Marrying Up (10 page)

The postcards of the monarch showed King Engelbert looking short, grey-haired and stern. Both he and the Queen were magnificent
in golden crowns and red velvet robes edged with ermine. These had the effect of making them look as if they ruled an entire
empire, not a small and somewhat eccentric kingdom less than five miles across at its widest point and with fewer than five
thousand subjects.

Most residents of Sedona were there by virtue of the favourable tax status the principality offered and maintained a luxurious
lifestyle. Quietly so, however; Sedona had traditionally distinguished itself from its flashier neighbour Monaco by attracting
people who, while possessed of equal wealth, were more discreet in displaying it. If Monaco shouted, Sedona whispered.

The problem was, fewer and fewer people were hearing it. And as a result, financial trouble loomed. Sedona’s few indigenous
industries were in the service sector and required tourism to give them life blood. Tourism drove hotels, restaurants and
retail. It drove, by association, the building trade. It had, for the last 150 years, been the principality’s main source
of income, but now it was dwindling.

The fact that, for the first time in its history, Sedona was about
to slide into deficit had plunged King Engelbert into panic. Like all rulers of ancient fiefdoms, he prided himself on his
ability to hand over a flourishing inheritance to the next generation.

How could Sedona get its visitor rates back up again? How could it promote a glittering and youthful image to compete with
its glitzy neighbour? Monaco was seemingly invincible, its tourist-attracting advantages including a reputation as a celebrity
playground, a Grand Prix and a recent royal wedding. In comparison, Sedona’s claim to have one doctor for every five head
of population and the best wheelchair access on the Mediterranean lacked razzmatazz. There may well have been celebrities
in Sedona, but no one alive could remember who they were.

To address the issue, Engelbert had just engaged at vast expense Sedona’s first ever public relations consultant, a man in
red spectacles who spoke about audience mapping, mood boards, message development sessions and thought leadership platforms.
Yet despite all this, and the time the King spent with him, the solution had yet to be arrived at.

The fact Sedona lacked the port and harbour that had enabled Monaco to develop so spectacularly was, the PR consultant had
said, clicking his mouse and moving his arrows about, the main reason for its relative poverty. He had recommended that Sedona
develop its own marina, down on the coast some ten miles from the mountain principality itself. The international luxury yachting
scene, at its most international and luxurious in the immediate area of the Mediterranean, could bring much-needed wealth
to the kingdom through vast annual fees levied to berth boats. The marina could also be an events venue. The problem was,
or at least so Astrid had gathered, that a building project of that scale needed investors, and in a time of international
downturn, they were not forthcoming. Something needed to be dreamt up to bring them in.

Engelbert was in conference with his PR adviser this morning, dreaming of just that something. Astrid, who wriggled out of
all
such meetings if she could, was in her garden, among her roses. She snipped busily at her Rosa Mundi, noting with satisfaction
how pronounced the deep pink stripes were this year.

There was no one else in the garden apart from Beano, the spaniel who had been her elder son’s childhood pet. She was charged
with looking after him while Max was away. Beano was old and had been blind in one eye since birth. He still had a squint
in the other. This, however, did not stop him pacing suspiciously about the lawns as if on the lookout for intruders.

‘Come on, Beano,’ the Queen coaxed, picking up a stick from the carpet of brown needles beneath the tree and throwing it for
him. But instead of galloping off in an auburn blur as in his youth, Beano moved slowly across the grass, his lustrous white
plume of tail – looking perhaps less lustrous now – waving less keenly than it had. ‘Come on, boy,’ urged Astrid, noting sadly
the dog’s arthritic legs. Beano was not as young as he had been, but then who was?

Beano didn’t seem to know he was old, though. He ambled towards her with his spaniel’s grin, the light of pride in his one
working eye. She ruffled the top of his head; he dropped the stick and licked her hand. Astrid stooped and picked him up,
not caring that his damp paws marked her dress. To bury her nose in Beano was the nearest she could now come to hugging her
beloved elder son, without whom, it had to be said, Beano would very probably not exist.

He had been the runt of the litter, and the intention had originally been that the royal dog would be the pride of his species.
But once Max had seen the tiny, half-blind puppy cowering at the back of the breeder’s kennel, no other dog in the world would
do. When, finally, he had left for England and the course he longed to take, his only regret, Astrid suspected, was leaving
Beano. She had been required to make all manner of solemn promises to look after him, which she had fulfilled to the letter.

Beano looked into her eyes; a question was there, as always. ‘He’ll come back soon,’ the Queen assured him. ‘There are holidays.’

Astrid missed her son more than she had ever imagined or would admit, particularly to his father, who had been doubtful about
the English veterinary course in the first place. But she was happy in the knowledge that Max was doing what he wanted. It
was more than she had ever been allowed herself.

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the distant sound of the brass band thumping away. Astrid was not a fan of brass.
But over the years she had trained herself to accept it, as she had trained herself to accept everything else about Sedona.

At least so she had thought. Lately, however, she had been plagued by the same dream. It was twenty-five years ago and she
was back in the palace of her parents, twenty-two and trembling as she was shown into the heavily furnished office of her
redoubtable father the King. There came the doomy closing click of the double doors behind her. Her father looked up over
a pile of state papers and regarded her sternly for a couple of seconds before brusquely gesturing that she should sit.

Astrid could feel again the scratchy red brocade material beneath her fingers as she sank down to be told that she had, for
the sake of her family, to break with the handsome American scholarship student she had met when presenting prizes at a university
degree ceremony. He was not noble, he was not rich, and so she had to marry Crown Prince Engelbert of Sedona, who was both.
As well as being perfectly nice and eminently suitable, but not what she had wanted, not at all.

After this dream she would wake trembling and tearful, and Engelbert, concerned, would ask what the matter was. Astrid hated
to lie, but telling her husband that it had been a nightmare about black spot on her roses seemed the lesser evil.

Now, hugging the dog, she admired the surrounding flora. Jasmine bushes clustered thickly on the decorative balustrades beside
the short flights of steps dividing one descending terrace
from another. Astrid closed her eyes and inhaled the heavenly scent.

At that precise moment, the band stopped. The Queen’s ears rang with the welcome silence. Then:

‘Astrid!’

The King, his square, tanned face perspiring in the sunshine, was hurrying across the lawn in his grey suit.

‘Very useful meeting,’ Engelbert gasped, as he drew level. ‘We’ve had a marvellous idea.’

‘Good,’ Astrid said absently, her attention on her rose stems. Was that an aphid?

‘Don’t you want to know what it is?’ the King demanded.

Astrid suppressed a sigh and forced a smile. ‘I’d love to.’

‘We’re going to generate world headlines, boost the monarchy’s popularity, attract massive numbers of visitors and promote
a positive new image of Sedona.’ He rubbed his hands with glee.

Astrid nodded. ‘Yes, I know. The marina.’

‘No, no, no.’ Engelbert was shaking his large head of thick, well-combed grey hair. ‘Not yet. Things must get moving financially
first. And this will make them. At one stroke, Sedona will become the most glamorous place on earth. Visitors will pour in,
the hotels will be full, the economy will take off like a rocket.’ He paused for breath. ‘It’s such a simple idea. I can’t
imagine why I didn’t think of it before.’

‘But what
is
it?’ Astrid pressed.

Engelbert beamed. ‘We’ll put on a royal wedding.’

His wife stared. ‘
Wedding?
But whose wedding? No one in the royal family is getting married.’

‘On the contrary, my dear,’ the King said gleefully. ‘Max is.’

The Queen was so surprised, she dropped her secateurs. ‘What!’ One hand flew to her mouth. ‘I knew nothing . . . he didn’t
tell me . . .’ She felt confused, but more than this she felt wounded, sick even. Why had her beloved son, to whom she had
always considered herself close, not confided in her?

Engelbert chortled. ‘Of course he didn’t tell you! He doesn’t know himself!’

‘Doesn’t
know
. . .?’ None of this was making sense to Astrid. She glanced warily at her husband. Had worry about his country’s future
finally driven him out of his wits?

‘He’ll understand, once it’s all explained to him,’ the King claimed bumptiously.

‘Once what is explained?’ queried the Queen.

‘That it’s his duty to get married. That a royal wedding is exactly what we need to bring glamour back to Sedona and give
the economy a boost.’ Engelbert began talking about hotel revenues and modernising the legal framework for business.

‘Understand?’ Astrid was aghast. ‘But Max is at unversity! He’s not even halfway through his course. He . . . he . . . loves
it,’ she added, her voice rising as she saw that none of this had any impact on the King. ‘He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t
want to get married; I’m not even sure he has a girlfriend.’

Engelbert snorted. ‘Well we’ll find one for him.’

The Queen gasped. ‘Find one for him?’

‘Absolutely.’ The King nodded vigorously. ‘There’s bound to be some suitable gel knocking about spare in one or other of the
royal houses. We just need to make some enquiries.’

‘Enquiries? Suitable gel?’ Astrid shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Engelbert,’ she said, after taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t
know what to say. Except that you sound like a complete dinosaur.’

The King looked unabashed. ‘Dinosaurs are big business, my dear. People can’t get enough of them. The Natural History Museum
in London being just one example.’

There was silence for a few minutes.

‘Of course he can’t come back,’ Astrid said furiously, deadheading rapidly to relieve her feelings.

The King squinted angrily at his wife in the sunshine. He really needed glasses, she knew. The perfect eyesight of his younger
days had long since blurred at the edges. But as Sedona monarchs traditionally never wore spectacles – weak-sighted men being
by definition poorly bred and thereby unfit to rule – Engelbert must stumble through the rest of his public life more or less
unable to see. Monocles were acceptable, apparently, but to Astrid’s secret relief, even Engelbert drew the line at those.
In private, he wore bifocals, but whipped them off whenever a servant entered the room.

‘Do you mind if we go back inside?’ the King grumped. It was unforgivingly hot.

As the Queen did not reply, he drummed his fingers testily against the warm stone. His crested signet ring flashed agitatedly.
‘My dear, our son is going to be King of Sedona. Sooner or later, he needs a suitable queen. Preferably a rich one,’ he added,
thinking of the marina project. While it would be funded mainly by the rejuvenated state, a private fortune would undoubtedly
be useful.

Still the Queen said nothing. Engelbert looked at her crossly. Astrid was wonderful in every possible way, from her even temper
to her never-altering slender figure, clad today, as always, in one of her well-cut sleeveless dresses in flattering shades
of pastel. But there was no doubt she could be difficult to get through to at
times. He leant against the lichened urn beside which his wife was working and tried to shade his glistening head behind a
bulge of Floribunda.

‘We should never have sent him to university in England,’ he complained. ‘That was your idea.’

‘He wanted to be a vet. It’s a very good course,’ the Queen said shortly.

‘Well you should never have encouraged him. Vet! What business has a future King of Sedona got being a vet?’

‘He’s doing brilliantly well,’ Astrid reminded her husband tartly. ‘He gets top marks in every exam.’

Her robust defence of her son masked a growing terror. Engelbert was obviously serious. And Max, she was certain, would refuse
point blank to obey his father. Come back and marry a stranger, when he was doing the course of his dreams in England? There
was no possibility, no chance at all.

‘He should have gone to university in Paris,’ the King was grumbling. ‘We wouldn’t have had to look for anyone then. Paris
is choked with eligible heiresses. Rich, beautiful girls from the very best families. You can hardly avoid them.’ There was
a wistful note in his voice.

‘Is that so?’ The Queen’s secateurs gleamed in the sunlight.

‘Absolutely it is,’ her husband affirmed. ‘When I was at the Sorbonne, I was going out with a
duchesse
, a princess and a
comtesse
all at the same time. At the same time . . .’

It was at this moment, meeting the uncharacteristically icy glare of his wife, that the King realised to whom he was speaking.
‘But of course,’ he added hurriedly, ‘none of them could hold a candle to you, my dear.’

The Queen snipped viciously at her bushes. ‘Max will refuse, and there’s an end to it,’ she said tightly.

‘Well he’d better not,’ Engelbert riposted.

‘He will. It’s out of the question. He’s a good boy,’ the Queen said, ‘but he will not be forced. Please don’t make him,’
she added, impassioned.