“Freddie told me it’s hard without any real memories of her to speak of,” I said, hoping this wasn’t violating a confidence.
“I know. I’m not actually angry at him,” Nick admitted. “It just always gets ugly whenever anyone discusses Mum. Freddie has never cared one way or the other if it’s a secret. I’ve always felt like we owe it to her not to let the press know it beat her. But I also think it’s wrong to trot her name out falsely, and that’s where Father disagrees. He puts her name in family statements as if she’s actively involved, and it doubly hacks me off because he can use it like an alibi. If there is a perception of a functioning Princess of Wales, it gives him some benefit of the doubt if he’s seen in town with other people.”
“That seems incautious,” I said. “At best.”
“Too right,” Nick agreed, glancing in the rearview mirror. “He almost got caught with India Bolingbroke.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Nick groaned. “That’s right, you probably haven’t talked to Clive,” he said. “I guess he was chatting up India’s friend Helena Heath-Hedwig at that party, and she let slip something about India being at Clarence House lately. Which is odd because her only reason for being there before was supposedly me, right? So Clive went nosing around, and I gather he saw her leaving rather late one night. It looked suspicious.”
I gasped. “I can’t believe he went snooping around.”
“Don’t worry, he came straight to me,” Nick said. “Jolly good of him, too, because that scoop probably would have made his career. He’s a mate, through and through. I told him I’d try to give him something he can print, as a thank-you. It’s the least I can do.”
Then it hit me. “Wait, if she was…does that mean India and Richard have been—”
“It looks that way,” Nick said.
“Since when?” I winced. “Do you think it was while you and India—”
“Please do not go any further down that path,” Nick said, shuddering. Then he brought the car to a halt, and punched a code into his mobile. Between two walls of mossy rocks, a well-camouflaged gate squeaked open.
“We’re here,” he said.
This was only technically a cottage. Yes, there was a thickly thatched roof, but it crowned a house two stories tall, with a perfect view of the Cornish sea, riotous flower beds, and an immaculate, sloping green lawn.
Nick frowned at the large black sedan in the driveway.
“I’ve never seen that before,” he said, setting his jaw.
I leapt out of the car before he could open my door for me, so we reached the cottage’s stoop in unison. Just as Nick reached for the doorknob, it turned.
And Richard walked out.
Nick stood up so straight, so fast, that it knocked him backward. Richard was dressed down to the point of being incognito—khakis, a polo shirt, no hair gel. He looked…like a dad. Which may have been part of what stunned Nick so much, given that he’d never been much of one. Richard did not seem surprised to see us, but he definitely acted uncomfortable; I got the sense he’d known we were coming and hoped to be gone before we arrived. He was holding a briefcase, and his hand tensed around the handle.
“Miss Porter,” he said.
“Your Highness,” I replied, bobbing into a slight curtsy. Years ago, I had resisted the urge. Today, I was different. Everything was.
“What are you doing here?” Nick asked.
“That is no one’s concern but mine.” Richard’s tone was defensive, but it ebbed. “She is quiet. Sometimes that’s good. It means she’ll know you’re here. I…Well. Good day.”
And with that, Richard climbed into the backseat of what was presumably his own rental, and PPO Rambo appeared from out of nowhere (the shrubberies?) to chauffeur him away. Nick gaped after him in confusion.
“Don’t let it throw you off,” I urged him. “Enjoy our time with your mom. We’ll figure him out later.”
Nick still looked dazed, but he nodded and then ushered me inside the quiet house. The warm décor—comfy furniture, sunny walls, bright knickknacks and paintings—was lovely but ordinary, with none of the opulent panache of the other royal residences.
“I was twelve when Father bought her this place,” Nick said. “He asked us what color to paint our rooms, and we ended up bossing him around about the whole thing. It’s the only time he’s ever really listened. We told him we wanted it to feel comforting, like a normal person’s house. The kind she might’ve had…” He gulped. “In another life.”
“Oh! You’re here, Your Highness.”
The words appeared to burst out of an enormous arrangement of roses bustling into the foyer, which revealed themselves to be attached to a petite, plump woman in her mid-fifties. She tried to curtsy, but threatened to tip over onto the floor.
“Don’t you dare bow to me, Lesley,” Nick said, gallantly taking the arrangement from her with a peck on the check.
“Aren’t they stunning?” she said, smoothing her starched white apron. “Every few weeks he brings the most cracking bouquets.”
“Every few weeks?” Nick parroted hoarsely. He glanced over at me, and then appeared to right himself. “I’m terribly sorry. Where are my manners? Lesley, this is Rebecca, whom I’ve told you about. She’s here to meet Mum.”
“A delight to meet you, my dear,” Lesley said warmly. “Ring if you need anything.”
I followed Nick to a rectangular living room done up in nautical tones, which looked as if Richard had simply opened a home-furnishings catalog, pointed to a page, and handed it to Barnes. The southern wall of windows faced the sea, and a staircase led down to a garden with a gated pool, which Nick told me was closed off so she couldn’t wander in unsupervised. The entire house, in fact, was Emma-proofed so that she couldn’t slip out and get any further lost than she already was. This was a lovely cell inside a lovely, but unmistakable, prison.
And there, in the left corner, in a chestnut rocking chair, sat Emma. Nick gently set the roses on the coffee table as the most profound sorrow crossed his face. I saw a childlike yearning to have his mother back juxtaposed with the achingly adult knowledge that this wish would never come true. Then that melted away, leaving behind pure love.
“Mum,” he said, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Emma’s eyes flicked up to Nick, expressionless, and then over to me.