High Jinx by William F. Buckley

Author:William F. Buckley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504018555
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road

15

The Prime Minister sat stiffly in the back of the Rolls-Royce. His Foreign Minister was seated next to him. They drove through St. James’s Park toward the Palace. He made an idle observation about the weather (it was sunny and warm, and Dahl Breckenridge observed that it was sunny and warm) concerning which the PM took no notice. Anthony Brogan knew that the session with Queen Caroline would probably be the most painful of any of the weekly meetings since he became Prime Minister. He knew, moreover, that the Queen did not welcome third parties at their meetings. Even so, his bringing Breckenridge along was bound to ease his burden, which was why, through the Queen’s aide, he had solicited her agreement, perfunctorily granted, on the constitution of this particular meeting. There were moments with the Queen when it was very nearly impossible for the PM to say anything. Breckenridge was a phlegmatic type and was sure, when heavy weather came, to calm things down in his own unexcited, unexcitable way.

The Prime Minister’s car advanced through the Main Gate, as usual. The inspector poked his head towards the window, saluted, and waved the car on into the inner courtyard.

They emerged, the steward opened the King’s door, and they moved into the antechamber. The Queen’s equerry bowed slightly, said good morning, and led the two top officials of the government up the staircase to the Queen’s Audience Room. While they walked, Dahl Breckenridge said something complimentary about the Palace decorations. Once again the Prime Minister did not comment, so they continued the rest of the way to the Queen’s Audience Room in silence.

Queen Caroline rose as they were ushered in.

She was wearing a deep-blue long-sleeved dress and a light pigskin belt. Her familiar pearls caught the sunshine coming in from the window facing the courtyard. With her left hand she held her poodle, Furioso; with her right, she shook hands with her ministers, then motioned them to sit down in the two leather-bound armchairs. She sat opposite them in the larger chair, putting her dog down on the empty seat.

She ignored her Foreign Minister. ‘I suppose, Prime Minister, that you will remark on the excellence of the weather, on the grounds that otherwise I might not have noticed it?’

‘Well, ma’am,’ the Prime Minister made an earnest effort at geniality, ‘it would be positively—ungrateful—not to mention such weather, wouldn’t you agree?’

It was immediately obvious that carefree remarks about the weather were not being received this day at the court of Queen Caroline. She looked vaguely out of the window, stroking her dog. ‘Interesting formulation, that. If I say that I do agree—that it would be ungrateful not to mention the weather—then I am acquiescing in an implicit agenda. Am I correct? One begins by saying good morning. One moves next to the question of the weather. That is convention. Conventions are necessary, I agree. But to invest in conventions an extra meaning, as you have just now done, Prime Minister, by suggesting

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