#duchess camilla fanfiction

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Chapter 42

That was a tough one to write. I hope you'll like it... and do take part in the poll! :-)

06th September 1997

Of course, Thea had agreed to go to the funeral with her aunt and cousins and so Camilla had taken her to London the next day, where they'd stay at her parents' Kensington flat until after the funeral was over, to get an appropriate outfit for Thea's first big public appearance. It still made Camilla feel uncomfortable that, out of all possible occasions, it had to be Diana's funeral and that she couldn't be by her side, but she trusted that her sweet little angel was going to do brilliantly. Still, it'd have been much nicer and easier if they'd just taken her to Royal Ascot or the Sandringham Flower Show next summer… So they went to Harrods and picked an elegant, yet unobtrusive, knee-length black dress with a matching coat for her. As a headpiece, they’d chosen an equally elegant yet unobtrusive, simple black headband as Camilla considered her a bit too young and her position too controversial to raise more attention towards herself than necessary by wearing something "fancy", she was well aware that all eyes would be on her and that, whatever she was wearing, people would undoubtedly scrutinise every step she'd take so Thea's outfit had to be perfect. She had also instructed her to always stay behind her cousins and next to Sarah, and always do everything Sarah did in exactly the same way in order to stay as inconspicuous as possible, only speak when somebody directly asked her something and always keep her eyes lowered, fixed on the ground, and somehow it had broken her heart that she had to say this. Nobody wanted to be invisible and usually she always tried to encourage her little girl and boost her confidence but this was different. At least a spokesman for Charles and his sons had issued a statement explaining that, at the express request of Their Royal Highnesses Princes William and Harry, their half-sister Miss Theodora Parker Bowles would attend the funeral of the late Diana, Princess of Wales. Of course, as expected, it had caused controversy but Camilla had been glad that at least the public had been "warned" that way; she didn't even want to imagine what a bombshell it'd have been, had they only got to know at the very moment. 

Sarah came over to pick up Thea early in the morning. She’d take her to Buckingham Palace, where apparently the whole family would be gathering together before the procession to Westminster Abbey would begin. That was going to be the hardest part for them all and the part Camilla was most afraid of. Her poor little darling had to stand outside Buckingham Palace, surrounded by the whole Windsor Clan, once Diana's coffin, followed by Charles, William, Harry and also the Duke of Edinburgh, would proceed past. The mere imagination of that scenario gave her goosebumps and the thought of her daughter having to go through this all by herself, without her by her side, while the entire planet was watching had caused her a complete sleepless night. Hopefully it wouldn't be too traumatising for Thea, hopefully the others would be kind, hopefully Charles and the boys would be okay… 

Before Sarah and Thea left, Camilla hugged her tightly and kissed her so affectionately that it almost scared Thea. "Mum, please. It's only for a few hours.", she said, probably not aware of the real meaning of it all, which was probably even best. "Yes, darling. I'll be thinking of you all day and when you come back later, we'll have a cosy evening, just the two of us." Camilla promised, pressing one last kiss on her daughter's cheek, and eventually waved them goodbye. 

She watched them getting into the car out of the kitchen window and burst into tears as the black Audi took off. She was so worried, and it killed her that there was nothing she could do to help. How on earth was she supposed to get through this awful day? Before she could have thought about it any further, the doorbell rang and she quickly dried her tears before rushing to the entrance hall and welcoming… “Andrew?" She hadn't been expecting anybody in particular but out of everybody she knew, her ex-husband was the last one she'd expected to show up. "I thought you might like to have a bit of company today…", he said, looking almost as worried as she herself. Though Thea was not his biological child, he had never stopped caring for and loving her like a father should. She still adored him and still went over for weekends every now and then. He still was, and would always be, her daddy as well and somehow, Camilla was pleased to see him and very touched by his thoughtful reaction. "Thank you, Andy.", she said, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek, motioning for him to follow her inside.

Buckingham Palace 

Despite the sad nature of the occasion and her undeniable nervousness and fear, little Theodora was quite impressed when she entered Buckingham Palace together with the Duchess of York. She had never been here before and it was magnificent. She'd very much have liked to enjoy a look around but somehow felt that it wasn't the day for it; Mummy had told her a thousand times that she absolutely had to follow Sarah's instructions, only speak when she was directly asked and keep her eyes lowered down on the floor. The Queen and members of the family had gathered in one of the reception rooms on the ground floor and while Thea was relieved that she didn't spot the Duke of Edinburgh anywhere, she was still looking out for her father and brothers. "They're not here, little one.", Sarah explained. "They will join the procession from the West Wing* and are already waiting there. We'll go outside any minute as well and watch them from the front gates. We have to send them all our love and support, will you do that?", Sarah asked and Thea nodded, when suddenly, much to her relief, Beatrice and Eugenie came over to say hello to their mother and cousin which made her feel less alone. She had also spotted The Queen and Princess Anne in a corner of the room but they didn't seem to have noticed her, and to her disappointment, Great-Granny was nowhere to be seen either. "She will only be at the service.", Sarah explained, and suddenly a bit of a rush occurred and Sarah reached out for her and Eugenie's hand, motioning for Beatrice to walk with Thea as well. "Come on, girls. Off we go.", she said and the four of them followed The Queen and the others through some corridors and eventually outside of the Palace.

"Dear God, look at the crowds!", Camilla sighed as the camera showed an especially impressive view of the thousands of people who had gathered around Buckingham Palace and The Mall to say their last farewell to their beloved Princess. "It's crazy.", Andrew replied. "It's busier than in 1981." He had to know. He'd been there, taking part in the procession at Charles and Diana's wedding. The camera moved to the front gate and the commentator described the scenes: “The Queen, Princess Margaret and other members of the Royal Family… standing outside Buckingham Palace…”, followed by a dramatic zoom out, featuring all of them in one picture. “There she is!”, Andrew exclaimed as they spotted their little girl, right behind her cousins Beatrice and Eugenie, just as Camilla had instructed her over and over again. It broke her heart to see her poor little darling standing there all on her own, but at the same time filled her with immense pride. Of course, she was only ten, but she already looked so beautiful and dignified and was doing so well. The camera moved over to the procession that had meanwhile reached the West Wing of Buckingham Palace, and eventually captured Charles, William, Harry, the Duke of Edinburgh and Earl Spencer, who were all going to join in and walk behind the coffin in a minute. Camilla couldn’t hold back her tears any longer as she saw her love’s and his son’s pain in their eyes… What an awfully hard and sad journey it had to be, and how much she wishes she could be there with them, be there for them. Andrew gently took her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Milla.”, he said, and just like that, the camera once again, moved over to the royal party gathering at the front gate, just in time for them to witness a rather heartwarming scene between Thea and her Uncle Edward, who was obviously whispering something to her, following which she hesitantly made her way to the front row, right between her two cousins. Before Camilla had the chance to worry any further, the procession reached the main entrance of Buckingham Palace and both mourning sons, William and Harry, turned their heads towards their family and Camilla felt like her heart stopped beating as she, along with the majority of the world’s population, watched Thea blowing a loving kiss to her heartbroken brothers… 

*in reality, they only joined the procession from St James's Palace but I really wanted to have this special sibling moment.

[camillafanfiction]

Love changes everything - Chapter 5

16th October 1975, London

The one minute silence following the second reading which was recited by The Prince of Wales was almost unbearable for Camilla. The silence drove her mad. She had cried and sobbed throughout the whole sermon - though she had tried more than hard to keep it together - , but she’d had her father and her sister holding her hands, which had given her comfort. This silence, however, made her want to scream. Why on earth had they decided on the church she and Andrew had gotten married in? Why on earth had Charles had to hold that reading? Why on earth did she wish he would wrap his arms around her to make her feel safe? 

Charles had tried to brace Camilla for today. He had tried to brace her for the service, the reception that was about to follow and, especially, the media attention that would inevitably be around. But Charles had underestimated the amount of interest the press had. This was not just about the royal family, this was also about a British hero and his poor, young widow with a not even one-year-old baby - The Prince of Wales’s ex-girlfriend as The Sun had found out. Charles would have loved to scream at the press, at the many, many cameras, at the photographers and the reporters with their film cameras. Had they nothing better to do than to bring poor Camilla on the frontpages? He hated it. He hated that he could not protect her. He hated that he could not be by her side as he wished. Without looking or seeing her he knew she had cried through the whole sermon, though the priest was painting a picture of Andrew as a loving husband and father that couldn’t be more far away from reality. 

With shaking legs Camilla staggered up from her seat and put on a brave face as she walked out of the chapel on her brother Mark’s arm, followed by The Queen Mother and The Prince of Wales and behind them The Duke of Edinburgh and The Princess Royal, a former fling of Andrew’s. Camilla almost stumbled down the stairs as she realised the press pack lingering outside. Luckily, Mark was clutching her arm tightly and Charles, too, was subconsciously ready to catch her any time. All his instincts were focused on her. 

The flashlights were irritating and blinding, though it was only about midday. Camilla tried to block them and the reporters out. They terrified her. Why had all of this had to happen to her? Why was she not allowed to grieve in private? She knew she had to get on with it now, she had to keep her brave face on. But she couldn’t. Her teary-eyed face was most likely going to be in the papers tomorrow.   

Camilla felt like a deer as she walked past the cameras to get into the car that would take her to St. James’s where the funeral meal was going to take place. The clicking sound of the cameras made her go mad, it sounded like a swarm of bees. “Will you be alright?”, she heard Charles whispering behind her. He touched her elbow softly and the cameras struck like lightning bolts. 

She nodded as she turned slightly around to face him. “Yes.” 

“You’re doing great.”, Charles spoke under his breath and, under the silent harrumph of his grandmother, leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Taken by surprise Camilla blushed and sunk down in a curtsey, well aware of the cameras. Luckily, Charles bid farewell to Mark, too, and Camilla remembered to say goodbye to The Queen Mother as well with a low curtsey.

X

It didn’t go unnoticed by The Queen Mother just how much her favourite grandchild rallied around Mrs. Parker Bowles during the funeral meal at St. James’s Palace. She had also taken notice that Charles had spent quite a lot of time with her since the week her godson Andrew had passed away and that Charles was looking at her in a certain way she did not approve of. She hadn’t approved of Charles’s first relationship with Camilla and she wouldn’t approve of any other relationship with her, no matter what he was dreaming about. It had been a relief for her when Andrew and Camilla had tied the knot, but now… Actually, it wasn’t that she disliked the woman Charles was so fond of: in another world and in another time she might have really liked her. But in this world she couldn’t like her. She had stolen her sweet innocent grandson. Once Camilla had stepped onto the scene, Charles suddenly hadn’t had time for his grandmother anymore, he suddenly had loved another woman more than his grandmother. The dowager Queen had felt an unknown kind of jealousy. She’d always been the most important woman in Charles's life - until Camilla came around. 

After Andrew had finally married Camilla, Charles had had numerous girlfriends, but they hadn’t occupied him that much and he hadn’t had as much interest in them as he’d had in Camilla. She knew they still saw each other, but she didn’t think of Camilla as much of a threat anymore. Nonetheless… she should really invite her grandson for a tea time date anytime soon to get him back on track again. There were several girls on her mind she found perfect for Charles and for the role his wife would have to fill. She had to be careful, of course, but Charles would listen to her, she knew. She would be the one to decide on a future Queen.

X

Later that evening - after endless goodbyes, a very tight hug from Princess Anne and a way too emotional kiss on the cheek from Charles - Camilla felt completely emotionally exhausted. She would spend the night in her parents’ London flat together with her sister and their respective sons Tom and Ben who had stayed at the flat with their nannies all day. She was glad it was over now, but she still couldn’t believe it. What should she do with her life now? It was a question that suddenly flooded her mind. A question she had no answer to. A question that made her cry waves of tears, though she felt like she had no tears left after today.

Neither did it help that Annabel tried to comfort her nor that Tom suddenly had a fit of cries as well. Only when Rosalind took the boys to bed, Bruce offered her a cigarette and Annabel turned on the TV, Camilla didn’t feel as bad anymore. At least until the 6 p.m. news broke and Camilla saw first her broken self walking into the church, then several photos of Andrew and finally - to top it all- Charles talking about Andrew as if they’d been best friends, about being a family friend and something about the armed forces that her shocked mind did barley notice. All while his grandmother was tucking on his sleeve, trying to get him into the car. What on earth had he been thinking?

“His Royal Highness still seems to be fearfully fond of you, darling.”, Rosalind remarked, a subtle tone in voice that Camilla disliked.   

„I am very grateful for his support.”, Camilla remarked, her voice surprisingly calm. “He’s a good chap.”

“He certainly is, darling.” Bruce agreed and clutched his eldest daughter’s hand. “You and Tom are very lucky to have him.” His smile tried to imply something, but Camilla wasn’t sure what, so she ignored it. She didn’t have the nerves to discuss her friendship with Charles with her parents. Or anyone else for that matter.

X

The following weeks passed in a strange blur that altered between staying alive and seeing Charles. Camilla hadn’t wanted to, but Charles had become somewhat of a lifesaver for her. He was just so wonderful with Tom, with the horses, with the dogs… He was just so wonderful with saying the right things, cracking the right jokes, wrapping her into his arms… He still courted her, though, and that sometimes made her heart ache. She didn’t want to give in to his constant efforts, but she got weaker every time. But they hadn’t kissed again- she only allowed him to cuddle her, to wrap his arms around her to make her feel safe.

Her heart and mind tried to fight it, but Camilla had come to realise that she loved Charles. She had come to realise that she was madly in love with him. She had come to realise that she only wanted to be with him. But she tried to push these findings away. No matter how much she loved him and no matter how much he loved her – which she knew he did – their love was without any prospect. Charles had to find a beautiful, aristocratic bride without any ‘history’ and Camilla was none of such. And, most of all, she had no intention of one day becoming Queen. Or seeing Charles being forced to give up the throne. Only secondarily she noticed that she’d had all these thoughts before. It felt like in another life… lighter, without a care in the world… When she and Charles had been an item back in the very early 70s and they’d been madly and desperately in love with each other she had sometimes been afraid that Charles might pop the question at any time. She had been pondering about her possible reply and had come to the firm conclusion that she, out of all the girls in the world, was the most unfitting wife for Charles, The Prince of Wales. She might have been a good wife for Charles, the normal man, but the thought of her as a Princess made her laugh.

Why had life to be so cruel? Why had Andrew been a notorious philanderer? Why did he have to die? Why was she so torn concerning her feelings for Charles? Did she not deserve a little bit of happiness? Camilla didn’t want to be ungrateful, she didn’t want to be depressed, but the grey November weather didn’t particularly brighten her mood when she was all by herself. But she was looking forward to Friday: Charles’s 27th birthday, and he had promised to spend it with her and Tom. That, at least, was something to look forward to.

[julie-streep]

First public kiss

Year of 2001

It was the night before the event at London's Somerset House for the National Osteoporosis Society, it would be the first event that Camilla would host and Charles would also be there to support her and she was very nervous. At the moment she was in bed ready for the night, but she could not find sleep and when the phone rang she was glad for the distraction.

"Hello darling" - Charles said happily to his love. He had called Camilla to make sure everything was ready and most importantly to make sure she was feeling fine. He could not wait to see her tomorrow, he was so proud of her for hosting this event and for the hard work she was putting in as a patron in her charity.

"Hi darling" - Camilla was glad Charles had called, his voice and his words could always calm her.

"How are you feeling? Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Everything is ready, but I am a bit nervous" - Camilla confessed.

"Don't darling. Everything will go absolutely smoothly, you are going to be perfect. Don't worry" - Charles tried to reassure her.

"I am just nervous because of all the cameras, I know they are going to watch every move we will make and I just want the event to be perfect" - Camilla bit her lips while confessing her fears to Charles.

"It will be. Just don't look and think about the cameras" - Charles paused for a moment and then continued.

"Oh darling, how I would love to be there with you right now to make you relax and help you" - he wished he could take her into his arms and kissed her nervousness away.

"Darling, I was thinking, how should we greeted each other, should I curtesy to you?" - Camilla asked timidly. She was used to curtesy to Charles, she always had to when they were with other people, but now that they were a couple she did not know how to act or what was appropriate.

"What? Of course not, you are my partner, my darling and you'll never have to curtesy to me ever again" - Charles was shocked by her question.

"I think we should just keep it simple, a kiss on the cheek maybe?" - Charles would have loved to greet her how he desired and show the whole world how much he loved her, but he knew Camilla was not comfortable to show affection in public and it was too soon for that anyway, people had still not accepted them as a couple.

"A kiss? The press would love it, everyone is going to talk about it if we kiss" - Camilla laughed, she did not want even more attention.

"I don't care. It's going to happen anyway sooner or later and I think is better if our first kiss is on camera because we decided it than if they took some stolen picture we wouldn't have like to share" - Camilla nodded, Charles was right. At least they would have control of the situation.

"You are right darling. I love you" - Camilla blew a kiss on the phone.

"I love you too, my love. Now sleep, because tomorrow will be a big day and you need to rest. Goodnight" - Charles blew a kiss and smiled.

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow" - the couple hanged up the phone.

The next day just before the start of the event Camilla was really nervous. She was playing with her dress and with her hair and her daughter Laura looked at her worried.

"Are you ok mummy?"

"I'm fine, just a bit nervous" - Camilla smiled at her daughter trying to reassure her.

"You are going to be amazing and the event will be perfect" - Laura hugged her mother.

"It's just... all these cameras are freaking me out. They are going to watch Charles and me during the event. I don't want to embarrass him or do something that will attract the attention of the press" - Camilla wanted Charles to be proud of her and most of all she did not want to make him look bad, she loved him and wanted everything to go smoothly because it will mean another step in the right direction for their relationship.

"Don't worry, we are all here for you" - Laura said smiling.

The event had just started and Camilla saw Charles and Queen Raina walking towards her, she had to smile, Charles looked so handsome and he was smiling reassuringly to her. They then kissed each other on the cheek and from the corner of their eyes they could see the flashes of the cameras going crazy. They smiled at each other and Camilla hoped that the next morning the papers would talk about the event and not about their kiss, she hoped they did not take that many photos of them, but she knew they would make the front page of every magazine, so she hoped that at least the headlines would be positive.

The event was proceeding without any problems, everyone was enjoying themself and Camilla was glad she had Charles there to support her and she had to admit that once she kissed Charles on the cheek all her nervousness went away and she could finally relax and enjoyed the event she had organized with such commitment. Charles could not stop looking at his love and smiling at her, he was so proud of Camilla and proud of all the good work she was doing and he could not do anything but staring at her because she looked absolutely beautiful in that purple dress and he loved her so much.

The day after the event Charles and Camilla met at Highgrove. When Camilla arrived Charles went to greet her and gave her a big and deep kiss, he was so happy to see her and this time without any camera he could kiss as he wanted and wished to do.

"You were absolutely amazing yesterday. I am so proud of you and I love you so much" - Charles kissed Camilla, and for a while they forgot they were still outside the house and just enjoyed each other.

"I love you too darling" - Camilla smiled and the two went inside the house and into the living room where they sat on the sofa.

"Every paper is talking about us, you know?" - Charles smiled and kissed Camilla on her neck.

"Mm, I don't want to know anything about it" - Camilla kissed Charles deeply and smiled.

"All good headline, darling. And how could they not? You looked absolutely stunning yesterday. I couldn't take my eyes off of you" - Charles kissed Camilla again, placed his hand on her bottom and she smiled in the kiss. She felt so loved and adored with Charles, he was always so affectionate and loving.

"Think if we had kissed on lips" - they both laughed.

"Oh, your family would have loved that" - Charles smiled and kissed Camilla's cheek.

"I don't care what they think. I love you so much darling" - they kissed again until Camilla broke the kiss and started to unbutton Charles' shirt.

"You said you like what I was wearing yesterday and I thought maybe you would like to see what I am wearing now under my clothes, it matches the dress" - Camilla said alluring and Charles looked at her with lust, nodding vigorously.

Charles started to unbutton her blouse and kissed her passionately, when he saw her purple bra he groaned and took her breasts in his hands. He then took her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom where they start a very long and passionate day.

[catherinequeenie-benstridge]

-Your Royal Highness, ¿could I take your coat please?-She did so, thanking him. The young boy gave it to another one and he took her to the living room.-They are all waiting for you, ma'am.-He said as they arrived the boy lowered his head.-Have a very happy birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY - Lunch

Soooo here it's the second part. It took me a while due to some personal problems and inspiration but here it is and hope you like it!!! Let's see whay the 'girls' have given Kate as her birthday presents 😏

ENJOY 💙👑

__________________

Kate arrived at the restaurant, her mother had picked it up, a very private and small one where they could book a small living room for them at the London outskirts. The Duchess arrived there, parking the car on the car park, spotting her sister's, Eugene's, Camilla's and Sophie’s. Once out of the car, she gave some final touches to her hair, looking at her spotted blue dress. Although it was sunny and she was wearing long sleeves, she grabbed her coat and headed to the entrance where a waiter was already waiting for her.

-Thank you.

The brunette stepped inside, finding everything decorated with balloons and ribbons, as well as some big letters spelling ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY.’. She laughed and all the women turned to her, almost yelling with excitement.

-Catherine, happy birthday my love.-Her mother have her two kisses and a big hug.

-Thank you mom.-Her sister Pippa almost jumped on her, giving her a big and tight hug.

-HAPPY BIRTHDAY SQUEAK!

-Pipps, don't call me that.-She said slightly awkwardly embarrassed. Meghan was the next one. Kate placed a hand on her belly and smiled.

-Happy birthday from the both of us.-Said the american as they hugged.

-Happy b-day cousin!-the two York sisters said at the same time and kissing her at every cheek. Sophie did the same.

-Let's see when we can come so the kids can play.-They agreed and the brunette felt a hand in her back. When her head turned she found Zara giving her a kiss on the cheek.

-Happy birthday, Kate!

-God I didn't even noticed you!-She smiled and asked her about little Lena, Zara told her Autumn had a problem at work but would try to get there after lunch. The last woman approached taking her hands and giving her a little peak on the cheek.

-Happy birthday my dear.

-Thank you Camilla.-She gave her stepmother-in-law big smile before sitting at the table to start eating.

They all started a small conversation with one another. Sharing some laughs until her mother started telling an embarrassing story from when she was little, although she ended up nearly crying.

-But one day they grow up and marry their prince…-Camilla placed her hand on Carole's shoulder.

-Tell me about it.-They both laughed.-I've only had two but you have three.-All the women laughed. Once the desserts arrived, Pippa stood up clapping her hands.

-Well it's presents time!

-But, I thought…

-We know you said no gifts but, you know us.-Zara, sitting next to her, took her hand. At that moment Autumn appeared heavily breathing.

-HI! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE!-The blonde gave her a hug and a kiss.-I hope I'm in time for the presents…-She said looking at Pippa.

-We were about to do it. Don't worry, Zara already placed your in the bag.

-Bag?-Kate looked at all the smiling women.

-Yes. We have all of them in a big a bag and you have to guess who are they from.-She took a big black bag from under the table and placed it in front of her. A little shy, put the hand inside and took out the first one.

-God I'm very bad at this.-She started unwrapping the square shaped gift. It was a frame with a picture of Savannah, Isla, Mia, Leña, George and Charlotte all together.

-Autumn? or Zara! I mean!-She laughed at both of them.

-It's mine, yes.-Autumn confessed.-It's the picture you take in July at the Polo match.

-Aw I love it!

The next one was from Meghan, Bluetooth headphones for when she wanted to go running in Kensington. Sophie gave her a beautiful jumper from a designer she really liked a year ago when they both organized the fashion engagement. Beatrice's gift was a weekend in a spa in Wales, a present that went together with Eugene's gift, a white long dressing gown, quite see through, with her own name on it.

-To wear it…when you go alone, with William to the spa.-The youngest York blinked an eye. Kate's cheeks went bright red.

-I remember when I use to wear those.

-Yes, me too…it drove them mad.

All the women looked at Carole and Camilla who were nodding at each other.

-MOM!-Pippa screamed.

-Oh god,we want those stories for the next reunion.-Autumn said and all the women laughed in agreement.

The next present was Pippa's: an album with all their memories together. From when they were little to when they lived together in Chelsea to nowadays. She nearly cried at the memories and couldn't help but to hug her little sister. Zara's was the following one. She gave her a bool she had been talking about for the last months and a little package.

-Oh this… this you should open it at home. Privately. By yourself.-Zara goofed around, a little embarrassed.

-No, open it now!-Beatrice insisted and Sophie clapped next to her, excited.

-But…-

-Oh come on! If it's for us, we've seen everything there is to see.-Camilla shook her head encouraging Kate to open it.

-And we know everything there is to know.-Carole nodded in agreement.

-Okay…-Catherine started unwrapping the little box and Zara looked away at the others. Suddenly, all the women gasped at once.

-Oh my….-Sophie was the first one to talk.

-It that…?-Meghan started asking.

-Yes, yes, yes it is. Yes.-Eugenie nodded. Pippa covered her mouth with a hand.

-It's a… It’s, you know… A bullet vibrator…-Zara tried to explain. Kate started laughing and everyone looked at her.

-I absolutely love it! I've never had one of this before and I've always heard wonderful things about them!-The Duchess gave her cousin-in-law a kiss.

-Oh my goodness...but that's very… that's very small…-Camilla looked at the object and then at Carole.

-’Cause it’s for the outside, Camilla.-Autumn tried to explain.

-Nowadays they've already come up with everything.-Carole laughed at the oldest duchess.

-You don't even need a man anymore!-The blonde duchess madre everyone laugh.

Once the present was explained as well as put away, Kate knew there were two more people to go: Camilla and her mother. She put the hand inside the bag, expecting to feel two more gifts but she only felt one box. The duchess looked at them both with a question in her head.

-Yes.-Her mother said.-Open it.

Kate's confusion was obvious for all the women while she unwrapped the present. It was a beautiful white box, when she open it she found a gold necklace with three little medallions. The first one had a little C with an acorn on the top, the second one was her own royal monogram and the third one was Camilla's royal monogram. Kate felt like she was about to cry when she looked at the two women in front of her.

-Like I gave you the bracelet with our royal monograms for your wedding. I talked to you mother about making a necklace with our three C's.-Camilla explained.

-Carole, Catherine and Camilla. When Charlotte have a royal monogram we can add hers as well.

Kate couldn't say anything but to stand up and hug them both, thanking them for everything. All the other women looked at the scene with warmth in their hearts.

-Meg, are you going to cry?-Eugenie looked at the american who was holding a tissue.

-It's the hormones.-The duchess of sussex sobbed, wich made all them laugh.

After some more chatting and coffee, they all said goodbye. Kate thank all of them to come as well as for the presents and took her car back to kensington. The kids would be at home and she still had a dinner to prepare, with all her closest family attending, and without a clue of the big surprise William had prepared for her.

To be continue...

[didthekingdieyet]

You're right I should've shared, I'm sorry.

http://charles-and-camilla-fanfictions.tumblr.com

i adore you, my friend. we’re besties now.

@charles-and-camilla-fanfictions please know that you are wonderful and i’m begging that you are satire

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All The Time in the World - Chapter 1

Part 1 Devoir

Birkhall, January 2020

I wake with the howling of the wind and curl so that every part of me is cocooned in the warmth of the blankets but my nose is exposed and complains about the temperature. Reaching my hand across, I can feel that the other side of the bed is empty, although the compression of the pillows tells me that my husband came to bed last night. Sometimes he falls asleep at his desk and that leaves him with pain in his back and a niggling disposition best avoided. I grimace as the wind fights its way into the house and I hear the lash of rain against the window panes belabouring them. Today will be difficult. He acts like the incarceration in the house is the fault of everyone around him rather than the inclement weather. I settle back into the covers and shut my eyes to postpone commencing the day.

“Your Royal Highness, Ma’am?” The knock against the door is tentative. I hate being disturbed prematurely and this house is meant to be where we take our holidays, not where I should be harassed at indecorous hours of the morning. “Why are you in my room, waking me up?” “So sorry, Ma’am, His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales has asked for you.” “The sun hasn’t risen. He knows not to wake me before then.” I’m being petulant. The sun never rises early at this time of year and certainly not this far north. “Sorry Ma’am, he asked for you.”

The initial irritation dissolves into unease. “Fine.” I wriggle out of the covers and prop myself up on the pillows. The air cools through my nightdress and brushes my bare shoulders like frost, making me shiver. Almost immediately, the lamps are switched on in the room and I find a thick cardigan placed around me, a cup of black tea in my hands, warming them. “Tell me, Martin, what exactly is wrong with my husband?” “He’s most perturbed, Ma’am.” “Meaning?” Martin colours most magnificently when he’s embarrassed. Watching the shade of his cheeks, I can sometimes work out the truth before he’s admitted to it. He doesn’t look at me and I repeat my question with a Grandmotherly sternness I know works well with him. “He’s striding around his office, shouting at anyone who enters.” “What’s happened?” “I think The Prince would want to tell you himself, Ma’am.” As I raise my eyebrows at him slightly, I see his endeavour to remain loyal to my husband waiver at my expression. I just need to probe correctly to break him. “Is it that Chinese virus?” “That what, Ma’am?” “Corona Virus?” His blank face tells me it’s not. “Harry then?” I watch his face rouge, not able to lie to me and then crumple as he folds. “You need your iPad. There’s a message on Instagram.” “Tell me. I don’t know where my glasses are. I don’t even know how to work Insta-whatever-it-is, I just scroll through the pretty pictures.” “It’s Their Royal Highnesses, The Duke and Duchess of Sussex. They have announced they’re stepping back from the position of Senior Royals.” “Get me the iPad.”

It’s a strange emotion that hits my stomach. The anger is instant and prickles my skin, and the grief for my husband settles down in my heart as an old companion. Swallowing, I attempt to rid my mind of any unfavourable comparison but my stomach is churning, a contorted mixture of unease born of wounds from long ago, and guilt from what feels like a different age, salted in a deep-set resentment. I feel leaden as I read the message four, five times over, memorising it before removing my reading glasses to look at Martin. He’s worried about my reaction but I’m not my husband. I sigh heavily, not wanting to get up, but one benefit of my position is that someone will aid me with everything, especially when my bones are too old to move quickly at this time of day. “Send for Emma.” My poor husband. Anger laps at me but I know I have to be calm, even as my stomach pangs. I bet Charles hasn’t eaten yet. “And tea for his office…” “Yes, Ma’am.” “And something sweet.” “What sort…” “...Duchy biscuits are fine,” I snap, then pause to correct myself and continue with a more neutral tone, “Ready for when I get there. And toast and honey. Send Emma up now.”

Dismissing him, I breathe in deeply, feeling the air inflate my lungs, feeling my blood disseminate the oxygen around my body, to my tired muscles, calming me, preparing me for my job, my vocation. The lifetime I’ve spent talking gently to my husband, teasing him, bullying him, calming him down. There is never the time to process each new disaster with his family and sometimes I feel reminiscent of a firefighter, faithfully attempting to extinguish one crisis as several others ignite around me, but it seems churlish to complain when we’ve spent so many years striving for what we have now.

~*~*~*~*~*~

2000, Highgrove

We turn on the television to listen to Big Ben, to hear the countdown and watch the fireworks and I feel his hand reaching for mine. I clasp it firmly. The camera pans onto a closeup of his mother’s face and I smirk. Sat there with the Prime Minister, she looks as pissed off as her public persona allows. He kisses my cheek and I know he’s noted my expression. “She looks happy.” That makes me chuckle and I pull away from the screen and turn to face him. The hubbub around us is quieting now to the hush which always accompanies this precise moment in time, that pause before the countdown to the New Year begins. “I wonder if the telly’s going to crash at the stroke of midnight?” “Perhaps everything will go down?” “Your mother will be trapped in the dark.” “That would be funny.” “Do you think the little bug thing will crawl out and take over, reign over us?” That makes him chuckle and he reaches down to kiss me. “Last kiss this year.” “Last kiss this century.” “Hold my hand. I want to enter the new millennium with you.” The countdown starts but I’m looking into his eyes. I want his eyes to be the first thing I see. Or the last, if the world does indeed come to an end in five seconds time. But, of course, it doesn’t and I’ve almost completed saying the obligatory blessing before he kisses me again, then presses his forehead against mine. I can hear the celebrations around me. The corks popping and the choruses of ‘Happy New Year!’ We’re jolted slightly from side to side as our friends turn and greet in the new year in the time old fashion but I can’t draw away from him. Not until I feel people tugging me, grasping for my hand and then the spell is broken and I’m back on earth, singing along with all our friends, laughing with them, bouncing our arms to the beat of the song, grimacing at the sound of my voice as I warble along with them.

The deep boom of fireworks exploding outside sets off an excited chatter and I find myself hastily bundled into a coat, his coat. My nose burrows to inhale the scent but I’m manhandled outside and his arms hold me to him as I try to watch the display. “Start as we mean to go on.” “Being shoved outside, you mean?” I hear him chuckle against my ear and then his lips against my neck make me giggle. “Resolutions, Darling.” “Oh, I’m dreadful at these. I always say the same things. I’ll give up smoking. I won’t drink as much… One week of January and the sheer tedium of the month bores me straight back to my old habits.” “That’s because you had no intention of ever giving them up and you’ve said it for show.” “Probably.” “My resolution is to be with you.” “You are with me, Darling.” “To fight for you until there’s no longer any need.” That makes me smile. It will be another millennium before people accept our relationship. “What’s my resolution, Darling?” “You’ve got to make it. I can’t tell you what your resolution will be.” I feel his fingers poking in my side to tickle me and smile. “I resolve to love you through everything.” “You can’t resolve to love me! You’re meant to already love me!” “I do ‘already’ love you.” I turn my head to kiss him, to reassure him and manage to find his chin. It’s rough against my lips. “I said I will love you through everything. Through everything that hits you, hurts you, damages you. I will love you through every crisis. That’s the resolution.” “I think I’m getting the better deal.” “You most certainly are. You need to up the stakes with yours.” “I can’t. The only thing you want, I’ve done for the past thirty years, regardless.” “What do I want?” “You want to be loved and to feel loved. I can’t resolve that I’ll always love you. It’s just a part of who I am. I’m far too old to change now.” “Don’t change.” “When have you ever known me to change?” “Well then you best make up for the discrepancies in our resolutions!” “I will make you my Queen, Camilla.” “Whether I want it or not?” “Something like that.” “Sounds like a threat.” “It’s meant to be an honour.” “Let’s just concentrate on the moment. The bug hasn’t taken over, has it?” I turn in his arms so I’m facing him and bat my eyes at him, making him laugh. “Don’t sound so hopeful!”

His eyes sparkle at me but even my joke can’t distract from what he’s just said to me. The crowd around us seems to me to be separated from us by an invisible force, hushing the noise, and I feel like we’re suddenly so far away from the rest of the world. “Your resolution isn’t about me. It’s about what you want.” “It’s also about you being treated with the respect you deserve.” “That isn’t important to me.” “Only because you’ve learnt to live without it. It is still important.” “I’d prefer to be with you than to be ‘respected’.” “I want you to have both.” I know he does. I won’t let him shatter traditions and demand it happen now; I’m not sure that would even work. But I know he means it and once he makes a decision, he sticks with it. “It would be nice to not be the most hated woman in the world…” “I wish people could meet you. Then they’d love you as much as I do.” “This is the perfect time for wishes. Make them to your heart’s content and then hold onto me tightly and just savour that we’re here together.”

I hardly dare allow myself to wish for anything. It feels like tempting fate. Turning my face towards the spectacle in the heavens above me, I push my head back against him and wish for time together. Just us. But even as I wish for it, I know it will never happen. Ironically, we saw far more of each other when we were married to other people, almost a different lifetime ago, when we both had fewer scars, before the trauma of the past few years. I’ve got a better wish. My wish is that I can make him happy, that I’ll be allowed to do that. At the moment, everything is an uphill battle for acceptance, dodging the grenades thrown at us from his own family, riding the wave of public contempt. I don’t desire to be a part of the Royal Family, I never have; I would happily flee the country and live out the rest of my life with him. A simpler life. No responsibilities. But it would break him and put the responsibility onto his son’s shoulders, shoulders far too young for that weight. So perhaps, instead, my wish is for the strength I’m going to need in order to make him happy when the world is desperate for us to be ripped apart. They don’t realise it’s far too late for that. We won’t be parted from each other now. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me. We are starting the new millennium as we mean to go on. Together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

1970, London

His body tenses as I wrap my arms around him but I ignore it and I feel his hands gently pat my back. “Do people not usually hug you, Sir?” I pull away, my eyes grinning at him. He is bright red, his cheeks so flushed they match the rouge of the wallpaper behind him. “Usually I initiate it. People don’t tend to assume they can hug me.” “How dull.” That makes him laugh, a little giggle which sets his face alight. This has been my challenge all evening, to see if I can make this very serious young man loosen up a little. The giggle is almost apologetic and he brings his hand up to his face to hide behind. I want him to laugh openly with me. I’m not sure why. Objectively, he’s very attractive, if you’re into princes. He’s got the education, certainly, some of the topics of conversation have tested me to my limits tonight but he seems to have enjoyed himself and he appears to have been a very good distraction from the mess my love life is currently in with my on-off boyfriend Andrew and his various conquests. Lucia, our mutual friend, was naughty but right to introduce us and her little soiree has been an unmitigated success.

“Careful you two,” Lucia draws on her cigarette to drastic effect, “you have genetic antecedence…” She blows the smoke out to form a perfect smoke ring and I’m more than a little impressed. “Sorry?” He’s really sweet when he’s confused. “I think, Sir, she was referring to the fact that my Great Grandmother was your Great-Great Grandfather’s Mistress…” That makes him blush, from his cheeks and up his ears. “He had a great many mistresses, which particular one are you referring to?” “Alice Keppel.” “Oh… That one. She was considerably more than just his mistress, wouldn’t you say?” “I suppose…” “According to my sources, she was the love of his life. You certainly had best watch out. I apologise in advance if I fall in love with you. I won’t be able to help it, you see. Genetic antecedence.” “She was also meant to be exceptionally good in bed.” Lucia’s drawl makes me cough out my own inhalation of smoke and turns his cheeks a deeper rose colour, although his eyes are sparkling at me. “Is that genetic too?” I laugh and watch his face break into a great smile. “Would you like to know? Or are you destined to be a virgin until you’re married?” “There are no rules about me being a virgin.” “How unfair.” “I guess it is, rather. Tell me this, Miss Shand, how is it that you are single when you talk such tantalising talk?” “Apparently others find me less attractive. Perhaps it’s all a facade and I become boring the more time you spend with me? Then you require more variety?” “Somehow I doubt you’re ever boring. Andrew’s an idiot, by the way. My sister is a wonderful woman but she will drop him like a stone when she’s finished with him.” The fact that he knows about me and Andrew shocks me but I don’t let it show on my face. Perhaps Lucia has told him. The other, inconvenient truth being that Andrew’s current squeeze is Princess Anne, is evidently public knowledge and I ignore the pang of pain which goes through me. “Oh, I’m quite sure he’ll survive. If he doesn’t already have someone else on the go, I’d be really surprised.” “Then it appears I meet you at a fortuitous time.” “How’s that?” “Well I take it that you’re very much ‘off’ with Andrew?” “Very much so.” “Hence the fortuity.” “Oh, well, I only had eyes for him and he only had eyes for everyone…” “That explains why you fell over a cliff.” I look at him, recognising the line and seeing his eyes looking at me, anxiously willing me to laugh, “You rotten swine, you!” “You have deaded me!” That does make me laugh. “Foiled by President Fred!” “Quick, get behind the screen, Gladys.” His mimicry is so on point, he leaves me with tears rolling from my eyes and I’m doubled over with laughter as he recites line after line of my favourite radio show with perfect accuracy. In the end, I have to stop him, to allow myself space to breathe and just looking at him sets us both off again, laughing all my makeup off. Neither of us noticed Lucia disappearing and it’s only her reappearance later which switches our conversation to something else.

I like the way he looks at me as if he’s searching for my approval when he speaks, checking that I agree before continuing. I can’t quite believe how funny he is and how interesting his stories are. I could listen to his soothing voice for hours. Not that I’d admit that. The time dissolves whilst we talk and I don’t notice the fading of the light, nor the various candles which appear around the room until we run out of time and Lucia shows us out of her flat. We saunter down one flight of stairs together. “Goodnight, Miss Shand.” That makes me giggle; it’s so antiquated and suits him to a tee. Now I can feel myself flirting with him. “Goodnight, Sir.” “I’ll walk you home.” “It’s just down the corridor. I can surely manage.” “I’ll walk you anyway.” “Then you’ll know where I live.” “Yes, I will.” “I’m not sure that’s entirely suitable.”

I can’t stop myself from flirting with him, batting my eyelashes, glancing at him sidewards, ensuring he sees that I’m looking. The darkness of the hall is illuminated by the glow from the moon as all the lights have gone out in the power cut, a sign of the times which is usually irritating, but today seems romantic. It makes his skin glow with a silver sheen and I want to reach up and touch his face. I don’t, of course. Instead, we linger by my door, leaning against the wall, talking, giggling quietly as I unsuccessfully attempt to desist with the flirting. “Can I kiss you goodnight?” “Of course not.” His question shocks me and I kick myself for my immediate knee jerk answer. “Well, would you come dancing with me?” “You’re a Prince. Can’t you just order me.” “Possibly. I’d prefer you not to come by force, however.” “Would take some of the fun out of it…” He giggles, nervously, and it makes me smile. I pretend to consider, my eyes meeting his and seeing the fear in them. “Not tonight.” “No, of course not. Tomorrow?” That makes me chuckle and I nod, turning the key in my door. “When shall I pick you up?” I shrug and slip into my flat. “Seven thirty?” “Yes.” “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I close the door in his face and smile to myself. I feel slightly giddy at the thought of him calling on me. This should be fun.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 11

Birkhall, March 2020

“I love you. Please tell me that you know that.”

“I know you love me… You just don’t love me enough.”

“You’re upset because I put you second to the Crown.”

I don’t answer. I just try to breathe, try to match the pressure around my body from his arms but my limbs have no strength.

“Do you know why I would come to see you?”

“Yes, you’ve told me…”

“That’s the public reason I would give. But my personal reason has nothing to do with that. My personal reason is you. Darling, you wouldn’t even know that I was there. But I couldn’t be apart from you. The reasoning is selfish. How I feel.”

“But you won’t grant me the same wish.”

“No. Because it would look bad on the Crown.”

I open my mouth, ready to complain but I just sob, my heart so heavy.

“And think who that person is. Not my mother. She’s just holding on to spite me. He’s my little boy, regardless of his age. Don’t hate me for that. Don’t think I love you any less.”

The reasonableness of his argument jars through me. “I hate you.” 

“You would do exactly the same.”

I hate it when he is right. “Why is it always me that has to submit?” I know I’m being petulant but he has really hurt me, years upon years of knowing I’m not important enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about how upset I have made you. But a marriage is a union between two families, not just two people. It isn’t an isolated cocoon of just our love. Could you even imagine?” He kisses the top of my head. “We’d kill each other.”

“This is a bit like a cocoon…”

“And we’re already fighting.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either.”

“But it’s always me making the compromise.” He isn’t even aware of most of them.

“I know. I know… I love you. You’re the reason I have happiness in my life. I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t. But I love you. Every atom of your being radiates the energy I need to survive. I don’t have the power to give you everything you deserve in life. I’m sorry for being a failure to you.”

If I didn’t know he meant it, this would anger me. It’s manipulation. But in his case, he means it and it tugs at my heart. How can he still feel like this? “You’re not a failure.” 

“I am if I can’t make you happy.”

“You make me happy.”

“Funny sort of happy this is…”

“Nobody is happy all the time.”

“I’m happy every time I know I’m going to see you. Even today. I was scared about seeing you but still happy. Holding you in real life, like this. Even if you’re crying…”

“Better when I’m not crying?”

“Admittedly better when you’re not crying…”

“Hold me until I stop.”

“Can I hold you for longer?” 

“Yes. Can we start today again?”

“How?”

I wriggle out of his arms and start taking off my clothes. He gives me a sideways glance and copies me.

“I presume this isn’t what I’m thinking.”

That makes me smile. “Your presumption is correct.” I slip my legs under the blankets, out of the cold, and he soon joins me, squealing slightly as I press my frozen feet against his calves. He kisses me softly and I realise how much I’ve missed him, how much I’ve wanted to be beside him, to hold him, to kiss him.

“What do I have to do to make it a positive presumption?”

“Depends on how loved you can make me feel.”

“I can make you feel loved.” He finds my hand and kisses it repeatedly.

“When we get up, we can start the day again.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“I can’t wait to spend the day with you. Being in isolation away from you has been like living in a prison. But I can deal with being trapped inside the house with you. Just you.”

“Only you. I’m looking forward to it already.”

1980, Bolehyde Manor

I struggle with the seatbelt, not managing to release it from the clasp and he laughs at me, watching me getting annoyed with it before reaching over and releasing the lock.

“Free.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you planning to run?”

“What? Because you’ve released me?”

“Because I set you free.”

“You think I’m free just because you removed a belt from around my body?”

“I’ll release you from everything.”

“The door’s locked.”

He smiles, pressing a button and I hear the clunk as the car unlocks.

“If I run, there’s armed police to stop me just ten yards away.”

“I’ll call them off.”

I hold up my left hand. “You can’t free me from this.” I say the words before thinking and then I curse myself. We don’t talk about this relationship going anywhere or that it’s not. We don’t mention the binds and why it’s not possible. We don’t talk about anything to do with feelings. Just desire. And friendship. They’re easier.

He takes hold of my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm of my hand and making me shiver. “I could remove this very easily.” Then he bites my ring finger, roughly, pulling my wedding ring off with his teeth. I giggle, nervously, as he spits it from his mouth and tosses it in the ashtray, amid the ash from my cigarettes. 

“It feels very bare now.”

He reaches to kiss me but pulls away before I can respond, then I feel him pulling at my finger again, this time to push a large ring over my knuckle. The metal is warm. He doesn’t let me look at it but I know the ring very well. It sits on his pinkie and he never removes it. My heart is beating so loudly, his protection officers must be able to hear it, sitting in the car behind ours, guarding the drive behind us. His blue eyes are staring at me intensely and he strokes my hand now with his thumb, stirring a current through me. Why did he do that? Why does it make my heart leap with an excitement which is edged in such a warm pleasure? I want to allow myself to love him but I know I can’t.

“Imagine it’s any diamond on this planet. I’d get it for you.”

“Please stop.” I can’t afford to indulge in this pretence. It’s dangerously like hope.

“Or would you prefer a stone instead?”

“No.” I don’t know what I’m saying ‘no’ to. The stone, the roleplay… 

“A diamond then. The size of your knuckle. Then you can’t ever take it off.”

I feel him slide towards me, slipping across the leather seat and then we’re in easier territory as he reaches to kiss me. I throw myself into the kiss as kissing him is the only outlet for my heart. I grasp onto his head and push my fingers into his hair, pushing against him fiercely. But then my head is against the back of the seat and I can feel his hands now caressing my face, his kiss so gentle, it forces me to open my eyes and his are there, staring at me and I need to look away but I can’t. How did this become so much more than playing games with my husband? How did my best friend become this burning desire in my heart?

“I think I’m in love with you, Milla.”

“Think? If you were in love with me, there would be no thinking involved.”

“That’s nonsense. Of course the thought process is involved.”

“Then you’re not in love with me.”

“You have the most ridiculous romantic notion of love.”

“Love is different. You said you were ‘in love’ with me.”

“I take it back. I love you. Are you going to argue with that?”

“I’m heading inside.” I push him off me and reach for the ashtray to retrieve my ring.

“Don’t!”

It stops me for a microsecond and then I reach for it again, his hand capturing my wrist roughly. A liquid anger bursts through my veins as he physically restrains me. “Get off me!”

“I don’t want you to get your hands dirty!” He holds out a pristine handkerchief and releases my wrist. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to…”

“Yes, you were.” I snatch the handkerchief and fish out my ring from the ash. It’s filthy.

“I’ll get it cleaned. Please don’t put it back on tonight.”

His ring is so heavy on my finger and so tight and my heart is pounding from the conversation we’ve just had. I climb out of the car without kissing him goodbye and walk quickly to open the front door. I’m not surprised to feel his arms around my waist and his lips against my neck, making me ache for him. “You can’t come in, the children are in bed.” I push the door open and his teeth pull at my ear, making me squeal.

“Why not?”

He follows me inside before turning me to face him. He’s not even kissed me and I know he’s staying. Every cell in my body wants him. I manage to put my keys on the sideboard along with his handkerchief with hands which are already shaking.

“I’m sorry for making you angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I don’t have enough resolve to maintain anger with him. He kisses my neck and my arms wrap around him of their own accord. 

“I love you. I don’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re shaking.”

I pull away from him. “Follow me. Quietly.”

He’s gone when I wake the next morning and I roll over to push my nose into the pillow he used. I can still smell him and I breathe him in, feeling it curl through me, stroking my heart which is already sending out ripples of distress at being parted from him. I need to get a grip on this. I can’t be in love with him. I allow myself a few long moments to remember last night and that delicious rush which floods through my skin as I recall the feeling of his body flush against mine before I force myself up and into the shower, washing him away. Then it’s time to switch into my other life as I go to wake my baby daughter, her fat little face scrunching up in displeasure at being woken. Back to praising her for having a dry bed, slathering cream all over her, dressing her, negotiating what she’s wearing–why does she care what she wears? Then I heave her on my hip as it takes far too long for her to walk downstairs when she’s dopey like this and trudge into the kitchen. Tom is out on the patio already. I can hear him talking to himself and the door is wide open. 

Ambling outside, I see the train track first, a wooden contraption which he has constructed all around the patio and then I see the two of them, Tom and Charles sitting together, building a bridge. My heart feels like it’s falling from that same bridge. I watch Charles explain the need for supports and then help to build the track, letting Tom do the work, allowing him to think and adjust the plan. Laura demands to be put down and I find myself staring at Charles as Laura toddles over to him and he sits her on his knee.

“Good morning, Darling.” It’s said to Laura but he’s looking at me. Laura makes a grab at the track and he hands her a train to play with which she drives over him. This isn’t fair. He can’t be so good with my children. My heart is shouting at me to listen and it’s becoming too difficult to ignore. I return to the kitchen for air, busying myself with breakfast and I notice my ring in a bowl on the side, sparkling clean. I reach for his signet ring, sitting on my finger and run my finger over the feather crest, wanting to keep it. I pull it but it’s tight and it doesn’t budge and I get the first waves of panic that I won’t be able to get it off.

“Do you need help?”

I look up at him worriedly, then smile as he seems to be wearing my children, Laura still playing with a train on his shoulder, Tom clasping onto his trousers. “Morning, Darling.” I bend down and open my arms to my son, kissing his soft hair until he wriggles away.

“I got it on without a struggle so it will come off.” He grasps onto my hand and kisses it. “For now, you’re stuck with the reminder of me attached to you.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m feeling incredibly smug this morning.” He puts Laura down, and she rushes off to follow her brother before he wraps me in his arms. 

I sink into them as if they were made for me, breathing him in, pushing my lips against his neck. 

“Last night was…”

“Stupid…”

He laughs at my interjection, kissing the side of my face. “Incredible. As you well know.”

“I thought you’d left.”

“I won’t leave you without saying goodbye. I was planning on making you breakfast but then I got distracted by Tom.”

“Making me breakfast? You can cook?”

“Scrambled eggs, of course.”

“Wow!” He grasps onto my sides, tickling me, making me giggle before kissing my forehead and drawing me closer.

“When can I next fall asleep with you wrapped around me?” His words are whispered into my ear, making my heart sing, making my stomach churn with anxiety.

“When can I wake up with you beside me?” 

He doesn’t answer, just kisses my ear and holds onto me tighter.

“So when am I meeting you and your girlfriend as ‘a couple’?”

He moans into my ear and we pull apart. “Why can’t I just marry you?”

“I don’t know. Something reminiscent of someone called Simpson?” It makes him chuckle but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I would actually like you to meet her properly. Tell me what you think of her?”

“We should probably do it sooner rather than later. You have very bad taste in women.”

“You just never like any of them.”

“Precisely. Really bad taste.”

“Give her a chance. She’s very young.”

“I know of her. She’s a lamb. I can’t really see you two together though.”

“You can help her.”

“What? Help her become more ‘suitable’ for you? Christ, Charles, do you actually like this one?”

“I don’t know. I might do. She’s very sweet. She listens to me.”

“Do you think she’s attractive?”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh God… So you only might like her personality and you’re not sure she’s attractive?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“That’s a start.”

“She’s very amenable.”

“What a quality to possess.”

“It’s quite important really. She’s going to have to do everything my family says and tradition dictates for the rest of her life if she marries me.” “Good point… Okay, amenable then and pretty. Let’s meet her. I’m sure I can pass on some friendly advice.”

“I don’t want to marry her. I need you to know that. I want to marry you.”

“But you can’t, so here we are, discussing potential brides…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself…”

“Darling, you don’t have to marry her. But you might need to give her a chance.”

“I was meant to be leaving.”

“Some conversations are important enough to take the time to have them.”

“Yes. Call me later. It’ll be good to talk through this with you anyway.”

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 12

Part 2 - Imbroglio

“There are two kinds of secrets. The ones we keep from others and the ones we keep from ourselves.” Anon

Birkhall, January 2021

The only thing that has made this new lockdown bearable is the weather. There is a crisp snow on the ground yet the sun has just the faint touches of warmth and the skies are wall to wall cornflower blue. We’ve walked for miles every day just to feel less cooped up in the house. Whilst both of us have been working remotely, we’ve still got masses of spare time and we’ve spent more time together these past few lockdowns than the rest of our entire married life put together. Invariably, we’ve ended up talking through issues we have always just ignored. I’m taking it as a positive that we’re more involved in each other’s work and families than we’ve ever been before. I’m not quite as optimistic about his persistent need to overhaul our lives to analyse every minute detail.

“When did you realise that you loved me?”

I wince slightly. It’s a really difficult question. I look down at the dirt path in front of me and don’t answer. He leaves just a few paces before continuing.

“You can’t say you don’t know or you’re not sure. That’s not in the spirit of this discussion.”

I stall, stopping to pick up a stick and throw it for the dogs. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“Yes. But I don’t accept your answer.”

“What would you like me to say?”

This time it is him who pauses, wrestling the stick out of the dog’s mouth and throwing it again for them. “Milla, be honest. Why does it matter? It’s so many years ago.”

“Because every time we’ve discussed this, you’ve got upset with me.”

He scrunches his nose although he knows I’m right. “Alright. If I get upset with you, I’ll put an additional half a million into every grandchild’s trust fund. Then it’s a win-win situation for you.”

I gawp at him, knowing that he’s serious and hating that I’m so easily bought. He continues walking, chuckling at me and therefore understands.

“1970?”

“No. I did not love you.”

“I think you did.”

“I don’t remember ever thinking to myself that I was in love with you. I’m sorry. I liked you. I was very fond of you. Maybe I did love you. But I wasn’t in love with you. We hadn’t had enough time.”

“You’re wrong. You loved me.”

“You may have wanted me to love you. That’s very different.”

“When you married Andrew?”

“No. Stop torturing yourself. I was very fond of you. I was upset that things ended so badly. That it was considered best for ‘all parties’ if I married Andrew. But I did love Andrew then.” I watch the tip of his nose, the tell tale sign of displeasure and reach for his hand, kissing it before returning my eyes to the path ahead. “You asked me to be honest. You wanted to talk about it. You promised you wouldn’t get upset with me.”

“I promised I wouldn’t get upset with you. Not upset in general. After Tom was born?”

“I don’t know. No, you’ve got to allow grey areas, Darling. I was rather desperately unhappy and I didn’t understand why. And you were… I think if I wasn’t so sad, I would have been in love with you. But I couldn’t feel anything. You were my friend, my revenge, my secret. There was love there, certainly.”

“When my Uncle Dickie died?”

I reach for his arm to squeeze it. It’s funny how grief for a person you love never really dies. It just hides inside you, dorment, the pain numbed by the passage of time. His Honorary Grandpapa was such a huge part of his life, of our lives by that time, but your life continues to grow, despite the grief and eventually, that gaping chasm the loss created is no longer such a consuming part of your life, just a part of your life. But it’s still there, that chasm, if you allow yourself to think about it. Just as raw as ever. “Yes. I think that’s what made me realise I loved you.” This is a lie. I knew before this monstrous life event. For me, it wasn’t death that made me realise I loved him, but birth.

1971, Classiebawn Castle

I sit quietly, staring out of the window, pretending to be nonchalant as we drive through the countryside. After the panic of getting into his plane, where I had to pretend to be calm as he flew us across the sea, this feels relatively easy.

“You’re much less grey now.”

I sigh, inwardly. Evidently I wasn’t successful.

“I thought you’d enjoy a personal plane ride.”

“It was slightly better than an ordinary plane ride.”

He chuckles at me and reaches for my hand.

“It’s refreshing to see you have your own foibles. Sometimes you’re a little intimidatingly perfect.”

“Thank you?”

“It was a compliment.”

Other than the flight, every moment we spend together is so free of strife and hurt that I find myself relaxing. Today, I spent the entire day thinking about him. I never thought I’d be able to push Andrew out of my mind so easily but he’s a tonic to that mess. I might never love anyone as much as I love Andrew, but if I have to live without him, this will either be a wonderful alternative or the best revenge I could think of. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for the former. Pushing away the more unsavoury of my thoughts, I concentrate on the present instead. I’m good at doing that. Why live in the past or spend your life fearing the future when the present is the only thing you have control over?

“I’m taking you to meet my Uncle Dickie.”

“Oh, right.” I wrack my brains, trying to place the name and then it hits me and I force my face to remain neutral.

“Your hand’s gone all stiff. Relax. He’s like an honorary grandpapa to me. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“I didn’t dress…”

“You dressed correctly. We’ll spend the weekend hunting and walking and riding. You’ve got evening attire. You’re dressed perfectly.”

We sit in silence for a little while as I force my heart to stop beating manically before I blurt out, “Why him?”

“There are only two people in the world that I want you to meet who I care about and who care about me. One is my Grandmother, but you already know her, the other is my Uncle Dickie. I can’t introduce you to my mother and father but I can bring you to meet the people who raised me, who love me. I realise it’s not the same as you taking me back to your family house with all your immediate family, but it’s as intimate as I can do.”

I smile, raising his hand to my lips. “I can’t wait to meet him.” Because at this moment it’s suddenly true and I relax. He wouldn’t take me to meet someone who won’t be nice to me. That’s not his style. I don’t know if I’m in love with him or not, but I know there’s something special here. I’ve never felt so wanted and appreciated in my life. For now, I’m going to focus on being his friend. A friend I want to be with all the time. Well, a friend I happen to enjoy sleeping with. A friend I need to kiss at every possible opportunity. I wonder if he loves me? Maybe I’m getting carried away with myself. I might just be a bit of fun for him. That’s okay. I think. I’m certainly just a bit of fun for Andrew. It would be nice to be worth a little more.

“Do you really mean that?”

“What?” I was completely lost in my thoughts.

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“No.” It’s not worth lying about. “What did you ask?”

“I asked if you fancied going fly fishing and you said yes.”

“Did I? Well that very much depends. I’m up for most things if it involves company and chatting. So I’ll fish with flies if you are prepared to show me how to do everything and aren’t going to expect me to be quiet for long periods of time.”

“I might take you salmon fishing then. I don’t think fly fishing is for you. I find it’s a great way to contemplate life.”

“You mean you stand in silence in one spot for hours on end.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I fancy fly fishing.”

“What about if we go in a little boat?”

“Are we still fishing?”

“In the sea this time.”

“The same rules apply.”

“Do you ever do peace and quiet?”

“You’re with the wrong person for that. Only when I’m on my own.”

“I go on my own for peace and quiet also. If we go line fishing, are you going to be bored to death ten minutes in?”

“Are you planning on talking to me?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t bring you if I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Sounds great then.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He looks at me with a strange look in his eye and then he pulls the car around the corner. We turn out onto a road which runs parallel with the cliffs and I can see the fog rolling in off the sea. Then I spot the castle.

“How far away are we?”

“About fifteen minutes, why?”

“Will we be missed if we’re a little late?”

“No?”

“Pull up.”

He does as I ask and I get out of the car and run over to the cliffs. He follows, quickly behind me and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. It rises up out of the undulating rolls of the hills and towers high with twisting spirals.

“My goodness, it’s like something out of a fairytale.”

“The mountain behind it is home to the fairies. It’s said the doors open at night and the restless spirits float out. The villagers claim to hear them and some have been kidnapped to look after the fairy babies. If they escape before seven years have passed, they can leave but otherwise they are trapped there forever.”

“Don’t let them kidnap me.”

“I’ll keep you tight in my arms…

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”

“Yeats.” It makes me turn in his arms and he kisses me so, so softly until the heavens open and we have to run back to the car. But it’s too difficult to stop as he pulls me across the front seat of the car and I find myself on his lap, kissing him fiercely as the rain hammers down on the top of the car. His arms are wrapped so tightly around me and I feel his fingers grasping onto me, holding on as we sail off with the intensity of the kiss, pulling me closer even as I try to rock my hips against him and then closer still as I moan into his mouth as pleasure from this slight movement takes me unexpectedly. 

A flash of car headlights interrupts us and as we pull away from each other, I realise it’s suddenly got very dark. The car stops next to us and winds down the window.

“Your Royal Highness…”

We can hear him through the glass but Charles winds down my window, reaching over me to talk to the man.

“Are you okay, Sir?”

“Fine, thank you, Timothy.”

“We’ve got to go the back route. Workers have dumped a huge truck of gravel over the main road in and they’re not due to shift it until Monday. Follow me, Sir.” 

Classiebawn Castle is a fairytale outside but it’s cold and draughty inside. I feel like I’ve gone back several centuries, sat at dinner with the roaring fire and then I have to retire to the drawing room to leave the men to drink whisky and smoke cigars. My host seems pleased to leave her husband to his folly and we sit together for a good hour without either of us taking a breath from chatter for anything less important than a drag of a cigarette or a sip of a Tom Collins. Eventually, the doors open and a slightly drunk Charles escapes from the dining room and makes a beeline for me. He sits practically on top of me and wraps his arms around my waist.

“You smell of smoke.”

“So do you.” I like the smell of cigar smoke, but I don’t need to tell him this.

“Can we go to bed?”

“I’ve just got a new drink.”

He picks up my drink and glugs half of it before the vodka hits the back of his throat and makes him splutter.

“That’s really rude.”

He laughs with an indignant squeak, “The number of times you’ve downed my drink to get me to go!”

“Completely different.”

“What? Because you did it to me?”

“Yes.”

“Milla, that drink is vile. I think you’re going to need a nightcap to get the taste from your mouth.”

“Pick your tiple.”

He makes me laugh. Slightly drunk, he’s much more gangly and awkward than usual, wobbling around the room, finding a bottle of his choosing but when we get upstairs to a room warmed by a roaring fire, he no longer seems to be troubled by his limbs. 

“Are you sober?”

“No. But I’m not as drunk as I was acting. I had to get back to you somehow.”

It makes me laugh again and then he grasps onto my cheeks, making me look up at him, seeing my own reflection in his eyes before he kisses me. Kissing me in a way which makes every hair on my body stand on end, before pulling away to gaze in my eyes again and I get a jolt of shock through me as strong as the desire which is coursing through my veins as I realise that I want this to be a real relationship. I don’t want to just be friends. Perhaps this is the real thing and this is just the beginning. There’s something about kissing him which makes me forget to breathe and I can’t think about anything other than the feel of him. It’s okay. We have all the time in the world to figure this out. Friends or not, we’re very much lovers and tonight I have him to myself the entire night.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

Safe in His Arms

As the sun cast its fading yellow rays over the fields of wheat, they shimmered slightly in the breeze, emitting a golden glow across the road. A lone car sped down the country lane, looking far too disheveled for its destination. The woman inside a curious mix of a Barbour jacket practically falling to pieces, a homemade knitted cardigan so old it could house moths, and squeaky clean, brand new Chanel pumps, in a soft cream which should attract every atom of dirt yet were subtly resisting. Camilla had a lightness in her heart which she could attribute to one thing, or rather one person, and just the thought of him made her smile as she turned up the radio and slowed down to take a bend in the road. It felt, miraculously, like the horrors of the last few months were beginning to become the past and she could feel the stress which had consumed her easing its noose hold around her neck. The Minute Waltz blasted from the speakers before Nicolas Parsons’s dulcet tones took to the stage and she laughed, a full bellied laugh which made her tip her head back in appreciation.

Just for a split second.

The car appeared from nowhere, coming straight at her. She saw the whites of the woman’s eyes in the car opposite widen in fear and screamed before the crunch of the impact drowned her out.

The next thing she realised was that she was alive. The tinned laughter from the radio was still sounding and she moved each limb cautiously, checking each part of her was in fact intact. Her leg was sore and there was a bit of blood from somewhere but not much, thankfully. Her shaking hands reached for the door handle and she had to yank it open in order to stagger out. The wheels of the other car were in the air, still spinning round and the horn was sounding. She bent down to look through the smashed windscreen and saw a blonde mass of hair hanging upside down. The woman wasn’t moving.

A bolt of panic ripped through her and she let out a scream which sounded alien to her, scaring her further, causing her feet to take flight. Then she ran. The sort of run one makes when fleeing for one’s life. Her feet pounded against the road, not caring about bumps or pot holes, just flat out desperation to get away. It was only when she finally tripped and her body flung against the tarmac, grazing the skin on her hands, ripping through the material of her trousers to scrape her knees that she stopped, rolling into a ball and collapsing against the verge. Her breath came in short pants and the first hit of pain made her eyes water, although she didn’t recognise what was happening. The panic calming from base survival, allowed her brain to replay the crash over and over and she heard the noises of the brakes and the feel of the pedal against the floor as she desperately tried to stop the car.

The woman!

The whites of her eyes returned to haunt her and then the sight of her hair, turned upside down. She had tried to kill her. She had been sent to kill her and make it look like an accident. A white fog descended over her brain as the impact of the collision occurred again and again. Warm blood tricked down from the wounds of her hands and she started screaming again. They wanted her dead. They’d almost killed her. Were they out looking for her to finish the job? She tried to stand but her knees were so painful and it made her cry, then she staggered down the road. The further away she got, the better. Did they want her removed from him so badly they would do this? So soon after that other car accident. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Were they really after her? Did they think The Prince was with her? Panic constricted her throat as she fumbled through the pain in her hands to find her mobile phone which was in her coat pocket. How had it survived? Then she rang his number, still stumbling down the road, aimlessly.

The words which came from her mouth didn’t sound like they were hers. They were squeaky and breathy simultaneously. Her breathing was so spiked she couldn’t get the words out and when the man wouldn’t get The Prince, she started sobbing hysterically, trying to tell him that they were trying to kill her. She couldn’t listen to the advice to calm down, to breathe, she begged him to put The Prince on the phone, in between sobs of hysteria. She didn’t know where she was. Just put him on. How could she say what had happened? Car crash. Please, please, get Charles. Injured? Maybe. Charles, get Charles please. Alive? Yes. Don’t know. Please, put him on. Put him on the phone!

“Hello Darling.”

Thank God. Thank God. His voice made her start crying again and she sat down at the side of the road as he spoke to her.

“Were you driving on the back road?”

She didn’t know. She just cried.

“Camilla, Darling, were you coming to mine?”

“Yes.” Of course she was coming to his. They must have known. Set out an ambush for her.

“We’re coming to get you. Stay where you are. Darling you’ve had a frightful shock. It must have been an awful accident.”

Accident? It hadn’t occurred to her that it could be an accident. That woman. She’d left her upside down in her car… what if she was dead? The thought panicked her further and her chest erupted into a deeper round of sobs even as he spoke to her calmly, reassured her that help was coming. What if? What if? The words curdled in her mouth as she said them. “What if I killed her?” He couldn’t love her if she’d killed her. She’d ruined everything for them both.

“Jonny is coming to find you. You know Jonny. He’ll keep you safe.”

She didn’t deserve to be kept safe. “What if… what if…”

“He’s almost there. He can see you. Darling, I’m going to go when he gets there.”

“No!”

“Darling, I need Jonny to be able to do his job. I will see you really soon.”

“Charles, don’t leave me.”

“I’m not. See you in a minute, Darling. I love you.”

The phone line clicked signifying the end of the conversation and the tears came in earnest.

She saw Jonny approaching but her heart was so wretched, she couldn’t lift her head to answer him properly. She felt him cleaning the grit from her hands and then wrapping them in a bandage and barely winced at the pain. Then he spoke into his radio and she fell back into quiet sobs.

“Camilla?”

She managed to look at him through teary eyes.

“The woman is fine. She wasn’t even hurt.”

That couldn’t be possible? She saw her hanging upside down, motionless.

“It was just an accident.”

Was it?

“She didn’t know you. She wasn’t trying to target you. She was just shouting at her dogs in the back and took her eye off the road for a second.”

The relief made her cry again, raising her bandages hands to mop her tears. “I’m turning crazy.”

“You’re in shock. We’ve called the doctor. Let me help you to the car. I promised The Prince I’d get you back safely. He’s waiting for you.”

The ride home was a blur. The flash of sunlight through the tall trees. The seatbelt digging into her neck as she hunched over to hide her tears which would not stop falling. The crunch of gravel on his drive and the door being opened for her with a loud creak. A sharp pain from her knees when standing up and a ringing in her ears in the silence of the hallway.

Then him. Her nose against his neck. His arms wrapped tightly around her, squeezing her, kissing her ear, her hair. The smell of home, of safety, as her breathing finally calmed to normal in his arms, wiping the tears from her cheeks on his shirt. Him apologising that the handkerchief wasn’t the cleanest and her not caring, blowing her nose loudly, making him smile. Kissing the stubble of his chin then accepting the telling off for not being careful and the gentle kisses on her bandaged hands before returning to his arms again. Safe.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

Assassination Attempt- Part 2

For the past two years, seeing him had been like performing a complex military manoeuvre in order to escape the constant clicks of the cameras, so the amount of time they had spent together had greatly reduced. This had done nothing to ease the need to be together, with each snatched meeting more precious than the last. They’d spoken on the phone throughout his trip to Australia but had never been entirely confident with the security of the line and therefore conversation had remained on safe subjects. By the end of the trip he’d been phoning her constantly, for a scant few minutes at a time, and she’d known he’d used her voice as a way to calm himself. It had made her ache for him with the need to temper his anxiety. He’d phoned her when he’d reached St James Palace and, secure in their privacy, they’d talked until he’d fallen fast asleep whilst on the line. She’d placed the receiver next to her ear and had listened to him snore, knowing that was as close as she could get to him and had then rested her head on the pillow to allow him to ease her to sleep. Neither of them had broached what had happened in Australia; it hung like a sword.

Tonight, they are meeting at her sister’s house for dinner and her heart is pitter-pattering in anticipation of seeing him. Her sister’s household is as chaotic as normal and she gets stuck into the chaos quickly, rushing about the kitchen, doing a hundred jobs before the guests arrive. She contrasts this with her own parties, which run like clockwork, and smiles as she recalls how Andrew panics when she’s up in her room, pretending to be still getting dressed to wind him up, ten minutes before people are meant to arrive. She used to host enough events to manage a simple dinner party without stress but her sister seems to thrive on it so she never intervenes.

“Darling, the door! Get it for me!”

She knows better than to argue with her sister when she’s like this, even if really, Annabel should be the one greeting the guests. Her parents are at the door and she starts to help her father with her mother’s wheelchair before he tells her to get her brother, looking at her in shock and a touch of disapproval. Of course, she should know better than to do a man’s job whilst in a pretty dress. She makes to return inside but recognises Charles’s voice as he calls out to her and turns as he and her father help her mother up the steps. Beating abnormally loudly, her heart informs her of its pleasure to see him and as he kisses her cheeks in greeting, she feels her body sinking against his. It’s difficult to pull apart, made doubly so by how he kisses her lips, once, making her gasp out her breath. Then decorum dictates they must part so they do, and she attempts to greet her mother, who is in a daze of pain and barely acknowledges her.

He wants her attention all evening, demands it, even as he engages in conversation with those around him. His eyes are just on her, following her around the room, smiling at her, laughing with her. When they’re stood together, it’s difficult to speak as just this chaste distance makes her heart pang against her chest and she wants to kiss him so much it’s painful. It’s only much later on that she gets him to herself and she wraps her arms around him and pulls him down to kiss her and it’s fire.

Her sister interrupts them with a knock on the table and even then it’s difficult to pull away. They stand clinched, together, not wanting to return from the daze of each other. Realising that her sister is handing them both a glass of port, they are ushered into the snug and they sit huddled on the sofa, opposite Annabel and her husband, pressed as close to each other as possible, fingers entwined. She takes a sip of port before placing her glass on the side table, noting him mirror her and reaches to hold his other hand, her fingers gently stroking down his.

“So go on, tell us about what happened.”

Ever direct, her sister is more nosy than she is and she smiles as she presses her shoulder into his, feeling him adjust to accommodate her, to allow her to be closer. He’s nonchalant about the whole affair, telling them the facts but skips over any detail, despite Annabel’s prompting. A frown grows on her brow as she worries about him and her fingers press harder into his.

“We saw it on the news,” Annabel looks to her husband for confirmation, “and I have to say, Sir, it was frightfully worrying.”

“It scared me.” She uses her own feelings to prompt his but it just allows them to raise to the surface again.

“It was nothing, really.”

She feels his hand on her cheek, turning her face towards his and meeting his eyes with a jolt. “But it still scared me.”

“Don’t be scared for me. I was never really unsafe.” His voice is breathy and his eyes are boring into hers earnestly.

“But you could have been. That’s what scared me. It still scares me.” She feels her lip twitching with the effort of not allowing her emotions to take hold of her.

“I think we’re retiring upstairs now. Everything’s locked up so you can head up when you want.” Her sister nudges her husband out of the room, leaving them. She knows they’re giving her space to talk to him and she’s grateful.

“It was that little of a danger, I did my speech straight afterwards.”

His fingers are caressing her face and it’s difficult to maintain the conversation.

“But you’re allowed to cry if you need to.”

She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. “You were amazing to deliver that speech. I don’t think most people would have managed to do that. I was so proud of you.”

“It was nothing.”

She feels a stray tear flee her eye and race down her cheek, flinging over her chin and down her neck. He traces the pathway with his thumb before kissing her neck, making her heart ache. “It wasn’t nothing. You don’t realise how special you are.”

“Why are you crying? You knew I was alright.”

It wasn’t that. It was that you didn’t care. I saw your face, you just… It was as if it genuinely didn’t matter to you what happened. Charles, I need you to care…”

“I do care, my Darling. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get in touch with you. I wanted to terribly when I realised how big the story was, but by then it was like everything was deliberately conspiring, not letting me reach you. There wasn’t a break in the engagements and I had no one around me I could trust to phone you. Then there was that awful storm… But I know that’s no excuse. I should have phoned you right away but I didn’t think…”

“I don’t mind about that. That’s not what upset me so much.”

“I’m sorry, though.”

She feels his lips kissing her neck in penitence and it’s difficult to keep questioning him, it would be far too easy to reach for him instead. “Why didn’t you care about what happened to you?”

He pulls away from her immediately and she doesn’t try to stop him although her heart pangs.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth, Darling. Always the truth. Even if you think I won’t like to hear it.”

“I’m cold.”

She pulls a blanket from the wicker basket at the end of the sofa, knowing he’s stalling, letting him organise his thoughts. Wrapping it around the both of them, she feels him wriggling until he has his head on her chest. Gently, she eases them down onto the sofa, their legs entwined and then she adjusts the blanket around them again. She waits.

“I was disappointed.”

He stops but she doesn’t interrupt, just strokes his head softly.

“It wasn’t real. I don’t want to die, don’t worry. I just… even an assassination attempt wasn’t a real one. I knew it wasn’t a real gun. The sound wasn’t right. It was pathetic. Just like me.”

“You’re not pathetic, Darling. Please don’t think that.”

“I could just imagine Diana laughing at me for making a scene and I don’t want to embarrass the boys any more than I already have. They already think I’m weak.”

It makes her heart ache for him. She kisses the top of his head.

“And then I couldn’t even ring you and I turned into a monster. I shouted at all my staff. I was obnoxious to everyone. So rude. My father would have taken me to pieces if he’d had heard.”

“You are allowed to be upset after what happened. You are human.”

“You were upset with me, weren’t you.”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t even come to the phone. Andrew answered for you.”

“I didn’t answer because Andrew didn’t want me to worry you, I wasn’t not talking to you.”

“Andrew needs to stay out of it! He’s always interfering. I was worried that you weren’t talking to me. If you’re upset, I still want to talk to you. I want to make you feel better. I still want to talk to you if you’re upset with me; I want to fix us, to make it alright. I thought you must have been so angry with me. I sat and stewed for two hours, waiting to call you. I’ve worried about this for two weeks.”

“I wasn’t angry with you. I promise. And I wouldn’t do that to you. Well I was a tiny bit angry but not like that. You could have demanded that Andrew pass the phone over.”

“If you were angry with me, me doing that would have lit the fuse.”

“True. I’d not thought of that.” That makes them both giggle, despite the conversation.

“Your eyes if I’d done that… I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall but there is no way I would deliberately cause that!”

She smiles and her fingers caress his face, running along his cheek, over his lips which reach out to kiss her.

“I’m sorry for making you upset. If I’d been able to phone you earlier, you would have been fine.”

“It’s okay. I’m tough.”

“I know. But I’m sorry you have to be. Was Andrew good with you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that makes a change.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“He’s never there for you when you’re upset. I know. I’m the one who holds you when you’re crying.”

“I’ve never let him know I’m upset.”

“Why?”

She shrugs but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue. This is uncomfortable; she feels a cold prickle down her spine. He never usually picks at her marriage. “To never give him reason to not want to come home to me.”

He sighs and she knows he’s annoyed with her, or perhaps annoyed with Andrew. “If you ever do that to me, I will be so angry with you. I love you, my Darling, not the cultivated fragments of yourself you feel you should proffer to keep me happy. With me, in person, alone like this, are you always yourself or do you feel you have to perform?”

“That’s a level of honesty I’m not sure I can always manage.”

“What about most of the time?”

“Are you always honest with me?”

“In person, yes… Most of the time…”

“Then I’ll try for most of the time.” She smiles and wriggles down so she can reach his lips. “On the subject of honesty, tell me what you were thinking.”

“At that moment, not very much. Disappointed, like I said.”

“And after?”

“Fear. Not of death itself, I don’t fear that. Fear that I could die without being true to myself. Fear that I could die thousands of miles away from you and not see you before I have to go. I’m not ready to give up. I must find a way to be with you or there’s no reason for existence, even if I can’t see a way forward. Oh, Darling, you’re crying again.”

“Only a tiny bit.” But her heart is beating so hard, he must be able to feel it against his hand as he spreads his fingers over her chest. This love is so different from anything that came before. His words encompass and soothe her even as she’s trying to help him, to listen to him. She feels his soft kisses across her cheeks and on the tip of her nose.

“I would be so happy with you. I’ve always known that. And I believe I would make you happy, if we married. I think it’s the only solution available to us.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes, Darling. I can’t have you subject to the constant indignities of being my mistress. Marriage is the only way forward.”

“I’m not so sure other people would agree.”

“Well we’ll have to show them. Darling, you’d be quite wonderful. I know you would.”

“Would I be Queen Camilla? Even saying the name sounds ridiculous.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d be Her Majesty, The Queen.”

“It’s ludicrous. You’re sounding like Andrew.”

“Andrew said I would make you my Queen?”

“I think Andrew was just joking about which titles I could bestow on him were I to become Queen. But he was having a laugh. He wasn’t serious.”

“Well I am.”

“And I would happily marry you in this fairytale land you’ve concocted.”

“Only in a fairytale land?”

“I would marry you in any land.”

“Marry me now.”

“I take thee Charles Arthur… to have and to hold…”

“I take thee Camilla Rosemary… for better, for worse…”

The words had started as a joke but the second he says her name, she realises it’s not. It’s a longing too desperate to give any inch of escape but she can’t help it, the words come tumbling out, “To love and to cherish…”

“Till death us do part.”

They’re lying nose to nose and she can feel his breath heavy against her lips. “I mean it.” The words are whispered but she says them loud enough for him to hear.

“As do I, my Darling, as do I. One day. I promise you.” He bites her nose, making her giggle and she tries to retaliate but he pulls away each time, making them both laugh.

“Now we’ve remedied that infliction, was that the only thing that bothered you?”

“Are we not going to consummate the marriage first?”

She giggles at him, kissing him firmly, letting it linger until he reaches to kiss her again then she pulls away. “No. Later. What else bothered you?”

“Loneliness. Unfulfilment. Boredom. Dissatisfaction with life. Love or the lack of love.”

“I love you!”

“I know. But you’re not with me and I spend my time pining for you, longing for your love.”

“You need to soak it up when you’ve got it. Store it up and make it last.”

“Does that work for you?”

“Well… not exactly…”

“It doesn’t work for me at all. Perhaps if I could spend enough time with you to get fully charged up? Then I might just need to be topped up but I run down to zero the day I leave you and I know how far away the next time will be and I live on empty, clinging onto your voice when we speak on the phone.”

She closes her eyes at his words, her face scrunched as if to deter the tears but he wipes them from her cheeks and kisses her heavily.

“And yet again, I’ve made you cry. I’m so sorry.”

“You have my love. You have all of it. It’s yours. Take it. Take all that you need. Take more. It’s the most natural feeling in the world and it grows and grows. I give it all to you and it’s still there, overflowing.”

“Mine isn’t like that. Mine feels like a solid structure, part of me, grown throughout my life into what makes me, me. I worry I don’t share it enough with you.”

“You gave me your heart thirty years ago. I kept it here, safe.” She taps her chest. “It’s a part of me now. You need to remember that you possess mine.”

“I find it so difficult when we’re apart for so long.”

“I know, Darling. But I’m here. I’m always here for you. Was there anything else? Anything else that troubled you in Australia?”

“Just that it was such a poor attempt. He didn’t even make the effort to do it properly. I wasn’t worth the effort.”

“He was protesting. He wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“I know that now…”

“It’s a stupid reason, being disappointed.”

“Just a pathetic little man with an agenda.”

Seriously, Charles. You sound like a spoilt brat.”

He scoffs but she can tell he finds her amusing. “I am a spoilt brat. I think that’s the entire point of being a Prince.”

“You don’t get to be a spoilt brat around me.”

“Yes, I’m aware… I’m on my best behaviour at all times around you.”

“Christ. That’s your best behaviour?”

“If it had been a real assassination attempt, and I’d escaped unscathed, or possibly with just a very attractive mark which would turn into a war wound, then you’d be so beside yourself with worry, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

She giggles. “Especially if you’d been terribly brave and apprehended the armed man with your bare hands.”

“And saved all the people in the event from his tyranny.”

“You are a hero, Darling.”

“And then I handed him over to law enforcement and pulled you to me.”

“And I was overcome with how astonishingly brave you are.”

“And you kissed me in front of everyone.”

“Desperately.” Her stomach spins and she squeals loudly as he flips her over onto her back and then her skin fires with the anticipation of kissing him as he grasps hold of her wrists and hoists them above her head. She hears the side table hit the floor with a loud thud and they both giggle.

“What else would you let me do in celebration of my heroics.”

“Anything you want to do.” She strains up to kiss him, hearing the moan leave his mouth but he pulls away and looks down at her, his eyes impossibly dark.

“Jesus, Milla.” He reaches to kiss her again and she tugs her wrists from his grasp, reaching up to hook her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, kissing him, the rush through her body immediate and fierce.

“This might…” Her words trail off as he kisses her harder, his hands dragging down her body making her strain to get closer to him. “…shock people.”

“Let it.” The words shoot out with his breath as he pulls down the straps of her dress and his hands against her bare skin shoot through her into a thousand separate strands, piercing through her body, making her call out. She can’t pull him close enough.

“For Christ sake Camilla. I put you in the back bedroom so you’d be on the other side of the house to us. This room is directly under our bedroom. I’m not having it.”

She pulls him against her to shield herself, and starts to giggle at the expression on her sister’s face. Her giggle sets Charles off and Annabel is not amused, turning on her heel and shutting the door with a thud.

“She’s jealous.”

“Oh absolutely.”

They giggle to themselves, kissing intermittently, trying not to get carried away with the kisses.

“Let’s stay here. We’d have to be quiet. Not get caught by my sister.”

“Oh no. You promised me that you’d do anything I want. I most certainly don’t want to be quiet. And I don’t want you to be quiet. And I need more room than on a shabby old sofa.”

“Well you can start me off here.”

“You think you can be quiet?”

“Yes!”

“Are you positive?”

She bites her lip, her eyes gleaming up at him. She feels his hands grab hold of her legs and he pulls her roughly to him, making her stomach fly, making her squeak slightly.

“Your sister will be really annoyed if she has to listen to you after that.”

But he touches her and she can’t stifle the moan even as he presses his hand against her mouth and he laughs, reaching down to kiss her.

“Upstairs.”

“Yes, Sir.” She giggles again as he raises his eyebrows at her before wriggling out of his grasp and rolling off the sofa onto her feet. Holding her hand out to him, her face gleams as he tugs it, threatening to pull her on top of him and then he lets her pull him up and charges at her, holding onto her as he manoeuvres her backwards out the door, both of them giggling, unable to stop kissing each other.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

Assassination Attempt (part 1)

Thinking back, she is almost certain she felt the moment the gunman fired that first shot as a streak of pain through her heart. Her body goes cold and every hair in her body stands on end. Although she is aware she possesses no demonstrative psychic abilities, she is as sure about this as she is about the ghost in her former house. That phantom did nothing more than tease her with the television. This feels much colder, much more threatening. So when she switches on the nine o clock news and sees the words ’Gun Man Fires Two Shots at Prince Charles,’ she’s not surprised. Apart from the shock of the report, she sits stoney faced yet surprisingly calm. Her husband is tiptoeing around her, grating on what’s left of her nerves but he puts a lit cigarette in her mouth and even through her agitation, she inhales gratefully. The cold has returned to her body but with intermittent prickles in her back and around her neck which chill her further.

“And now to our main story tonight. Whilst on tour in Australia, an unnamed gunman shot two shots at Prince Charles before leaping upon the stage, coming within a metre of the Prince before being taken down by security.”

“Darling, he’s quite alright. You can see from the video.”

“Thank you Andrew, I’m not capable of watching the television without your narration.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Evidently not.”

“He ought to have warned you.”

“What, like you did, you mean?”

“Camilla, that was different. I was dealing with the aftermath of a terrorist attack. I lost my men that day. I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“I know. I’m just saying, this is not the first time I find something out on the news.”

“I’ll get you a whisky.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

It’s true. Her hands are shaking so badly, it’s difficult to raise her cigarette to her mouth. “Yes.” It takes her a moment to focus her eyes on him, everything feels so far away.

“Jesus, Camilla, you’re not going to be sick are you? You’ve gone so white.”

“I’m fine. A whisky would be good.”

He doesn’t give her a minute to sink into her thoughts. Each time she replays the clip in her head, he’s demanding an answer to a question, saying her name and pulling her back to the present until she’s drunk so much whisky her tongue comes to life.

“Why didn’t you ring me? I was worried sick!”

“Are you talking about The Prince or about me?”

“The Prince isn’t here. Obviously, I’m talking about you!” It’s so easy to be angry with him. The fear she felt the day of the IRA bomb mixes with her rage with Charles. “I was sat in front of the television, not knowing if you were dead or alive. You couldn’t be bothered getting someone to inform me?”

“He might not have known this would be picked up so quickly by the world’s press…”

“I’m not talking about Charles, I’m talking about you!”

“You’re angry with him and you’re taking it out on me.”

“Don’t get all psycho-babble with me! You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Okay, I’ll bite, I didn’t inform you because I was the commanding officer at a terrorist site and I’d seen dismembered soldiers in my unit lying dead on the street, horses mangled and screaming and there was a high chance it wasn’t an isolated incident and I knew that I could be blown up at any second. Is that reason enough for you?”

She puts down her whisky and grimaces, the embarrassment of admitting she is in the wrong colouring her cheeks pink. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are.”

The look on his face is unreadable as he stares at her but she doesn’t feel anything other than anger. Anger at being put in her place. Anger at being disregarded. She picks up the bottle and pours it into her glass, glaring at him in disbelief as he takes the bottle off her.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“Actually, I think you might be needing me to tell you what to do just at this moment. You’re acting very strange.”

She feels very strange. Perhaps it’s the numbness that’s creeping through her body, firing off all her nerves into anger. She feels heavy and far away from the world.

“I feel sorry for the poor bloke who was in charge of his security. That’s his job gone.”

“Too right!”

“And the wives of the men who jumped in front of the gun man to take him down…”

That makes her start. What if the gun had not fired blanks? At that range, he would have been dead, the bullets would have ripped through his skull and blown out his brains. The lack of any sort of emotion on his face. He knew and he didn’t care. Suddenly her heart races to action and she feels a cold sweat drip down her back.

“Camilla, breathe normally.”

“I’m breathing.” She is. Breathing so hard to try to fill her lungs which seem to refuse to be filled.

“You’re hyperventilating, Darling, try to match my breathing.”

But she can’t. She can’t see anything other than the dead in Charles’s eyes as he looked at the gunman with scant interest. How he pushed past his security, not caring about his safety, to watch. How easy it would be for some mad person to take him away from her forever. And then she’s crying, these enormous sobs which consume her and Andrew keeps on trying to comfort her but she feels a flash of cold ice each time he touches her, making her shrug him off. Eventually he settles for handing her tissues and giving her a cushion to hold against her chest, which she squeezes as tight as possible.

The phone rings and she springs to her feet but she’s so light headed, she sinks down again and as her brain spins back to central, she hears Andrew answering.

“Yes, Sir… Very well, Sir… I’ll let her know.”

“I want to speak to him!” She mouths at him across the room but Andrew frowns at her, shaking his head.

“Upset, as you’d probably imagine, but you know Milla. She’s a tough nut… I’ll let her know. Goodnight, Sir. Sorry, good morning, Sir.”

“I wanted to talk to him!” Her voice is a growl across the room and the tears still sound in her voice.

He walks back to her with a sneer, sitting on the arm chair opposite her. “You wanted to talk to him in that state? I won’t let you embarrass yourself like that.”

It’s a flash of anger rather than hysteria which hits her this time. “What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you when you’ve pulled yourself together and stopped crying. He’s going to ring later. You can’t talk to him in that state.”

“He won’t care.”

“Yes he will. The man’s just had an attempted assassination attempt and you’re the one crying? He’s not ringing you to hear you sobbing down the phone.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not. I’m just being truthful. You know what he’s like.”

It’s a dark bitter feeling to know that she is wrong and he is right. She can’t cry down the phone to him. It would only panic him. Crying is only for when they are together. When she can hold him tightly in her arms and keep him safe from the world.

“And you need to sober up. He’s ringing you at 11pm. He said there had been a lightning storm and the power went out overnight.”

That’s better. At least there was a reason. She looks at Andrew for the first time in relief and starts wiping away her tears, blowing her nose. She can feel the whisky in her head but she knows she’ll be able to sober up when she needs to. She’s not worried. Once her legs stop shaking so badly, she gets up and heads to the kitchen, lighting the hob and pouring herself a large glass of water. A few minutes pass before Andrew shuffles in and she serves out the leftover stew into a bowl, gesturing to Andrew, who nods, before doling out another bowl. They sit at the kitchen table in silence whilst they eat the stew.

“Did you cry when you found out about the bomb?”

Andrew doesn’t look at her and she takes a sip of water before answering, “No. Not until I knew you were alright. Before that, I was too shocked to cry.”

“So you cried with relief?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Like you were before?”

“I don’t remember but I don’t think so. The children were there.” She’s lying. She remembers it clearly, sitting the children down and explaining what had happened. Remembering the tears which ran like streams down her son’s face and trying to console him by telling him what a hero his daddy was. She was one of the lucky ones, not having to explain her husband’s death to her children. How would she even begin to articulate the death of a parent to two young children? It was unimaginable.

He nods. “Good.”

“Why good?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to feel like this.”

“It’s just emotion. I feel better for crying. I needed to.”

“Was I right to stop you from talking to him?”

“Perhaps.” But she’s lying again, trying to make Andrew feel better. Just hearing Charles’s voice would have soothed her far more quickly than anything else.

She makes to tidy away the dishes and he stops her, clearing the table and putting them in the sink for the housekeeper to wash, flicking the switch of the kettle to make a cup of tea. “You look much better now. You’ve got colour in your cheeks again and you’ve stopped shaking. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.”

“No. I know.” Of course he hadn’t. She wanted him to enjoy his time with her and caring for a crying woman wasn’t high on his list of pleasures.

“We’ve been married for twenty years and I’ve never seen you that upset. Have you ever been that upset with me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve hidden it from me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you hide it from him?”

She wonders what he wants to hear before shrugging and telling the truth. “Sometimes, if I don’t think he can cope with me being upset.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Never when we’re together. When we’re together I don’t need to put on an act. But when we’re apart, yes.”

“Why have you hidden it from me?”

“I didn’t want to make you angry, or give you a reason to not want to come home to me.”

“Jesus, Camilla. Am I that shallow? No. Don’t answer. What’s changed?”

She looks at him, her eyes sad and he drops his face to his hands.

“You no longer care…”

“Andrew, I care…”

“But only as a friend…”

“My dearest friend.”

“That’s a lie. He’s always been your ‘dearest friend’. You’re more yourself around him than me. You both turn into a pair of teenagers when you’re together.”

The kettle starts singing and she moves to stand before he stops her, taking his time to fill the tea pot, stirring it absently to speed up the diffusion before pouring hers out. He waits a minute longer for his, allowing it to stew and then pours, adding a dollop of cold milk to his and a slice of cut lemon to hers. As he hands the cup to her and sits down, the familiarity isn’t lost on her. The cup of tea is perfect.

“So, ironically, you let me know you better, now, because you no longer love me. Oh, Milla, I’m sorry.”

“What for? I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“What?”

“HRH, does he make you happy?”

“Andrew, I…”

“All I see is all the pain he causes you. The past two years, you’ve been so unhappy. Your name slung across the tabloids, trapped inside our house by the paparazzi. He’s made all our lives miserable. So I want to know, is he worth it?”

“Yes.” She blurts it out quickly, forcefully. Perhaps too earnestly but she means it with all her heart and she doesn’t want Andrew thinking anything else, for him to think she wants them to get back together.

“Have you got a dastardly plan to get rid of me so that you two can be together?”

“No! Of course not, Andrew!”

“I’m wondering what the point is, Camilla?”

There is no point to her and Charles. That is the entire point. Andrew wouldn’t understand, unless he was referring to the two of them and in that case the point was always the children. “Well you’re just waiting until the children are grown, isn’t that the point?”

“Yes, I am. Then I can escape this bloody circus.”

That hurt. She doesn’t bother hiding her face from him. He meant to hurt her with his words but now he’s looking repentant and he reaches across to squeeze her hand before encasing them both in his. It’s always nice to hold his hand, hers dwarfed by his. She gives him an out. “Are you planning on marrying Rosemary?”

“Possibly. What about you? Are you hoping to become his official mistress?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Oh my God, Camilla, you’re planning on marrying him!”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not. Your face. You’re planning on marrying him!”

“I’ll never be allowed to marry him.”

“That may be so, but that’s your plan. Jesus. You’re not even doing it for status. You just love him. You’re an idiot.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Yes. So we have about four years left. Charles and Diana are never going to last another four years… So you both divorce around the same time and then you attempt to marry him.”

“You’re talking fairytales.”

“Perhaps. Well I want a seat at the wedding.”

“Really, Andrew!”

“I can be your lady in waiting!”

“You’re a man!”

“Ah ha! It is a plan!”

“It is not!”

“I want to be front row at the coronation.”

“You’re delirious.”

“I think it’ll be a bit weird bobbing to you though. I might give that a miss.”

“Charles won’t like that…”

“Charles can suck my…”

“Andrew!”

“What? It made you laugh, didn’t it?”

“Yes… Yes, it did.”

“Let’s go back to the lounge. I want to sit in comfort.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand and when they sit down, she feels him pulling her to him and curls up against him, his arms wrapped around her. They sit for a few minutes, watching News Night before she pulls away, leaning instead into the sofa and raises her eyebrows at him as she plants her feet on his lap. He just smiles at her, pressing his thumbs into the sole of her foot from habit.

“Andrew, whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. Perhaps you can grant me a title?”

“Give over.”

“Seriously though. I promise you lunch dates.”

“Lunch dates?”

“Yes. We can have lunch dates and it will all be very civilised. I’d like to bring Rosemary, if we’re still together then. We can all go out together.”

“Charles won’t do that.”

“His loss. We’ll have lunch dates. And parties. You can both come to our parties. But I do expect to be invited to yours too.”

“You are invited to our hypothetical parties.”

“Do you think you’re going to be the next queen?”

“No. Not really.”

“Does he not want you to be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ah. There, you see, that’s where I am better than him. I would make you my queen. No questions asked.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Now all you have to do is tell him that. He’s so stupidly jealous of me, he’ll do it to spite me.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So tell him.”

“No. It’s his decision or not at all. I don’t want anything from him. I want to be with him as an equal and the only way to do that is to go in with no expectations. If he wants to give me anything, that’s his choice. The only thing I want from him is his love. It’s the only thing I can give him in return.”

“Everyone has expectations. You had them of me. You expected to be married. A house. A garden. Children. You wanted a certain lifestyle and I gave that to you.”

“And look what that got me. Got both of us. We’re stuck in a marriage we’d both rather be out of but for our obligations. We’ve both fallen in love with someone else who we can’t be with. We’re so lucky to be friends but it’s not enough. No. Love. That’s my choice now. Just that. Anything else is a bonus. I don’t need it.”

“Are you saying you didn’t love me?”

“No. I loved you. But you didn’t love me. Not the way I wanted to be loved. And I was young and foolish and thought that you’d change. You’d settle down. You’d grow to love me back. That I loved you enough for the both of us. I was wrong.”

“I’m settling down now.”

“But not with me.”

“I would have happily settled down with you, Camilla. That was the point. You choose someone you want to grow old together with. But I can’t now. Because you’d be half a person if I made you give him up. Don’t deny it. I remember the first time I made you give him up for me. And I was of the understanding that you were quite pathetically in love with me yet it still hurt you to leave him to marry me. So I allowed you to cling onto him as a friend.”

“I didn’t require your permission.”

“But I encouraged it. The second time I made you give him up was much worse.”

“That wasn’t your decision.”

“Ultimately, it was. I steered you both towards it and after his wedding you seemed to shrink. Everything about you was less vibrant. You were so quiet for such a long time, even though you claimed you didn’t love him. If that was your heartbreak to lose a man you didn’t love… I don’t want to be responsible for doing that to you again. I know it’s the real deal between the two of you. If you get ripped apart now, I’m not sure you’d ever be whole again.”

Surprisingly, she’s dry-eyed although perhaps that is because she cried out all the tears in her soul beforehand thinking about Charles. There’s none left for Andrew. “I’m sorry.” It seems so insignificant to her. What on Earth can the word ‘sorry’ do to atone for all that?

“It’s just bad timing. It took me thirty years to want to settle down with you. You wanted to settle down immediately. You could have coped with ten years. You were at your breaking point with twenty years. But thirty. That was too long. You gave up on me. I don’t blame you. Perhaps if you’d have taken many lovers, we might have been okay. But you’re not like that. You’re loyal. That was never going to work for you.”

“No. I’m not built like that.”

“Unlike me, he’ll appreciate your monogamous loyalty. Us two, we’re good together. We’re a really good match. But you’ve never looked at me like you look at him. You’ve never been that degree of desperate to answer the phone to me. I think you’re hopelessly in love with him, the all bells all whistles desperately in love epic like you read about in one of your novels.”

“Does it make you feel nauseous?”

“Completely. But I feel better for getting it off my chest. Thank you for listening.”

“Any time.”

“It’s almost time for you to wait anxiously by the phone as if staring it it will hurry it up.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m being factual. Time to listen to your other husband.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Just tell me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me that I’m better in bed.”

“Oh! I don’t remember. It’s been too long.”

“No! I can’t have that. Tell me I’m better in bed. Surely I’m better in bed?”

“Andrew, you were quite exceptional in bed.”

“I know that. It wasn’t my question though.”

“Well, sex just gets better with age, doesn’t it? So it’s not really a fair comparison between now and then.”

“Does it? I think it peters out, personally…”

“And it’s definitely better the longer you’ve been with somebody…”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I agree with that either… Hold on, have you been sleeping with HRH for longer than with me now?”

“With Charles? I think so.”

“God it must be dull.”

“Perhaps I enjoy dull sex?”

“You don’t.”

“No, I don’t, you’re right.”

“Could you imagine the two of us having sex now?”

“Not really.”

“It used to be really good.”

“Yes, it did.”

“I taught you everything you know.”

“How boring does that sound?”

“You’re not boring. I’ll give you that, Milla. Insane, yes, but boring, no. Never.”

“I’m calm now, thank you.”

“Don’t say I don’t look out for you.”

“I never would.”

“Duke… I would make a good Duke. Or a Baron. I’m not grasping.”

“If it were up to me, you would be a Duke, if that’s what you wanted, your Grace.”

“Instead I’m just a Brigadier and the Silver Stick.”

“What a lowly position.”

“Compared to what you’re going to be, it is.”

“I’m getting it.”

“What? The crown?”

“No! The phone.”

“It’s not…”

The bell sounds and she smiles, getting up and walking out of the room to answer.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 10

Birkhall, March 2020

I’ve barely pulled on my clothes to face the morning before the door barges open and he rushes in. We’ve been counting down the days, and the result of that last COVID test took so long, I feel that time is pulling a trick on us and is in fact reversing. I accept his embrace without restraint, needing it as much as him and I reach to push my face into his neck to breathe him in. We stand tangled together for a long time, reaffirming our love for one another in the oldest and simplest of ways. We’ve been avoiding the conversation we’re about to have for the past week, a few more minutes won’t matter as I savour that sense of completeness from being wrapped in his arms, as my hands run up and down his back, relishing having him here to hold, squeezing him as tightly as I can, feeling the returning pressure. We’ve always done the making up from an argument the wrong way round. Any serious conversation has always commenced after we reassure each other how much we love each other. A large part of me would take this love and disregard any conflict but sometimes the strife is necessary to heal, to move forward.

“I love you. You know I love you?”

I hear his whisper and sigh. Here it starts.

“I don’t see a way out of this, my Darling.”

It makes me smile, even as I get a prickle through my skin in anticipation of the awaiting conversation. “You never do see a way out of it. Be more positive, Darling.”

“But this time, I really don’t.”

“By which you mean, you’re not willing to concede anything…”

“Don’t let go of me.”

“Do you remember Penelope?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do, Penelope, you know, tall Penelope…”

“Not helping…”

“Penelope… You know her. She used to be a sucker for the hair magazines and she’d come round to my flat and cut her hair and you’d get annoyed because this short blonde hair was everywhere and I don’t think you quite believed me that it wasn’t another man…”

“Massive boobs.”

“Yes, Penelope!”

“Married an old man…”

“He wasn’t an old man. He was only about twelve years older than her.”

“You’ve not spoken about her in years. You’re really procrastinating.”

“She sent me a letter, I got it yesterday. Her husband’s just died, of COVID. She’s beside herself because she thinks he caught it off her. She’s blaming herself.”

I feel his arms squeezing me tighter. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make excuses for me. I know what you’re trying to say and I love you for it, but that wasn’t why you were so upset with me.”

“She told me to hold you very tightly when we were together again.”

“I’ll hold you tighter.” There’s a pause as we do indeed hold each other tighter.

“How’s William?”

“He says he’s fine. I don’t think he is. He’s said his wifi isn’t working properly so we can’t video call. I know I’m old but I know an excuse when I hear one. What have you heard?”

“Kate was evasive. I think he’s a lot worse than he’s letting on.”

“It’s not even public that he’s ill.”

“People will worry.”

“When it’s about someone else, you understand duty.”

His words hit me as a blow to my entire body and I pull away from him, holding onto the bedpost to steady myself. “I understand it perfectly.”

“But you suggest you can shirk it because you’re upset? When the rest of the country can’t?”

“Yes. You think I’d just be ‘upset’ if you were dying?”

“Do you think your feelings are stronger than Penelope’s? Or anyone else who has lost their spouse and not been there with them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s incredibly selfish.”

“You don’t get to temper my feelings. Put this the other way round. How would you feel?”

“That’s completely different.”

“How is it any different?”

“I’d be with you.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you die alone.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m saying!” The indignation at his remark rails my skin into hackles.

“How would it look if I left my wife to die alone in hospital when everyone knows I could bend the rules to see you? I’d look like a coward, and everyone would think I have no heart.”

“So you’d only be with me because it looks better?” My words are very quiet but I see his face and he knows I’m angry.

“I didn’t say that, don’t extrapolate. I’m talking about public perception. Feelings don’t come into it.”

It’s like being shot. I gulp, feeling my temper boiling through me, controlling it with difficulty. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out of my room before I completely lose it with you.”

“Lose your temper. I’m not leaving.”

“Fine, I’ll go!” I step forwards towards the door and he grasps onto my wrist. “Get your hands off me!”

I see him hold his hands up. “Don’t walk out on me.”

“If you think I’m staying here a second longer…”

“You can’t go, Darling, it’s lockdown. You can’t leave. We have to talk about it.”

“Just try and stop me!”

“Milla, please…” He swoops to the doorway and stands in front of me. Once, I would have barged past him and marched out into the grounds, storming through the heather, knowing he was behind me, at a distance, watching that I’m safe, waiting for me to calm down. Today, I’m filled with a hopelessness which leaks through my body and turns the anger into despair. The despair is too heavy for my knees and I sit down on the bed as they buckle. I wouldn’t want to become predictable anyway. He paces like I’m a wild animal, not knowing what to do or to say. I lie down on the bed and turn my body away from him. By the time he dares to sit next to me, the tears have started and I push my face into the sheets but when my shoulders give me away, I feel him turning me, lifting me until I’m sobbing against his chest.

2010, Clarence House

He fusses around me so badly sometimes, it’s peaceful to shut the door to my bathroom and block everything else out, the order, the adherence to a schedule, the need for perfection in everything. It extends into the ways he feels things ought to be conducted, some of these opinions I share, others I do not. His insistence on the both of us bathing rather than showering, for instance, is sometimes irritating, but this morning, the hot water warms my aching bones and I lean back gratefully, pleased with the time to myself.

“Darling, where did you put your phone? It’s ringing and it won’t be quiet.”

Standing in place of the door, he looks at me expectantly, a breath of cold air cooling my shoulders, which sit above the water. My peace shattered, I sigh. “Under my pillow.”

“Under your…” His face screws up in distaste. “You know my thoughts about having that too close to your head.”

“Mmmm. Yes, and you know mine…”

He stands, mouth open like a goldfish. “You care that little about what l think?”

“I’m trying to bathe, Darling, to get a modicum of quiet before…” That look on his face. My words trail off as he’s in a different world. He’s not present when his face looks like that. “Darling?” There’s no response. “Darling!”

“Hmmm?���

“Charles!” That did it. His eyes move up to meet mine. “Finished ogling?”

His cheeks flush slightly and he smirks at me.

“Out!” I point to the door and he turns to leave, chuckling.

I sink down into the tub, letting the water submerge me, enjoying the feeling of tranquillity brought about by the cocoon of the water. Holding my breath and with my eyes closed, I can escape from the world here. When I surface, I should feel reborn. I don’t. Every ache and pain remains. My hair needs washing and I can’t be bothered. Nor do I want to get up and dressed and styled. I’d prefer to stay here all day, reading a book, not moving. Eventually, the heat from the water is transferred into the cool of the air and my skin has wrinkled up into prunes. I toy with simply turning on the hot tap but I hear my husband’s dulcet tones. 

“We’re leaving in an hour. You need to hurry up.”

I sigh. I’ve still not washed my hair. Then the door opens and I consent to help with my hair before being chivvied out of the bath and into my dressing room. It’s a very female sort of peace in here. I’m wrapped in a huge dressing gown as my hairdresser blows my hair dry and styles it, chatting away amiably. Usually, I do my own makeup, but my team have evidently decided that there is not enough time as that’s applied onto me like I’m a doll. My clothes are set out ready for me and I let them dress me, appreciating the help when I can’t summon the energy to do it for myself. Hat affixed, broach pinned on my coat, shoes polished and gloves on, I walk down the stairs towards my impatient husband. He smiles at me, marching down the corridor to help me down the last steps, then kisses my neck, making me chuckle.

“The car’s ready.”

“I’m never late.”

He rolls his eyes at me, “You just enjoy making me panic.”

“Your tie isn’t done correctly.”

“You never think it is.” 

But he smiles down at me, enjoying the fussing as I fix his tie and remove a bit of fluff from his coat, taking pleasure in being able to go to work together, relishing the soft kiss I can give him before I take his arm to walk to the door.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 9

Birkhall, March 2020

By the time the knock on the door comes, I’ve cried myself dry of any tears. I feel empty. Dragging my body from the immobile statue it has become, I open the door to collect the tray. It’s piled high with letters and tea and biscuits, but at the top is a cutting of the softest lilac auriculas and I start crying all over again. How did he manage to source these from his room? I turn on my ipad and call him.

“Do you like them?”

“Of course.” I don’t know how I have tears left to cry but they stream from my eyes.

“I will need you to talk to me.” He’s crying now and it makes my tears worse. “I need you to make sure they put the iPad next to me so I can hear you. And you need to talk to me, I don’t care what about, because I’ll be so scared.”

I know I’ve lost this argument. I nod and I see him breathe a sigh of relief.

“Do you promise me?”

“I promise you.”

“I’d do anything to wrap you in my arms right now.”

“Just get better.” Oh God, what if he has a sudden turn for the worse and the last thing we did was have this awful argument?

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” I want to take his hand in mine and squeeze it. I want to look into those pale blue eyes of his and push my nose against his.

“Concentrate on staying well.”

“I am.”

“Concentrate harder.”

I’ve never felt so alone.

1980, Rhodesia

Our hands are locked together and our legs are so entwined we might as well be one person. He’s talking to me but I’m too tired and too lost in his eyes to really concentrate on what he’s saying. Everything about him feels good and my body aches in such a wonderful way as I wriggle slightly to get closer to him. Pressing my nose against his, I’m about to kiss him when I hear the word ‘Rhodesia’ and it dawns on me what he is talking about. It makes me draw away from him in surprise. “Why the fuck are you visiting my husband?”

“Because I’m representing Her Majesty. Why are you not with your husband? Most military wives follow them about.”

“I’m not a dog. Anyway, I’m far too busy servicing you.”

“Well come and ‘service’ me in Rhodesia, then.”

“What, fly out with you?”

“Yes.”

“Fly out with you, to Rhodesia, to visit my husband?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend at the moment?”

“Which one?”

“You know which one.”

“The brunette who is very sexy but argues with me about sleeping with you?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you like her?”

“No. Loath her.”

“Then no.”

“I really am becoming more and more like my Great Grandmama.”

“Do it. Do it for me. I can’t bear to be away from you for so long. A trip abroad is like an eternity without you.”

“It will cause an absolute panic. They won’t know where to sit me.”

“They will sit you next to me, if they have any sense.”

“Whilst my husband is there?”

“You can’t possibly be feeling guilty?”

“No… Of course not. If his philandering hasn’t caused a diplomatic crisis this time, he’s done well. Oh, what the hell, yes… Yes…”

“We leave tomorrow, my darling Girl Friday.”

I give him a look before panic takes over. “Oh, God, I’ve got to pack…”

“No…” He grabs hold of my waist and pulls me back to him, trapping me underneath him. “I order you to stay and ‘service’ me, Hildy.”

“You ‘order’ me?”

 “Yes. Service me now. Service me when we’re on the plane tomorrow. Service me all through our trip. Each night. All night.”

“I need to warn Andrew I’m coming.”

“My staff will. Don’t go back to Walter. I’ll let them know you’re coming, let me ring them now. I’ll send someone to help you pack tomorrow morning.”

It’s so absurd, it’s hilarious. I’m like the Cheshire Cat the entire day, waiting for the car to arrive, grinning all the way to the RAF base, onto the plane, into his arms. We’re not discreet as we jump up and into his room the second my nerves stabilise from the shock of takeoff. And it’s so exciting and so ridiculous, I hear laughter peeling from my mouth, making him grin, making him look at me with such a satisfied look in his eyes. We don’t stop laughing through every break of his engagements and I see how happy he looks from the side of each room we enter, meeting and greeting people confidently, with ease. Andrew is more amused with the situation than I’d dared hoped he’d be, and the three of us cackle through dinner, trying not to fall about in laughter at the shocked looks on people’s faces. And then Charles takes my hand and leads me to his room as if this is normal. But it’s not normal. 

There are billowing drapes of netting by the doors, deterring the mosquitos, but the breeze that wafts through is still hot, and it’s so humid, my skin feels damp. The room, appropriately, is fit out in the darkest wood and silks and the marble flooring is cool on my feet as I kick off my heels to stand with him. Plumes of netting hang over the bed, obscuring it as we walk around it, looking for the entrance and then we rush to pull off each other’s clothing, in between burning kisses, until we’re completely naked and we push through the netting, into the bed. I have time to stretch my hands on the soft white sheets as he closes up the net and then there’s just the feel of his skin against mine and it’s so hot we slide against each other.

It’s impossibly romantic. Lit solely by the iridescent light of the moon, we make love to each other over and again until we’re both so exhausted, we can barely move but there’s no thought about sleep. We have too much to talk about and too little time together to say everything. He’s lying with his head between my thighs and he’s nibbling on the inside of my knee, making me giggle as we furiously recount the day, too hot to lie together, both of us sticky but neither of us bothered. The fan doesn’t seem to be doing anything to help us. But as the night rolls on, and the dark provides some relief from the stifling heat, we end up entangled and this time, as we make love to each other we can’t help but whisper to each other and his words of love seep into my skin and I have to kiss him to stop me saying them back to him. A kiss which floods through my body as though we’re kissing for the first time, making every movement almost exquisitely unbearable until I can’t do anything but let him take all control, until I’m biting down on his neck to hold in these moans which seem to spill from my mouth with no restraint. And afterwards we don’t speak, for the first time, we just press against each other, caressing each other, kissing each other until sleep takes us and then we wake in the morning, entwined, fingers clasped, nose-to-nose, lips anticipating the sensation of touching again. I hear him groan as his hand grasps up my body and we’re instantly returned to where we were the night before as my skin aches for him and the only thing I can do is pull him closer and we’re pushing together before we’re even fully conscious.

I can’t stay away from him and I don’t want to. All day he’s reached for me, pulled me out into a corridor just to push me against a wall and kiss me, making me gasp before returning to where we’re meant to be. His hands grasping onto me when we sit in a car, kissing furiously when we have a second alone, the need for each other relentless. I find myself staring at him from the side of the room, when I’m allowed in, listening with bated breath to his speech, willing it to go well and then experiencing such an unexpected surge of pride and relief when it does. He looks over at me with anxious, questioning eyes and I can’t help smiling at him, trying to convey with my eyes how well I think he’s done. I want to rush to him and kiss him. Instead, I see him nod at me, relieved as he vacates the stand and circulates to network in the room.

“You treat him like you’re his mother.”

I roll my eyes at my husband and take his arm to navigate the room. “You look very smart.”

“Don’t flatter me to change the subject. I know you far too well, Milla. Your feminine charms don’t work on me. I’m immune.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s meant to be taken as an insult or if you were meaning it positively. I’m going to take it as the latter.”

That makes him laugh but he doesn’t drop the subject. “You always did say he was immature.”

“Evidently it’s a trait I find attractive in men.”

“He treats you like a surrogate mother, and you get a kick out of that?”

“I’m not restricted to that particular branch of immaturity. It comes in many shapes and sizes.”

“That’s why I had to marry someone so much younger than me.”

“You think our age gap evens out the maturity levels?”

“It’s why we’re well suited. We’re on the same page, the same level.”

“Wishful thinking there. I think men require many, many more years.”

“Some more than others. He was diabolical to be with until you entered the room.”

“I’m a calming influence.”

“I don’t know how you put up with it. Maybe you like the attention?”

“I do like the attention.”

“I couldn’t cope with the constant pawing.”

“Not sure he’s really into men. It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“Now that would be scandalous! I’d almost give it a go for the fun of it.”

“Hands off. He’s mine. Anyway, I thought you were otherwise occupied?”

“You’re being uncharacteristically possessive.”

“It’s motherly concern”

“He isn’t actually yours.”

“I’m aware.”

“Just checking. Wouldn’t like a constitutional crisis on our hands…”

It’s such a relief to return to our room for the second night. Such a relief for the end of the sudden curtailing and the half-hearted attempt at discretion. As I pull him as close to me as is physically possible, I get a surge of panic through me. Panic at the intensity of everything. Every kiss. Each conversation we have. The reaction throughout my body from any slight touch to the feeling of him inside me. Panic as I breathe him in and realise I’m inhaling him because I need to. A fear so strong, it takes hold of me as I’m lying, staring into those soft eyes when he tells me how much he loves me. I have to swallow my response, press my thumbs into his face and kiss him.

“You’re shivering.”

“It’s all the exertion.” He laughs at me and swats my stomach. “You don’t want me to hold you then to warm you up?”

That’s the only thing I want at this moment. I curl against him, feeling his arms around my back, slipping my legs between his and smiling as he rolls on top of me, trapping me under him.

“I’ve got a new girlfriend, the one you pointed out. That Diana girl.”

“You choose now to tell me about her?”

“You’re the one insisting that I date all these women.”

“Now… at this point in time? Not this afternoon? No? Now…”

“Why? Are you telling me that you’re jealous?”

“No…”

“You’re lying. I can tell you’re lying.”

It’s not a nice feeling. Both the jealousy and being called out. I scrunch up my nose and to my disgust, he chuckles at me.

“Good. I’m glad that you’re jealous. I hate it when you tell me to find a wife.”

“You still need to. Even if you ‘think’ I’m jealous.”

“But I want you.”

It’s so direct, I almost gasp. Instead, I try to turn the conversation, “You’ve just had me…”

“As my wife. Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me, Camilla. Please…”

“Charles…” I feel my heart sinking deep into my stomach.

“Divorce Andrew. Marry me.”

His eyes are staring at me, pleading with me. I’m pinned underneath him, his hands around my wrists which he’s pulled above my head. What am I meant to say? I don’t want to hurt him. I opt for humour, our invariable fallback by the way of a difficult conversation, “Are you mad?”

“Yes. Mad. Madly in love with you. Marry me.” Between kisses, he whispers the words into my ears, against my neck, into my mouth. 

I wish I could say yes. “Darling, please don’t ask me to do that.”

“I don’t care about anything but you.” 

Here it starts. I can hear the hurt in his voice, the pleading tone. I don’t think I can go through this again. “Then I’m going to turn you down. I won’t let you do that. I’m not going to divorce Andrew. I’m not destroying my children’s lives. I’m not depriving my country of its king. No, Charles, I won’t marry you.”

“What is so wrong with me that you turn me down again?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.” I pull my arms away from his grasp and reach around his neck, coaxing him to rest against me. “Everything is wrong with me.”

“There was nothing wrong with you the first time I asked.”

He’s so petulant when he’s hurt. “Other than I’m a subject and not a virgin? I had a ‘history’.”

“I didn’t care.”

“Others did.”

“Who cares what they thought?”

“You’re The Prince of Wales, the future king…”

“Yes, thanks for reminding me, I had forgotten…”

That makes us both laugh, despite the conversation and I feel his fingers across my face and his lips press against mine forcefully, making me gasp, making my stomach somersault. 

“If you divorce him, I’ll marry you.”

“You know you can’t. So I’m trapped. I can’t divorce him, it’ll cause a scandal and then I won’t be able to see you.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing. I stay with my husband, you marry someone else, that Diana girl might be a good option. You know this. Don’t make things difficult.”

“You mean don’t talk about it?”

“Yes.”

He bites my neck, pulling at it with his teeth, making my skin explode with the contact. I can’t bear this conversation and the hurt I have to bestow on him. I can’t control the surges of hope which try to constrict my words of refusal and the disappointment which stabs at my heart. I can’t bear the crushed look in his eyes as he pleads with me, eyes still so wonderfully innocent and sweet and I kiss him to quieten him. Sometimes words are too painful and the pain too secret to express. 

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 8

Birkhall, March 2020

“What did your test say?” His voice sounds husky over the phone and it sets my heart in a little flutter of panic. 

“It’s negative, Darling.”

“Thank God. Phone me in an hour. I have to write a letter.”

The days have merged together in a way which seems to make time stand still. An ongoing void of hours which lead to more isolated hours, filled with worry. I look up from my book expecting at least twenty minutes to have flown by but they never do. They crawl. I made a shrewd prediction with this virus but I expected that we would be safe at Birkhall, not infected and hiding away from spreading it to other people. Why him? Why not me?

The phone rings again and at first I’m glad for the hour to be over, and then very aware that only fifteen minutes have passed and I’m gripped with panic again. I know it’s him. “What is it?”

“William, he’s positive.”

Oh, good Lord. “He’ll be fine, Darling. He’s young, fit. You don’t need to worry.” Please don’t worry. Concentrate on getting better. I’ll do all the worrying for you.

“He says he feels fine.”

“Well that’s just what you need to hear. Thank goodness.” I’m going to phone his wife later and prize out the real story. William’s never let us know when he’s ill. Not when he was at school and was struck down with flu, he carried on attending lessons until his house master noticed how much he was struggling and phoned us. Not when he was at university and had a kidney infection and Kate phoned us in a panic when she found him doubled over in pain. It’s as if he has to maintain a facade at all times.

“I’m sure you’re right. I seem to be fine anyway.”

He doesn’t sound fine to me but I bypass the issue. “Well that’s good to hear.”

“Darling, if I’m not, I don’t want you to come and visit me.”

“What?”

“If, and I fervently hope it doesn’t come to this, but if it does, you’re not to come to see me.”

“Darling, if you’re ill, I’m coming to see you.”

“No. I don’t want you to. I’ve seen those awful videos from Italy. I don’t want you visiting me when I’m like that.”

“How ridiculous. I don’t care what you look like.”

“And if I’m ventilated, you must stay away.”

“I will not!”

“Everyone else has to die alone. I’m not being the exception.”

“What the fuck?”

“I know they’ll let you in if you push them. No one will say no to you. They won’t dare. I’m telling you now, I don’t want you there.”

The shock from his words strikes through me and I’m at a loss for what to say.

“Darling, put your camera on. I want to see you.”

“I don’t…”

“Camilla, put your camera on.”

My hands are shaking as I reach for my iPad and press the call button. He never uses my full name and there was something about the tone that I couldn’t argue with. It takes us a few minutes to fix the connection between us and to adjust the video and the volume on the speakers but the time gives me a little chance to think and devise my argument.

“You can’t be seen to have special treatment.”

“That’s the most ridiculous argument. If you’re about to die, it matters not two hoots what anyone thinks. The entire country can hate me, it’s not anything I’m not used to. And it wouldn’t matter. I’m not living this life without you.”

“Darling, you can’t come. What if you catch it from me?”

“I don’t care!”

“Well I do!”

“You wouldn’t even know - you’d be hooked up to a ventilator.”

“I want you to promise me, you won’t come.”

“No!”

“You have to.”

“No, I bloody don’t!”

“I want to die knowing you’re safe. Knowing that I’ve not made my family’s position harder than it already is.”

It’s been a very long time since he made me cry and I do now without hiding my eyes, letting him see but he’s resolved; his face is crumpled with guilt but he holds his position. He watches me cry. “How can you not let me say goodbye to you?” I do cover my face now as the tears turn to sobs and I turn my face to shield myself, my shoulders shaking.

“Let me see you.”

“How can you watch me cry?”

“Because I want you to be safe. Promise me, Milla.”

“No!”

“Dammit, it’s the only thing I can do to make dying alone in a hell hole bearable. I need to know you’ll be okay.” He shouts at the camera and the speakers distort his voice.

“I’m not going to be okay!” I scream the words back at him and end the call. Then I turn it off and unplug the phone, just as I hear it ring. I’m so angry I want to hit something and my heart has cracked and the pain is like nothing I can remember. I pace about in my room until I can’t take it anymore and I fly to my bedroom and grab the largest pillow and hug it to my chest to staunch the pain. His first reason, his primary reason, isn’t anything to do with me. All he cares about is his public perception. Then the tears come with a vengeance, making me rock with the violence of the emotion as I cling to the pillow as if for life. I want his arms around me. I want to push my face into his neck and breathe him in.

2000, St James’ Palace

As wonderful as it is to be able to be seen with him, out in public, I feel bereft this morning when he leaves me to go to his appointments. I need to remember how far we’ve come and try not to wish for more time. The impossibility of our situation was almost easier to deal with when there was no hope of a life together. Now it feels like it could be possible, I’m impatient. And bored. So bored. It’s difficult to maintain life as it used to be. There are so many ordinary things which are now almost impossible for me to do, but that gaping hole in my life isn’t filled by being able to see him more often. We still have so little time together.

Charles tells me to occupy myself by getting involved in charities, but I feel like a fraud, like I’m trying too hard to be someone I’m not, or worse, like I’m emulating his ex-wife. I don’t want to take her place. I don’t want to be anything like her. My life is narrowing to a point where I can see why she was so angry and frustrated but I refuse to complain about the pressure to him. The constant humiliation and attacks I get from the media, from supposed friends, from The Firm, from Charles’s family, are almost crippling and everything I do is wrong. I embarrass him. I damage him. I’ve made him the laughing stock of the entire world. His younger brother has a particularly visceral reaction towards me, sitting on his mother’s knee, whispering my faults like a serpent around her neck. It’s like fighting the wind. I try at least to look the part, pay more attention to my personal grooming. He didn’t ask me to but he didn’t object when it was suggested and I’ve now got a rather generous allowance just for that. I’m torn between the knowledge that I must look the part, and a deep resentment that I must do this to be considered acceptable. But whatever I do, the photographers always see the worst. I see the pictures occasionally and I look so awful, I sometimes worry that they’re right. Why would he choose to be with someone so hideous? And then I give myself a stern talking to because I know better than any person on the planet where his heart lies. But the allowance is almost an admittance that I’m not enough for him. This deep-set hurt is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that I ignore it, try to lock that feeling away. I don’t want to make anything in his life any more difficult than I already have done.

His distinctive footsteps distract me from my thoughts and I get up to greet him. He’s so happy to see me, I see his eyes light up and I forget the pain. He is what I am fighting for.

“Darling, thank goodness you’re here.”

Where else would I be? I don’t say it as it feels a little peevish. Instead, I kiss him and help him take off his jacket before pulling him for the tea that’s already laid out ready for us, chatting to him, asking him about his day. He looks at me peculiarly, alarm in his pale blue eyes and my heart knots with anxiety.

“Sit next to me.” He yanks my arm and I sit next to him, worried as his hands rub my thighs like he’s trying to comfort me. “I don’t think you’re being very honest with me.”

“What am I not being very honest about?”

“I think you’re being false with me to try not to upset me.”

“I’m not being false.”

“You’ve stopped arguing with me.”

“Perhaps I just agree with you more.”

“You’re always pretending to be happy, dealing with me…”

“I want you to be happy…”

“No. I feel like it’s no longer real… This, between us. It’s a facade. It’s you appeasing me. It’s not a real relationship.”

My breath chokes in my throat and nothing comes out. I feel my eyes welling up and have no control as my nose blocks up almost instantly. The worst thing about it is that he’s correct. I’m living on a tightrope, dealing with him, managing him. Concealing my own pain from him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” 

His eyes are watery and they break me, letting uncensored tears flow down my face, each moment that passes makes it more difficult to breathe. “Please don’t do this to me again.” I don’t know how the words escape but they stab me when I hear myself say them; the memory of phoning him to be told he doesn’t want to speak to me, he doesn’t want to see me anymore, is still so raw it merges with this new agony. To my shame, I clasp onto his hands, bending double so my face is on his lap and my body erupts into sobs.

“Do what?”

“Please don’t leave me.” I feel his body tense up with my words and I know he’s angry.

“I’m not, I’m not. Of course I’m not.” 

But his voice is gentle and I feel his lips kissing the back of my neck even as I break into a fresh round of sobs. 

“No, Darling, I’ll not do that to you ever again.”

He doesn’t try to shush me as the pain from not being chosen jars through me.

“I’d convinced myself that everyone was right about you, that I needed to let you go.”

“You didn’t even tell me…”

‘I was a coward. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls his hands from the clasp of my own and then strokes my hair. I feel him kiss the back of my head even as I burrow further into his lap.

“But you told me it was okay. That you understood.”

“I did understand!”

“And you’re doing the same now. You’re so understanding but you’re doing it at your own detriment.”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you. Don’t apologise. I don’t deserve it. Please sit up, Darling.”

It takes me some time to sit up. For the shock to dissolve through my body, for my nerves to calm. He sits with me, stroking my hair, my back, until the sobs become a trickle down my face that I can’t stem and I sit up enough to look at him, feeling him holding my shoulders.

“I thought that the only way the public would accept me divorcing Diana was if you took the fall.” “You were manipulated…”

“No, I wasn’t. I thought I was making the right decision. You need to know that I chose to do that to you. It was my own poor judgement. I’m so sorry but I wasn’t listening to what people said and was swayed. I thought I was doing the right thing. You don’t need to worry about what other people are saying to me; every person on earth can tell me I should leave you and I’ll never do that again. They were some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“You just cut me out.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was so cruel to you. It was easier to not speak to you, to let my secretary inform you I didn’t want to talk to you again. I was so, so wrong. But Milla, you just forgave me, I didn’t know you were still so upset about it.”

“You rang me hysterical, what was I meant to do? I love you. I know you.”

“That’s what you do. And I love you for it, but you internalise everything. And I don’t realise how much you’re hurting. Milla, that was four years ago, you sheltered me from that for far too long. What are you hiding from me now?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie. Darling, I want this relationship, but I want it to be a relationship between two adults. Let me in.”

I shake my head at him, trying to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. It’s too difficult.

“Do you not trust me?”

No. I don’t. I know him too well. I know I can’t do this. I have to be the strong one. “Yes, I trust you.”

“You don’t trust me.” 

I hear his sigh and I reach for him automatically, knowing I’ve hurt him, wrapping my arms around his head, feeling his arms encompass me. “It’s too much, all at once. I do trust you.” I’m trying to appease him and I’m not sure he believes me.

“Well then, start small. Tell me one thing that is hurting you.”

We’re silent for a long time. Long enough for the tears to dry on my cheeks, enough to almost be in a daze of sleep. He holds me and doesn’t let go. He’s waiting for me. “Sometimes…” But the words tie around my tongue and it’s like a brace, holding them in. I feel his thumb rubbing against my shoulder and I know he’s waiting. I take a breath, “Sometimes I allow it to get to me…” I feel my chest constraining the words and they tail off. He waits but I can’t continue.

“What gets to you, Darling?”

 “What,” I clear my throat, “people say about me.”

“Is there anything in particular?”

“Everything.”

“What’s everything? Tell me, Darling.”

“I can’t.”

“Well shall I run through the things I think you might be bothered by and you can just tell me yes or no?”

I feel like he’s scraping away at my insides with a scalpel and I have to evade the scrutiny. “It’s not one thing. It’s just a cumulation of everything. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not being silly. I don’t think any person alive has ever had to suffer the indignities you’ve suffered.”

“It doesn’t bother me…” 

“It evidently does…”

“It doesn’t. It’s not that people say things, it’s that because of their words, we’re pulled apart.”

 I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I exposed you to the press. I’m sorry that you’ve been made into a pariah. I’m sorry that loving me has hurt you so much. But it’s going to get better, I promise you, My Darling, I will do everything I can to make things better and we’ll be together eventually.”

And even as I love him for his words and I tell him, it’s not the whole truth. What upsets me is that I am never, and never will be, his first priority. Although the words and spite cause me pain, I can rise above them. What makes my heart ache is the understanding that I am an embarrassment that he needs to manage, carefully mould into his life. If I ever become too damaged to rehabilitate, he’ll drop me like a stone to ensure the good standing of his family. It’s not something I will ever say. I understood this a long time ago and I accept it. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 7

Birkhall, January 2020

By the end of her life, his Grandmother would have nothing to do with me. She adamantly refused to ever see me again and was vocal in her disapproval of me and her insistence that we would never marry. All of which we conveniently decided not to remember when I attended her funeral and took ownership of her property. She will have known what would eventually happen. She never lost her marbles. The fact that she bequeathed much of her jewellery to Charles, knowing that I would need it tells us she accepted me far more than she ever publicly admitted. Some items we found were ones she had only recently purchased and certainly were not for her own use. They included clip-on earrings, which she did not need, and the most beautiful ballerina brooch, which I fell in love with at first sight. We believe she bought them for me and took them as her own form of a blessing for our eventual nuptials. I wear every piece with nostalgia untainted by those last few years and Charles delights in my wearing of his beloved Grandmother’s jewellery.

Charles returns to me in a state of shock. He tells me about the family’s decision to cut out Harry with a startling coldness and anger before breaking down and I can’t console him. He clings to me and weeps and I’m infected with a familiar hatred towards his family and this institution that seeps through me. The unfairness and favouritism of his mother, willing to do almost anything to protect her precious second son, and ruthless with everyone else. The entitlement of Harry and Megan, who do they think they are to make such demands? And my poor Darling, who can and will make such dreadful decisions but they eat him up on the inside. All I can do is hold him, on the sofa where we once played with both my children and now my grandchildren, the same spot where he was dragged away from me abruptly when I contracted glandular fever back in 1979, against the same cushions where I nursed him when he broke yet another bone in 2001.

I force him to drink some tea and eat a biscuit or two, sitting on the floor this time, cuddling the dogs, throwing their soft ball again and again. Then we get another summons, this time the both of us and I have to leave him to dress correctly to see his mother, to quickly apply makeup and attempt to tame my hair. He smartens up too, his previous suit crushed from lounging on the floor, but as usual he’s ready before me and waits for me impatiently in the hallway, rather than getting in the car. He smiles when he sees me and kisses me as I take his hands, squeezing them. We delay further because we need a moment, just the two of us, to look in each other’s eyes and feel the comfort and reassurance necessary to spend the rest of the evening in false jollity, pretending to his family that his world hasn’t just imploded, masking the severity of the pain and the shock, concealing the hurt so his feelings are merely trifles.

2010, London

We sit together in the car, silently, watching the world pass by in the orange glow of the streetlights. He’s anxious. I can tell by the way he’s fiddling with his gloves. My heart beating in sympathy, I reach over to take his hand. His encases mine but it soothes him to touch me and he smiles at me before staring out of the window again, hands clasped together. Mine are no longer as steady as they once were but it doesn’t bother him. He holds onto them tenderly, regardless, for the duration of our short time together in private. “You look beautiful.” That surprises me. “Not too shabby for an old bag.” That makes him smile. “No. Beautiful. More today than any day before.” And his eyes meet mine and he means it and my heart floods with so much love for him, it almost makes me cry. He kisses the backs of my hands before turning to look out of the window.

There are a lot of people on the streets. All young, some carrying makeshift protest signs about student top up fees. I’m struck with a mixture of jealousy for their freedom and a sadness for the futility of their actions. I don’t know what they’re hoping to achieve. The last time protests worked to change public policy was before Margaret Thatcher. I remember burning to take to the streets and march for my beliefs when hunting was outlawed. I remember screaming at my now husband for not letting me go. But I realise that protests do nothing except make the protestors feel better about having done something. You want to change policy? Go into government. Or do what my husband does, write to them, persuade them, use the power you have. I suppose the people protesting do not have the power they need, hence the need to protest.

The children around us have spotted our car and recognised us. They seem friendly enough, waving at us, phones out, taking pictures. My husband is dreading this performance tonight. He feels like he has to put on a show and be more jolly than he has the capacity to display. I feel it’s good for him. He’s got a very good sense of humour, he just gets tied down with business too much. The crowd around us gets thicker and then the car stops. I can see Charles sitting up straighter. He looks uneasy. And then the mood of the crowd changes. It sounds angry. People are no longer smiling and waving at us. The car gets shoved and then I can feel it shake as it’s hit. An almighty crash smashes the window on my side and I leap and reach for my husband. I want to scream as the car jolts from side to side and the jeers from the crowd are frenzied, like men on a hunt with their prey encircled. The window cracks with the force of another impact and this time I gasp loudly, holding onto Charles’s hand so tightly, feeling the death grip he has on mine in return. He’s trying to instruct me to do something but the words aren’t making sense in my brain. I can just see his eyes looking at me, scared. There’s another thud against the car and there’s a man in a tuxedo shoving protesters away. I watch him grab onto a man and hurl him to the floor, away from the car. He’s one of my officers. And then the car speeds off and we are slammed back against the seats with the force from the acceleration.

If I thought my hand was shaky before, it’s impossible to calm it now. I’ve also never seen him so worried. This is a man who looked on with scant interest as a gunman aimed shots at him. He didn’t even flinch. Now, he’s beside himself with worry. “Swap sides with me.” “What?” “Swap sides. That window will not take a bullet. I need you on the safe side.” But the second I undo my seatbelt, the alarm goes off and it causes such consternation from the PPO, I click it back. I stretch it to move closer to Charles and he wraps his arms around me. “Well, we’ve not done that one before.” It makes him chuckle at me and I know that’s my line for when we get asked about it. For now, I rest my head on his shoulder, glad that I’m with him, whatever the circumstances.