Mrs. Queen Takes the Train (35 page)

“Ma’am,” assented Luke with a brief bow from the neck. He then left the room, walking backwards, to go into the sitting room and look for his clothes.

The Queen whispered aside to Shirley and Anne. “It’s the first time in sixty years I’ve had the ‘reverence’ from a man in his boxer shorts.”

They both looked at the ceiling and smiled. Rajiv and Rebecca and William, who were all sitting at the table out of earshot, looked at one another and wondered what she’d said.

L
uke had arranged two unmarked Daimlers to take The Queen and her party from Charlotte Square to the airport in Edinburgh. Shirley, William, Rajiv, and Rebecca went in the first car. Luke, Anne, and The Queen followed in the second car. On arrival at the airport, they drove right onto the tarmac in an area reserved for private planes. There stood the last aircraft of The Queen’s Flight, a maroon Sikorsky helicopter.

There had once been a variety of jet aircraft exclusively for The Queen’s use. Now she could borrow a smaller aeroplane that was in a pool, also used by the Prime Minister or other senior officials. The helicopter was the only aircraft that remained to her. A steward stood at the bottom of the steps. The pilots were looking out the side windows and ready to fly the Royal Standard when The Queen came on board. Shirley and William went up the steps and took two seats toward the rear. They both had been on board the helicopter before and knew the drill. Rebecca followed their example and slipped quietly into a rear seat. Rajiv, however, was as excited as a schoolboy and immediately went exploring. He opened the door to the lavatory, leaned over a table that was configured with four seats on the right of the aisle to look out the windows, and even poked his head in the cockpit, where he received a frosty welcome. Anne came on board and motioned with her head toward the rear, indicating his place in the helicopter hierarchy. Rajiv ignored her. He now felt he was on more than friendly terms with The Queen. She came steadily up the steps to find Rajiv in the aisle to welcome her, with the senior pilot behind him, saluting irritably. “Your Majesty! I’ve never been on a helicopter before!” said Rajiv.

[Airteamimages.com]

“Enthusiastic boy,” thought The Queen to herself, surprised to find anyone other than the pilot to greet her, but under the circumstances, she was prepared to put up with deviations from the established order. “Well, it’s very slow, Cheddar, and very noisy. But it will get us to London, I believe.” She brushed past him, acknowledged the pilot’s salute, and took her usual place at the table for four on the right, facing forward. Ordinarily, the Duke of Edinburgh, if he were along, would have been sitting next to her. The two seats opposite them at the table were left open for private secretaries and others who needed to brief The Queen during the flight and who might join her for small stretches of time. The upper members of the Household, in this case, Anne and Luke, sat in seats forward but on the other side of the aisle from The Queen. The steward came forward as the rotary blades began to hum and placed a wool blanket made of the grey and blue Balmoral tartan over The Queen’s knees.

Rajiv jumped into a seat at the table opposite The Queen and looked out the window to observe the preparations for liftoff. Luke began to get up to pull Rajiv to the back of the helicopter, but The Queen looked up at him and said, “It’s all right, Major Thomason.”

Rajiv turned to The Queen after the excitement of leaving Edinburgh was over and said, “So it’s
Henry V
tonight, Ma’am? It’s my favorite Shakespeare play.”

“Is it?” said The Queen, who wasn’t exactly looking forward to the performance, which she expected to be tedious. But then, rather than ask him some
pro forma
questions about when he’d first seen it, or why he liked it, she decided to volunteer some information about herself. Here was a young man, after all, who’d dropped everything to get in a taxi, and then on a train, to follow her. He deserved friendlier treatment than she would ordinarily give him. She was trying very hard to turn the page herself.

“Well, you see, my mother and my sister were the two artistic ones in the family. They understood the theatre. And the Prince of Wales, now, he cares about Shakespeare. Has led an effort to make sure all the schools still teach it.”

“Yes, well, that’s where the bug bit me.”

“Excellent,” said The Queen, smiling her approval. “Well, I just go along because they ask me to, but I’m afraid quite a lot of it leaves me cold. Perhaps I didn’t have the right teacher.” The Queen hadn’t been allowed to go to school at all. Fine nannies and eminent private tutors, she’d had those, yes, but no school, no rough-and-tumble with other children. Something she regretted. Something she’d missed.

“Oh, but Ma’am!
Henry V
. It’s one of Shakespeare’s most royal plays. It’s about your life, surely. It’s about the things you know better than anyone,” said Rajiv with some disappointment in his voice.

Luke and Anne, who’d both been monitoring this conversation from across the aisle, sprang into action. One thing not allowed in conversation with the sovereign was to refer to her position, to mention that she
is
the sovereign, in such a full-frontal, unambiguous way.

“Look! Out the window. Isn’t the Firth of Forth beautiful this morning?” asked Anne brightly.

Luke also stood up and pointed to the rear of the aircraft. “Oh dear, Miss Rinaldi is sitting all by herself!”

For a moment Rajiv looked confused. Then The Queen interrupted Luke, “Do sit down. I’ve said it’s all right.” Then she looked back to Rajiv. “Now, Cheddar. ‘About your life.’ Carry on. What do you mean?”

“Well, right before the Battle of Agincourt, Henry goes disguised among the men, see, in a cloak, you know, sort of anonymously, to find out whether they’re ready to fight or not.”

She nodded at Rajiv to continue.

“And he comes across several people, one or two of them love him, and are ready to die for him, but there’s another who’s not. He blames Henry for all the bloodshed that’s going to come along with the battle. Henry gets into a fight with him and argues with him.”

“I see. And?”

“They go away and Henry’s all by himself afterwards, thinking about the life of an ordinary soldier and the life of a king. What has he got that they haven’t got? He’s just a man, just like they’re men, but at least they get to sleep at night. He doesn’t. They don’t have to worry about battles, and the welfare of armies, and diplomacy, like he does. Private men enjoy ‘heart’s ease.’ ‘What infinite heart’s ease must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!’ ”

“Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a reliable supply of ‘heart’s ease.’ Sounds like a fine remedy. From dandelion blossom perhaps, or sorrel. I’ve felt the lack of it myself, sometimes.”

“There you are, Ma’am!”

“Go on, what else?”

“Well, then the King, Henry, that is, thinks about what he’s got that private soldiers don’t. What has he got to compensate him for not having heart’s ease?”

“And? What does he have?”

“He’s got nuffink, Ma’am,” said Rajiv, using a Cockney pronunciation to try and make her laugh. He would have offered her a Mars bar if he had one in his pocket, but he didn’t.

“Nothing? Really,” said The Queen, smiling.

“No. All he has is ‘idle ceremony,’ and that’s not going to help him when he’s down. It only makes people afraid of him.”

The Queen did know that feeling of being feared, and her own inability to reach out to the public over the barrier. All she had to offer was small talk and a supply of questions she repeated mechanically over and over. And the ceremonies themselves: the coronation in 1953, the first jubilee in 1977, the next in 2002. Those big parades through the streets with everyone cheering at her. Everyone expected her to be so pleased when they were over. She was content in a way that they went with such military precision, no mishaps, everything according to plan. But they didn’t give her heart’s ease. Riding by in the carriage and being waved at. It was comforting. All must be well if they’re waving flags and not throwing stones, but she wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t temporary. The mood could easily shift again, just as it had before. No, Henry was right. Ceremony didn’t provide heart’s ease.

“And . . .” began The Queen tentatively.

“Ma’am?” said Rajiv.

“Does King Henry find anything that helps him feel better? Give him ‘heart’s ease’?”

While this conversation was going on at the front of the helicopter, William and Shirley were exchanging a few words at the back.

“Hot in here today,” said Shirley, shivering.

“No, it’s not. It’s okay. Why, Shirley, your forehead’s all damp.” He took out his silk pocket square and began to dab around her temples. “And you’re shuddering too, darling. What’s wrong with you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Shirley. “Leave off.” She could not conceal that she was suffering from shortness of breath too, and she felt the occasional sharp pang in her upper back. She reached up to rub her shoulder. She was very pale.

“Something’s wrong. Hang on a minute.”

William was out of his seat in a single leap. He went forward to tell Luke. Anne overheard. They both got out of their seats to come back and look at Shirley. William brought her a paper cup of water from the steward in the galley. Anne surveyed the situation, put her knuckles gently against Shirley’s cheek to comfort her and gauge her temperature. She then stood up and brought Luke forward with her. She’d had a small amount of medical training in connection with her work on the army helpline. They both stopped in the aisle next to The Queen. Anne bent over to say, “Ma’am, I think Mrs MacDonald may be having a heart attack.”

“My God!” said The Queen, who was, however, not altogether surprised. She knew the genealogy and medical history of all her members of staff. “It’s how her grandmother died. Major Thomason, go to the cockpit. Have the pilot radio ahead. Tell them we’ll need an ambulance and a cardiac specialist to meet us.” The Queen then got up and took her tartan blanket back to Shirley, who sat stricken and immobile in her seat. “Hang on now, Shirley! Only twenty more minutes. You’re not leaving us now, you’re too young. You’ve got a lot more work in you yet,” she said as she tucked in the blanket around Shirley’s waist. “Just have this rug. It’ll keep you warm.”

Anne sat down in William’s empty seat and held Shirley’s hand.

T
he Old Vic was a theatre that had first been built in the early 1800s and it was now approaching a major anniversary. During its life it had been a music hall, a school, the base of an ambitious Shakespeare company, and the first home of Britain’s National Theatre. There was inadequate funding of the company from ticket sales, and the theatre’s director, a Hollywood actor who longed for the artistic respectability—and creative stimulus—that only performing on stage in Britain would bring, had devised a gala to which many American actors and philanthropists had been invited. Because of the theatre’s historic importance to the London stage, The Queen’s private secretary had advised in favor of her accepting the invitation to the gala that had been sent to her.

[© Steve Fareham]

Two cars were on their way to the Old Vic from Buckingham Palace, preceded by motorcycle outriders from the Metropolitan Police. The Queen and Lady Anne rode in the palace’s newest limousine, with big windows and special interior lighting so The Queen could be seen by onlookers and others who had gathered in a few strategic points along her route. Luke was in a second car, an undistinguished 1980s Rover sedan, with the Royal Protection officer. The drill was that although The Queen would arrive in the first, grander car, she could slip away in the Rover afterwards, for a quicker and more anonymous return to the palace.

Anne asked The Queen, not looking at her, as they were sitting in the back of the car and both sets of their eyes were forward in case of spotting knots of public who required waving to, “What is the news?”

“She’s in the cardiac unit at St Thomas’s.”