Chapter Text
Only minutes before, Diana had been an ordinary girl getting dressed and ready for a Saturday night out. Now, she sat next to Charles—the prince of Wales, and future king of England—in the backseat of a sleek car, on her way to attend a post-show gathering for The Jacksons.
Months into dating, she still wasn’t sure of what she was getting herself into. Sometimes she could barely breathe around him. Her stomach was in knots. England’s most eligible bachelor had chosen to court her. Sure, she wasn’t as insignificant as she wanted to seem—she was a proud Spencer. But before her, there had been her sister, and several other suitors. Perhaps friends who were more than just friends. Perhaps lovers. Most definitely lovers, or so the front pages said. To underline the difference, she had kissed just one boy. The memory still made her cheeks warm—how silly was that?
“How has your day been?” Charles asked, breaking the silence.
She glanced at him, realizing she’d been avoiding his eyes. “Rather peaceful, actually. Connie and I had a lovely time. How was yours?”
His smile was polite but with an awkward edge.
“Hmm, uneventful but a little nervous,” he said, glancing briefly at his driver to ask about their time of arrival. Fidgeting with the cufflinks, he seemed restless.
“Are you a fan of their music?”
“Absolutely,” she admitted, a fleeting, timid smile on her lips. “I’m sad I missed it.”
“Perhaps next time they’re in London, we could go together.” His hand found hers. “I can’t say I’m much of a fan myself, but I would go with you.”
Feeling like a silly schoolgirl, her cheeks flushing, she could barely hold back a snicker as she gazed down at their intertwined fingers.
“I’d love that.”
She thought he was handsome. Maybe not striking, but he had something. Then, she wondered what he thought of her, and a cold sweat slipped down her back.
Despite the cold weather, the streets of London were alive. Charles commented on the architecture of the Natural History Museum as they took a right turn for Cromwell Road. Diana admired the Brompton Oratory on Brompton Road, and within minutes, they reached Hyde Park Corner. The Dorchester wasn’t far now.
As the curved building began materializing ahead, Diana’s heart accelerated. The street and forecourt was crammed with cars, people and flashing cameras. Dread washed over her. Maybe she wasn’t appropriately dressed, or her hair lay in the wrong place. Perhaps her makeup had smudged somehow. Glancing at Charles, he smiled at her as if he had been anticipating it.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he began, squeezing her hand. “You look sensational tonight.”
At that, her racing heart skipped a beat. She thanked him, and searched for something adequate to say back, but was distracted as they rolled past the commotion, continuing down the street.
“Oh, are we not—”
“Private entrance,” he interrupted. “I thought it might be a bit overwhelming to go through the main doors.”
He had thought of her, surely. She had told him what she thought about the photographers, and he had listened. She had to smile—snicker, even. He was a prince, after all, and not just by title. Sitting back and relaxing her tense posture, she glanced at him through her lashes as they approached the back of the hotel.
Their small entourage came to a full stop inside a fenced area, and Diana scurried outside, embracing the cold against her heated cheeks. Wearing a thick wool coat inside a brand-new car with effective heating was not the same as climbing into her Renault on a freezing winter morning. She’d have to remember that.
Charles approached and placed a hand on the small of her back. “That’s my job, remember?”
A jolt shot through her stomach as they walked. “Oh?”
“Opening the car door for you.” He winked, and she mellowed, casting down her eyes.
“Oh, sorry!”
“Seems I still have a chance,” He smiled and took a long step ahead to hold open the door. Their eyes met.
“Lady Diana Spencer.”
Hiding behind her thick bangs as much as possible, she gently placed her hand in his, and inside they went, joined arm-in-arm.
The gathering was private but teeming with people; the atmosphere vibrant and enchanting. Judging by the variety of reactions, their arrival had been half-expected. Some were awestruck, greeting Charles with absurd enthusiasm. Perhaps he knew them well. What did she know about it, really?
Some beamed casually, nodding or bowing, and others simply observed from afar. Her presence was an obvious confusion on people’s faces, yet no one asked. Charles introduced her as a long-time family friend. Whether it was to keep her out of the limelight or to preserve his martial status, she didn’t have enough emotional space to decipher.
The Promenade—the great central lounge stretching from the lobby—was in full glory. Mingling aristocratic figures, old-money patrons, celebrities, it-girls, and perhaps one or two columnists. At least there were no flashing cameras, except for a picture or two, but not the blinding kind.
In the dead of winter, fresh flower arrangements were a sight for sore eyes. Diana stood admiring, wondering if the mixed haze of cologne, perfume, and tobacco might make them wither. Occasionally, a waft of damp winter air would stream inside from the main entry as more people arrived, and though it seemed as if Charles and she had shaken nearly every right hand on the entrance floor, five more remained.
Grouped together for a picture, looking five shades of uncomfortable and tired, the brothers posed with Elton John and David Bowie on each end. An inaudible comment from David made them all burst into laughter.
A man, important-looking and polished, interrupted their banter and pointed to where Charles and she stood. Trapped in a conversation about landfill, Charles smoothly averted his attention.
“Ah, yes, the musicians,” He uttered, and with an eager anticipation, Diana followed along. Admittedly, she walked ahead of him.
She was already beaming when she shook the hand of Jackie Jackson, who was equally honored to meet her as she was him. Marlon Jackson bowed courteously to both of them, and so did Randy and Tito Jackson. Charles stalled by Tito, asking him about his guitar of choice.
And there, in the shadow of Tito’s confidence—wetting his lips and glancing around the room—Michael Jackson stood ready to greet royalty, his hands clasped in front of him. He noticed her noticing him, and she noticed him noticing her. In a momentary flash, as private as private could feel in a crowded room, they exchanged a smile.
Without thinking, she risked a bold move and walked around Charles, excusing herself. Michael straightened his back, his doe-eyed expression morphing into a blend of all smiles and surprise.
“Hello, Michael. So lovely to meet you!” She nodded, extending her hand.
Taking her hand gently, he bowed. “Lady Diana Spencer. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“How did the show go tonight? Tough crowd?”
He smiled genuinely. “Oh, no, not at all. London’s great. The fans are amazing here.”
“Michael!” Charles exclaimed with a polite cough.
Only then did Diana notice she was still holding Michael’s hand. They let go at the same time, and Michael turned to shake Charles’s instead. Her cheeks burned, and she desperately sought for somewhere else to look while struggling to maintain a charming smile on her lips. Elton John unknowingly came to her rescue. He complimented her on her dress, and she wasn’t sure how to handle the situation more than to thank him kindly and hide behind her bangs. When Charles was done interrogating Michael, the assembly scattered and the brothers disappeared into the mass. Among the other celebrities and musicians, they were the true royalty tonight—more so than Charles himself, she thought, biting the inside of her cheek at her own audacity.
Just as Diana thought she would have a moment with him alone, he pulled her along to make appearance in another part of the lounge. More hands were shaken, more pleasantries were exchanged. She was starting to feel overwhelmed; the smell of tobacco and endless selection of canapés mixed with a tangle of overlapping chatter made her nauseous. Sipping on a glass of champagne had done nothing but make her weary, and probably more nauseous.
Held up beside Charles who was—yet again—stuck in a boring conversation, she sighed and glanced around. Usually, she wasn’t starstuck or particularly interested in famous people, but spotting Marlene Dietrich made her heart thud. Would it be informal to abandon her, well, whatever he was, and say hello to someone she’d admired for years? She decided not.
“I apologize for interrupting, but there’s someone I have to meet,” She excused and Charles had that look on his face that meant he couldn’t understand her sometimes.
She didn’t wait around for some sort of approval. In fact, she was already half-way there. Marlene spotted her, and the indifference on her face made Diana slow her pace. She was scanned thoroughly by Marlene and her company—one of them being her daughter, Maria—but she refused to let the self-conciousness have a way with her now.
“Miss Dietrich, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Lady Diana Spencer.” She acknowledged, resolute, and rose from the recamiere.
The smile she offered reassured Diana, perking her up. She was in awe. Marlene Dietrch knew her name. Worried to death about stumbling over her words, she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“I cannot express how much I admire you and your courage, and of course, your work.”
Marlene mellowed. “Oh, sweet child, thank you.”
Settling back in her seat, she offered Diana a chair.
“Oh, I cannot—”
“Sit, dear!” Marlene ordered with a hoarse chirp—her eyes soft but expressive—and lit a cigarette. Maria excused herself to the ladies, and Diana felt a tremor of nerves at being alone with someone so cosmopolitan—her muse.
As it turned out, talking with Marlene was effortless. She was bold, she was funny, and despite the age difference, they fell into an easy rhythm.
Marlene glanced past her and took a long drag. “He treats you well, yes?”
She peeked over her shoulder and found Charles in the company of Richard Burton and Suzy Hunt.
“He’s a gentleman,” she endorsed, smiling back at Marlene.
Marlene exhaled the smoke away from them. “Gentleman is not the same as good.” The look of knowledge and experience in her face spoke volumes, a cheeky side-glance brightening her features.
Diana cast down her eyes, glancing shyly through her lashes. Then she straightened, lifting her chin as she flicked her bangs away from her eyes. She wasn’t surprised by her infamous directness, but it jolted her out of the steady course of excessive formality.
“He’s a good man. He’s good to me.”
They shared a smile, a hint of wariness in Marlene’s.
“Well, your good man looks a bit lost now,” She chuckled, exhaling another billow of smoke.
Diana looked back again and found Charles scanning. Could it be for anyone but her? Perhaps not. Regardless, she faced Marlene again.
“Thank you for this. You will never understand what it meant to me to be sitting here with you.”
“Oh, shush. We’ll meet again, dear. Don’t you worry.” She winked and gave Diana’s hand a gentle stroke.
She was smiling ear to ear as she slipped up behind him. “Looking for someone?”
He flinched and turned. “There you are!” He sighed, unsure what to do. She wanted to kiss him—just a peck—but his body language warned her off. Finally, he offered his arm and she hooked onto it. Neither had made an attempt, yet she felt disheartened. Letting her hair fall back over her eyes, they headed into another round of rubbing shoulders with high society.
Around eight-thirty o’clock, the party moved to the main dining area, where an orchestra played familiar tunes by The Jacksons. Dinner was exquisite, and the company hysterical. Marlon and Tito Jackson sat at our table, along with others. Tactfully, they bent the rules without offending anyone, keeping the mood light with jokes. Diana felt invigorated by the relaxed banter and found herself breathing deeply through her stomach for the first time in hours.
Exhausted by the relentless stream of impressions, she excused herself to the ladies and slipped away from the noise. She didn’t really need to go—she just wanted a moment to herself.
Sneaking off felt forbidden, especially after abiding by social rules far beyond her endurance. Instead of turning right toward the restroom, she walked left, and up the grand staircase. The corridor was vast and emtpy, and though the noise had subsided, the festive ambiance ringed in her ears.
She peeked inside a room large enough to hold a banquet. Glancing at the engraved plate beside the door, she read “The Ballroom” and snorted to herself.
Nervous about having walked too far, she retreated, passing an orchid room, dimly lit and cooler than the rest of the floor. Just as she was about to move along, a faint movement on the balcony caught her eye. To the unobservant, the doors leading outside were closed—but a slight crack explained the cold. She narrowed her eyes and spotted another movement. Yes, there was definitely someone out there. Running through the possibilities in her head, it could be personnel, but only checking would confirm. Besides, she wanted to see the view from the balcony anyway.
Reaching and opening the glass door, Michael whirled around.
“Oh!” She snickered. “Hello, Michael.”
The initial surprise passed, and a playful grin took over his face. “Hey!”
“How’s the view?”
He gazed ahead as if to be sure of his answer.
“Wonderful, but I’m sure it’s better in the summer with all the trees and greenery in Hyde Park.” He murmured.
She stepped out and joined him by the railing, taking in the panorama. “I’m sure of it, too.”
“Oh, you’re gonna be so cold out here!” He breathed, worry in his voice.
She smiled at him. “I’ll be fine—it’s just for a little while.”
“May I at least offer you my coat?”
“You may, and I’ll politely decline your kind offer.”
He scratched his temple in distress, as if her well-being was his responsibility. Silly.
“Promise me you won’t get too cold.”
She chuckled. “I’ll do my very best, I promise.”
He took a deep breath, and though the worry visibly lingered, he seemed to descend back into his shy mood with a reserved smile.
She wasn’t cold. Frankly, this had been exactly what she’d desired. Though not completely silent, the light street traffic and occasional honking down by the Hyde Park roundabout made her feel peaceful. Of course, standing next to the lead singer of The Jacksons made her nervous—but surprisingly, not as painfully shy as she was used to being.
“Oh, we were interrupted before,” She recalled. “How did the show go?”
Their eyes met and then quickly darted away. Scrap that about her shyness. Her cheeks grew warm, feeling even hotter against the cold breeze.
“It was our second night, so we had it together pretty well,” He reminisced and started chuckling. “Except for Marlon making a fool of himself a few times. Oh, boy.”
His laugh was contagious.
“I told Charles earlier that I’m sad I missed it. I’ve heard so much about your shows, and I really love your music—but I just haven’t gotten around to attending.”
Looking down at her hands, picking at her thumbnail with her index finger, she glanced at Michael. As she studied his face, she worried she’d babbled too much. He gave a bashful smile, something playful in his eyes. Once again, they both shied away from eye contact.
“We have another show in Poole tomorrow, so if you happen to drive by Poole Arts Centre, you got a free ticket.”
She sighed longingly. “Don’t tempt me. Duty calls.”
His face lit up with interest. “What do you do, if I may ask?”
“A little bit of everything,” she snorted. “Tomorrow, I’m cleaning my sister’s apartment. On Monday, I’ll be at Young England School in Pimlico, as a nursery teacher’s assistant. I really enjoy working with children. They’re just so… carefree, you know?”
She couldn’t help but compare Michael to Charles. It happened spontaneously, and fast. Charles never seemed to pay attention when she spoke; he didn’t keep his eyes on her. Perhaps Michael was just a polite patron, enduring her prattle. But there was a distinct difference.
“I know what exactly you mean, and that’s very admirable,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere. “Sometimes I dream about that feeling—minding yourself. Maybe work as a clerk at Walmart or something.”
“Oh, that is so curious to me,” she snickered.
His smile went from soft to radiant, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. “Yeah, I bet.”
She glanced at him, careful to stay unnoticed. His features were undoubtedly handsome, and his smile—perhaps the most dazzling she’d ever seen—was captivating.
Though palpable, their silence wasn’t awkward. Perhaps he was looking for the next right thing to say, or ask—she definitely was. Hating the fact that she was starting to shiver, she did what she’d promised.
“Well,” she began, gathering herself. “I think I better get back inside.”
He took a step back and faced her, nodding. “It’s too cold, isn’t it?”
Pressing her lips together to hide a guilty smirk, she hummed. “Maybe…”
He chuckled and looked pleased to establish his theory. “You are cold!”
Just then, the door opened, and Charles’s head popped out.
“Oh, thank God, I thought you’d given me the slip,” he said and laughed as if being stood up was impossible to imagine. “Ah, good to see you again, Michael.”
Unexpectedly, he stepped closer, slipped an arm around Diana, and pecked her cheek. She glanced up at him, her face instantly warm. Still, she couldn’t help thinking it was an odd moment for him to show intimate affection for the first time all evening—or perhaps not odd at all, now that they were out of the spotlight.
She glanced at Michael and felt a flush of embarrassment; his smile was attentive, his eyes wide and anxious.
“Your Royal Highness,” he uttered, nodding. “My brothers and I are thankful for the warm welcoming. We will definitely be visiting again soon.”
“Pleasure’s all mine—we’ll be lucky to have you.” Charles grinned and faced Diana. “Shall we?”
She nodded, hating with a quiet passion that she couldn’t stay longer, that she had to walk away from someone who actually listened. That someone being Michael Jackson.
Before the situation stifled her any further, she gave Michael a grateful smile.
“Again, so great to meet you, Michael. Take care.”
He bowed his head. “You too. Bye.”
As she turned away, a flash of annoyance rippled through her at Charles’s curt good-bye. She realized she’d already slipped on the mask again. Why hadn’t she worn it with Michael—naturally, as she did with others of the same status?
Passing through the orchid room with its immaculate dinner settings, ironed, bleached linen tablecloths, and satin-cushioned chairs, surrealism set in.