The Queen and I Read Online Free PDF

like nice things. I miss the daylight in the summer, but I’ve got a sun-bed at home.”
    They came up to the fourteen-inch thick steel door which was protected by an intricate combination lock. Mr Bostock inserted the key and after a series of clicks the door swung open. “Just a mo,” he said, and switched the lights on. They were in an area the size of a football pitch which was divided into a series of doorless rooms. Each room was lined with shelves covered in industrial plastic sheeting.
    Mr Bostock asked, “Anything in particular you want to see, Mr Barker?”
    “Everything,” said Jack.
    “Most of the collection’s at Sandringham, of course,” said Bostock, pulling the sheeting away and revealing an array of exquisitely carved animals. Jack picked up a jewelled cat.
    “Pretty.”
    “Fabergé.”
    “How much do you reckon they’re worth?” asked Jack, indicating the twinkling menagerie.
    “Oh, I couldn’t possibly say, Mr Barker,” said Mr Bostock, replacing the cat.
    “Guess.”
    “Well, something in the paper did catch my eye last year. A Fabergé tortoise it was, fetched £250,000 at auction.”
    Jack looked again at the little animals. He counted them under his breath.
    Mr Bostock said. “There are four hundred and eleven of them.”
    “Enough to build a hospital,” Jack muttered.
    “ Several hospitals,” corrected Mr Bostock, huffily.
    They moved on. Jack was amazed at the insouciant manner in which the treasure was stored and displayed.
    “Oh dear, we could do with a bit of a tidy up here,” said Mr Bostock, scooping up a few emeralds that had escaped from their plastic box. “Takes four strong men to lift that,” he said, pointing out a massive silver soup tureen. And, further on, “Gold is a bugger to clean,” as he parted the plastic sheeting to reveal a tower of gold plates, bowls and serving dishes.
    Jack whispered, “ Real gold?”
    “Eighteen carat.”
    Jack remembered that his wife’s fourteen carat wedding ring had cost him £115 ten years ago and that had a hole in it.
    “Does anybody come down here?” he asked Mr Bostock.
    “She comes, about twice a year, but it’s more of a personnel exercise, if you get my drift. She doesn’t gloat . The last time she was here, she asked if the temperature couldn’t be turned down; she doesn’t like wasting money.”
    “No, well, I can see how she’d have to be careful,” said Jack as he fingered a scabbard presented to Queen Victoria by an Arabian prince. He had given up asking the value of the treasures. The figures became meaningless and Mr Bostock was clearly uncomfortable talking about money.
    “So, this is only a part of the collection, is it?” Jack asked when they had visited each wondrous room.
    “Tip of the iceberg.”
    As they ascended in the lift, back to the daylight and the birdsong and the murmur of traffic, Jack thanked Mr Bostock and said, “There’ll be some foreign gentlemen to show round later this week. I’ll be in touch directly.”
    “Might I ask what type of foreign gentlemen?” said Mr Bostock, tilting his face towards the sun.
    “Japanese,” said Jack Barker.
    “And might I ask if I’m to keep my present position, Mr Barker?”
    Jack repeated one of his election slogans: “In Barker’s Britain everything and everyone will work.”
    They crossed the dew-covered lawn together, discussing Japanese protocol and precisely how low the Yeoman of the Silver Plate should bow when he greeted the visitors who came, not bearing gifts, but buying them.
    8 Client Resistant
    The cold woke her and she was enveloped in misery before her strength and resources could be summoned. Harris scrabbled at the bedroom door, desperate to get out. The Queen put a cashmere cardigan on over her nightdress, went downstairs and let the dog out into the back garden. The April air was raw and as she watched him lift his leg in the frosty grass, her breath puffed out, white and visible in front of her. A heap of empty