Spare

Also, to my mind, Angela was a troublemaker, and I didn’t need her as an enemy.

Above all, she was still in possession of that tiara.

She held all the cards.

44.

Though the press was mostly laying off Meg, mostly staying focused on the approaching wedding, the harm was already done. After eighteen months of trashing her, they’d riled up all the trolls, who were now crawling out of their cellars and lairs. Ever since we’d acknowledged that we were a couple, we’d been flooded with racist taunts and death threats on social media. (See ya later, race traitor!) But now the official threat level, used by Palace security to allocate personnel and guns, had reached vertiginous heights. In pre-wedding conversations with police we learned that we’d become the prized target for terrorists and extremists. I remembered General Dannatt saying I was a bullet magnet, that anyone standing next to me would be unsafe. Well, I was a bullet magnet again, but standing next to me would be the person I loved most in the world.

There’s been some reporting about the Palace deciding to instruct Meg in guerrilla warfare, and survival tactics, in the event of a kidnapping attempt. A bestselling book describes the day Special Forces came to our house, grabbed Meg, put her through several intense days of drills, pushing her into back seats and car boots, speeding away to safe houses—all of which is utter nonsense. Meg wasn’t given one minute of training. On the contrary, the Palace floated the idea of not giving her any security at all, because I was now sixth in line to the throne. How I wished reports about Special Forces were even partly true! How I longed to phone my mates in Special Forces, have them come and train Meg and re-train me. Or, better yet, pitch in, protect us. For that matter, how I wished I could send Special Forces to go and grab that tiara.

Angela still hadn’t delivered it.

Meg’s hairdresser had come in from France for the rehearsal, and the tiara still wasn’t there. So he’d gone back.

Again, we phoned Angela. Again, nothing.

Finally, Angela appeared out of thin air at Kensington Palace. I met her in the Audience Room.

She put before me a release, which I signed, and then she handed me the tiara.

I thanked her, though I added that it would’ve made our lives so much easier to have had it sooner.

Her eyes were fire. She started having a go at me.

Angela, you really want to do this now? Really? Now?

She fixed me with a look that made me shiver. I could read in her face a clear warning.

This isn’t over.

45.

Meg had spent months trying to soothe her father. There was always something new that he’d read about himself, something derogatory he’d taken to heart. His pride was constantly wounded. Every day there was another humiliating photo in the papers. Thomas Markle buying a new loo. Thomas Markle buying a six-pack. Thomas Markle with his belly hanging over his belt.

We understood. Meg told him we knew how he felt. The press, the paps, they were awful. Impossible to totally ignore what’s written, she acknowledged. But please do try to ignore them in person. Ignore anyone who approaches, Daddy. Be on guard against anyone who pretends to be your best friend. He seemed to be listening. He started to sound as if he was in a better place, mentally.

Then, the Saturday before the wedding, Jason phoned us. We’ve got a problem.

What?

The Mail on Sunday is going to run a story saying that Meg’s father has been working with the paps and, for money, has staged some candid photos.

We immediately phoned Meg’s dad, told him what was coming. We asked if it was true. Had he staged a bunch of candid photos for money?

No.

Meg said: We might be able to kill this story, Daddy, but if it turns out you’re lying, we’ll never be able to kill a false story about ourselves, or our children, again. So this is serious. You must tell us the truth.

He swore that he’d never staged any photos, that he hadn’t taken part in any such charade, that he didn’t know the pap in question.

Meg whispered to me: I believe him.

In that case, we told him, leave Mexico right now: A whole new level of harassment is about to rain down on you, so come to Britain. Now. We’ll arrange for an apartment where you can hole up safely until your flight.

Air New Zealand, first class, booked and paid for by Meg.

We would immediately send a car with private security to pick him up.

He said he had things to do.

Now Meg’s face changed. Something was up.