Spare

He responded with what felt like an ominous threat: You’ll be disobeying orders from the monarch and myself if you persist in this course of action before we have a chance to sit down.

73.

I rang Granny on January 3.

We’re coming back to Britain, I said. We’d love to see you.

I told her explicitly that we hoped to discuss with her our plan to create a different working arrangement.

She wasn’t pleased. Neither was she shocked. She knew how unhappy we were, she’d seen this day on the horizon.

One good chat with my grandmother, I felt, would bring this ordeal to an end.

I said: Granny, are you free?

Yes, of course! I’m free all week. The diary is clear.

That’s great. Meg and I can come up for tea and then drive back to London. We have an engagement at Canada House the next day.

You’ll be exhausted from the travel. Do you want to stay here?

By “here” she meant Sandringham. Yes, that would be easier, and I told her so.

That would be lovely, thank you.

Are you planning to see your father too?

I asked, but he said it’s impossible. He’s in Scotland and can’t leave until the end of the month.

She made a little sound. A sigh or a knowing grunt. I had to laugh.

She said: I have only one thing to say about that.

Yes?

Your fatheralways does what he wants to do.

Days later, January 5, as Meg and I boarded a flight in Vancouver, I got a frantic note from our staff, who’d received a frantic note from the Bee. Granny wouldn’t be able to see me. Initially Her Majesty thought this would be possible, it will not…The Duke of Sussex cannot come to Norfolk tomorrow. Her Majesty will be able to arrange another mtg this month. No announcements about anything shall be issued until such a meeting takes place.

I said to Meg: They’re blocking me from seeing my own grandmother.

When we landed I considered driving straight to Sandringham anyway. To hell with the Bee. Who was he to try to block me? I imagined our car being stopped at the gate by Palace police. I imagined smashing past security, the gate snapping across the bonnet. Diverting fantasy, and a fun way to spend the trip from the airport, but no. I’d have to bide my time.

When we reached Frogmore I rang Granny again. I imagined the phone ringing on her desk. I could actually hear it in my mind, brrrang, like the red phone in the VHR tent.

Troops in Contact!

Then I heard her voice.

Hello?

Hi, Granny, it’s Harry. Sorry, I must have misunderstood you the other day when you said you didn’t have anything going on today.

Something came up that I wasn’t aware of.

Her voice was strange.

Can I pop in tomorrow then, Granny?

Um. Well. I’m busy all week.

At least, she added, that was what the Bee told her…

Is he in the room with you, Granny?

No answer.

74.

We got word from Sara that The Sun was about to run a story saying The Duke and Duchess of Sussex were stepping away from their royal duties to spend more time in Canada. A sad little man, the newspaper’s showbiz editor, was said to be the lead reporter on the story.

Why him? Why, of all people, the showbiz guy?

Because lately he’d refashioned himself into some sort of quasi royal correspondent, largely on the strength of his secret relationship with one particularly close friend of Willy’s comms secretary—who fed him trivial (and mostly fake) gossip.

He was sure to get everything wrong, as he’d got everything wrong on his last big “exclusive,” Tiaragate. He was equally sure to cram his story into the paper as fast as possible, because he was likely working in concert with the Palace, whose courtiers were determined to get ahead of us and spin the story. We didn’t want that. We didn’t want anyone else breaking our news, twisting our news.

We’d have to rush out a statement.