You're Not Who You Think You Are

You’re Not Who You Think You Are

Dun Dun Dun    Dun Dun     Dun Dun “Okay, I hear you, I hear you. Now if you could only tell me where you are, you bloody phone. Why did I ever program you to play ‘Smoke on the Water’? Sure it is my father’s favourite song, and I respect his good taste in music. But I am sick and tired of hearing the ring, only to have somebody I don’t know trying to offer me a deal I don’t need or complete a survey I don’t want to be involved with that leads to said deal.”

“There it is, stuck underneath a pillow on the couch. Why am speaking out loud when no one is here?”

“Hello”.

“Hello, are you Timothy Dunston”, asked a man with a strong British accent, a posh accent, strictly Downton Abbey.

“Yes I am. What remarkable too-good-to-be-true offer do you have for me today?”

The man on the phone was silent for about 10 ticks of the second hand on Tim’s big old-fashioned clock on the wall, its only decoration, a gift from his dad. Then he said something that surprised Timothy completely.

“I want to tell you that you are not who you think you are.”

“What do you mean by that? Have I been kidnapped from wandering minstrels?”

“Just what I said. You are not Timothy Dunston. At least that is not the name that you were born with.”

“Are you saying that my parents are not my parents? Is that what you are saying?

“Yes.  At least they are not your biological parents. They adopted you in Britain, the country of your birth.”

“Look, I know I was born in Britain. My parents told me that. But that was all. Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to sell me some kind of ‘Find out who your real parents are’ kind of deal? If you are, I’m not buying it.”

“I am not selling you anything. I am simply telling you that you have biological parents that you do not know about. And I want to tell you that British Royalty is involved. I can tell you and show you more if you will come to the British Embassy.”

Timothy did not speak for another 10 ticks of the second hand. Then he said:

“When do you want me there? I work evenings at my job at the hotel right now, so my daytime is my own. I am ready when you are”

“Let us say you come here at one o’clock in the afternoon. How does that sound to you young man?”.

“Done deal”

“I will see you at one o’clock then young man.”

“You got it.”

Going to the Embassy

Timothy was on the bus headed to the British Embassy. His mind was filled with the possibilities that were open to him. Did some prince, maybe even Charles, have sex with some fetching commoner, and did not take care not to use some kind of birth control method. Did whatever prince it was have a mistress that he had to silence? And what kind of money would Timothy receive? Hush money might be involved. He was ready to sell out his ‘birthright’ for as much money as he could weasel out of the British Royal Family. His silence would come with a price tag.

He was so prepared for that kind of scenario that he did not even call his parents to ask them any questions. His mind was on the money, and nothing else.

Timothy Arrives at the British Embassy

After getting off the bus, he scurried to the impressive building that housed the embassy. He had expected to see guards with big furry hats and bright red uniforms guarding the door, and was a little disappointed when they were not there. 

           He burst through the door, and had his sleeve grabbed tightly by a guard dressed as a boringly ordinary security guard. Timothy tried to pull his arm away, but with no luck.

           “Look here my good man (an expression that he had only heard on British television and had never spoken before). I am here to see your boss. I have an appointment.”

           The guard let go of his arm and asked with no hint of apology, “And what would be your name then young man?”

           “Timothy Dunston. At least that was the name that the people who raised me gave to me.”

           The guard looked a little puzzled at this, but took him to the front desk, and informed the receptionist that Timothy Dunston was here for his appointment. She checked the computer, and asked Timothy to follow her to a particular office. He followed her like a puppy would if she had held a big dog biscuit in her hand.

The Meeting

The receptionist knocked on the door, opened it slightly, and told the official that his one o’clock appointment had arrived. The man got up, opened the door completely and shook Timothy firmly by the hand, looking him up and down in appraisal as he did so, not so pleased that he was wearing a knapsack.

           “Well, young man, I am glad that you arrived here punctually.” He gave the last word more syllables than Timothy had ever heard for that word.

           The receptionist left and both men sat down.

           “Here is the story. The prince had a butler, Harry Ashdown. He was a very efficient butler, but he took advantage of one of the maids, and you were the result. Part of handling the situation was to have the people you know as your father and mother adopt you and not tell anyone anything about your true origin. They were going to move to Canada as it was, so they could take you to out of sight and out of mind as it were.”

           It wasn’t quite what Timothy had imagined, but he still responded with a truly-felt “Wow”.

           “Now why are you telling me this?” added Timothy, thinking that this was where some kind of monetary deal was in order.”

           “Well, we did a bit of research on you. We found out that you have a college degree in hospitality, and did rather well according to your professors. Your current employers spoke rather highly of you as well.”

           “The royals like to have familial continuity in their servants”. (brief pause) “So they would like to offer you a job as their butler. What do you say to that?”

           “I say yes. When do I start?”

           “As soon as we can make all the arrangements, including getting you some suitable attire, and a briefcase.” As he said this he looked Timothy up and down with negative appraisal.

           When Timothy left the embassy it was with a big smile on his face. He still wondered, and maybe worried a bit about the answers to two big questions that were running through his mind. Which of the princes would be end up working for? He didn’t know much about any of them. He would have to get a copy of one of those glossy royalty fanzines that were at the checkout counter of his local grocery store. Secondly, what would his next conversation with his adoptive parents, truly his ‘real parents,’ be like? He felt no anger towards them, but worried about how they would feel about his knowing the truth, and going to work and live in Britain. He knew he would have to tell them gently. He took out his tablet from his knapsack, and began to type out what he might say.

Meanwhile Back in the Family Home

“You know, Tom, our Tim is going to be 21 in a week. Didn’t we say that we would tell him about the adoption when he reached that age?”

“Yes, we did, my dear, and we should tell him. I just hope he takes it well. I should plan out how I will introduce the subject to him. How does “You aren’t who you think you are” sound?”

“A little bit harsh, Tom. A little bit harsh.”