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build the suspense, before completing her sentence “ To go dancing with
a Prince of England this evening”. Hoping it would be one of the younger
generations, I was disappointed when she told me he was the Duke of
York, Charles’s younger brother Andrew. I looked at her with a fake
surprised look, one I had to use on many occasions in my time with them,
to give an impression of excitement. “What…wow!” I exclaimed with my
gifted acting ability. It is a sad realization but I had grown more
accustomed to seeing people for their significance rather than the good
qualities they possessed, and was able to grin & bear the thought of what
I expected lay in store for me.

Ghislane and I left shortly thereafter for the many lanes of designer
shops to choose from in London. Her pep talks to prepare me for my
duties towards royalty went on and on, giving me the obscure impression
I was something of importance, at least for more than an evening. “Make
sure your bubbly and energetic, nobody want’s a dead horse” was one of
the cheap tools she instilled me with. “Who knows where this could lead
for you” was another. As the day grew shorter my anxiety only
heightened, anticipating the Prince’s arrival and unable to decide on an
outfit, I picked out three. Our last stop for the day was Burberry’s for a
nice handbag to compliment our chosen attire. We got back to her
townhouse with still a couple hours spare to get ready. After trying on all
three outfits and many mental debates with myself later, I decided on the
pink mini-tee and dazzling pair of denims with horses embroidered into a
pattern. It seemed a lot more my style and age group rather than the other
two older looking sophisticated dresses I had picked out. I told myself I
was going dancing at a club not to an opera. As most young girls can be
during their body changes into womanhood, I felt awkward, you know,
big feet, freckles and body hair in unwanted places. They’re things you
just don’t want when your seventeen and then you see these iconic
billboards of what femininity is supposed to represent and just don’t fit
into that picture, never feeling what we all are already… absolutely
perfect. By the time I had got ready I was a nervous wreck, but trying to
keep my cool on the outside was an act. I thought it’d be a good idea to
take a few Xanax before the evening unraveled and my anxiety went
through the roof.

Jeffrey and I were sitting in the lounge room downstairs, waiting for
Ghislane to finish getting ready. The room was silent, only stillness in the
air. I stared at the mural painted onto the wall that I was facing. It was an
interesting piece of artwork. In great detail it illustrated a happy looking
family sitting on a bench overlooking a pond that resided on a large piece
of land with a beautiful home displayed. There were also hunting hounds
and the hunters chasing a game of fox like the notorious “English Hunt
Pieces” throughout history. Jeffrey took notice of my enchantment into

the picture and in a hushed voice proceeded to tell me that it was a
portrait of Ghislane’s childhood, the part she could be proud of. I never
realized how prominent her family’s history was in England, apparently
as to Jeffrey’s attest, her Father was born of poor Jewish decent in
Czechoslovakia, most of his family being killed upon Nazi invasion in
1939. Fleeing to join the British Army as a young man, he changed his
name a few times and made a lot of contacts in the field. After the war, a
newfound Robert Maxwell went into publishing using his army contacts
to establish a business initially built upon publishing scientific books
from occupied Germany. In time, Maxwell acquired several British
newspapers, among them the Daily Mirror, countering his wits against
the likes of Rupert Murdoch along the way. However, whilst constructing
his publishing empire, Maxwell compiled astronomical debts, and his
equivocal financial dealings attracted the attention of governing
authorities that judged him not to be looking out for his companies best
interest and in the end it transpired that Robert Maxwell had been using
proceeds from his employees pension funds to meet his financial debts,
ruining the futures of thousands of employees. Once an esteemed
Member of Parliament and publishing mogul, Robert’s body was found
floating in the Atlantic Ocean after he was found to be missing from his
yacht, the Lady Ghislane (named after his favorite child), whilst cruising
the Canary Islands in 1991. Jeffrey went on to tell me that when her
Father died she was inconsolable, and in a very bad state. He picked her
up from the trenches of despair and took her under his wing, and it’s there
she has stayed comfortable ever since. To Ghislane his peculiar need to
have so many woman around and even his taste in younger than legal
one’s didn’t seem unconventional to her. It was her own Father who was
deemed a womanizer and even took a second wife whilst still married to
Ghislane’s mother. I would have never guessed this carefree, spirited, and
vivacious woman had ever endured such sorrows. I couldn’t help but look
at her in a different light from then on, but not letting her know that I
knew, to avoid any altercations between us.

Like clockwork Ghislane came downstairs five minutes before Prince
Andrew were to arrive, wearing a tight-fitted white wooly turtleneck
singlet and a nice pair of loose fitting trousers. Looking elegant and
casual at the same time, a very hard look to achieve but one Ghislane had
always easily mastered. They both seemed at ease poking fun at my
obvious nervous state, just another ordinary night out for this
extraordinary couple. The knock came at the door just after six o’clock in
the evening. Ghislane greeted him and the guard who would wait for his
return in the car. She led him down the hall to where Jeffrey and I were
sitting. We both stood up and Jeffrey shook his hand, while Ghislane
proceeded to introduce me and as I was taught by her was English

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