3-15（在线收听）

15.

Meg came back to London a week later.

October 2016.

We lunched with Marko and his family, and I introduced her to a few other close mates. All

good. Everyone loved her.

Emboldened, I felt the time had come for her to meet my family.

She agreed.

First stop, Royal Lodge. To meet Fergie, because Meg already knew Fergie’s daughter Euge,

and Jack, so this seemed a logical baby step. But as we neared Royal Lodge I got word on my

phone.

Granny was there.

She’d popped in.

On her way from church back to the castle.

Meg said: Fun! I love grandmas.

I asked if she knew how to curtsy. She said she thought so. But she also couldn’t tell if I was

serious.

You’re about to meet the Queen.

I know, but it’s your grandma.

But she’s the Queen.

We pulled into the driveway, drove across the gravel, parked next to the big green box hedge.

Fergie came outside, somewhat aflutter, and said: Do you know how to curtsy?

Meg shook her head.

Fergie demonstrated once. Meg imitated her.

There wasn’t time for a more advanced tutorial. We couldn’t keep Granny waiting.

As we walked towards the door Fergie and I both leaned into Meg, whispering quick

reminders. When you first meet the Queen it’s Your Majesty. Thereafter it’s just Ma’am. Rhymes

with ham.

Just, whatever you do, don’t talk over her, we both said, talking over each other.

We entered the large front sitting room and there she was. Granny. The monarch. Queen

Elizabeth II. Standing in the middle of the room. She turned slightly. Meg went straight to her and

dropped a deep, flawless curtsy.

Your Majesty. Pleasure to meet you.

Euge and Jack were near Granny and they almost seemed to pretend not to know Meg. They

were very quiet, very proper. Each gave Meg a quick kiss on the cheek, but it was pure royal. Pure

British.

There was some bloke standing to the other side of Granny and I thought: Bogey at twelve

o’clock. Meg looked to me for a clue as to his identity, but I couldn’t help—I’d never seen him

before. Euge whispered into my ear that he was a friend of her mum’s. Ah, OK. I looked at him

hard: Brilliant. Congratulations on being present for one of the most consequential moments of my

life.

Granny was dressed for church: a brightly colored dress and matching hat. I can’t recall the

color, I wish I could, but it was bright. Fancy. I could see Meg regretting her jeans and black

sweater.

I was also regretting my shabby trousers. We didn’t plan, I wanted to tell Granny, but she was

busy asking about Meg’s visit.

Great, we said. Wonderful.

We asked about the church service.

Lovely.

It was all very pleasant. Granny even asked Meg what she thought of Donald Trump. (This

was just before the November 2016 election, so everyone in the world seemed to be thinking and

talking about the Republican candidate.) Meg thought politics a no-win game, so she changed the

subject to Canada.

Granny squinted. I thought you were American.

I am, but I’ve been living in Canada for seven years for work.

Granny looked pleased. Commonwealth. Good, fine.

After twenty minutes Granny announced she had to be going. My uncle Andrew, seated beside

her, holding her handbag, began to escort her out. Euge went with her too. Before reaching the

door Granny looked back to say goodbye to Jack, and to Fergie’s friend.

She locked eyes with Meg, gave a wave and a warm smile. Bye.

Bye. Lovely to meet you, Ma’am, as she dipped into a curtsy again.

Everyone flooded into the room after she’d driven away. The whole vibe changed. Euge and

Jack were their old selves, and someone suggested drinks.

Yes, please.

Everyone complimented Meg on her curtsy. So good! So deep!

After a moment Meg asked me something about the Queen’s assistant.

I asked who she was talking about.

That man holding the purse. That man who walked her to the door.

That wasn’t her assistant.

Who was it?

That was her second son. Andrew.

She definitely hadn’t googled us.