnus and dancing in a string bikini on someone’s yacht and—“
“You saw those photos, did you?”
“Perhaps one or two. And I must say from a strictly amateur perspecti
ve your bottom looked perfectly shaped in those pictures.”
“Not alarmingly big? Not so appallingly large that you wanted to hide under the sofa and whimper for your mummy because I might weigh twelve stone…which, in fact, I probably do?”
“Whomever wrote that stupid headline is so rude and obnoxious that no one will ever shag him. Does that make you feel better?”
“A bit, yes. So will you come and brave the cancer awards and my massive bottom?”
“Yes.”
That evening, Lizzy met him at the Foundling Museum, an opulent Georgian in Bloomsbury where the event was being held. A string quartet played softly in the entry and she remembered too well having to enter her last event on Magnus’s arm, steeling herself against his comments and trying to act the princess despite him. Phillip was the anti-Magnus, she decided as he took her hand.
“You look positively respectable, Lizzy.” He said, indicating her black Alexander McQueen jumpsuit, it’s plunging neckline obscured by layers of tiny pearl necklaces.
Oddly, she hoped he liked what she was wearing. She thought again how he looked sturdy and substantial, with his Mediterranean coloring, his broad workman’s shoulders and his mischievous smile. Lizzy wanted to throw her arms around him in simple relief that he was someone she liked and she got to sit with him all evening.
“Are you wearing pearls?”
“I suppose I am.” She said. “It’s all down to getting you into Parliament, Phillip.”
“Those pearls are here to get me a seat in the Commons?”
“No, that’s why I’m here. The pearls came along to make people curious to see if I’ve changed so much, if my new lover has transformed me into something wholesome and elegant.”
“I’m afraid you’ll never be quite wholesome, Lizzy. I’m no miracle worker.”
Phillip offered his arm and she took it, hugging it a bit, and then turning and hugging him, both arms round his neck, her warmth and the jangle of her necklaces, a sweet whiff of Chanel as her hair brushed across his face.
“God, Phillip, it’s just easier to be me when you’re here. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re quite welcome. Now let’s make our way inside before the press see you hanging upon me like a lovestruck kitten.” He said.
She sat beside him, her foot tapping impatiently, her fingers drumming on the table as one of the foundation directors gave opening remarks. Then the screen behind her was illumined with the image of a laughing older woman, bald head covered in a scarf, wearing a race jumper proudly at a finish line. Lizzy sighed audibly and then stood, the smile carefully back in place, and moved to the podium.
“Thank you for allowing me to join you tonight as we honor Maud Filbert who was a four year survivor of breast cancer and completed over twenty races to raise awareness and funds for research before she passed away last month. Please join me in welcoming her beloved daughter Gemma to accept the award for courageous activism on her behalf.”
Lizzy embraced the woman who joined her on stage, pressed a plaque into her hands and then paused, her arm around Gemma Filbert, for photos. He saw her lean in and whisper something to Gemma and the woman smiled at her, cheered by something Lizzy had said. The Princess Royal was rather magnificent, Phillip thought.
“Thank God that’s over.” She said when she slipped back in her seat.
Lizzy looked and sounded grim. He handed her his wine glass and she took a sip.
“Better?”
“I suppose.”
During the next pair of speeches, Lizzy got hold of Phillip, first by the sleeve and then by the hand, clutching him.
“All right?” He said.
“No. This is all a bit near the bone. My dad had a health scare recently. Right about—the time of your wedding actually. I’m not sure I’ve quite got over it. I can’t help thinking of it when I hear stories like this, what a near thing it might have been. And how someday, it won’t be only a near thing.”
Phillip took her hand, the one that was holding his so tight, and kissed it.
“No one lives forever, Lizzy, not even a king.”
“Not even a father. Or a mum. I miss Pemmy, Phillip. I can’t help thinking how many more people I have to lose. Mum and Dad and Jamie and Edward and Gigi, although she’ll outlive me from sheer meanness--how it’s going to get sadder and lonelier—“
She raised her eyes to meet his. Hers were bright with unshed tears but she shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I suppose I’m having a bit of a mope. First world problems—we’re all mortal and I’m only now realizing it. It isn’t as though I had to walk eight kilometers to haul clean water every morning or that I have to take chemotherapy. I hate when I get like this, Phillip, feeling sorry for myself.” Her voice was bitter and went right through him.
Phillip wanted to gather her in his arms, but he was at once intensely aware of the eyes on him, of what had become a rather impassioned whispered conversation, of the appearance of intimacy between them. So he straightened, realizing that his head was bent close to hers. He sat back, patted her hand diffidently and set it on the table. He took a drink and trained his eyes on the speaker. He could feel her beside him, as if waves of her distress, her thoughts were palpable things that touched his skin.
When Phillip heard the first strains of music from the string quartet, he looked at her, the droop of her neck, the sad way she seemed to fold in on herself. Decisively, he tossed his napkin on the table and seized Lizzy’s hand.
“It’s your solemn duty as princess to open the dancing.” He said by way of explanation, hurrying her through the crowd in hope of cheering her up.
Phillip swung her onto the dance floor and then caught her against him. She sank against his chest for just a moment, sagging in his arms. He held her then, laid his hand on her hair, dropped a kiss on her head. Then, as the footsteps of the approaching throng entered the ballroom to join them, they broke apart and he gave her a nod.
“Chin up, old sport. I’m right beside you.”
“You’re dreadful at encouraging me.”
The song ended and another man tapped Phillip’s shoulder to cut in. He surrendered her to the interloper and went to stand with a group by the wall. She so hoped he was talking up his candidacy, mentioning his involvement with environmental causes, his longtime friendship with the royal family. If he had a fault, she believed, it was that he just wasn’t aggressive enough. Just thinking that word, aggressive, as it pertained to Phillip, sent her down a rabbit hole of impure thoughts involving restraints and blindfolds and chocolate sauce. She missed a step in the dance, felt her face go red, and stammered an apology to her partner.
“Forgive me.” She said. “I’m afraid I was preoccupied.”
“Of course, Your Highness. It’s an honor for me. My wife died of cancer two years ago, you know. This charity is very important to me, and to a number of people. It’s lovely that you’ve taken an interest in it.”
“It’s a wonderful organization to be sure. I was happy to have the opportunity to be here tonight, and really, I’ve brought my friend with me. Phillip Rhys-Cooper—he’s just over there, beside Mr. Hollingford. Phillip’s a dear friend and he’s focused so much of his energy on environmental causes in recent years, I teased him that there were humans on the planet as well.”
“Rhys-Cooper you say? Have I heard of him?”
“If you haven’t yet, you’re sure to do so any moment. He’s set to run for MP. We’ve been trying for ages to get him to have a go at it. He’ll be brilliant, such a clever man.” She said.
“You seem quite taken with him, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I always have been.” Lizzy said.
It felt good to say it to someone, even if it were a stranger at a benefit, someone whose name she couldn’t quite recall. Because she had always been a bit keen on Phillip and in the last few days, it had grown rather worse as crushes went. Clearly he thought she was the mos
t dreadful ninny, frivolous and whinging and vain. She couldn’t blame him one whit for it. She had some growing up to do certainly, and she was only afraid she couldn’t do it fast enough to catch up to him.
Lizzy danced with a few more men, finding a way to work Phillip and his political potential into each conversation. She exerted herself to be dazzling and clever. So when she was in mid-gush about Phillip and had to change partners as the music changed, she fell silent. Face to face with the man himself, she raised her eyes to the heavens.
“At last.” She said.
“I do believe that’s the name of the song, yes. An Etta James classic.”
“I meant, at last you’re back dancing with me. Let’s talk about me!”
“Ah—all right. What did you have in mind?”
“I’m teasing, silly boy. I spent the last three quarters of an hour speaking of nothing but your divine self and I’m glad of a break. It’s a merry wonder I’m not sick of the thought of you.”
“I reckon you missed me. Wished you’d been dancing with me instead of that parade of old gents, and you consoled your lonesome self by talking about me.”
“Your parliamentary ambitions more like! I suppose you can’t be mates with Jamie for two decades without some of that egotism rubbing off on you. Your vanity shows at last.”
“You might forgive a man for being vain, with such a princess extolling his virtues to strangers.”
“You might have saved me the trouble if you’d only talk about those virtues yourself. Although I suppose you haven’t any paparazzi following you around to take snappies of your bum, so you haven’t the platform to get attention. Bad luck.”
Lizzy craned her neck and nodded appraisingly.
“They could do worse than to follow your bum round. I reckon it would take a very good picture.”
“Is that a compliment? After you only just complained of my ego? It’s a good job I know you’re joking, otherwise I’d have to be embarrassed. Never had a bird talk about my bum before.”
The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2) Page 4