“I am an asshole. Or as we say in England, an arsehole. But I prefer asshole, because I’m being one in America.”

This was new. I’d never been vetted, and found wanting, by the Queen of England before. And I’d never seen Edgar so tormented. And I was feeling interestingly powerful.

“Say it again.”

“What? That I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

He paused and opened the stairwell door, calling out, “James?”

James stood in the doorway.

“James, what am I?”

“An asshole, Your Highness.”

“Were you just guessing?” I asked James. “Or is that his, like, Scotland Yard code name?”

“I was listening at the door. And his code name is Fuckhead.”

This sounded especially elegant in James’s Mayfair accent.

Edgar stared at James, who added, “But it’s being changed, because everyone kept guessing it.”

“Thank you, James,” said Edgar. He turned to me: “Your decision?”

CHAPTER 9

By the time Edgar and I had reached a secluded clearing in Central Park, James had set out our picnic lunch on a blanket in the royal tartan. There was fine china, champagne, neatly trimmed sandwiches and, artfully spilling out of the wicker basket, a selection of Hostess Yodels, boxes of Mallomars, canisters of Pringles and every variety of M&M, poured into Wedgewood bowls. I was starting to forgive Edgar, because this wasn’t a generic feast; this was aimed at me. The way to my heart lies through my future dental work.

“So,” I asked, as we dug in, “do you have to run every decision past your grandmother?”

“She would like me to. She’s always been overprotective, and I understand her position. With our parents gone, she was all Gerald and I had. She wants to be certain that in all matters, we present a united front. I love her dearly, and I also admire her. She never whines or feels sorry for herself, even with all the constant criticism, from Parliament and the media and what she calls ‘all those people at their computers who’ve decided they have something to add.’”

“Jesus. It’s like she thinks she’s the Queen of England.”

“Fine. The time has come. Just do it. Let it out. All of your royalty jokes. As if I’ve never heard them before. I’ll give you five minutes to exhaust yourself, and then I’ll dissect America.”

It was a challenge: should I act as if none of these terrible jokes had ever crossed my mind and I was above all that?