Chapter Text
As soon as the giant iron gate behind Camilla’s Ford Mondeo was closed, she stepped on the gas to speed up the private road to Highgrove house. She had insisted to finally drive herself again, had forgotten that she did, had waited for her driver to pick her up until she remembered, but at that point she had been late already. But as fast as she stepped on the gas she removed her foot from the pedal. The days of speeding up his drive were over. If he would see her displaying even the slightest hint of unsafe driving he would be even more upset than he would be for just being late. Since that day in June when she had called him absolutely stricken with the panic and shock from being involved in a car crash, he didn’t like it when she drove herself. He insisted on paying for a driver, she tried to get out of being chauffeured around as often as possible.
With almost exaggerated accuracy she parked her car in her designated parking space to give nobody any more reason to be angry with her. Quickly she made her way over the thyme walk to the big terrace, careful not to get her new pair of heels dirty. Charles’s private secretary waved to her from afar and she internally prepared herself for the look on Charles’s face when she would enter his study. He really was all about that rehabilitation campaign for her and the meetings with Mark Bolland seemed the most important in his diary these days. She knew he wasn’t too fond of her being sceptical of the whole campaign and not being as impatient about positive opinion polls as he was. Yet she also knew that he would never force her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.
Perhaps, she thought, he did that to set himself apart from Andrew. She could only remember too well how furious Charles had been back when Andrew had forced her to go out with him to balls and Polo matches when all she wanted to do was stay at home and hide from the world. Andrew’s tactic to fight the tabloids speculating about them was – ever the military man - taking the offensive and going out into the world, playing the part of the intact family and showing the press that there was nothing to speculate about. The pictures that had been taken on days like that were the worst she had ever seen of herself. She had looked so tired and uncomfortable,even angry in some cases. To this day her sister tried to convince her that she had only looked like that because she was going through a tough time, but how would you explain that to a tabloid journalist or even a whole nation.
Charles’s private secretary ripped her out of her thoughts.
“Mrs. Parker Bowles”, he said, “I am sorry to tell you that the Prince of Wales is still on his way home from London. I am told to pass on to you that he regrets making you wait and that he will be here as soon as he can. Would you like to wait with Mr Bolland until then?”
“I would like that very much.” She smiled in relief until the words really got through to her. Something in London didn’t go as planned, that could be the only reason why he was late, if it had been traffic she would have been told so. Again she internally prepared herself for the look on Charles’s face when she would see him for the first time today, but this time she prepared for his disappointment not to be directed at her, but at the world.
As he spotted her walking down the corridor, Mark Bolland got up immediately and spread his arms. “Mrs. PB,” he said with delight and kissed both of her cheeks. “You’ve been to the hairdresser. Looks very nice, I like how light the shade of blonde is now,” he added.
“Thank you, that’s why I’m late actually, blow-drying that mop took them longer than they anticipated.” White lie. She was at the hairdresser’s yesterday. But it certainly wouldn’t harm if he believed that that much time goes into her appearance now. It actually was his idea to go lighter and she hated to admit that he was right. She looked good, she even thought so herself.
“Well, it certainly was worth the time it took and since your- since his royal highness isn’t here yet...”
They fell into small talk, he even asked her if she was excited for her big party tomorrow, but he never broached subjects that would later come up in the meeting, he would not dare to do that without Charles present.
They heard him arrive before they saw him. They heard him angrily ordering around some servant in a nearby corridor, then they heard him ruggedly opening the door to the corridor they sat in. He rushed towards the door that led to his office and only noticed her and Mark Bolland when he had almost rushed past them.
“Well, you could have let them into the office meanwhile,” he snapped at his private secretary who had followed him a few paces behind. But then his expression softened.
“Hello, darling,” he quietly said to her before resting his hands on her upper arms for a moment to kiss her cheeks. His business greeting for her. In private he would insist on taking more time and never kiss her only on the cheeks. Nevertheless she appreciated that he was not displaying more affection in a situation like this. It made her feel less like the girlfriend or the partner, but like an actual part in the meeting. Still it scared her how easily Charles could switch into his business role even in front of her. He could be so cold sometimes, a side of him she only knew since he started slowly easing her into his world.
But before letting go of her arms he looked into her eyes for a brief moment and she was hit like a bolt of lightning by the realisation that his anger was born out of sadness. Suddenly she had a feeling how the appointment with his mother went.
After tea and biscuits were served by a very tense servant Camilla’s feeling was proven right. His mother wouldn’t come to her party. Or rather: the Queen wouldn’t come to her party. This didn’t have anything to do with her being his mother, she was sure. If she were just his mother, she would come, but she also was the Queen. One day the side of her that was his mother, and just his mother, would surely win over. Secretly trying to think of ways to convince Charles of that she failed to fully concentrate on what Mr Bolland was talking about.
Until he said a sentence that startled her.
“Two thirds of the respondents now accept the relationship and believe you should be free to marry.”
Free to marry. That came as a surprise, but not just to her. She saw in Charles’s eyes that he, like her, believed that Mark Bolland must have made that up just now to convince them that his PR strategy was right.
Nevertheless it provoked feelings in both of them. Charles, she could tell, was staggeringly relieved, she on the other hand, while she tried to feel that same relief, was quietly horrified.
The thought of marrying scared her.
Not staying with him forever – she had promised herself that many years ago and planned on following through with it until the day she won't be able to form a coherent thought any more – but marrying him, a wedding . She almost broke into a sweat just thinking of how she felt during her wedding to Andrew. Although she knew she had been extraordinarily happy that day, the things she remembered most clearly were the short moment she thought she had forgotten her vows, the scent of the lilies in her bouquet being too strong and bothering her throughout the day, the bracelet on her right wrist never staying where it should have, her mother, sister and grandmother constantly tugging strands of her hair back in place.
And all those eyes on her – it weren’t really those of her family and friends that bothered her, but everyone else’s. Those of the Queen Mother, who back then knew more than Camilla wished, those of Princess Anne, who she had thought must despise her, those of girls she had formerly called friends until they had slept with Andrew, those of her mother-in-law who had thought of her as inadequate for her precious son, those of distant family friends, who had believed every little thing they had heard about her, those of girls who had been jealous of her because she had ended up with Andrew and those of girls who had pitied her because she ended up with Andrew .
If she were to marry Charles, there certainly would be more attention on her than then, but if she thought about it, she noticed that it would be the same types of attention, just from different people.
This time Princess Anne would fill the role of the person who knows too much and still the role of the person Camilla was irrationally afraid of, there would also be people she had once called friends until they didn’t want to be associated with her anymore, she would again gain a mother-in-law to whom she would never be good enough, there would be people from all over the world who believed every single thing they ever heard or read about her, people that would be envious of her for finally ending up with her Prince, and people who would pity her for ending up with a husband who is said to have treated his first wife so horribly.
The good thing back then had been that all the attention was gone the moment the wedding was over. After marrying Charles nothing would be over. A wedding with him would be the start of decades of unwanted attention.
Mr Bolland successfully ripped her out of her thoughts again – as he announced that he was leaving.
As soon as they had said their goodbyes and the door had closed behind him, Charles took two quick strides towards her and pulled her in for a hug. He held her, gently as ever, yet she could feel the need in it and tightened her hold around him.
“How about we move somewhere more comfortable?” she asked quietly, stroking his hair.
Just as quietly he led her to the sitting room and onto the nearest couch. His eyes were glittering as he watched her intently, almost studying her. But only for a moment – abruptly he let himself fall backwards into the priceless soft cushions and looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said then.
“For what?”
“For not being able to convince my mother of how wonderful you are.”
“You’re trying to find a way to blame yourself for her deciding not to come. It’s not your fault.”
“But I keep telling her about you and all she can muster is ‘I’m sure she’s nice’. Where did I go wrong?”
“Nowhere. She’s just in a position where she thinks she can’t allow herself to listen. Yet. She will start listening eventually, I’m sure. Perhaps her sister being at the party will help. You always say that Margaret is the only person able to change her mind.”
After a moment of silence he turned his head towards her and mildly smiled at her.
“Come here,” she whispered while opening her arms.
Obediently he scooted over to her and carelessly kicked off his priceless shoes meanwhile, then he stretched himself out on the sofa and rested his head on her stomach. Usually he wouldn’t let go so much at this time of the day, he wouldn’t risk having to walk around in a crumpled suit all afternoon, but today he seemed to need comfort, mentally and physically. Gazing at his eyes twitching under his lids she gently drew circles all over his chest with her nails, noticing how he relaxed more and more under her caresses.
“Hey, that tickles,” he said with a smile as her hand circled to his side.
“Good.” She giggled and let her hand wander to his stomach. As an immediate reaction he snatched it and held it tight so she couldn't remove it from his grasp.
“Menace.” He didn’t let go of her hand, instead he rested their joined hands on his chest.
“I ordered chocolate filling for your cake, is that alright?” he asked with a yawn. Of course his mind darted back to his party planning as soon as possible.
“Alright? I was worried my birthday cake would be some unsweetened, organic wholegrain monstrosity…”
And for the first time today, he laughed.
At first a birthday party to subtly let the public know that they officially are a couple wasn’t something she felt comfortable with. But moments like this when she saw how much thought he put in it, making every detail something she would enjoy, made her reconsider. It wasn’t just a PR stunt to him, he actually wanted to throw her a party, perhaps give her a taste of what life by his side could be. Smiling, she kissed his nose.
“May I take you for a walk before I send you off with your birthday presents?”
“Send me off with my presents?”
“Yes, you’re supposed to open them tomorrow morning.”
“Without you there?”
“Yes. But I’d love to be on the phone when you open them.”
“Then why exactly don’t you give them to me tomorrow evening?” She gasped playfully. “Is it something dirty that should only be opened in private?”
“You wish. No, it’s just that one of them is fairly important preparation for your party, although you wouldn’t exactly need it. I’d rather call it foreshadowing. The other one could be worn for the party. If it matches your dress, that is.”
“You really planned this out, didn’t you?”
“I’d be ashamed if I didn’t. You deserve nothing less.”