At night we drive up to the hilltop estate where the three royal children are kept by their keepers. The playroom is on the third floor and the only way to it is through a steep Victorian passageway, like a staircase without stairs, that seems to be designed for highly trained animals. When we reach them they have taken the form of two girls, not surprised by us but bemused at our exhaustion. It is clear that they do not need our protection. Realizing this, Rafael descends to the ground floor in a single leap, leaving me to shimmy down over the next fifteen minutes. He later admits that he was driven by a blend of malice and sportsmanship. I go next door to the house of a shy and brilliant editor. Over dinner he reveals that he has separated from his stunning wife and is now raising the child of a girlfriend who is never home. She gets home just as I am leaving.