Murder Most Royal

Presents were opened after tea, in the German tradition, preserved since Prince Albert’s day. Four generations of royals gathered in the drawing room, in suits and smart dresses (there were more costume changes at Sandringham than during a busy West End performance). The early winter darkness emphasised the cosiness of a room lit by candles, lamps and a galaxy of fairy lights on the tree.

There was a great air of anticipation as the youngest children ceremoniously handed out parcels from the laden trestle tables. Not that any of the adults were expecting high-tech gadgets or vintage watches. The children’s presents tended to be traditional and generous, but the rest of the family had long since learned that when you sit in a room surrounded by antique Venetian fans and one of the best Fabergé collections in the world, where the hostess has recently been presented with a life-size statue of one of her favourite racehorses, you couldn’t hope to compete. Or rather, the competition was quite a different one: to see who could be the most entertaining on a budget. The winner (and the family were competitive to a fault, so there was usually a winner) was the one who came up with the best joke.

Last year’s present from Catherine to Harry, a grow-your-own girlfriend kit, had been a particular hit. Harry himself was a master when it came to cheeky presents. The Queen greatly enjoyed the ‘Ain’t Life A Bitch’ shower cap he had given her. He admitted that this time he had bought William a bald wig with an inch of hair fuzz around the edges, and was hugely disappointed not to get to see him open it.

Catherine’s grow-your-own present to Harry would not have worked this year. His very-much-real girlfriend was in Canada working on her TV series, so he was here on his own, but he was so obviously in love it was cheering just to look at him. The tips of his ears turned pink whenever her name was mentioned. William would inevitably have teased him mercilessly about her, as an elder brother’s right, so perhaps it was easier in that way at least that he wasn’t here.

The Queen appreciated Harry’s latest present to her, which was a floppy waxed fishing hat designed to make her look like a famous lady detective from the television. ‘You’re the spitting image,’ he assured her. But actually, it was also very practical for bad weather, and reminded her pleasantly of her mother, who had a whole collection of hats such as these. ‘I’ll wear it when I solve my next case,’ she joked, and everyone grinned at the absurdity of the idea. Which was rather reassuring.

Her favourite gift, though, came from the absent little Prince George. Along with a framed, indecipherable crayon drawing was a mug that made her laugh out loud as soon as she opened it.

‘What is it?’ Anne asked.

The Queen showed it to her daughter. It depicted a row of plump grey birds with green and purple markings at the neck. The message printed above them said, I may look like I’m listening to you, but in my head, I’m thinking about pigeons.

‘Ha! Well done, Catherine,’ Anne observed. ‘I sense a mother’s hand in this.’

‘I think, actually, that drawing of his is supposed to be a pigeon,’ the Queen reflected. ‘I thought it might be a giraffe at first.’

‘Definitely pigeon,’ Anne agreed. ‘A man after your own heart.’

Like her father and his father before him, the Queen was an ardent pigeon fancier. The family tended to think of it as her little hobby, but pigeon racing was a sport almost as old as Christianity. She had always liked the idea that the National Flying Club referred to pigeons. These birds could fly for thousands of miles with an unerring homing instinct that science was still exploring. Something to do with magnetism and iron filings in their beaks, apparently. And they were much cheaper than racehorses, and just as interesting to breed. The Queen was thoroughly looking forward to sharing her hobby with her great-grandson. Well done, Catherine, indeed.

* * *

Afterwards, they all retired upstairs. The children were prepared for bed with the help of an assortment of nannies and stockings were hung in anticipation of a visit from Father Christmas, while the adults dressed for dinner. Tonight was the big occasion: black tie and evening gowns, diamonds and silk shoes, a chance to let loose in relaxed company, which was precious and rare.

Philip, showing enormous fortitude and the power of ibuprofen, arrived in the saloon for cocktails looking like a fashion plate. For her part, no amount of makeup and sparkles could disguise the Queen’s pink nose and red eyes, and now her voice was becoming so hoarse she could hardly talk. However, a little Dubonnet Zaza cocktail with a twist of orange helped her see the world in a rosier light.

Charles made his way across the saloon towards her and she raised her glass to him. The cocktail was hitting the spot.