‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ll be five minutes.’
In fact, it was more like ten. Her Majesty and the remaining men stood together, making stilted conversation. When Sir Hugh returned, he was smiling broadly.
‘Jeremy,’ he said, ‘can you go and wait in our office? I’m expecting another call.’
The press secretary had no alternative but to leave them. As soon as he’d gone, Sir Hugh announced, ‘We’ve got ’em! Absolute proof, and links between them all. Traitors, the lot of ’em.’
‘Who?’ Urquhart asked.
‘This group called the Empire Society. I don’t know if you remember it, ma’am. The DG of MI5 was telling us about them. They’ve been keeping below the radar, but they flew too high this time. Tried to kidnap Prince Charles from his prep school! Utterly outrageous. The idea was . . . Are you all right, ma’am? Do you need a glass of water?’
The Queen had sunk into the nearest chair, her knees having given way. For a moment or two, she couldn’t see. When her vision returned, the men were leaning over her, solicitously. A glass of water was provided.
‘Is he safe?’
‘Prince Charles?’ Sir Hugh asked. ‘Oh yes, ma’am. Right as rain. The boy has no idea anything even happened. They had this plan to send someone in dressed up as a schoolmaster and catch him on the way back from games, and tell him he had detention, or a letter, something of that sort, and lead him to a place where they could shove him in a car. MI5 had eyes on them all the time. The thing was organised by the Marquess of Suffolk, would you believe? I had no idea the man had two brain cells to rub together. Apparently, he didn’t. He entrusted it to a couple of likely lads, well known to the police, and carted himself off to Kerala, so he’d be out of the way.’
‘How close did they get?’
‘They got to the school,’ Sir Hugh admitted, ‘but only because the surveillance team let ’em. As soon as they emerged from the car, dressed up in their tweed jackets and whatnot, they pounced. It was undeniable, what they were up to. The boot of the car was full of—’
The Queen raised a hand sharply. ‘I don’t want to know what it was full of. Thank you, Hugh.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course. But as I say, the young prince is perfectly unharmed. We would never let anything happen to him. But you can see what they were trying to do.’
‘Yes, I can,’ she said heavily.
‘What?’ Urquhart asked Sir Hugh.
‘They were going to hold him for a few days in a farmhouse somewhere. Naturally, Her Majesty and Prince Philip would want to fly back to England. Even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be able to continue with the schedule. And if they did, all the press would be about the kidnap anyway. Doesn’t bear thinking about. So then everyone starts saying, “young family, parents can’t go away, too dangerous” . . . And along comes the Duke of Windsor and his wife – childless – and off they go. That was the intention.’
‘But . . .’ Urquhart blustered, ‘but . . .’ His ruddy face clouded with incomprehension. ‘What about the Queen Mother? She’s perfectly good at doing this sort of thing. She did it in Africa just now. Or Princess Margaret? Why on
‘Miles!’ Sir Hugh glared at his fellow courtier, who was in danger of saying something very rude about a member of the royal family.
The Queen said nothing. Sir Hugh was full of delight at the foiling of the kidnap plot, and Urquhart was doing a good job of pointing out how utterly futile it would have been. Futile, but quite terrifying. The thought of her little boy in a farmhouse, locked away . . .
Sir Hugh rattled on. ‘It was a fantasy, the whole thing. That’s what these plotters are: sheer fantasists. They wanted someone malleable, rather than someone popular. As long as he was
‘And they seemed to think the PM wouldn’t notice if the man continually went off-piste . . .’
The police and MI5 would have found Charles. They would have got him back quickly. It would have been a damp squib for the traitors. But for her little family . . . The trauma of it all . . .
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m still feeling rather faint. I need some fresh air.’
Sir Hugh looked surprised. ‘There isn’t time, ma’am. You’re opening parliament in a couple of hours. You’ll need to get changed . . .’
‘I can change quickly. Can someone please show me the way to the gardens?’
For fifteen minutes, walking among the paths and borders of Government House, she didn’t think she could do it. How could she put on her coronation dress and make a historic speech – the first monarch to do so in this place – when she could hardly stand?
