Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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Mum nodded to the steward standing by the door, and the waiters began to disappear, clearing up the champagne glasses and appetisers on their exit. I was designated to sit to the right of my father, at the head of the table. James and Olly were somewhere down the mile of table that stretched out in front of us, but definitely not within talking distance. The same, unfortunately, could not be said about the ambassador, who was seated near enough to smile greasily at me as Dad tucked my chair in.

Yikeys.

Is that even a word?

It is now.

Dad picked up a fork and rang it against the side of his empty wine glass.

“Before we begin the meal, I’d like to propose a toast, to my daughter, that she may grow over the next year in love and patience, so that one day she may serve this country as I have these past years. To Meredith!” I raised my glass along with everyone else, taking a tiny sip. I really did not like the taste of alcohol. It burned in the back of my throat for a moment, nearly making me choke, then disappeared.

Dad sat down, and within seconds the waiters had swooped in with silver dishes and platters, a battalion of vibrant smells filling the room. Madeleine had outdone herself today. First a starter of bright-orange carrot and artichoke soup, then an appetiser of wild mushroom tartlets with poached quails egg.

Why quails egg?

Suppose it sounds fancy...

Cruelty to quails.

Write to the RSPCA.

Then a main course was a choice of roasted salmon fillets or tomato risotto, followed by the most gorgeous selection of puddings that you really couldn’t pass, although you were already stuffed. Of course, I was used to formal banqueting, so I’d gone easy on the tartlets.

Throughout dinner I felt grandmother’s eyes on me, watching my every move for some outstanding etiquette disaster. I think I managed though. I kept up polite conversation with my neighbours, used what I thought to be the right cutlery, and didn’t spill anything down my dress. During the appetiser I realised that something was wrong with the table settings.

Just like grandmother- to try and test me in public. The centrepieces were all too high and therefore blocking the diagonal view of most guests. I beckoned the steward over.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, I believe the centrepieces are obstructing some of the guest’s views,” I said in a low voice, trying not to gain any attention.

“I apologise Mademoiselle, you are quite right. Shall I remove them?”

“Er,” I thought for a moment. “Not now, you’ll only distract people more, but move them when you bring in the main course; as if you’re making more space for the dishes.”

“Yes Mademoiselle.”

I nodded as he went back to his straight-backed position in the corner, smiling at my triumph. At least I’d noticed, but grandmother would probably have one or two things to say about my handling of the matter. And that I should have realised earlier... Oh well.

“Princess Meredith, what is your view on the current loss of shares?” asked my right hand neighbour, who if I remembered rightly, was a member of parliament.

“It depends,” I began, thank god for grandmother! “Are you talking of the loss of shares nationally or internationally? Because I believe the national share index to be of more concern.”

“You are well informed, highness,” he began to waffle about his own view, four-fifths nonsense and one fifth pure evil. That was what Dad always said about a politician’s speech. I made myself looks as if I was paying attention, nodding at appropriate moments, and offering the occasional “of course,” and “you really think so?”

By the end of the meal I could have screamed. Mr. Smith was obviously trying to bore me to death, and nearly succeeding. I nodded politely to him as I stood, excusing myself on the account of talking to some of the other guests, who were mingled around the room.

“Lady Devont, I trust you enjoyed the meal?” I asked.

“Not quite to my tastes, dear.” She replied, her voice so nasal it almost hurt my ears.

“I’m sorry about that, I trust you are well.” I moved on after a few more sentences wondering how many brownie points I would have been deducted if I had slapped her.

“Lord Brooke, I hope you family are well? It’s been such a long time since we saw your children.” And thank goodness, they were all screaming brats last time...

“All very well thank you. And yourself?”

“Fine thank you.”

At last, when I thought I’d toured a sufficient percentage of the room, I was able to talk to Olly. I sighed, dropping my “princess voice”, and enjoying the brief moment of rest.

“Hey hun!” Olly greeted me, giving me a brief hug, “I saw that table piece switcheroo, it was smooth.”

“Thanks. I probably should have realised earlier though.”

“Forget your grandmother. I tell you what; we’ll have an after-party.” Her eyes twinkled with the plan.

“An after-party?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. We can do something crazy before sleep. Or-”

“Olivia, it’s good to see you well again,” Mum sailed over, radiant in her role as hostess. I sometimes wondered if she lived for these occasions.

“It was only a brief nausea, Madame.”

“Well, good. Perhaps Meredith could take you out riding tomorrow instead?” Olly went a bit white at the mention of riding. “Are you sure you’re quite well dear? You do look rather pale.”

“I’m fine,” Olly said quickly.

“If you say so. And please, call me Eleanor.”

Mum sailed away.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of horses.” I stated.

“I’m not afraid of horses,” Olly countered.

“Really? Then why did you just go white?”

“Ok, so maybe I’m a little bit scared of them...”

“Caught you. Don’t worry, I won’t make you ride if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks Phil.”

“It’s nothing. I’d better move on, I can feel grandma’s laser vision on my back.”