Chapter Text
What on earth am I doing here?
It was a question Lady Diana Spencer, now Princess of Wales, frequently asked herself. What was the point? The Royals treated her like an outsider, like a piece of dirt! She felt more warmth and love from the crowds she was to never come into contact to, the hands she wasn’t allowed to shake without a glove or the heartfelt letters she received where there was a script prepared regarding how she was to reply.
It wasn’t a family, it was a firm.
A better way of describing it was a machine, now that Diana properly thought about it. General isolation from actual human connection gave her plenty of time to think, about where it all went wrong and whether or not it could get any better. What happened to Diana Spencer? Many would be asking in the years to come and at the present moment, she was asking herself that question like a broken record. She didn’t feel like a person anymore.
She was a gear in a machine that ran for thousands of years.
That same machine deemed Camilla Parker-Bowles to be a defective part. Improper, not appropriate and she had to go. Diana was the replacement and she knew it. She just cursed herself for not seeing it straight away. Charles arranging a dinner between his soon-to-be wife and his ex while he himself jetted off for several weeks? Come on!
That same ex was everywhere, she never went away. Camilla was a name that Diana was confident she never went a day without hearing. If the prospect of a divorce came up, Diana would’ve jumped at it! Let Charles marry Camilla! They were made for each other! So long as William and Harry were cared for while having consistent and equal time spent with their parents then Diana didn’t see a problem.
Other than the fact that she and Charles were expected to be the future King and Queen.
It was a hereditary succession. Charles was the first-born and next in line. A divorcee would not be accepted into the Church of England and young William could not have the crown forced upon him as a child, meaning Diana found herself in a minefield. Was she thrown into it by the Windsors? Or did she jump into it blindly when she accepted Charles’ proposal?
He didn’t even get down on one knee.
Diana’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the sound of a Honda V6 roared past the grandstands. The Japanese-made powerhouse was enclosed inside the McLaren MP4/4 bodywork and the pistons running like a symphony. There was a sudden gasp in awe from the crowd on either side of her and Charles. They were hand-picked to be suitable in being around the Royal Couple and the general assumption was to keep whoops and cheers to a minimum.
In other words, keep the enjoyment to a minimum.
Diana had no interest in Motorsport but what she liked and disliked hadn’t earned the attention of anyone in the Windsor family so why should it now? She tried to make the best of the situation and focus on the cars that passed by every two minutes. That was how long it took a turbocharged Formula One car to lap the famous Silverstone Circuit. The stand that housed the Royal visitors overlooked the main straight which contained the finish line.
Diana gripped her elbows and shivered with the rain lashing down. There was a roof protecting everyone from above but there was a lack of nearby heaters. Charles had his servant holding up a black umbrella with a diameter sufficient only for one person. The one person who mattered. The dress Diana was given was short-sleeved in accordance to the weather expected in July.
The skies above Buckinghamshire were overcast with rain, which was crashing down since before the race even started. Over an hour and a half later and the race was nearing its conclusion.
There was one car in particular that had everyone’s attention. Diana noticed the distinctive yellow helmet in the cockpit of the McLaren Honda. The driver seemed unperturbed by the rain. Not only was he leading the race, he was doing what Diana had been informed as lapping the field. When she was taking driving lessons and preparing for her test, Diana remembered being told to take extra caution in rainy conditions which weren’t uncommon in Britain. She assumed everyone would be careful in rainy conditions, especially when driving exceptionally powerful race cars.
Not this driver in the easily recognisable yellow helmet. He had yet to win the Formula One title but was still having his name splashed across the newspapers in the United Kingdom as well as across the entire world. Formula One was an international sport but usually every country had their home-born favourites.
Ayrton Senna was adored by all.
As well as Union Jacks, Brazilian flags were waved throughout the nearby stands whenever the McLaren thundered past.
“He’s a most talented driver,” she exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, which was met with a scoff and a rolling of the eyes from Charles.
“Have you forgotten already? We’re supposed to be cheering for the home hero in the British-manufactured Williams,” he sighed, before putting together a robotic applause as the home-built Williams roared past in second position.
“Not the one leading? Are the McLaren cars not British also?”
“The driver isn’t,” Charles muttered.
His frustration became exacerbated when Diana defiantly clapped even louder as Senna roared past again on the penultimate lap. She even accompanied the applause with a sudden whoop. There was something mystical about the showers and sprays of rainwater being thrown back behind the tyres of the red and white car with cigarette insignia painted on the sides. It was being driven as if the rain wasn’t there and the track was bone dry.
Diana was impressed when the final lap was complete and the chequered flag was revealed. The British crowds didn’t seem to mind the fact that the top British driver finished second rather than first. They were openly cheering for the Brazilian who took top honours.
“Ayrton Senna wins the British Grand Prix of 1988, an excellent result for the championship contender. Nine points to add to the championship tally!” the PA system crackled.
“He ought to be knighted with driving like that if you ask me,” Diana said as she and Charles began making their way down the grandstand staircase.
“Yes, well no one asked you,” Charles muttered in reply. He took a tiny glance, assured that his umbrella-holder was walking in synch with him. It was all about appearance and what the public saw and heard.
“Oh that’s right, I apologise, you’re the one with the umbrella,” Diana said in a forced grin and with deliberate sarcasm. “At least I have the balls to face a little bit of rain head on and if I had an umbrella, I’d hold it myself like a future King or Queen should.”
“Just shut it!” Charles hissed, looking left and right in a sudden panic. There was too much applause, cheers and adoration for the race winner for anyone to have heard Diana’s remarks. Now it was time for the podium ceremony where the top three would receive their trophies in front of the crowds. Charles and Diana still had their duty as royals to think about.