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sort of ecstasy; and how wonderful it was to return to a warm house at twilight, to lie in a hot bath with a drink and a fag and, occasionally, Charles.
    She heard a noise and looked up from the fire to see a pair of black and gold eyes staring into her own. The fox was back. She waved the blackened end of the stick towards it and shouted, ‘Bugger off.’ Then she saw that it had a companion.
    Beverley Threadgold shouted from her back door, ‘Camilla, we’re all coughin’ our bleedin’ lungs up in ’ere.’
    The foxes turned their backs and disappeared into the night.
    When Camilla went indoors, after dousing the bonfire, Charles was sitting in the front room, composing a letter at the small writing bureau. She could see from the wastepaper basket next to him that he had already gone through several drafts.
    She decided not to mention the foxes; he wasobviously in a state of anxiety. Instead, she asked, ‘Who are you writing to, darling?’
    ‘The milkman,’ said Charles. ‘I’ve been through several drafts, I’ve written and rewritten the damn thing so many times, and don’t know how to end it.’
    Camilla picked up the last draft and read:
    Dear Milkman,
    Awfully sorry to inconvenience you, but would it be at all possible to change our order for today (Thursday) and have two bottles of semi-skimmed instead of our usual one?
    If this addition to our usual order leaves you in the ghastly position of being overstretched as far as your stock is concerned, then please do not worry. I would be simply devastated if my request gave you a moment’s anxiety or inconvenienced you in the slightest.
    May I just add that your cheery whistle in the morning, and in all weathers, somehow exemplifies the very essence of the indomitable British character.
    When she finished reading, Charles said, ‘Do I sign it “Sincerely, Charles”, or “With best wishes”, or “Yours respectfully”, because I do respect him, or what?’
    Camilla tore a strip of paper off the bottom of the letter and quickly scrawled, ‘One extra pint please.’ She rolled the scrap of paper up, pushed it in the neck of an empty Grice’s milk bottle and took the bottle out and put it on the doorstep.
    The telephone rang. It was William, telling his father that he was back from Swindon.
    Charles said, ‘Darling boy, was it horrid putting those scaffold thingies together?’
    William said, ‘No, it was kind of, satisfying. How’s Leo?’
    ‘He’s simply enormous,’ said Prince Charles. He looked down at the dogs at his feet, he was a little disappointed that William had asked after the dog and hadn’t mentioned Camilla. Charles furrowed his brow: was this significant?
    William went on, ‘Pa, what do you think about the Tories’ promise to bring us back if they get elected?’
    This came as a surprise to Charles. He had been in the garden reinforcing the fence when the news broke and he hadn’t got what he called an ‘idiot box’, believing that television was nearly one hundred per cent responsible for the nation’s moral decline.
    William explained that Boy English, the new leader of the Conservative Party, was an ardent monarchist and had promised to reinstate the Royal Family if he was elected. ‘Just think, Pa,’ he said, ‘we could be spending Christmas at Sandringham.’
    Hearing this, Freddie barked to Tosca, ‘Hear that,
Liebling
? Christmas at Sandringham!’
    Tosca rolled on to her back and displayed her hind quarters to Leo. She growled, ‘Leo, you’ll love the pinewoods and the log fires.’
    Freddie yapped, ‘Your oversized mongrel friend won’t be going with us, Tosca, he’ll stay behind here with the other proles.’
    Charles shouted, ‘Quiet, you little beasts, I’m trying to speak on the telephone!’ He said into the mouthpiece,‘I don’t think Freddie is getting on frightfully well with Leo, Wills.’
    ‘Too right!’ barked Freddie. ‘He’s a lump of
Kot
.’
    ‘What am I a lump of?’ Leo whined to