A FRENZY OF TEXTING AND FaceTiming. Though we were thousands of miles apart, we were never actually apart. I’d wake up to a text. Instantly reply.
Then: text, text, text. Then, after lunch: FaceTime. Then, throughout the afternoon: text, text, text. Then, late at night, another marathon FaceTime.
And still it wasn’t enough. We were desperate to see each other again. We circled the last days of August, about ten days away, for our next meeting.
We agreed it would be best if she came to London.
On the big day, just after her arrival, she phoned as she was walking into her room at Soho House.
I’m here. Come see me! I can’t, I’m in the car… Doing what?
Something for my mum. Your mum? Where?
Althorp.
What’s Althorp?
Where my uncle Charles lives.
I told her I’d explain later. We still hadn’t talked about…all that.
I felt pretty sure she hadn’t googled me, because she was always asking questions. She seemed to know almost nothing—so refreshing. It showed that she wasn’t impressed by royalty, which I thought the first step to surviving it. More, since she hadn’t done a deep dive into the literature, the public record, her head wasn’t filled with disinformation.
After Willy and I had laid flowers at Mummy’s grave, we drove together back to London. I phoned Meg, told her I was on my way. I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, not wanting to give myself away to Willy.
There’s a secret way into the hotel, she said. Then a freight lift.
Her friend Vanessa, who worked for Soho House, would meet me and usher me in.
All went according to plan. After I’d met the friend and navigated a sort of maze through the bowels of Soho House, I finally reached Meg’s door.
I knocked and suspended breathing while I waited. The door flew open.
That smile.
Her hair was partly covering her eyes. Her arms were reaching for me. She pulled me inside and thanked her friend in one fluid motion, then slammed the door quickly before anyone saw.
I want to say we hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. But I don’t think there was time.
