Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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Grandma met me in the foyer Tuesday afternoon, and handed me a printed timetable.

“You have your last portrait sit-in this evening, Meredith, instead of languages,” she explained, before sweeping away.

I smiled in painful gratitude at the now-empty grandmother space, and went upstairs to change.

Monday – Free
Tuesday – Languages
Wednesday – Etiquette
Thursday – Free
Friday – Languages
Saturday – Dance
Sunday – Church

There goes our social life.

We don’t have a social life.

There goes our imaginary social life.

“Bonjour Pierre,” I said as I entered the conservatoire.

“Bonjour majeste,” he said, “ca va?”

“Mmm,” I mumbled, sitting down and taking up my position.

I took a deep breath and attempted to smile.

“If you do not feel well, majeste, you do not have to smile,” Pierre commented, “I have painted that already.”

“Merci Pierre,” I said.

“I’ll see you later Pierre.”

I looked up startled, to see James getting up from the window seat, a sketch-pad of cartridge paper open in his hand.

“I didn’t see you,” I mumbled.

Speak properly!

sorryumbleimumbleinumbleaumblebadumblemoodumble…

“Hey,” he said, then made to leave, “I’d better go.”

“Stay if you wish, sir,” Pierre said.

“Do you mind?” he asked me.

“No.”

Yay!

My smile threatened to eat my ears.

“How’s the Royal College?” James asked, after sitting back down, “Er, am I allowed to talk to you?”

“Please, it often helps the sitter to have someone to talk to, I’m afraid I’m unable to multitask,” Pierre replied.

“Alright,” James said, “So how’s the Royal?”

“It’s good thanks,” I replied.

“Made any friends?”

“A couple; there’s Iona who’s in my house…”

James started to sketch again, and for a while conversation lulled to comfortable silence. My heart was attempting to grow wings and fly from my chest.

In a nice way.

“I am finished for now, majeste,” Pierre said after a while, “The rest can be done without you present.”

“Okay,” I smiled.

“You may have a look if you want,” he added, “Though I warn you, it is far from finished-looking.”

Pierre disappeared into the next room to clean his brushes.

I eased my aching muscles and walked round to take a look.

“Wow,” I said, “That’s my face!”

“Well, it would be no good to have someone else’s,” James laughed.

The portrait canvass was almost entirely white, apart from the face which was painted in, and patches of colour for later reference surrounding. But the face looked almost photographic it was so detailed. Yet it seemed too perfect to be me.

“You’ve made me look beautiful,” I sighed quietly.

James stood up and leaned over my shoulder.

“You are beautiful,” he replied.

His face hovered close to mine for a drawn-out moment, but then spasms wracked my calf muscles and I nearly fell over in pain.

“Ow, ow ow!” I cried, unable to stand up.

James caught me deftly, his skin making mine burn with super-alert consciousness.

As if I’m not in enough pain.

“Thanks,” I said, as James manoeuvred himself onto the window seat.

Pierre came in, and suddenly I realised that I was sitting on a young man’s knee in public, which made me jump up like a startled rabbit. Which then caused my calf to treble on the pain scale.

“Ow!” I yelled.

“I am sorry majeste, I kept you too long,” Pierre apologized, concerned.

“It’s not your fault,” I replied, sitting back down, this time avoiding James’ lap.

“I suggest you attempt to walk gently on it,” he said, “It will hurt a little for a moment, but soon feel better. Sir will help you I’m sure.”

James smiled from next to me, stood up and offered me his open hand.

“Thanks.”

Quite the gentleman.

Has anyone said anything to the contrary?

We limped our way down the corridor to the private section of the palace, James aiding my lop-sided walk with an electric hand round my waist.

“Where are we going?” he asked once I’d pushed the code into the door.

“Living room?” I suggested.

“Sounds good.”

A little limping later and we walked in on Philippe watching the animal channel; he guiltily swapped the channel to cartoons when he heard the door open! I smiled slightly.

“Are you alright?” Philippe asked, standing up when he saw me limping.

“Just cramp,” I replied, “I’ve been sitting for a portrait.”

“Ah,” Philippe nodded, “The same position is difficult to keep for more than a minute, let alone half an hour!”

“I guess you understand!”

James sat silent next to me, uneasy at being unable to compare.

“Swap back to Spring Watch?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, sure,” Philippe said, guilty embarrassment making him blush.

I swallowed, unsure whether James had meant it politely or not.