“Ah. I see your sense of humor fucked off with him,” she said.

I burst out laughing. “I don’t even know what to say right now. I’m so off-kilter.”

“I’m getting a little revenge for those things you did while I was in my semi-coma,” she said.

“Do you remember any of that?”

“I was vaguely aware of people coming and going, and I heard snippets of words here and there, but it was very dreamlike, and surreal,” she said. “I do recall you stomping around talking about your sports team, but then your hair caught on fire, which I assume I hallucinated.” She frowned. “It was a strange state to be in, and now, I can’t feel that passage of time anymore. It’s as if I just blinked.”

“We felt every day of it,” I said. “Richard did you proud, but the public missed you.”

“Did he enjoy having my job?”

Richard’s face the night of the state dinner flashed into my mind. He was glowing, glad-handing dignitaries, deeply pleased with himself. “He wasn’t happy about the reason for his regency,” I hedged.

“He came in here with a whole list of accomplishments, to suggest that perhaps he should remain in the position while I am rehabbing,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “He’s probably right but I sent him packing anyway. He was very cross.” And then she winked at me, not without some effort. I started flipping through the channels to avoid reacting.

“Stop there,” Eleanor said, when I landed on Entertainment Tonight. “I have a bad feeling about Brad and Angelina. Although they did send me beautiful flowers.” She waved at a tremendous bouquet of out-of-season peonies. “Now. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Oh yes, about that,” I said. “Nick and Freddie are—”

“Rebecca, if you don’t have that under some semblance of control by now, please keep me in divine ignorance of your failure,” Eleanor said. “This is important. This is about me.” She put her hands to her chest. “I have cheated death.”

Next to her, Marta grunted.

“Cheated death,” Eleanor repeated, “and now I’d like to have more of a life. I intend to have fun.”

We looked at each other. The longer she said nothing, the more certain I was that being Eleanor’s official purveyor of post-near-death fun was about to become my full-time job.

“Well?” Eleanor prodded. “Where do we start?”

Everything that popped into my mind was inappropriate for an ailing octogenarian—beer pong, bungee jumping, skinny-dipping in the Buckingham Palace pool (though I tucked that one away for me and Nick).

“Have you ever been to McDonald’s?” I heard myself ask instead.

Marta made a not bloody likely noise, and Eleanor said, “Something inside the palace, for now. Something reckless but simple. Perhaps I shall order a crumpet untoasted.”

“Careful, don’t sprain anything,” I said.