Conversations on Flight – Chapter VI

PROTEST against the Emir of Qatar
Public Hosted by Defend the UK

April 28
10:00am – 04:30pm

Embassy Of Qatar, London
1 S Audley St, Mayfair, London W1K 1NB, UK

Details

STAND UP and demand JUSTICE against the man who ordered the deaths of our King William IV, his wife Adelaide and his two young sons! We have the evidence, but the government hasn't done anything to act! They have let this murderer into our country. They will let him go to the funeral of the very people he sent to death. But we will not let our voices be silenced! Stand with us during the funeral of King William IV, and make your voices heard! No one can escape ENGLISH JUSTICE!

Children welcome, we recommended you arrive via the Bond St station due to roadblocks for the funeral.

The sea of heads bobbed and weaved below her.

Groups formed and unformed, hands were shaken, drinks were clinked, and murmurs of brief condolences coalesced together in a wave like the respectful tuning of an orchestra.

Victoria watched on from her dark corner on the landing above the thrall in the old foyer, as a deep tiredness rendered her almost numb.

Four of her family buried in one day.

A Windsor mausoleum had never been filled so quick.

She leaned her weight onto the wooden banister in front of her as the madness of the week rolled into one deafening blow, when it was suddenly interrupted by a shuffle of feet behind her.

Victoria froze at the intrusion, not wanting her precious seclusion destroyed, but when she turned around, to her relief it was only Miss Skerrett her bodyguard, standing in a black fitted suit, and awkwardly holding a bright yellow bottle of champagne in her hands.

"Ma'am." The young woman gave a small nod in greeting.

"Wonderful, you got one!" Victoria smiled in relief as she stepped away from the edge of the landing and took up the chilled bottle in her hand. "I'm sorry if I took advantage of you with this, but I'm afraid there's no one else I can really trust."

"It's no trouble at all, Ma'am." Skerrett folded her hands behind her back and gave a small shrug. "Just happy to help. There's not much to do tonight now that the world's security is pretty much encircling the place."

"Yes I suppose you're right." Victoria smiled, then raised the yellow bottle. "Will you take a drink with me then?"

"It would be an honour, Your Majesty, but I'm still on the clock." Skerrett answered reluctantly.

"Of course. Yes of course." Victoria tried not to feel too disappointed. "Well thank you for getting this for me." She gathered herself with a smile then looked down to the yellow foil covering the top of the champagne bottle, and skimmed her thumb around the rough surface of it hesitantly. "Actually ah… before you go, are you good at opening these?"

Skerrett's brow shot up. "Me, Ma'am?"

"Yes, well, I haven't actually opened a bottle of champagne before. And I'm afraid the instant I try I'll alert everyone of my hiding place with a great big pop."

"I'm sorry, but I've never opened one either." Her bodyguard frowned.

"Really?"

"I'm more of a lager girl myself…Ma'am. But, you know, I could still give it a go if you'd like…" Skerrett held out her hand helpfully.

"Would you? That would be amazing thank you." She gave her the bottle and watched in nervous expectation as Skerrett tore off the yellow foil and bundled it into her jacket pocket, then started cautiously untwisting the wire of the cap.

"I think this keeps it all in…" Skerrett precariously lifted the delicate wire cage from the top. "And then maybe if I twist…" She talked through her actions and gave a small grimace of effort as she tightened her fist around the cork of the bottle for a tense second, then stopped with a frown. "It's not budging."

"Huh." Victoria looked at the bottle in deep thought. "May I…" She took the bottle from Skerrett and tried wrapping her hand around the cork in an attempt to shift it, but all to no avail.

"Could be something to do with the pressure, Ma'am." Skerrett looked down with her as they both contemplated the cork conundrum. "Like, if it's too built up or something…"

The thought must have hit them at the same time, because their eyes quickly shot up to meet the others in fear. What if the bottle was about to blow? Skerrett immediately hustled the wire frame from her jacket pocket and they both scrambled to return it to the top of the bottle, securing it with far more twists than was likely necessary.

Victoria gripped the champagne tight in her hands.

"I think maybe a different bottle –"

" – yes I think so too Ma'am." Skerrett finished her thought with a smile, then gave a short bow. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Your Majesty."

Victoria smiled as she watched Skerrett walk away down the landing then turned to the stairs, but her expression slowly began fall when her bodyguard passed out of view, and she gave a small sigh then looked back down to unexpected souvenir she had ended up with as it chilled her hands.

Alone again.

As it seems it always was with her.

The rabble of the wake downstairs rose up into her ears again, seemingly distant yet suffocating. She needed fresh air before Skerrett came back. There was a room with a small balcony behind one of the doors near her, she could have sworn it. Last time she went to visit Windsor Castle little George had launched paper planes off from it.

Stepping towards what she faintly remembered to be the correct door, she clutched the champagne bottle with one hand then went for the handle of the door with another, when suddenly the brass nob swung away from her grasp and something broad and hard collided right into her.

"Your Majesty!" A rough voice croaked and too strong palms steadied her by her sides before just as swiftly disappearing. "Forgive me I ah, I didn't realise anyone was there."

Victoria felt her cheeks begin to flush red and her stomach bound like a hyperactive puppy as she looked up to see the one man who had remained a torturous, joyous fixture in her brain that week.

Mr M.

She'd ran into Mr M. His chest, his nice black suit, his hands on her bare arms – he'd only ever touched her hands before. The thin hairs on her arms began to stand up and she tried not to be carried away with the potent smell of cigarettes that seemed to hang off him.

No.

She couldn't appear like some desperate teenager with a stupid crush. He was William Melbourne. He was the most eligible bachelor in the UK, with thousands of more beautiful and more intelligent women to choose from – she wouldn't have a chance in hell of him reciprocating her crush even the tiniest bit.

Calm. Down.

Use. Words.

"No, not at all." Victoria found her voice in relief, looking away from his debilitating green eyes as he took her hand and performed the compulsory formal greeting. "I didn't think anyone was there either."

She caught a smile on the Prime Minister's kind face, when his brow creased slightly.

"Planning on launching a ship?" Mr M. asked in amusement.

"What?" She looked at him in confusion, but then followed his eyes to the yellow bottle of champagne still firmly in her hand. "Oh, this! Yes. Well I um…" She faltered, trying to think of an excuse, but seeing him there, being as friendly as open as ever, she knew she could trust him. With everything. "…I'm going to get drunk."

"Oh." Mr M's brow shot up in surprise.

"Yes. Just that, you know, I had a thought - after meeting over fifty world leaders today… after overseeing the funeral of my uncle, and aunt, and little George and Edward… after having to look in the eye and shake the hand of a man who may have ordered their death, after knowing that every single look on my face and every movement of my body would have been inspected and deconstructed by the world, after feeling like I've spent good 24 whole hours crying so that I'm pretty sure my tear ducts have shrivelled up, after all that I… I think I need to be drunk. Just for a little bit." Victoria's eyes swelled with warmth, and her chest tightened into a familiar strain, but no tears came. She was spent of everything.

Mr M. looked over her for a moment, then gave a small nod to himself. "Right you are then. Well in that case, would you like me to help you with the bottle?"

"Oh could you, that would be wonderful." Victoria felt a small weight fall from her. "Skerrett and I tried but we were rather afraid it would explode."

Mr M. strode out of the dark doorway and onto the landing when he smoothly collected the bottle into his hands. "Don't want to blow your cover up here." He gave her a knowing wink then with practiced fingers, unwound the wire cage then cocooned the top of the bottle with his hands, until she heard the smallest of muted pops.

"Et voilà." He drew the cork away with a flourish and held out the finally opened bottle to her. "Your Veuve Clicquot, Your Majesty."

"But you made it look so easy!"

"It just takes a lot of practice, Ma'am. Which I guess in this case is not something to be particularly proud of." Mr M. smiled as she took the bottle from the neck, but then her breath hitched as he placed a palm over her hand, and brought the cork in over the top, recreating the move with her in place. "You've just got to let the cork do its thing, you see. Get it started with a little twist and pull, and then put pressure against it as it rises, controlling the ascent until slowly but surely, you break the seal…" He dropped his hand away from hers and raised the cork between them, leaving her with duelling sensations as the palm of her hand chilled against the bottle, whilst the back burned with a giddy heat. "…and you're left with one completely pacified cork."

Victoria took in a steadying breath as she looked at his wise face.

"I'm very grateful I ran into you, Mr M." She let out before she could stop herself.

"As I am sure the light bulbs of Windsor Castle are as well." He gave the cork a little toss in the air then stuffed it in his pocket, his eyes shimmering as he looked down at her, the corners of his lips lifting playfully.

"Well," She looked away before her feelings became too obvious. "Bottoms up then." Victoria lifted the champagne in salute then took a healthy swig of the sparkling liquid, until the bubbles rushed up her rose, then she quickly lowered the bottle with a cough and looked up when she saw an indecipherable look cross Mr M's face.

"Have you…had champagne before, Ma'am?" He asked carefully.

"Loads." Victoria immediately swallowed in embarrassment. That was an overstatement. But he must think she was such a child. "Loads of times. And, don't worry, I've gotten drunk before too. Actually the last time I ended up being sick all over mama's shoes."

"Well I'll make sure to keep at least three feet away from you tonight then." Victoria smiled at Mr M's deadpan comment, as his face thankfully fell back into the quiet amusement she was now getting so used to. "Good thing you're camped out up here too, wouldn't want any vomit-related international crises." He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and turned towards the banister of the landing, to where the sea of guests remained below.

"Yes…" Victoria took a step towards the edge, close to where the railing met the wall of the darkened hallway, so she could just peek the heads of the crowd. "…I suppose you've already had your fill of crises today."

"Hmmm." She heard his jagged hum reverberate behind her when he quietly appeared by her side and they leant onto the railing together, protected by shadow of the landing from any wandering eyes two levels below. "It's been a day."

Victoria turned from his thoughtful face and looked over the array of dignitaries below. She always thought wakes should be a personal thing. Dear friends and relatives celebrating the life of someone they knew and loved. But looking down at the congregation below her, it looked nothing like a personal remembrance. It was practically a UN summit. With one glance she could see Presidents, Chancellors, Monarchs, Prime Ministers, Generals, Lords and Emirs.

Was that all she would become in the end? A title?

Her gaze fell on the Emir of Qatar. Positioned in the far corner of the foyer, yet standing his ground emphatically while his small team around him sipped on their juice and watched the crowd, occasionally breaking for furtive remarks. But no other dignitary was with them. Not like all the other mixed groups that had formed in the party. It looked like the world had decided the Qataris social outcasts.

He didn't look like a killer. He looked like someone just who wanted to fit in. She knew that look well.

But still. Those photos.

Her mind cast itself back to that morning, when it was the Emir's turn for the official greeting. She could feel everyone in the hall tense up in one sharp moment. Eyes were fixed. Would she do it? Would she welcome him? She felt like she had been looking for his hand for hours, trying clarify the madness of reasoning for and against it all – but he had been invited. That meant he must be greeted. She pushed through and took his hand, put on a smile, and looked into his eyes.

A chill ran down Victoria's back.

"What if he did it?" She found herself asking softly, eyes focused on the Emir. "What if he did order the hit?"

She could hear Mr M. shift slightly in his place beside her, and take in a sigh. "Then you would have committed a terrible diplomatic faux pas. But Ma'am…. you must understand, in situations like this, there are no definite and correct answers. He may have ordered the attack, he may have sponsored the terrorists – but what if he hadn't? What if he's a completely innocent man and by not greeting him, by not inviting him, you showed great disrespect and distrust, and thus every chance we had of finding answers and help on the ground in Qatar would have disappeared in an instant." She looked over to him as he gave her a small frown, then turned back down to the others. "Diplomacy is a game we must play. Not a particularly fun game, or genuinely fulfilling in any way…but necessary for our own survival. You will, I'm afraid, take a little heat from the pictures of you greeting the Emir. And even more heat if it turns out the Saudis are correct…but what you did today - it would have been incredibly hard - but it was right." She felt him turn towards her a bit, so she met his eyes. "No matter what your doubts, you did the right thing today. And I am very proud of you, Your Majesty."

Victoria's insides felt like they did a backflip as her eyes began to radiate with a familiar heat, though this time not from any sadness. A smile grew on her face but she looked away before she could make too much of a fool of herself, and took in the crowd below her with a newfound confidence.

"Well…you know, it was hard… but surprisingly not as hard as it was to stop myself from wiping my hand down my dress in front of everyone after I shook the Finnish President's hand."

She heard Mr M. let out a hoarse chuckle beside her, causing spirits to leap. "Yes I expect it was, Ma'am."

"He's a very sweaty man!" She looked over to him, encouraged.

"Most memorably." He raised his brow in exaggeration. "No doubt you had a tough time with the Portuguese President too?"

"Such horrid breath!" She exclaimed in a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think he even knows?"

"A man like that, I think he believes it to be a strategic political tool. That, or he considers himself too good for toothpaste."

"Are they all so arrogant?"

"World leaders? Part of the job description, really." He gave a resigned shrug as she started to scan through the faces below when she recognised one easily.

"So…even the German Chancellor there?" She asked enthusiastically.

"Yes well she thinks she's the only thing holding Europe together. Problem is, she's probably right. "

"The Canadian PM?" She pointed.

"Even worse. Far too handsome for his own good. Also keeps challenging me to a boxing match for some reason."

Victoria couldn't help but turn back to Mr M. and imagine what he'd look like shirtless and sweaty. She swallowed hard.

"You never considered accepting?"

"I'd be knocked out in the first blow."

"Well that's because you smoke." She stated matter-of-factly, to which his brow lifted in surprise.

"Ma'am?"

"That's why you where in that room. Quite obvious really." Victoria breezed. "But you really should quit, it's horrible for your health."

Mr M. looked over to her in silence for a moment, almost studying her. "Will you forgive me if I told you I was only smoking due to immense stress?"

Victoria's face fell into puzzlement. He seemed so at ease all the time, so knowledgable and calm. He had so quickly become her bedrock – but if he felt such stress, what did he have to help him?

"Yes…" She started, trying to put on her most gracious and queenly air. "I suppose so… just this once."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He gave a sombre bow of his head in jest, but she was not sated.

"So… it was bad today?" She prodded carefully.

Mr M. just sighed and looked back down to the wake. "Still is." He said in a quiet voice. "Emma's running round down there now…. but today it seems like everyone's been close to getting in a scrap with the Emir. If it's not the Saudi king, it's the US President, and if it's not her, then it's the bloody Tories…" His eyes glazed over slightly, as he watched the people below. "I should probably go back down." He murmured to himself in thought.

Victoria tensed a little. She didn't want him to go. She knew it was selfish but she didn't care.

"But you're helping me, Mr M." She let out in forced authority. "Briefing your sovereign. That's important, right?"

His eyes flicked back to her, his jaw tensed in thought, which made his cheekbones stand out even more in the shadows, but then his expression eased in acceptance. "Yes it is Ma'am." He again gave a shallow nod in respect, and she tried to hide down her grin for getting her own way. But still, he was silent, and the look on his face was not as relaxed as she would like.

She straightened up slightly and turned back to the party below, trying to think of something to say that would amuse him. "All these world leaders…" She attempted. "…all these world leaders, but no Beyoncé."

She heard a breath of a laugh beside her.

Win.

"Indeed…" She glanced over to see Mr M. smiling wryly. "…that may in fact be the greatest diplomatic faux pas."

"Just a rookie error, really. I doubt Queen B will forgive us." Victoria joined as their eyes met for a second, but then she turned her back to the crowd below and brought up the champagne bottle for a second swig.

The refreshing bubbles ran down her throat, and there was a faint warmth rising from her chest, when she looked over to see Mr M. looking over his shoulder to her. An idea came suddenly to her head.

"I feel terribly rude drinking this whole thing in front of you…" She lifted the bottle in her hand and held it out to him. "…would you like some?"

His eyes flicked back and forth from the bottle and her face, as if he was going through some internal debate, but then the tip of his tongue peeked out just for an instant to lick his lips.

Suddenly he stood up straight from his hunched position against the bannister.

"Thank you, Ma'am – there um…I believe I saw some glasses in the room back there. Should we relocate, perhaps?" He asked smoothly.

Victoria tried to tamp down her wild speculations that had instantly dumped upon her like a sudden downpour.

He is the PM. Not some boy. He is not interested.

"Ah… yes, good idea Mr M." She smiled, a weightlessness gathering within her that she didn't know wether to account it to him or the alcohol.

He strode out in front of her across the shadowed landing and passed through the doorway where they had previously crashed into each other, busied himself around the entrance, obviously looking for a light switch, then when the room on the other side was bathed with a warm glow, he stepped to the side and held the door open to her, offering her the way through.

She gave a polite smile and walked through on unsteady heels, looking around the room as she entered it. Yes it definitely was the one she remembered. The deep chairs, the small balcony. An old sitting room with walls of books on either side that young Edward would spend hours removing from their place and dropping them on the floor before anyone else could catch him. The room she snuck off to when she was 11, and stole a sip of a brown drink in one of those glass bottles, which made her cough for five minutes and swear she would never drink any horrid alcohol again.

Seemed a fitting place then.

The sound of the door closing clicked behind her, and when she turned around she saw Mr M. already retrieving two crystal tumblers from the side cabinet, when he walked up to one of the small wooden side tables and placed them down for her. She followed his motion by going up to the table and precariously filled the glasses with the champagne, but only seemed to be able to pour two columns of bubbles. She looked up to Mr M. with an unsure smile, but he seemed utterly unbothered by her artless serving, and took up one of the white filled glasses. She did the same, placing the bottle down on the table then lifting up her own glass, when she looked him in the eye, her thoughts turning serious.

"God save the King." She said, the words only just managing to escape her tightened throat.

"God save the King." Mr M. raised his glass with her and echoed sombrely, then they both tilted their glasses back deeply to take a sip of champagne.

Victoria quickly wiped away the bubbles from her lip and tip of her nose, when the tiredness she had long been running from seemed to catch up with her again. She turned in her spot and found a close lounge to sit on, which she did without grace, then immediately began to take off her painful black heels and rub the balls of her feet, when she realised she probably she shouldn't do that as a regent in front of the Prime Minister.

"Oh, sorry, Mr M." She looked up to find him watching.

"Don't be." He waved off. "Heels are painful at the worst of times, Ma'am, but today must have been a killer."

Something in his reply made Victoria wondered if he knew this from personal experience, but she didn't feel confident yet in asking. "Oh, I'm used to it really." She dropped her feet down and leant back into the lounge. "Been wearing heels for years now. Mama always preferred me in them, said I was too short to stand next her without it looking like a complete joke."

Mr M's face darkened. "You are not a joke, Ma'am. With shoes, or without."

Victoria couldn't help but feel comforted by his instant denial, but still the ever-present darkness ran deep in her, unaffected and constant. She let out a small sigh and looked up to the ceiling in thought.

"We are prisoners of our parent's faults…" She murmured quietly to herself, then looked back to Mr M, who was taking a seat on the other side of the small room. "…I think I read that somewhere. Or heard it… I don't know. Seems true though, don't you think?"

Mr M. looked down at his glass and turned it in his hand. "I think there is some truth in it, yes."

"I don't blame mama for what she did to me, you know." She admitted quietly. "Well, not completely – but I know what she did, she did for my protection."

"Of course Ma'am." He automatically responded, but she couldn't help feel he didn't mean it.

"Seems ironic, really. That after all that effort I'm now smack-bang in middle of the public eye. I mean, there was no way she could have possibly known but still… all those years… just seems like a horrible waste, really." Victoria gave a contemplative sip of her champagne and studied him carefully as he remained silent. Watching. "What's your mum like?"

A smile shot up on his lips unexpectedly, and fell into a thoughtful look as he glanced away. "Irrepressible." His gaze fell back onto her as his expression became tinged with a certain wistfulness. "She would have liked you. Though she'd have a problem with your taste of champagne – she was a Krug-or-nothing kind of lady." He sipped at his glass with a small smile.

"Doesn't sound much like the mother of a Labour leader." Victoria commented, quietly thrilled she had managed to get him talking about himself.

"Ha." He just let out a wry laugh. "Yes, well, joining Young Labour was partly my own teenage rebellion gone wrong."

"She stopped talking to you?"

Mr M. just gave a grin and looked up in the air. "No – she swiftly decided Maggie Thatcher was a frigid bore and not worth socializing with anyway, and so became Labour's number one supporter." Victoria couldn't help but giggle as Mr M. leaned casually against the arm of the chair. "And this all in the space of a day, I seem to remember."

"And what did your father think?" Victoria began bring up her feet onto the lounge and tuck them in under herself, shifting the bottom of her black dress as she wanted their conversation to go on forever.

But Mr M's face changed slightly. "Ah… I'm not sure."

A familiar fear hit Victoria like a cold grip. "Oh, I'm sorry did he…"

"No." He answered quickly, understanding her question. "Well… I don't know. Could have. Could also be alive and well…" He trailed off slightly. "You see, Ma'am, I never knew who my father was. Not for certain. My mother never chose to tell me."

Crap.

What did she do?

"I'm so sorry." She tried desperately to dig herself out of the horrible hole she'd created. And it was all going so well…

"There is no need, Ma'am." He replied earnestly, calming her a little bit. "I've had a lifetime of living without him, it is not a loss that I feel. I mean, there were times I was frustrated and angry, yes, but I've far outgrown that now."

Something hooked itself deep into her heart, tearing through the flesh.

"When?"

"Sorry?"

"When did you outgrow it?" She asked quietly, sitting tense.

He studied her in silence for a moment before answering. "About your age, possibly younger."

Victoria nodded slowly, and began to ingest his words, when memories of a disjointed figure swam back into her mind once more.

"I still feel the loss." She found herself saying, her eyes to the floor. "Of my dad, that is. But it's been so long now, it's kind of weird, because it's like I almost want that loss to stay. Because maybe if it goes, he goes."

There was another silence, as she cursed herself for getting too personal, but she could hear him shift in his chair a little.

"Do you have any memories of him?" His scratchy voice cut through the quiet.

"Only a couple." She finally looked back at him, then took another sip of champagne for strength, the gradual effect of which was making her feel almost fluid. "He was always in his uniform. One time I was playing piano on his lap, then another we were at the dinner table… everything else is just news clips on youtube, really."

"He was a brave man." Mr M. bowed his head in reverence.

"Did you know him?" A light of hope rose up in Victoria.

"I met him." He tempered. "Once. Just before he shipped to Afghanistan. Spent the whole time talking about how proud he was of his battalion. I believe he was a great leader, Ma'am."

Victoria smiled to herself, thankful for his words. "Mama never talks about him. I learned quickly not to ask her."

A strange look passed over his face. "Perhaps she still finds pain in the loss?"

"Maybe." She shifted uncomfortably. "But she's been with John Conroy now far longer than she ever was with dad."

"Oh." Mr M's brow lifted in surprise. "Right, so they are…"

"For years now." Victoria answered quickly with a sigh. "Don't know why they insist on keeping it secret. Conroy probably thinks it a better public image to stay the loyal widow."

"Well… he's not wrong there." Mr M. strained to admit.

"It's always about the image for him." She wrapped an arm tight around herself, and rested the glass on her knee. "No doubt he's stressing out downstairs, wondering why I'm not there being seen to do my duty."

"You have done more than enough of that today, Ma'am." Mr M. comforted. "Yes, you are a head of state, but you are also a niece who has lost their family. Anyone down there who does not understand that, is not worth bothering with."

Victoria gave him a small smile then took another sip of her champagne, adding to the warmth in her chest. "You are very kind to me, Mr M."

He didn't speak for a moment, just watched her, the corners of his lips shifting as if he was calibrating how to answer, when he finally let out a smile. "That is what friends are for, Ma'am."

Victoria's heart leapt. "You're my friend?"

"If you've have me, Ma'am."

She felt as if she could shout out an ecstatic yes, when all of the sudden the door to the small dark sitting room opened and a head popped out through the gap and looked around the space.

"Ma'am…?" Skerrett attempted quietly, when her gaze fell on Victoria and she opened the door properly, revealing another bottle of champagne, when she triumphantly strode into the room. "Ah Ma'am, I found another bottle – oh, I'm so sorry Mr Melbourne!" She froze in her stride the moment she glimpsed the Prime Minister sitting casually next to her.

"No please – "

"It's quite alright Skerrett, we're all friends here!" Victoria jumped up from the lounge with a newfound burst of energy, glass held aloft, when she saw Mr M. looking at her with an amused glint in his eye. "We are! So I insist you stay here with us and have a drink." She grinned at her bodyguard and placed her glass down on the side table. "By royal decree, you are officially off the clock! Now hand me that bottle."

She thrust out her hand towards Skerrett, who was fighting a smile, but relented the champagne to Victoria who gathered it into her hands enthusiastically.

"I know how to do this now, Mr M. taught me." She proclaimed proudly as she ripped off the foil and untied the wire, leaving the cork exposed, when she covered it with a fist and gave it a twist. "Et viol – "

There was a thunderous pop.

A hard thump on the floor.

A glistening crash of glass.

And sudden silence.

Then the room erupted in laughter.

NB:

Oh Vicky, will she ever learn!

Well that was a long chapter. Like hella long. What was I even thinking? Actually if I don't know you might not know either since you don't have access to my thoughts. OR DOO YOU?

Again, thank you so so much for welcoming back this fic, it honestly means the world, and please leave a comment if you can.

Now, on to the next one!