‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Jenkins glanced somewhat nervously at Simpson.
‘Earlier today, someone told me that you might not be appearing.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Simpson nodded.
Jenkins was looking at his feet, flecks of pink appearing on his neck and cheeks.
When neither of them volunteered an explanation, she persisted. ‘I do hope no-one was ill?’
‘No, ma’am,’ offered Simpson.
‘Not exactly,’ said Jenkins.
The two looked at each other briefly before Jenkins admitted, ‘I got a bit nervous, ma’am.’
‘I see.’
‘Very nervous,’ he confessed.
‘Oh, dear.’
‘I was throwing up in the toilets,’ he told her, encouraged by her sympathy.
‘It was coming out both ends,’ added Simpson.
‘How interesting,’ said the Queen, in a tone of voice that commanded that this particular line of conversation be dropped, ‘But you made a recovery?’
Jenkins nodded, ‘It was Simpson who did it, actually.’
Her Majesty fiddled with the strap of her handbag, ‘Good for you, Simpson. A few words of encouragement?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I told him to imagine everyone in the audience as naked, thirteen-year-old freshers who he was about to turn the fire hose on.’ His voice was modulating wildly. ‘It seemed to perk him up.’
Jenkins was nodding vigorously.
‘Reframing technique,’ explained Simpson, shoving his heavy glasses back up his nose with his index finger.
If the Queen was in any way startled by this information, she wasn’t showing it. ‘I gather your studies have progressed smoothly?’ she asked Simpson.
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I have been accepted by Oxford.’
‘Well, good luck with your history degree.’
‘Actually, psychology.’
Her Majesty pursed her lips. ‘Didn’t you learn the names of all the kings and queens of Britain since 1066?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I had to learn something to prove a memory technique.’
‘I see.’ The Queen looked philosophical for a while before saying, ‘I have a feeling that psychology is going to suit you very well indeed.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Later that day at Balmoral, drinks were being served in the drawing room, accompanied by vol-au-vent canapés—including several plates with lobster fillings. The weather had continued to be simply glorious and, with only family, dear friends and closest members of the household present, it was a happily relaxed end to another Braemar Gathering.
In one corner, Kate, William, and Harry were playing with George and Charlotte, while Charles and Camilla looked on. Her Majesty was making her way towards them, when Lady Tara approached her with an apprehensive expression. ‘I know this is somewhat short notice, but I was wondering if I could have some time away next weekend.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ The Queen didn’t hesitate. ‘We’ll still be on holiday.’