The Windsor Knot

He was grey of hair, suit and mind. He was also convinced that, at eighty-nine, one had no possible means of understanding the complexities of the modern world. He didn’t seem to grasp that she had lived through all the decades that had created it, and she had perhaps a more nuanced understanding of it than he did.

Henry Evans would say nothing, regardless of who asked him, even the commandant at Sandhurst and his contacts in MI5 and MI6. This conversation was absolutely private.
Rozie wondered for a moment why it had been so easy for Mr Evans to make this silent pact, when for her it had seemed more complicated. But she reflected that for her it was more complicated. Evans simply owed his ultimate loyalty to the Queen and that was that. The man Rozie had to hide this conversation from – lie to, if necessary – was the Queen’s own right-hand man, and that made her secrecy so strange and uncomfortable. It wasn’t that the Queen didn’t trust Sir Simon, Rozie felt sure of that. She had seen the warm, long-standing relationship between them at first hand.

This morning the Queen had asked her to do some further research into the night of the dine and sleep. She had three interviews lined up in central London for tomorrow. And none of this was to be mentioned to Sir Simon.
Her mind was racing. The Boss was up to something. Surely such tasks should be left to the professionals, not entrusted to an ex-banker with three years in the Royal Horse Artillery to her name? The Queen had the whole of MI5 and the Metropolitan Police to call on. Or the Prime Minister. Or, if she liked to keep it close to home, Sir Simon himself or her equerry.
So why me?
And then she had remembered an offhand comment from her predecessor during the handover a few months ago. ... During the final handover day, when they were briefly alone, Katie had said, ‘One day, she’ll ask you to do something strange. I mean, every day will be strange, but you’ll get used to that. One day it will be super-strange. You’ll know it.’
‘How?’
‘You just will. Trust me. And when you do, go to Aileen Jaggard. She was APS before me. Her details are in the contacts book. She explained it all to me and she will to you, too.’
‘I don’t get it. Can’t you tell me now?’
‘No. I asked the same thing. It has to come from her – from the Boss, I mean. When it does, track down Aileen. See her in person if you can. Just say “It’s happened”, and she’ll know.’

‘Look, I joined the Royal Household in the year dot,’ Aileen said, ‘and I did the job for over a decade. There’s nothing that’s happened in any of those residences that I don’t know about. No scandal or divorce or disaster. And I know about the other stuff, too. The things she doesn’t tell Simon. She’s on a case, isn’t she?’
‘She . . . what?’
Aileen grinned. She gestured to a side table temptingly laid out with bowls of Doritos and guacamole. Rozie suddenly realised how hungry she was. ‘Look, help yourself. You came to me because she’s asked you to do a bit of digging about, hasn’t she?’
Mouth full of Dorito and avocado, Rozie nodded.
‘You kind of know you’re not supposed to tell anyone, but it feels horribly wrong?’
Rozie nodded again.

Aileen stared into her glass for a moment. ‘I don’t know, exactly. But I do know that if the Boss thinks it’s a bad line of investigation, it probably is. She doesn’t just trust her instincts – she trusts her experts. And she’s the best at knowing which ones to pick. You would be, after seventy-odd years, wouldn’t you?’
‘I guess,’ Rozie said. ‘Sixty-four years, I suppose. Officially.’
‘Oh, she’s been doing this for much longer than that.’
‘What do you mean?’
An enigmatic smile stole across Aileen’s face. She closed her eyes briefly and rolled her shoulders. Then she put down her glass and fixed Rozie with a steady gaze. ‘The Queen solves mysteries. She solved the first one when she was twelve or thirteen, so the story goes. On her own. She sees things other people don’t see – often because they’re all looking at her. She knows so much about so many things. She’s got an eagle eye, a nose for bullshit and a fabulous memory. Her staff should trust her more. People like Sir Simon, I mean.’
‘But he trusts her totally!’
‘No, he doesn’t. He thinks he does, but he also thinks he knows best. All her private secretaries do. They always have. They think they’re brilliant, which to be fair they usually are, and they think the other men in their clubs are brilliant, and the heads of the big organisations who went to Oxbridge with them are brilliant, and they’re all being brilliant together and she should just sit there and be grateful.’
Rozie laughed out loud. She was really very fond of Sir Simon, but this described his style exactly. ‘OK,’ she agreed.
‘They should trust her. But they don’t. She’s one of the most powerful women in the world, supposedly, but she spends her whole bloody time having to listen to them and they don’t listen back. It drives her bonkers. I mean, she grew up with it. She was a girl in the thirties – male domination was normal. God, even now I bet you get it too, but at least we know it’s wrong. She’s had to work out for herself how good she is, what she can do. And what she can do is notice things. See when something’s “off”. Find out why. Unpick the problem. She’s a bit of a genius at it, actually. But she needs help.’
Rozie bit into the last green dip-laden Dorito and looked regretfully at the empty bowl. ‘Female help,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Uh-huh. The help of someone who isn’t trying to constantly buck her up. Someone discreet. A listener. Our help.'

Rozie arrived ten minutes later, looking puzzled.
‘Your Majesty? You wanted to see me?’
‘Yes, I did,’ the Queen said. She fiddled with her pen for a moment, deep in thought. ‘I was wondering if you could do something for me.’
‘Anything . . .’ Rozie offered, with more passion in her voice than she’d intended. It was true, though. Whatever the Boss wanted, she would do. Rozie knew most people in the Household felt this way. Not because of what she was, but because of who she was. She was a special human being who had been given an almost impossible job, and had taken it on and never complained, and done it brilliantly, for longer than most people in the country had been alive. They adored her. They were all terrified of her, obviously, but they adored her more. Rozie felt lucky she was still going.