Christmas at the Palace Read online

  ‘You look great. You’ll be fine. These people are only here to see Prince Benedict.’ Lucy’s voice rose a little when she said his name.

  Kumari smiled at her friend. ‘And you look fab. In case he’s looking.’

  She had brought Lucy along as her plus one for this event partly for moral support, but partly because she knew about Lucy’s mad, fan-girl crush on Prince Benedict.

  She saw Lucy to her seat and then gave her own name to an impossibly polished young person with a clipboard who was standing at the foot of the stage.

  ‘Hi, Kumari.’ A tall black man bounded over from the audience.

  ‘Oh, hi, Victor.’

  ‘Got everything you need?’ Victor had helped her pull together the presentation and hone the pitch. A father of three daughters, when he heard about Kumari’s project idea, he had leapt in to help.

  ‘I think so,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been looking at the other pitches,’ said Victor. ‘I think we’ve got a pretty good chance of getting in.’

  Before she could reply a man walked across. ‘Dr Senavaka, we need to get you on the stage,’ he said briskly. He was looking at Victor, who looked back at him, puzzled.

  Seriously? He had really just done that? ‘I’m Dr Senavaka,’ Kumari said.

  ‘Oh,’ said the man. ‘It’s just . . .’ He checked his notes, as though there would be something informative there.

  ‘Anyway. If you could get on stage, please? The prince is on his way, we’ll be starting soon.’ He pointed to the stage and bustled off.

  Not even an apology. Kumari glared after him. ‘How rude.’

  ‘Idiot,’ said Victor. ‘Anyway, good luck, Kumari. You’ll be great.’

  Her anger at the other man kept her going as she marched towards the stage. How dare he assume that Victor was the speaker? Just because the title was ‘Dr’ he had assumed it had to be a man. The cheek of it.

  She lifted up the whispering silk around her legs and climbed the steps. This evening wasn’t about her. This evening was about money. She and the other people on the stage had only one job – to highlight the need and make people feel moved enough to get involved and to fund their project proposals.

  She was shown to her assigned seat. There were two men already there, on their feet, chatting to each other. The older guy must be the professor who was talking about 3D-printed prosthetics; she thought his project sounded interesting. The other was . . . Greg Frankish. Brilliant photo-journalist. Well-known sleazeball.

  ‘Kumari,’ Greg said.

  ‘Greg.’ She shook hands with him and moved away from the proffered kiss on the cheek. It wasn’t a big deal. When she was at university, she had gone out with his best friend for a few weeks. The trouble was, in those weeks, Greg had propositioned her twice. Still, that was a long time ago. Maybe he’d grown up in the meantime.

  He looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. Maybe not then. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said.

  She forced a smile. ‘You, too.’

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to carry on the conversation because the chairman of the charity approached them.

  ‘Greg,’ he said, slapping the younger man on the shoulder. ‘How the devil are you?’

  ‘Vince, good to see you. How’s Martina?’

  ‘Fine, fine. Just wanted to come and say hello and wish you luck,’ the director said. He suddenly seemed to remember that there were other people there besides Greg. ‘And everyone else too, of course.’

  Kumari caught the eye of the professor and got the feeling he was thinking the same as she was. Greg knew the director. So he already had one vote on the deciding committee. She sighed. Sometimes it was like trying to push water up a hill.

  Ruby came over. ‘You know the rules, yes? We’re trying to keep this sharp and snappy. I have a buzzer here.’ She held up a tiny device. ‘I’ll ring it when your five minutes are up. You have to stop. No excuses.’

  ‘Can we finish the sentence we started?’ someone asked.

  ‘No. Five minutes. No more,’ said Ruby. ‘And then there’s five minutes for questions.’

  Kumari had already given Lucy some questions to ask, in case no one else did.

  ‘Right,’ said Ruby. ‘The prince will be here soon and then we can get this thing started.’ She strode off to terrorise someone else.

  ‘She’s scary,’ said the professor.

  ‘No,’ said Kumari. ‘She’s nervous. She’s normally good fun.’

  ‘Friend of yours, is she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Not as close as they once were, but still friends.

  They sat down on the chairs next to the stage and waited. The professor hummed ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’. When Kumari looked askance at this, he smiled and said, ‘Sorry. Granddaughters.’ He showed her a photo of two little girls on his phone.

  ‘Do you have children?’ he asked, then added. ‘I suppose you’re too young.’

  She wasn’t. At thirty, she was plenty old enough. Once upon a time, she’d even planned on having a family, but she had to get her career to the right place first. In the meantime, her marriage had broken down and that window had closed. She smiled politely at the professor and didn’t reply.

  Increased activity at the far end of the room suggested the prince had arrived. She looked across. At first, she couldn’t see him, but she could track his progress by the raised arms and camera-phone flashes as people tried to record their brush with fame. She stretched to see, then felt silly. He was just a man. An accident of birth had put him in a place of privilege. He hadn’t actually done anything to earn his fame. Why should she feel honoured to meet him? She was a doctor and a humanitarian aid worker. She saved lives. The professor would be giving amputees the chance to earn a living again. Even slimy Greg travelled the world photographing communities and shining the light of scrutiny on the plight of people who needed help. If anything, the prince should feel honoured to meet them.

  She turned her head and caught Greg looking at her. The look made her shudder.

  ‘I can tell what you’re thinking,’ he said, out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Why should we kowtow to some tosser whose only achievement is to have rich and powerful parents?’

  Even though she had just thought that very thing, she felt she had to defend the prince. ‘He served in the army though, right?’

  ‘Pah. Probably an officer. Sandhurst and dinner parties,’ said Greg.

  She knew that he’d done active service. She knew a great deal of trivia about the prince. You couldn’t share a flat with Lucy and not know stuff.

  The entourage rounded the corner and she tried not to be interested. He was just a guy. A hot guy, her hindbrain supplied. The prince’s gaze looked in her direction and, suddenly, she was looking straight into his eyes. He had the most amazing blue eyes. For a second, she forgot to breathe.

  The prince blinked and turned to Ruby to ask a question. Kumari breathed out slowly. Her heart was hammering. What had just happened? Had she just had a ‘moment’ with Prince Benedict? Surely not.

  Greg made a small noise in his throat and pulled out his phone. ‘I wish I had a proper camera.’ He quickly framed and took some photos and showed them to her. Even at speed, he’d got a few good ones. Kumari was impressed.

  ‘I can sell those,’ he muttered and put his phone away.

  Kumari rolled her eyes. ‘Always on duty, Greg?’

  He raised his eyebrows at her. She looked away.

  The cameras came nearer and she felt her hands get clammy. She tried to find Lucy, but everyone was bunched up along the path the prince was taking so it was impossible. She looked at the prompts she had on her piece of paper. If she remembered the first line, she would be OK. Everything was going to be fine. Out of the eight pitches, four would be chosen for round two, which meant she had a fifty per cent chance that her project would get on the shortlist. That wasn’t bad odds. Especially when her project was so important. This was a clear chance to m
ake a difference. It was going to be fine.

  *

  Once the Prince had taken his seat, it took a further few minutes for everyone to settle. Ruby took to the stage. They were on a tight schedule, she explained. Each speaker got five minutes. Then five minutes for questions.

  Kumari tried to focus on her breathing. Don’t look at the crowd. Breathe. Breathe. She was speaking fifth, so she had to sit through a few of the other presentations. They were all so good. Greg did a nice sound bite about sunlight disinfecting while it illuminated. Something to do with his camera letting sunlight into things forgotten in the dark. Damn. She needed a sound bite. She and Victor had tried, but hadn’t really come up with anything convincing. There was ‘the rising tide raises all boats’, but that sounded lame now she was on the stage.

  ‘Next up,’ said Ruby, ‘we have Dr Kumari Senavaka, with her project, Boost Her! – empowerment through education.’

  Kumari walked up to the lectern and picked up the device to click through the slides. Her presentation was behind her on the screen. She turned to the audience, the first line of her prepared speech all ready to go . . . and froze.

  She stared wildly at the crowd of people in front of her, trying to find Lucy or Victor, someone to focus on. But panic made it impossible to find anything. Instead, she found herself staring at Prince Benedict. His brow furrowed. Suddenly, completely unexpectedly, he winked at her. She was so surprised that it shocked her brain back into action. Oh no. How many precious seconds had she wasted?

  She clicked on to the first slide – ‘The rising tide raises all boats’ – and flashed past it. She came to the slide with a young woman staring into the camera. ‘This is Hopeful, from Lesotho,’ she said, keeping her focus on the girl on the screen. ‘She was eighteen when this photo was taken. By this time, she had lost three children to cholera. When her fourth child was born, she heard of a clinic several miles away that was giving injections that stopped children getting ill. She walked, carrying her baby, for two days to get to us. Her son, Nimo, was very weak when they arrived at the clinic and they had to stay. Hopeful couldn’t read or write, but she was bright. She listened to what the medics around her were saying about vaccination and started repeating it to the mothers waiting in the queue.’ She clicked to a slide showing Hopeful, all smiles, with baby Nimo in her arms, and an inset of the queue outside the clinic. ‘About a week after Hopeful and Nimo went home, we had an influx of people coming to us from her village.’

  She clicked on to a slide with statistics. ‘Hopeful became an ambassador for health. She took with her information about vaccination, about the benefits of boiling water before using it for food or formula, about basic hygiene. She used everything she learnt to make a difference. The Boost Her! initiative is about providing young women like Hopeful with basic skills for healthcare, hygiene and midwifery, so that they can help the people around them while supporting their families. By helping these girls and women raise—’

  The buzzer went off, cutting her off mid-sentence. Ruby gave her an apologetic smile. Rules were rules. ‘Any questions? We have five minutes.’

  A few hands went up including, to Kumari’s mortified surprise, the prince’s. Ruby nearly fell over in her haste to get the microphone to him.

  ‘Why are you focusing on educating girls specifically? Education is important for both genders,’ he said.

  What kind of a question was that? At least it gave her a chance to say the things she had missed off the end of her presentation. ‘If you want to raise the general level of welfare in a country,’ she said, looking straight at him, ‘you start by educating the women. Women are largely responsible for the care and teaching of children outside of the classroom. A woman will pass that education down to her children. These children, both male and female, will grow up with basic knowledge that can be built on. Real change doesn’t happen in a week or a year. Real change takes a generation.’

  He nodded.

  There was another question about mortality rates in Lesotho, which she answered and then the buzzer went off, indicating her time was up.

  Kumari tried to pick up her notes, but her hands started to shake so badly she couldn’t. She left them on the lectern and fled the stage.

  Lucy came and found her in the bathroom a few minutes later. ‘You did it,’ she said, giving her a hug.

  Kumari shook her head. She was still shaking. ‘I screwed up. It was . . .’ She closed her eyes, just thinking about being on stage made her stomach lurch. ‘Awful.’

  ‘It was a bit messed up at first, but you got it back. And Prince Benedict asked you a question. You actually spoke to Prince Benedict! How awesome is that?’

  ‘I’m not sure it counts as actually speaking to him,’ she said weakly. ‘He asked a few questions to the others as well.’ She remembered that he’d winked at her. And questioned her focus on girls. She frowned. ‘I’m not sure he’s the hero you think he is, Lucy.’

  ‘But his question gave you the chance to talk about the long-term benefits,’ said Lucy. She pulled out her phone.

  ‘Look, I’ve got some pics of him. I’m hoping to get a few more. You might even get to shake his hand.’

  *

  Less than half an hour later, Kumari was standing in line with the rest of the presenters, waiting to be introduced to the prince. He walked along the line, a cameraman following him, shaking hands and saying how much he enjoyed the presentations. He didn’t have any influence in the decision about who got into the second round, but she supposed it was nice of him to say.

  She was still nervous. Did she have to curtsey? She tried to see if the woman two places up the line curtsied, but couldn’t see.

  The prince came up to her. The camera was right behind him. Kumari dropped into a curtsy. As she straightened back up, her heel caught in her sari and she pitched forward. The prince caught her, his forearms against hers.

  For a split second, her eyes met his. Oh no. Embarrassment flooded through her.

  The prince gently pushed her back, so that she was fully upright again.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured.

  ‘That’s OK. Makes life interesting.’

  ‘I’m not used to wearing a sari . . .’ Now she was making it worse. ‘Sorry.’

  He smiled. He had a really lovely smile. Really . . . lovely. Her mind went blank.

  ‘I enjoyed your presentation,’ he said. ‘My sisters are very interested in women’s education.’

  ‘And you?’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Me . . . I think it’s very important. Everyone has the right to education and it’s to our shame that women are still denied it.’

  She was impressed. ‘That’s good to hear.’ There was a pause that stretched for a heartbeat. Two.

  Prince Benedict dropped his gaze and one of the security guys stepped forward. She realised she was still holding his arm. She released it. A camera clicked. ‘Oh no. I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Again.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ The prince gave her a friendly grin and moved on.

  Kumari wanted to hide. Her face was ablaze. More cameras clicked. She looked around, searching for a way out, and spotted Greg looking at his phone and grinning. She stared at him. Bugger. He’d got photos of her making an idiot of herself. He saw her looking at him and took another picture of her. The grin he gave her was disturbing. He was planning something. It made her very nervous indeed.

  Chapter 3

  Metropolitan Herald

  A right royal faux pas

  Everyone knows you don’t touch a royal until invited to do so. And you definitely don’t throw yourself at them. One young woman who met Prince Benedict yesterday at a charity event was so excited that she tripped while attempting a curtsy and ended up in the prince’s arms, making her the envy of hundreds of women everywhere.

  The prince took it in good humour and helped her back to her feet. The woman was so enthralled that she held onto his arm and had to b
e reminded to let go by his security officer.

  Photo caption: Young woman who can’t let go. [Photo credit: Greg Frankish]

  Lucy showed her the paper the next day and Kumari sank further into the sofa and buried her face in a cushion. ‘Oh God,’ she groaned. ‘They are going to rip the piss out of me at work, aren’t they?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Lucy. ‘Mercilessly.’

  It was a rare day when they were both at home and didn’t have to recover from a night shift. Kumari was working in A & E and Lucy was an anaesthetist in the same hospital. Despite sharing a flat, sometimes they went for days without seeing each other.

  ‘It’s a nice photo of you, though,’ said Lucy. ‘You look all willowy and tall in that sari.’

  ‘And stupid,’ said Kumari. The picture most papers had chosen to use showed her looking up at Prince Benedict with dawning horror a second or two after he’d caught her.

  Lucy didn’t disagree. She picked up a different paper. ‘And this one’s got a really nice shot of His Royal Hotness.’

  Kumari groaned again. She had met Lucy when she spent a year as an exchange student at Duke University in North Carolina. Within a few days they’d discovered a shared love of British comedy and they’d been friends ever since. When Kumari returned to England, Lucy came to visit. She loved it so much that, a year later, she applied for a job in London. With Kumari starting work as a junior doctor in London, they’d decided to become housemates once more.

  ‘I think I might add this one to the board of hotness,’ said Lucy.

  Kumari peered out from under the cushion. ‘Let’s see.’

  Lucy thrust the paper towards her. ‘Go on. Even you have to admit that he’s gorgeous. He’s got the most amazing eyes. And that butt . . .’ Lucy gave a little shiver. ‘The things I could do to that man . . .’

  ‘Thinking out loud again.’ Kumari laughed.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Kumari looked at the photo. It was a good one. He was smiling and turning away. She realised it must have been taken shortly before the handshake debacle. She looked at the photo credit. Sure enough, Greg Frankish again. He must have acted fast to sell his images so quickly.