A magnificent feast, served by what I should regard as the best-trained squad of servants in Berkshire. Sir Thomas White and his wife Joan are always good hosts and, indeed, close friends of both Catherine and me, even though he spends far more time in London these days than I do. It is a pleasure, though, when we are both on home ground and can meet up. Even Catherine looks bright-eyed and interested in the conversation round the dinner table.
“More pheasant, Francis?” our host enquires. “It is from our own estate.”
I accept a little more as it is delicious, but Catherine had shaken her head in refusal when invited to indulge in another plateful. She does, however, accept a small amount of delicately spiced chicken.
“So what is the queen’s position currently?” Thomas asks.
“Believe it
