Prince Charles and Princess Diana were in the den having a quiet chat about their upcoming wedding, when Queen Elizabeth and her loyal companions entered. The Queen was holding a small rectangular box with a ribbon clustered adornment on the lid. She sat with motherly affection and handed Diana the gift. Diana opened the gift as Charles handed his mother a cup of tea.
Diana’s eyes sparkled as bright as the glistening diamond crusted, pearl white pen laying in the bedded case. Diana could not take her eyes off the exquisite implement. It was simply beautiful.
“I thought you would like it!” The queen said as she brought the cup to her lips for another sip.
“I’m lost for words,” was all Diana could say while lifting the pen out of its cradled bedding of black satin. “It’s beautiful.” Diana said turning it over, and over in her hands. “I will cherish it, “ she continued, placing the pen gently into the box once more and replacing the lid. “Thank you so much,” rising and moving towards the queen. Diana hugged her future mother in law, then walked over to the safe and carefully placed it inside before locking it safely away.
“Charles and I are going to Harrods for some wedding thank you cards, is there anything you need? Diana asked.
“No, you two enjoy your outing, if I need anything I can get it later,” the queen replied.
Paul the butler came and cleared away the tea tray. He was crossing the room when Dian asked him if he could drive them, low key into the town. She explained that she didn’t much care to go by way of the Chauffer, as she didn’t want to draw any attention to themselves. She was hoping to just sneak into Harrods, buy what she needed, then quickly return home.
Paul was delighted to drive them for he thought of himself as a friend of the royals, rather than a butler, and he especially was fond of Diana. He often went home to his wife and children, thinking how privileged he was in his working life. Sadly his working life did not reflect that of his working environment. For it was far removed from royalty and the luxury and lavish surrounds. He had no opulence, far from it was the home he shared with his wife and family, for they lived in a two bedroom flat, and his children went to a local public school. Nothing wrong with that, but he longed for a better life. He fantasized constantly about what his life could have been if he were a royal, so for him being a part of their existence, would have to suffice. Working at the Palace made him feel like a king and the friendship with the royals really messed with his mind. He even fantasised that his wife was really Diana, the future Princess of Wales. He even wondered what Diana saw in Charles, obviously not looks, he though sarcastically in times of jealousy. Paul knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of having her in reality, so went to great pains to ensure their friendship was close and guarded. He never gave away his secret of harbouring thoughts much deeper or sinister. He often went home and made love to his wife as if he were instead making love to the woman he really admired and wanted to be making love to. Nobody suspected anything, not even his wife of ten years.
Paul found it harder and harder to enter the realm of his home with each passing day. On the outer surface he kept his charade together, but internally he was at odds with himself. He knew he could never be a royal, but at the same time strived to be like them. His mind was becoming a real tormented whirlpool, and he envied those within the palace gates. Cracks were starting to appear as frustration, anger and jealousy took a deeper hold, and resentments broke through at various opportunity. His once loyal wife was growing tired of his increasing mood swings, at first she thought her husband was just coming down with some viral sickness, but a after a few months she started seeing a different side, a manic side to her husband’s personality. She was becoming more aware of his manic disposition as time went on. She thought it was just the added stress of his increased hours, what she didn’t know was that his hours on the payroll had not increased at all.
Paul’s life at work did not change, in fact he never gave the slightest hint that there was anything amiss in his life, nor did he speak of the stresses at home, if you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t even know he has a wife and children. He was always punctual, never missed a day, was always organised, well dressed and pleasant in his approach to others. He hid his tormented self, and what others did not know, nor Paul for that matter, was that his wife was on the verge of leaving him.
Paul the butler was privileged to roam the palace, and often delighted in that fact. He boasted to others that he could just about do anything because he was trusted. He said that since Diana had befriended him, they often shared quiet moments in the kitchen. Little did she know Paul took it upon himself to watch over her, even as she slept. In fact Diana was his obsession. Paul’s adoration caused him to become obsessed and dark in his thoughts... Hatching and plotting ways to be with her, while at the same time harbouring revenge on those who he saw as standing in his way. He often hid in a secret location and watched Diana, and he took to stealing small items belonging to her, as a keepsake. Items like her lipstick, a perfumed handkerchief, things he thought would go unnoticed, or she would deem she had misplaced. He would spy on others and form conspiracies in his ongoing battle with right and wrong. He was becoming increasingly dangerous.
As Paul’s marriage disintegrated, his stealing habits and voyeurism worsened. He had collected many items but his prized pilfered piece was the diamond and pearl pen. That took a lot of skill, he thought months ago when he took it, and still it hadn’t been missed. Diana either knew it was missing and has said nothing believing she had lost it, or she isn’t aware that it has been taken, he rationalised. What Paul didn’t know is that he too was being watched.
“Paul, I am sorry I have to do this” said Queen Elizabeth, “but it has come to our attention that you’ve been abusing our trust. We have been investigating the disappearance of valuable trinkets that have been mysteriously disappearing. We are shocked and in disbelief, but have reason to believe that you are responsible. The queen continued, before telling Paul that it is most unfortunate, but his services were no longer required. The queen nodded her head, and within a few moments two guards appeared.
“Do you have anything you would like to say before you are taken away and charged for your behaviour?” the queen asked.
“No, your Majesty,” Paul said looking solemn and downcast.
“Very well.” The queen said then turned to leave, placing Paul into the bonds of her royal guards.
Paul was charged with theft, and faced court a number of times. He was deemed to be unwell. He was held under bond at a mental institution rather than imprisoned. The mental strain on him clearly evident. It wasn’t until his final court appearance that he felt any sense of peace. He knew he had done the wrong thing, on so many levels, and it was only his good character before his royal appointment that had saved his skin from a prison term. Diana had come to the court to offer her support to him, even though he didn’t really deserve her forgiveness. He felt guilty for placing her in this predicament, but he was glad she had come. Deep down he liked to believe she understood and didn’t hold it against him. He had so much he wanted to explain to her, but he knew it was too late for that. Having Diana’s support in court probably helped keep him out of jail. He didn’t much like the incarceration of the mental institution but he knew it was the better or two evils.
As months wore on, and so much time on his hands, Paul turned to writing a book, he thought it would help him clear his mind, and bring about healing. He thought about the pen he had taken, and with a feeling of guilt took out his worn pencil, a note pad, and started scribbling some words on a new blank page. Day after day he sat with his newly sharpened old pencil and wrote feverously. It didn’t take long for one note book to fill, before he asked for a new one, then another, and another. About six months later he had enough written text to start editing and compiling into book form.
Listening to the radio at breakfast before engaging in his biography, he felt the floor move. He braced himself by holding onto the tabletop. He was shaken by the newscaster’s words... Princess Diana killed, is all he heard.
“No, that can’t be,” he said out loud trying to focus on what he was hearing, with utter disbelief. A car accident. Paris. Police Investigating. Paparazzi. Paul’s heart broke as he thought of their last time together, her smile, her warmth, her support, his guilt, his shame, their bond. Princess Diana killed, was all his mind could take in at that moment... He wept.
* * * * * * * * * *
Paul sent a letter of condolences to the royal family. He felt it was long overdue, but with the news of Princess Diana’s death, he felt a sense of urgency to act upon this tragic event. He worded his note with the utmost of sincerity, and got one of the staff to post it on his behalf. He wasn’t sure if it would reach Buckinham Palace, but he felt relief and honour from penning his message.
Paul knew his life was never going to be the same again. All he had lived for had died in that crash, he didn’t know all the details of it, but the one thing he knew, was that he would never get to see Diana again. He felt utterly lost. He looked at the notebooks stacked up on the table, and with a rapid swing of his arm, sent them flying off the table into the open spaces of the dining room. Then sat there sobbing like he had never cried before.
Some time had passed before he raised his head from his folded arms that lay under his brow. He knew he had to finish his project. He got up, picked the notebooks off the ground, placed them back on the table and began sorting them into the stacked order they were in previously. Paul knew he had to finish the book for Diana. He opened a fresh notebook, one that had never been written in previously, and continued writing. He worked well into the evening, Rising now and then for a break, or at the insistence of others, but he was more determined than ever to get his thoughts on paper. His routine the next day didn’t waver, nor the day after that, and on the day of Diana’s funeral he still sat writing, for he could not leave the confines of the hospital. The only difference was that in the duration of her farewell service, he stopped and said a prayer for her, and gave thanks to God for allowing God to be a shining light in his life, and the life of others.
A month after Diana’s funeral he was near the completion stage of his book, but he wasn’t as thrilled about it as he had hoped. It would signify the end of his daily routine, his sanctuary, and he wondered what he would do next to fill the time and void in his life. He felt sick in his stomach thinking about that prospect. He had been feeling lethargic for days, and guessed it was just a normal reaction to what had led him to this place, and the unknown ahead.
One morning Paul failed to get up, staff were concerned as it was not like Paul to sleep in. They did the usual checks and found him to have a raging temperature and sweating profusely. They gave him some Panadol tablets, and got him to take a cool shower while they called for the doctor. The doctor and could see that Paul was unwell. He advised the staff to keep him rested, and if he didn’t improve, to have him taken to the local hospital. Over the next twelve hours they observed Paul, his condition did not improve at all, despite the medication and added care. An ambulance was called and he was taken to the hospital where he was examined thoroughly, and various tests were undertaken. One of the staff visited him and brought with her his notebooks, thinking it would give him something to do and read, she also knew they were never too far away from him at any given time, and felt he would find comfort in having them at the hospital with him. A few days later the doctor in charge of his file stood beside his bed. “Hi Paul, I’m afraid it isn’t good news, you have a rare form of cancer that has attached itself to your stomach lining, and spreading to your thyroid.” The doctor said sympathetically. “Had we of picked it up earlier, we may have had a more positive outlook, but one a cancer spreads and jumps around your system, it is very difficult to contain and cure.” The doctor paused to let the words sink in. “Unfortunately we won’t be able to offer much but palliative care, and the long term prospect of survival is really in the hands of God.”
Paul sat there shocked; He thought the tummy bug was just that, he had been feeling some discomfort for some time but never for one minute thought it was anything more sinister or menacing. He didn’t know what to say, so he just lowered himself deeper into the bed and said nothing. The doctor understood Pauls need to be left alone, so walked silently away from the ward.
Paul asked the nurse for a pen and paper when he had noticed her standing beside his bed, ready to take his temperature and oxygen count. When she had finished her task she went and found what he needed. Taking them from her with gratitude and thanks, he took the pen and wrote... Dear Prince William and Prince Harry, I had always admired your mother, and when I heard the devastating news of her passing, I too was sincerely devastated and something inside of me died that day too. I am writing you both because I am unwell and the outlook is bleak, but the reason I write is because I have done some terrible wrongs to your family. I’ve had plenty of time to think about those things I’ve done, and it is with shame I confess that while most of my past has been an open book, thanks to the press and the justice system, what hasn’t been known to anyone is what is contained in the notebooks which you will receive with this letter. I had hoped to have the pages published, but as I am now dying myself from an incurable cancer, it is unlikely I will have the time. I would like you to have what I have written and if you would like to have them published, feel free to do so. As well as the notations I have returned the pen I stole from your mother. I had planned to give it back to her myself, but never got the chance. In my sincere brokenness I am returning it to you. I loved your mother, and sincerely apologize for my behaviour and disrespect to her and the royal family. I fully expect you to notify the authorities and I await them. Yours sincerely Paul Hewletson. He then folded the paper and put it inside his shirt pocket. He got out of bed, got dressed, grabbed his stuff, snuck out of the hospital, walked to his home, found some money, then walked to the post office. He addressed his parcel pack, placed the contents inside, and addressed the package to Prince William. He returned to his home and hid.
Three days had passed and not a word, not a car in sight, well none that had sirens or lights attached. In fact the streets were very eerie, as was the flat that now stood bare of furniture and was rather dusty. He heard the occasional knock on the door but he never made a sound and kept well hidden should anyone try and enter but they didn’t. It wasn’t until his sixth day in hiding that he heard a short sharp rap on his door. He snuck a look from his vantage point knowing he wouldn’t be seen by the person or persons on the other side of his door. To his surprise he saw Prince Harry and Prince William standing there. He quickly moved to the door and opened it, and expected it to be a decoy and that others would sweep past the princes’ and arrest him.
“May we come in?” William asked.
“Oh yes, yes of course.” Paul said choking on his words, still bewildered why there was not rapid rush of authorities to arrest him.
“Paul, we understand your torment, and we’ve known you for a long time. We know you loved and protected our mother and she was very grateful for the friendship and support.” William said. “Mum often spoke of your friendship in tones of mutual admiration Paul, so we know the right thing to do is to give you this pen.” Said Prince Harry, extending his arm with the box in his hand. “Thank you Paul for your honesty, and the journals.” Prince William said shaking Pauls hand before they departed.
Paul closed the door behind his royal friends, went back to his hiding spot and stared in dazed confusion with his eyes fixed on the box. Paul died a six weeks later with the box firmly held in his hand. He was found by a real estate agent assigned to sell the property by the owner. She had noticed footsteps in the dust and followed the path and found Paul huddled in a small space. She then notified the police.
Paul’s estranged wife was left to do the final arrangements for his burial. She took what was left of his possessions and sorted through them. In amongst them was the beautiful boxed pen and thought instantly that it could only belong to the royal family. She contacted Prince William to return the pen to their rightful owner believing that to be Prince William and Prince Harry, but they said they had given Paul the pen, and that they thought it best to bury the diamond and pearl pen with his body so that he could pass it on to their mother.