PERFECT    Prologue "When did you last wear these?" Bradford picked up the long diamond-and-emerald earrings and held them close to his ears. "I'm not sure," Elizabeth—Lilibet to her friends and family—answered. "Montreal perhaps? You're the one with the list. What does it say?" Bradford put down the earrings and picked up his clipboard. "You're right. Montreal." "May I tell you something, Bradford? Strictly entre nous?" "Of course, ma'am." She looked into his gray-blue eyes. "I don't want to go on this trip. I'm actually quite dreading it. If you would change your mind and come along, it would make all the difference." His eyes filled with tears. "Oh, ma'am. What can I say? If you order me to go, I will. But my back is in such terrible condition . . ." He patted his midriff where a heavy back brace made an uncomfortable outline through his jacket. "I would be more of a burden than a help." "I know." It appeared for a moment that she might put her hand on his to comfort him, but then she remembered herself and withdrew the nascent gesture. "Of course, I won't make you go but I'm going to miss you so." A blast of icy wind threw sheets of cold London rain against the windows, making them rattle. "On the other hand," he said, looking outside, "when I think of the stop in the Seychelles, that warm air on my aching back—perhaps I'll resume my duties there." "That could be arranged." Although her formality—even with close friends and family—was legendary, she gazed at him with real tenderness, affection and heart-felt gratitude for his decades of service. He'd been her most-trusted servant and confidant. He'd never let her down, never been indiscreet, always there, right at her elbow, ready to do whatever she required or requested without complaint or question—all that in spite of his increasingly frail health, which in her heart of hearts, she attributed mostly to his hypochondria. He was her Rock of Gibraltar. She stepped to the next ensemble. "Let's finish," she said. * * * "Evening clothes are last." He picked up his clipboard and turned to the beaded gowns and silk evening suits that hung around the perimeter of her enormous dressing room like costumes from an extravagant opera. Each had a folding wooden camp table in front of it, arranged with the handbag, shoes, gloves, jewelry and medals to be worn with the ensemble. All the elements of each outfit had been tagged and numbered and were accompanied with written instructions as to where and when they were to be worn. There was no possibility for mistake or confusion. Across the room, six black metal trunks the size of regular suitcases—they were, in reality, heavily armored transport safes—stood open on heavy-duty luggage racks beneath the windows, ready to receive the jewels as soon as they agreed each outfit was complete. At that point, Bradford would close the jewelry boxes—many of the pieces were still in the cases in which they'd been received, the leather and velvet linings worn with age and use, their original gift cards tucked inside—and place them in one of the trunks. "What are your plans?" she asked as he double-checked his list. "I'll be at my cottage in Sussex. You know how I love to garden, and I have an excellent man helping me until my back gets stronger." She smiled. "I'll miss your roses." "I'll send them up regularly." "Good. I'll like that." They had stopped in front of a plain white satin ball gown with a pleated decolletage and elbow-length sleeves. Wide bands of seed pearls and brilliants circled the cuffs and hem. The gown's attendant regalia was so complicated, it required two tables to hold it all. "So beautiful in Sussex," she said, and picked up a five-inch-tall diamond tiara, each of its five points punctuated with a large emerald. The scrolls and festoons of its design were so intricate it almost looked like a crown of starched lace. "'May's best tiara,'" she said. "That's what Grandfather called it." "Yes, madam." "This is for Delhi." "Yes, madam." "I haven't seen the whole parure assembled for over forty years. It's quite breathtaking, isn't it?" "Indeed. There is nothing else like it." Lilibet picked up the emerald-and-diamond necklace with its negligee of diamond-and-emerald pendants of unequal lengths. "Granny quite moved heaven and earth to get these pieces assembled, didn't she?" "And," Bradford's eyes sparkled, "it's said she cracked a few skulls in the process, as well." They shared a little laugh. She studied the necklace. "I'm not sure I want to take it with me—not sure it should leave the country." She turned to him. "Perhaps I should take the copies." Bradford shook his head. "Don't worry, ma'am. They will be well looked after. You haven't made a tour like this for many years. It requires such a show." "I know you're right. As usual." She replaced the piece lovingly in its velvet case. "I wonder if it really will be my last, my farewell tour." "I rather doubt it, but it will be stupendous, a royal tour of all the Empire's former colonies. It will be a grand time—practically all of Africa. When was the last time you were in Kenya? Or South Africa and Mozambique?" As he spoke, he stacked up the individual cases that held the parure—except for the tiara which had its own traveling box—and carried them to their designated transport safe. He kept his back to her as he set the jewel cases in the trunk and swiftly replaced their contents with strings of marbles he'd stashed in the trunk earlier. The original pieces slipped into his pocket more smoothly and quickly than the eye could see—at least an old, trusting eye, like Elizabeth's—tumbling silently into a nest of shredded cotton. "I understand the people in the Seychelles have planned a parade around all the islands! India, Australia, Hong Kong, Canada, a state dinner at the White House. Oh, my. It will be positively majestic. A true 'Progress,' ma'am." "More majestic if you were along to make sure everything goes just so." She was starting to sound a little peevish. "Now, ma'am, we've been over this before. All will be meticulously looked after by Michael. I've seen to that." Bradford and Elizabeth were well trained—possibly the best trained people in the world—in the art of keeping their emotions under complete control at all times. And he gave no indication that not only was he impatient with her growing petulance but he was also concerned that in fact she would change her mind and insist he come along. She certainly had the power to do so and he'd seen her impose her will more than once. This was no time to slip up, no matter how difficult the goodbye. They moved to the next table. He picked up a sapphire blue evening suit and held it up in front of her. "This is the most perfect color. It is exactly the color of madam's eyes. Just beautiful." She smiled. "It's to be worn at the state dinner in Cape Town." A black leather jewel case with a faded blue velvet custom-molded lining sat open on the table. "I thought the Lesser Stars would be the right touch." "Brilliant. You always think of the right thing. Michael won't be able to think of this sort of refinement." There was the tone again, getting close to a whine. "Oh, ma'am, that's not true," Bradford reassured her, hiding his irritation at the bead of sweat that rolled down the back of his neck from beneath his toupee. "He's much more of a history buff and protocol expert than I." "Hmmm," she said skeptically. "We shall see." "I don't believe they've been back to South Africa since they left." She picked up the simple, unadorned brooch, one diamond above the other. With their combined carat-weight of 158, the Lesser Stars of Africa—the Cullinans III and IV—were so enormous they didn't require any dressing up. "I never wear them and they're so magnificent." She gently placed the diamonds back in their case, where they smoldered from the velvet like briquette-sized coals. "Yes, madam." Bradford checked his watch. Her musing was beginning to put them behind schedule. They continued their circuit, with Bradford naming each outfit and pointing out each suite of accessories and accompanying jewelry, and then, in a ceremony as old as time, she watched as he latched and locked each case and melted a large disk of wax across the rim sealing the safe shut. Together they pressed their signet rings into the soft red seal. Once the wax had cooled and hardened, Bradford zipped the cases into anonymous, tightly fitted khaki canvas covers, turning them into ordinary-looking luggage. It was time to say good-bye. Lilibet faced him from a proper distance. She kept her hands folded in front of her. "How long have you been with me?" "Over thirty years, madam. I was only twenty-three when I joined your household staff." She shook her head. "It seems like yesterday." Her eyes took him in—his frail countenance, and wonderful bright eyes behind his tortoiseshell bifocals, eyes that never missed a thing. The expensive dark brown toupee. "I shall miss you, my Bradford Quittle." He bowed deeply. "It has been my honor and privilege to serve Your Majesty." She turned and left the room. Shortly, Bradford rang for the guards to take the boxes to Norfolk Airport, where they would travel on their own unmarked business jet to Cape Town, the first stop on the queen's farewell tour of the Commonwealth. © Marne Davis Kellogg Read the First Chapter...