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36.

Ordinarily, I’d have gone to Meg’s father first, asked for his blessing. But Thomas Markle was a

complicated man.

He and Meg’s mother split when she was two, and thereafter she divided her time between

them. Monday to Friday with Mum, weekends with Dad. Then, for part of high school, she’d

moved in with her father full-time. They were that close.

After college she’d traveled the world, but always stayed in constant contact with Daddy. She

still, even in her thirties, called him Daddy. She loved him, worried about him—his health, his

habits—and often relied upon him. Throughout her run on Suits she’d consulted him every week

about the lighting. (He’d been a lighting director in Hollywood, won two Emmys.) In recent years,

however, he hadn’t been working regularly, and he’d sort of disappeared. He’d rented a small

house in a Mexican border town and wasn’t doing well overall.

In every way, Meg felt, her father would never be able to withstand the psychological

pressures that come with being stalked by the press, and that was now happening to him. It had

long been open season on everyone in Meg’s circle, every current friend and ex-boyfriend, every

cousin, including those she’d never known, every former employer or former co-worker, but after

I proposed there was a frenzy around…the Father. He was considered the prize catch. When the

Daily Mirror published his location, paps descended on his house, taunting him, trying to tempt or

lure him outside. No fox hunt, no bear baiting was ever more depraved. Strange men and women

dangled offers of money, gifts, friendship. When none of that worked, they rented the house next

door and shot him day and night through his windows. The press reported that, as a result, Meg’s

father had nailed plywood over his windows.

But this wasn’t true. He’d often had plywood nailed over his windows, even when living in

Los Angeles, well before Meg started dating me.

Complicated man.

They’d then begun following him into town, tailing him on his errands, walking behind him as

he went up and down the aisles of local shops. They’d run photos of him with the headline: GOT

HIM!

Meg would often phone her father, urge him to remain calm. Don’t speak to them, Daddy.

Ignore them, they’ll go away eventually, as long as you don’t react. That’s what the Palace says to

do.