The royals - Kitty Kelley [206]
But he managed to sell Budgie for television, and then he sold commercial rights to Budgie trinkets: water wings, swimsuits, beach towels, greeting cards, gift wrap, night-lights, lampshades, balloons. The lucrative contract guaranteed the Duchess $3 million, plus a percentage of sales. The British media reported the transaction with a little awe and a lot of envy.
The Queen Mother heard the news as she sat in her drawing room at Clarence House, sipping a gin and tonic. She would have two more tipples before she picked up the telephone and called the Queen.
“I can assure you she was not drunk,” said a former butler, offended by the suggestion. “Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother does not get drunk. And on that particular evening, she wasn’t even tipsy.”
The Queen Mother listened carefully to the news report on television:
The Duchess of York is set to make eight million pounds [about $12 million],” intoned the broadcaster, “as her book, Budgie—The Little Helicopter, takes off on TV channels around the world. The Duchess has sold her book to be made into a television series. She also signed licensing contracts with thirteen American firms to market souvenirs ranging from tableware to lavatory seat covers.
“Lavatory seat covers? Did he say lavatory seat covers?” asked the Queen Mother.
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler said with a sigh. “I’m afraid he did.”
The Queen Mother motioned for another gin and tonic and requested the day’s newspapers. Within minutes her drink was freshened from the table that served as a bar in her living room. Finding the newspaper took a little longer; she rarely read anymore because of the cataract in her left eye. The butler appeared with a copy of the Daily Mail of that day, April 19, 1994, and opened the paper to the story that concerned her.
She remained impassive as he read aloud the report of the Duchess’s weekend visit to Cannes: Sarah had held what she described as a “power dinner” for two hundred key buyers attending the world’s largest convention of television programmers.
“I’m absolutely delighted,” Sarah was quoted as saying. “I’ve made merchandising deals all over the world from the little book I wrote in 1989.”
The Queen Mother sighed but appeared benignly detached. She had never uttered a word of criticism about Sarah Ferguson—publicly. She had even feigned serenity when she heard about Fergie’s clowning at her expense. The boisterous Duchess had been seen tearing through the food halls of Harrods department store in London, where she spotted a biscuit tin bearing the Queen Mother’s likeness. She astonished onlookers by banging on the lid and shouting, “Are you in there, dear?”
During monthly planning meetings with her staff, Sarah further rattled sensibilities by referring to the death of the Queen Mother as a way of getting out of engagements she did not want to do. One participant recalled, “If there was a tricky commitment in the offing, she would say, ‘Oh, well, look on the bright side—the Queen Mum might die and we’ll have to cancel everything because of mourning.’ ”
From the pinnacle of public esteem, the Queen Mother gazed down on Sarah Ferguson. On the surface both women shared certain characteristics. Each was a commoner who had married the second son of a monarch to become the Duchess of York; each was the mother of two daughters. Both were friendly, ingratiating, strong-willed women who thrived in the spotlight; both were outrageous flirts who loved being the center of male attention. The Duchess gravitated to young heterosexuals, while the Queen Mother contented herself with elderly homosexuals. She called them “my knitting circle” and “the Queen’s queens.” So indulgent was she toward her high-camp coterie that she once buzzed the Clarence House pantry and said, “When you old queens stop gossiping down there,