That was something he had learned over years, the value of being polite when you were actually furious, the way courtesy could function as armor when everything underneath it was something else entirely. He asked simply whether there had been any changes made to the corridor recently. The woman he asked looked at the floor. There had been some rearrangements, she said. At Mr. She corrected herself.
At His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales’ request. William looked at her. He said, “The portrait of my mother.” She said, “Yes, sir.” He said, “Where is it now?” She told him. It was in storage. One of the rooms at the back of the house where things were kept that were no longer considered necessary. No longer considered necessary.
William said nothing for a moment. Then he thanked her. He walked away. He went outside into the Balmoral grounds and walked for a while. He thought about the portrait, about his mother’s face removed from the family wall, about Camilla’s face in its place. Then he went to find his father. Charles was in his study when William knocked.
“Come in,” he said. William came in and closed the door behind him. He stood in the room for a moment without sitting down. He said, “The portrait of Mum is gone from the corridor.” Charles looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “I thought it was time to make some changes.” He said, “Camilla is my wife now. I need the house to reflect that.
” He paused. “We have to move forward somehow.” William looked at him. He said, “Where is it?” “In storage for now,” Charles said. “It hasn’t been thrown away. I wouldn’t do that. We simply” William said, “She lived here. She walked those halls. She brought us here every summer. Her portrait was in that corridor for as long as I can remember.
” “I know,” Charles said. “I do know that.” He said it gently, with what appeared to be genuine feeling. “And still,” William thought, “and still.” He said, “She’s been gone for 8 years. 8 years, Dad, and you waited until Camilla moved in to take it down.” Charles was quiet for a moment. He said, “That’s not entirely fair.
” “Isn’t it?” William said. He said it quietly, without raising his voice. The particular control of someone who has learned that quiet is more effective than loud. Charles said, “I’m not trying to erase her. I’m trying to build something for the future, for all of us. I need you to try to understand that.” William looked at his father for a long moment.
Then he said, “I’d like to put the portrait somewhere else in the house, not in storage.” Charles looked at him. “That’s really a matter for” William said, “I’d like to put it somewhere in the house. I’m asking you.” A silence. Charles said, “I’ll think about it.” William said, “I’ll speak to Gran.” He left the room. He stood in the corridor for a moment.
He had not gotten what he came for. His father had listened, had said the right things about respect and understanding, and had not moved an inch. William walked back toward his room. He passed the wall. He looked at it again. Camilla’s portrait in his mother’s place and kept walking. He would speak to his grandmother tomorrow.
Tonight he went to bed. Camilla arrived the following morning. Charles had timed it deliberately. The portrait changed before she arrived. Everything arranged before she walked through the door. A small gesture of welcome. A statement about whose house this was now. William was in the main hall when the car pulled up outside.
He watched from the window as Camilla came in. She was in good spirits. The particular ease of someone arriving somewhere they feel they belong. She greeted the staff warmly. She spoke to Charles for a moment in the entrance hall. And then she moved through the house toward the family corridor. William followed at a distance.
He watched her stop when she saw the wall. She looked at it for a moment. Her portrait in the family line between the others. She turned to Charles. She said, “Oh, that’s lovely.” She said it warmly. Genuinely pleased. Charles smiled. “It was time,” he said. Camilla looked at the wall again. At her portrait in the place that had been Diana’s.
She said, “It feels right. It finally feels like home.” William wondered briefly whether she understood what had been removed to make it feel that way. He looked at his mother’s empty place on that wall. He looked at Camilla’s portrait in it. He looked at his father smiling. He turned and walked away. He had made his decision.
William went back to his room and called his grandmother. She answered after two rings. He told her what had happened. Simply and directly, the way she preferred. The portrait, the wall, Camilla’s face in his mother’s place. She listened without interrupting. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Your father has the right to make decisions about the house.
Camilla is his wife.” William said, “I know that.” She said, “I can’t overrule him on something like this.” William said, “I’m not asking you to overrule him. I’m asking whether I can put the portrait somewhere else in the house, not in storage. Somewhere it belongs.” The Queen was quiet. She said, “That seems reasonable.
” She said it in the particular way she said things that were settled. Not a long speech, not an explanation, just those three words. William said, “Thank you, Gran.” She said, “Where will you put it?” William said, “I’ll find the right place.” He hung up. He spent the rest of that afternoon walking through the house.
He went from room to room, the formal rooms, the sitting rooms, the corridors. He was thinking. He knew the house well. Knew which rooms people used, which corridors they walked, how the building moved people through its spaces. He checked the schedule. Charles and Camilla had gone out for a walk with the others, one of those long Balmoral afternoon walks that took people away from the house for a couple of hours.
The house was quiet. William asked two members of staff to help him retrieve the portrait from storage. They carried it through the house together, past the family wall with Camilla’s portrait in his mother’s place, down the corridor, up the stairs. William led them to a spot in the upstairs corridor and stopped.
One of the staff members looked at the wall, then at William. “Are you sure this is the right place, sir?” he said. He said it carefully. The way staff say things when they understand exactly what is happening and are giving you one last opportunity to reconsider. William looked at the wall directly opposite the door to Charles and Camilla’s bedroom.
