The royals by Kitty Kelley

Author:Kitty Kelley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Europe, Elizabeth - Family, House of, Royal households, General, Royalty, Biography, Historical, Biography & Autobiography, Queens, Great Britain, Windsor, Queens - Great Britain - Biography, History
ISBN: 9780446517126
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 1997-09-01T08:23:53.511292+00:00

FOURTEEN

I’m fed up to the teeth with your bloody security,” exploded the Duke of Edinburgh. “Let’s get going.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the U.S. Secret Service agent, “but there’s nothing I can do until the President’s car moves.”

The Queen and the Duke, touring California as guests of the Reagans in 1983, sat in the back of their limousine, waiting for the motorcade to move through the rainy streets of San Francisco. Philip strained with impatience.

“I said to get this car moving,” he snapped.

“Sir, we’re waiting for President Reagan’s car.”

The Queen stared straight ahead. Seconds passed. Bristling with anger, Philip grabbed a magazine from the seat pocket, rolled it up, and smacked the driver across the back of his head.

“Move this fucking car,” he screamed, “and move it now!”

The Queen sat impassively and did not say a word as her husband whacked the agent like a horse. An hour later, after they had arrived at their hotel, she sent her embassy representative to the agent’s room with an invitation to join the royal couple for a nightcap.

“No, thank you,” said the agent. He made no attempt to disguise his anger over the treatment he had received from the Queen’s husband as she said nothing.

“Please, sir. You must accept Her Majesty’s invitation.”

“I said, ‘No, thank you.’ I will not be in their company any more than I absolutely have to.”

The Queen’s messenger appealed to the White House aide in the room. “Please, sir, I’m begging you. I cannot go back to Her Majesty and say her invitation was refused. I would lose my position. My tour of duty is up in six months and I can’t afford to retire without my pension. I acknowledge the Duke of Edinburgh was beastly—rude beyond redemption—but I’m asking you as a personal favor to please accept this invitation.”

The White House aide looked at the Secret Service agent, who stared at the anxious messenger—and reconsidered. “I want to make it clear,” said the agent, “that I’m doing this for you, not for them.”

The U.S. Secret Service had struggled throughout the visit to provide the highest standard of protection for the royal couple, but the Duke of Edinburgh balked at every security measure proposed. The night before, he had turned on the light inside his limousine.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the agent. “I must ask you to turn off that light. It makes you too easy a target.”

“I’m damned if I will,” snapped Philip. “Why do you think these people are out here? They want to see me, and I want to wave to them.”

The U.S. Chief of Protocol, Selwa Roosevelt, interceded. “Sir, these men are only doing their job,” she said. “If anything happens to you, it would be due to their negligence. Please do not take it out on them. They have their orders.” As he got out of the car, Philip slammed the door in her face. Hours later, at a dinner, he apologized.

From San Diego to San Francisco to the Reagan ranch in Santa Barbara, the Duke fumed about the security.

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