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‘Brilliant performance!’ I told Flash with a wag of the stump.
He cocked his head modestly, suggesting it had all been in a day’s work.
‘Would you like to meet the Queen?’ I felt sure she would like to congratulate him personally.
Flash obediently looked up at his owner, who glanced at where I had the sheepdog’s leash between my teeth. He gave an amused shrug of consent.
In my own display of animal husbandry, I padded along in front of the VIPs, still holding Flash’s leash, while he followed a few steps behind. Reaching the centre, I dropped the leash at the feet of the Queen. She exchanged an amused glance with the positive trainer. ‘Thank you for the introduction, Nelson,’ she murmured, before reaching out to Flash. ‘You did very well, young man. A pleasure to watch.’
She stroked his neck, while Flash wagged his tail appreciatively. Ever watchful of his owner, Flash tilted back his head, glancing along the front row of VIPs. Her Majesty also caught his owner’s eye and nodded with a smile. Then, at some signal which was imperceptible to me, Flash returned to his owner’s side. I made my way under the Queen’s seat.
‘Very sociable,’ said the dog trainer, as I disappeared from view.
‘Quite the diplomat,’ agreed Her Majesty. ‘Dogs, cats, horses . . . he gets on with them all.’
I flopped down, my chin resting on my front paws, which were stretched out ahead of me. I noticed that she didn’t mention archbishops!
It was one of those drizzly, London afternoons when leaden clouds shroud the skyline and your every instinct is to curl up on a rug in front of a palace fire and snooze until dinner. We three royal corgis were doing just that in the office of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Sophia’s desk was unoccupied; she had escorted Her Majesty to a function for Royal Air Force wives in Piccadilly. Tara, meanwhile, was tapping away at her computer, her cool blonde hair, gold earrings and crimson scarf cast in the warm glow of the standard lamp behind her desk.
Midway through the afternoon, there was a phone call from downstairs announcing she had a visitor. A short while later one of the palace footmen ushered a young woman called Justine into the room.
‘Thank you so much for making the time to see me.’ Justine shook her hand firmly. ‘I really feel I could help so many of the others at The Prince’s Trust by providing kinesiology.’
‘Well, being fairly ignorant on the subject, I think it could be a good idea. But I need to learn more about it from you first.’
Margaret and I looked up at the visitor. Mid-twenties, auburn hair like a mane about her shoulders, she looked bright-eyed and enthusiastic, while at the same time conveying an air of authority of someone much older.
I remembered an exchange between Tara and Sophia, about how a young girl—made homeless by the death of her mother—had been sponsored through her studies by the Trust several years earlier. Not only had she succeeded beyond everyone’s hopes, she had gone on to become something of an ambassador for the Trust, helping others struggling with similar challenges and using her newly-gained knowledge in kinesiology to do so.
The Board of the Trust had considered engaging Justine on a more formal basis, but having had no experience of kinesiology, they thought someone had better find out more. Tara had been asked to do so.
‘Can we do this . . . over here?’ Tara gestured towards where two sofas faced each other across a coffee table next to the window. Justine nodded.
As the two of them sat down facing each other, I made my way over to welcome Justine and have a good sniff of her ankles. She responded with appreciative patting.
‘This is Nelson,’ Tara introduced me. ‘The newest member of the royal household.’
‘So cute!’ enthused, Justine. ‘Still very young.’
‘About eight months,’ Tara told her. ‘But already making an impression.’
Justine’s stockings smelt of many flowers—as though she had been running through a field of fragrant and varied blooms. I didn’t think I’d ever encountered such a profusion of scents on any one person’s clothing. Where had she been?
‘Shall I start at the beginning?’ enquired Justine.
‘Please,’ Tara said with a nod.
‘Kinesiology is a gentle, but very effective, complementary therapy. Unlike the diagnosis done by a doctor, kinesiology uses muscle monitoring to identify stress patterns in the body.’
‘I don’t know how much use I’m going to be to you,’ Tara told her. ‘I’m in very good health.’
‘That’s fine,’ Justine assured her. ‘I’ll probably confirm that, though kinesiology takes a holistic view: body and mind. Most people come away with some kind of useful insight.’
Tara sat back on her sofa. I could tell she would need some convincing.
‘I wonder whether you’ve come across the concept of muscular resistance.’ As Tara shook her head, Justine continued, ‘It can be a very revealing tool. We may consciously want to achieve something but, if our subconscious mind—our inner programming—is against it, we’re really going to struggle. I see this with a lot of kids through The Prince’s Trust. They want to bring about positive changes in their lives. That’s what they consciously want. But their best intentions are undermined all the time by the things they believe about themselves: I’m not worthy or There’s no point in trying. By identifying these self-sabotaging beliefs, we can get to the root of the problem.’
