High life
Dining out
Taki
T don't know why, but everything about 1Princess Michael of Kent rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it is because most of the pushy types I know – and I know too many – are short (Sebastian Taylor, the Wildenstein family, Yoko Ono etc) and she is over 6 feet tall. Or maybe it is because she's Austrian and my noble Au- strian relatives (through marriage, alas) snigger when her name pops up. (Her father was as much a baron, it seems, as Kagan was a peer before Harold Wilson.) And then it may be that I take the word of David Linley (a man I don't know but whose taste in ladies like Cosima Fry I approve), who said that nothing could be worse than dining with the Valkyrian-built blonde. Well, no. There is something worse, and that is dining with Linley's mother. Last spring, in New York, I was invited to dinner with PM and neither she nor I distinguished ourselves terribly that night. Although I cannot repeat private conversa- tions, for the sake of the few gossips that read the Spectator I must at least give a hint. Most of the conversation had to do with, yes, you guessed it, Princess Michael of Kent. I was seated at the other end and only caught snatches, but it was enough. When Princess Margaret got up to leave she sort of stood next to me for a moment while I searched for words (mind you, I was already quite drunk). 'Do you remem- ber when we met in 1967?' I ventured. Although my speech was slightly slurred, I nevertheless didn't realise how inarticulate I was being until I heard Her Highness's reply. 'What, you're a civil servant?' she snapped. 'No, I asked if you remember meeting in '67,' I tried again. 'You are a civil servant,' came the reply once again. That is when I gave up and asked her, 'Excuse me, Ma'am, but do I look like a civil servant?' Unfortunately, I never found out. PM was about to answer me when the black piano player at Mortimer's
– who didn't know any better, poor boy– started playing 'God Save the Queen'. As soon as she heard that, I swear PM forgot all about my profession and plunked her- self down. Then I really went too far. Sitting – or standing, rather – next to me was Jerry, a White House visitor and a man of whom many things have been said but never that he was too masculine. I couldn't resist the slur, so I put my two cents in: 'Don't worry, it's not for you, Ma'am, it's for Jerry.'
Needless to say, I have not had any meals either with royals or with Jerry lately. and for once I'm not surprised. After all, if everyone began making jokes while out with royals, this country would end up being the kind Scargill and his ilk would like it to be; thus I am the first to appreciate what royals stand for. But now it seems that soon I may be dining with royals again. I have heard that Princess Michael is going on the lecture circuit, charging £2,000 per speech, not an exces- sive amount if one takes into account that in America criminal drug dealers (like one caught in flagrante trying to sell three kilos of cocaine) actually demand and get $5,000 to lecture to students in universities.
What will the Princess talk about? If she's smart, and she is, she will tell the fat cats she'll be addressing how private enter- prise helped her get a foothold on the red carpet. Most of them will be self-made people and will love it. But I'm afraid that she won't. She will probably talk about her Austrian background, and all about Vien- na's influence in civilising Europe, a true enough fact but the wrong subject for selfqnade men to have to listen to.
I can almost hear it: 'Accept your position with the blithe air of entitlement that only hereditary queens (monarchs, rather) are capable of. Do not grasp at those little validations, dignities, and re- assurances that affirm one's station in life . . .' It would be a great speech and she would be great in giving it. Alas, it will not take place. And it's a pity. If Princess Michael took herself a bit less seriously she would be much more popular, especially, I suspect, with those she wants desperately to impress, her royal cousins through marriage.
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