The Prince Who Got Away

Each time I got my hopes up, feeling thisclose to success, the letdown was sharp. But my deflation didn't last. The atmosphere in Mahiki was so vivacious and infectious, it was impossible to stay down. The club, whose kitschy decor evokes everything that was ever good about Pier 1, played Beyoncé, Kanye West, Michael Jackson and Dolly Parton within minutes of each other -- and, simply put, it worked. After two drinks each, Clare and I hit the basement dance floor. I was wide awake when she dragged me away at 2:30 a.m.

The late night, and jet lag, contributed to a late start the next morning. Clare went to the suburb of Richmond to see her old neighborhood. I took the train to Windsor, hoping that Prince William might enjoy a nice Sunday visit with his grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II, at her favorite residence, Windsor Castle.

Purchasing a tour ticket in advance allowed me to skip a long line and spend more time wandering with a hand-held audio guide. I remembered some things, such as Queen Mary's dollhouse, from a 1997 visit, but this was largely a new experience. About halfway through the self-guided tour I realized a door I was passing was numbered: 537. Could there be more than 500 rooms in this place? Studying subsequent doors for numbers almost divided my attention -- but not quite. I scanned for William when looking out windows and turning corners.

I didn't see so much as his portrait.

After returning the audio guide, I walked around the edge of the castle to the Long Walk, the road, leading to Windsor Great Park, down which the royals ride in horse-drawn carriages on their way to the Ascot races each June. I was about to take pictures of the castle when I saw movement on the other side of the gate.

I walked forward as quickly as possible while zooming my camera and trying not to trip. I homed in on a woman and several dogs. As the lens focused, I realized that I wasn't seeing just dogs but corgis, the small, stubby-legged dogs beloved by the queen. The walker was wearing knee-high boots and a scarf to ward off the late-afternoon chill; I suspected from her form that it was not Her Majesty. But could it be her daughter, Princess Anne, or her daughter-in-law Sophie, the Countess of Wessex?

Whoever it was renewed my hopes. I strode to the train station convinced that we would spot a royal that night.

I took a line to Twickenham to meet Clare, and we ate traditional English dinners at a quiet restaurant called the Langford. By the time we arrived back at our hotel, our energy levels were flagging, but we wanted to give Prince William another shot.

The previous night I'd worried about wearing something appropriate for the theater and a nightclub. Now I was concerned about comfort. Clare and I donned jeans and boots before catching a bus to the South Kensington Tube station. We spotted Boujis about 20 yards away. The absence of a line and our suspicion that it would be nearly impossible to top our evening at Mahiki raised our confidence.

"Can we go in," I asked the woman in the lobby.

"Ya, 10 pounds," she said. And we were in.

We were largely alone. Low-slung banquettes lined the colorfully lit walls, but the dark leather seats and the glowing black-and-white tables in front of them were mostly empty. Fewer than two dozen people were there. Clare got drinks and we parked ourselves where we could watch the DJ and the door. After a while the music just sounded loud to me, with the occasional interjection of familiar American rock or rap. The place felt more techno-funk than fun. We wondered whether we might prefer Kitts but decided to dance for a bit before leaving.