Oxford, England
January 2013
Won't you give me a smile?
There's a soft knock and moments later, the bathroom door swings open to reveal Ken.
"How are you feeling?" he asks and leans against the doorframe.
I stretch, causing water to slosh against the sides of the tub. "A little better."
He comes over to sit on the wooden frame surrounding the bathtub. "We can postpone," he offers. "I'm sure they'd understand."
At this, I snort in a decidedly unladylike way. As if I'd allow that!
"That's sweet of you, but it'd need something much worse than a visit from Aunt Flo to get me to postpone this," I inform Ken. "At least some kind of fatal illness."
"They'll be flattered to hear that only you being on your deathbed could prevent you from meeting them," Ken remarks with a smile.
"Well, I waited long enough!" I defend myself, feeling a little indignant. "In fact, if I were to drown right now, I assure you I'd still find a way to be there. You'd just have to live with the visuals."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd make a lovely watery corpse," Ken assures me, his mouth twitching in amusement.
Raising a wet hand, I lightly slap his knee, leaving a foamy patch on his trouser leg. "So I would," I tell him haughtily.
"You'd also be dripping all over the floor," he amends thoughtfully.
I slap his knee again, then a third time, for good measure.
Ken catches my hand in his, interlacing our fingers. "Asking for forgiveness, my lady robed in snowy white that loosely flew to left and right," he declares grandly.
Again, I can't help a snort. "For one, I am not robed in anything –" I briefly raise a leg out of the soapy water to emphasise my point "– and for another, quoting Tennyson might win you points with my mother, but will lead you nowhere with me."
"But it's The Lady of Shallot," he argues, grinning now. "It's romantic!"
"It is insipid," I inform him disdainfully. "Besides, do you want to know how much I care for its portrayal of women?"
"Not at all?" Ken guesses, still visibly amused.
"Not at all," I confirm with a firm nod. I might have grown up having Tennyson quoted at me regularly, but I still maintain that the way he wrote that poor lady is nothing short of chauvinistic. Just like a man, really.
Getting to his feet, Ken reaches out to take my bathrobe from its hook near the door and holds it open for me. "It being decidedly not snowy white, what are the odds of my interesting you in wearing this particular robe?" he asks teasingly.
A quick look at my phone lying on the side of the bathtub confirms that it is indeed time for me to get dressed for dinner. Making a point to sigh wearily, I climb from the tub, allowing Ken to wrap the bathrobe around me.
(It really isn't snowy white. In fact, it's a bright shocking pink, which is mostly because a bathrobe is about the only garment I can wear in that colour. My hair is dark enough to forgive soft, muted pinks without clashing, but bright pink is not a colour I could ever wear out of doors.)
Ken carefully ties the fluffy belt around my waist, then arranges the collar to sit flat over my shoulders. Finally, after surveying his handiwork with satisfaction, he bends down to give me a kiss.
"I'll pop over to the store while you get dressed," he tells me. "We appear to be out of chocolate sauce for the dessert."
"Are we?" I ask, feigning innocence.
He grins. "Indeed we are, though I distinctly remember that we weren't last night. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Must have been gremlins," I assure him in all seriousness. (In fact, I had a late night snack of ice cream and chocolate sauce yesterday while skyping with Jake and Izzie, but I'm not likely to admit that, am I?)
"Pesky fellows," agrees Ken, meaning the imaginary gremlins.
"Very sneaky," I add, nodding my head up and down.
Ken laughs, tugging at my belt to draw me closer for another kiss. "I'd better hurry to rectify the gremlins insolence. I'll be back before they arrive."
The 'they' in this case not being gremlins, of course.
As I watch him cross the bathroom, my gaze falls on an empty cardboard box sitting by the sink. "Ken!" I call out quickly and he stops on the doorway, looking at me questioningly.
"Pick up some of these for me, will you?" I ask, holding up the box for him to see.
He actually winces. "They will photograph me!" he protests. "They will photograph me, they will print it in a paper somewhere and everyone will laugh at me!"
I cluck my tongue at him. "Nonsense. Everyone will think you very manly and chivalric for getting hygene products for your girlfriend without kicking up a fuss by behaving like a pre-pubertal boy."
A moment passes, as Ken considers me suspiciously. "Very manly and chivalric, you say?"
"Like bold Sir Lancelot," I assert with a firm nod.
"Well, in that case…" He draws out the words, but I can see the amused glint in his eyes, telling me he's just putting on a show. (Mostly.)
"Absolutely. Now, shoo! Begone!" I use both hands to wave him away. He obliges with a mock bow, but I can still hearing his laughter long after he has left the room.
Smiling to myself, I pull the bathrobe tighter around me and cross over into our bedroom. Ken has already pulled the curtains shut, which is a precaution we usually undertake. The press gaggle has generally stopped camping on our doorstep 24/7, instead only appearing when something specific drives them here, but there's no need to tempt fate on this one.
Passing by the bed, I reach out a hand and lovingly brush it over a sleeping George, who is fully stretched out and covers more of the duvet than a cat his size has any right to. Feeling my touch, George flicks an irritated ear and partly opens one eye to give me a disdainful look.
"Sorry Georgie," I apologise brightly, not meaning it at all.
George glowers some more for good measure, before flipping around so that he's now lying on his back, belly up and paws stretched overhead. (The foolish part of me would like to sit next to him to stroke his belly or squish his paws, but I just restrain myself. Rationally, I know that this is a deceptive peace and that he is ready to pounce any moment.)
"Sweet dreams," I wish George instead, not that he deigns to react at all. Typical cat.
Turning to the wardrobe, I cast a critical eye over my clothes. Ken said to dress casually and this time, I'm inclined to believe him. This is an occasion and setting where being overdressed is likely to be more awkward than being too casual.
After a moment of deliberation – and with George being no help at all – I settle on a soft ivory pullover and a new pair of black jeans that I got when I went shopping with Tatty and Katie last week. It's a classic combination that'll look nice without being too dressy. Or at least that's what I hope.
Having dressed, I retreat back into the bathroom (though not without very quickly squeezing the left front paw of a very annoyed George, pulling my hand back quickly before he can retaliate). My hair is all wet and tangled from the bath, so it takes a bit of force to pull the brush through it. I do, finally, get it to lie halfway orderly over my shoulders and am reaching for the hairdryer when the doorbell rings.
Hand still outstretched, I freeze, starring wide-eyed at my reflection. Because while the cliché would dictate for me to presume that this is Ken simply forgetting his key, the cliché does not take into account the PPOs, who hold several keys to the house between them. Even if Ken had forgotten his, they'd be more than prepared to help out.
I know this isn't Ken. Instead, it's our guests come early.
So much for 'I'll be back before they arrive'.
Taking a deep breath, I pull back my hand. There's no time to dry my hair now, nor to fashion it into anything resembling a hairstyle. I'm left with no option but to brush it back over my shoulders and tuck the front strands behind my ears. At least my make-up didn't wash off during the bath. The eyeliner is a bit smudged, but I suppose it'll do. It has to.
As I cross through the bedroom, I absent-mindedly notice that the bed is deserted, with no George to be seen. I wasn't nervous before but now I feel a sudden desire to go join him in whatever hiding place he's relocated to. Not that I will, of course. I've waited too long for this to finally happen to let anything get in the way of it, even nerves. (Or, you know, death by drowning.)
I give myself a little pep talk while walking down the stairs but all too soon I reach the front door. I can't really say the pep talk has helped, to be honest.
Still.
Squaring my shoulders, I open the door.
And there they are.
My first thought, irrationally, is that they look very normal. It's a stupid thought to have, because Ken looks normal as well and he's as royal as they are, maybe even more so in the grand scheme of things. And yet, somehow, their normalness strikes me.
Despite being his siblings, they don't look a lot like Ken. Where he got his father's dark colouring, they are both blond, like the Queen. Teddy is almost as tall as his brother, but lankier, as if he still needs to grow into his limbs. Persis is short, with the kind of stocky, sturdy build that results when someone otherwise predisposed towards chubbiness is keeping very fit and active.
They're also clearly both as tongue-tied as I am and for several long moments, we just stand there and stare at each other. It's only when a gust of cold air blasts past me into the house that I am shaken awake and remember my manners. Sort of. (Just as well that Grandmother Marilla can't see me right now.)
"Hello." I clear my throat. "Ken's still out, but he should be back soon. You can come in, of course."
They don't do that though. Instead, I watch with some curiosity as Persis turns to Teddy and hisses, "We're early. I told you we'd be early."
Teddy raises both hands in defence. "Better than late," he mutters back.
Persis narrows her eyes at him.
Thing is, I'm pretty sure they are early. I can hardly leave them standing here on the doorstep though. If nothing else, the spirit of Grandmother Marilla might come and scold me for it.
"Look. It's fine," I speak up, causing them both to look at me. "You can come in. It's no problem." To back it up, I take a step back and invite them inside with a motion of my hand.
Both remain standing as if rooted to the spot.
"You aren't, uh… ready," point out Teddy, nodding at my still-wet hair.
Instinctively, I reach up to touch a wet strand that has snaked over my shoulder. "It's fine," I repeat. In an effort to emphasise my words, I grab a stray hair tie from the side table next to the door (Ken is always teasing me about leaving them lying around everywhere) and twist my hair back into the semblance of a bun. "There. All set," I announce.
It does seem to convince them that they don't have to wait on the doorstep until the agreed on time has arrived, since they both finally duck past me into the house. Teddy murmurs a thanks as he passes. (It's just as well. I was getting cold in my pullover and the wet hair wasn't helping.)
As I close the door, I spot two unfamiliar looking men standing next to Beaverstock by the gate. Their stance identifies them as PPOs, no matter the civilian clothing, and I suddenly realise that of course Persis and Teddy, too, come with their own security detail attached. Not so normal after all.
"This way." I wave my guest over into what was fancifully called the drawing room by the estate agents but is really just a living room as any other. (Except for the moulding. And the fancy fireplace. And the chandelier.)
"Please have a seat," I invite, pointing at the two couches and only then do they sit down, sharing one and leaving me with the other.
Cue more uncomfortable silence.
"So, um…" I begin, frantically trying to think of something to say and coming up with nothing.
Luckily, Teddy seems to have decided to help me out. "This is a nice place." He gestures at the room around us, then lightly and not-so-subtly elbows Persis into action as well.
"Very cosy," she agrees quickly, glancing at me for a second before looking away again. (Really. Only someone who grew up in a palace would regard this house as cosy.)
"It's Victorian, I think?" My statement comes out as more of a question.
"Either Victorian or Edwardian," replies Teddy thoughtfully. "The lighter colour of the façade and the relative restrained ornamentation has me leaning towards Edwardian."
I just nod silently, both because I have no knowledge of these matters and because it suddenly strikes me that the Victorian and the Edwardian era were named for ancestors of the two people sitting on my couch. (Strange that I rarely ever think about it where Ken is concerned but can hardly shake the thought with his siblings.)
Not that an answer is required of me, because Persis takes that moment to poke a finger into her brother's upper arm and hiss, "She isn't interested in that, Teddy."
"No, no," I quickly reassure. "It's fine. I mean, it's interesting. I just don't know much about architecture. Anything, really."
Teddy smiles a lop-sided smile that immediately increases his resemblance to Ken. "Most people don't. It can be fascinating though."
"To you," murmurs Persis, without looking at anyone. Teddy shrugs as if to say that he can't help it.
Another silence looms and I desperately try of something to say when I hear the front door being opened. "That's Ken," I announce unnecessarily and spring to my feet. Louder, I call out, "We're in here!"
Ken shows no surprise at seeing his siblings already installed on our couch and for a moment that surprises me, but then I realise that their security people must have tipped him off as to their presence.
"Look who's early," he remarks and though his voice is jovial, I can see Persis turning to glare at Teddy.
"Better early than late," I hear myself stating brightly, though quite why I feel the need, I can't say.
"Very true," agrees Ken and gives me a smile.
Both Teddy and Persis have risen to accept hugs from Ken and, in Persis's case, a kiss to the top of her head. Though if I thought that Ken's arrival would make them relax, I was clearly mistaken. Instead, they're both watching him with something that is not discomfort or apprehension but… well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they're somewhat in awe of him.
But that's stupid, right?
I mean, he's their brother. Sure, he's quite a few years older than them (even I have a few months on Teddy and almost two years on Persis), but still. Joy and Jem are older than I am as well and I haven't been in awe of them since… well, I'm pretty sure I've never been in awe of them, period.
"Shall we relocate so I can finish preparing dinner?" asks Ken, motioning towards the living room.
He lets his siblings pass, but lays a hand on my arm to stop me. Handing me an opaque bag, he asks quietly, "Are you feeling alright?"
I nod, smile. "Yes. The bath helped."
"I didn't mean –" he begins.
I shake my head to interrupt him. "I know you didn't." I briefly brush my free hand along his arm and observe his expression settle into calmness as he realises that yes, I'm actually alright.
Reaching into the bag, I hold out the chocolate sauce for him to take, then follow his siblings into the dining area, dropping the bag on a chair as I pass. When I reach them, I find them both turned in our direction. Persis looks down when I meet her gaze, but Teddy smiles a half-smile and inclines his head into the tiniest of nods.
Ken's hand lightly touches my back, propelling me forward. "Sit down, everyone. I'll just put the finishing touches to the first course."
We do as instructed, Persis and Teddy taking the seats opposite me at the dining table. Behind them, I can see myself, mirrored in the darkened windows. My hair is far too messy for my liking and I quickly look away. Somewhere to my right, Ken is clattering around with the pots, before holding up the remote control of his stereo. Moments later, Janis Joplin's voice quietly fills the air.
"So…" I look from Teddy to Persis and back again. "You're graduating from college this year, aren't you?"
Teddy nods. "We both are. I took a four-year degree in Scotland, while Persis's course is a normal English three-year BA. She's all caught up to me now."
He gives her a smile that his half-fondness and half-teasing and she narrows her eyes at him.
"Mum said you're considering a graduate degree, Ted?" Ken calls over from the kitchen area.
"Yes," Teddy calls back. To me, he explains, "Edinburgh offers a Master's degree in Advanced Sustainable Design that I'm interested in."
"Advanced Sustainable Design," I repeat slowly. These are mighty grand words, but I have no idea what could be hiding behind them.
Apparently, my cluelessness is obvious, because Teddy clarifies, "It's about sustainable development. Basically, how to design and build green cities and towns in a realistic way."
"Sounds important," I remark, because, well, it does sound important, even if I don't understand much of it. Quieter, more to myself, I add, "Carl would be all over that."
"Who's Carl?" asks Teddy curiously.
"A friend," I answer at the same time as Ken chimes in with "her ex-boyfriend".
I turn to glare at him, but he just grins and raises the ladle from the pot he's just placed on the table. "Soup?"
Rolling my eyes at him, I nevertheless allow him to fill my bowl with steaming and, admittedly, delicious smelling soup. He ladles out some for the others as well before sitting down next to me, briefly squeezing my knee below the table.
"Is Carl also an architect?" Teddy enquires and blows some air over his spoon. Persis, meanwhile, eyes the contents of her bowl with what appears to be suspicion.
"I'm not out to poison you, Pers," Ken remarks amusedly and, as if to prove the point, takes a big spoonful of soup. "And I'll swear to a God of your choosing that there's nothing in there you don't like."
A picky eater, is she?
Persis's eyes flit from Ken to me and back again, before she cautiously lowers her spoon into the bowl and takes a dainty sip.
She looks uncomfortable with all eyes focus on her, so I swivel back to answer Teddy's question. "Carl is no architect, he just cares a lot about the environment. I'm sure that if he had his way, we'd all live in caves somewhere, but even he realises that's hardly realistic. Sustainable development sounds like something he'd see as the next best thing."
"It is the next best thing," Teddy replies thoughtfully. "Not many people care yet, but I think it will become increasingly important in the next decades."
"I'll take your word for it." I smile at him to show I'm sincere. "I really don't know anything about it. You might even be the first architect I've ever met, come to think of it. One of my sisters is a dab hand at decorating, but that's purely recreational and just interior-focused anyway. She actually helped with this house."
I raise my hands to indicate our surroundings and, out of the corner of my eye, cast a quick look at Ken who's been very quiet during our exchange. He seems quite content to just sip his soup and watch Teddy and me talk. It's only when he sees me looking at him that he gives me a reassuring smile and knocks his knee against mine beneath the table. (Over on the other side, Persis seems to have decreed the soup to be edible, seeing as she's quietly eating and listening.)
"It's very nice," Teddy praises the house. "I don't know much about interior design, but my unprofessional opinion is that your sister and whoever else worked on it did a great job."
It's such a carefully worded, professional answer, designed not to leave anyone feeling left out, that I have to hide a smile. It's a thing I've observed Ken doing countless of times and it appears that Teddy at least also has the skill.
"It was mostly Nan's doing, to be honest," I tell him. "She really has an eye for colours. She showed us some mood boards for her wedding while we skyped this morning and they looked super professional."
"It might be an alternative career path if she grows tired of four or five more years at university," suggests Ken to my right.
"Wedding planner? Or interior designer?" I ask, raising both eyebrows to comical heights. "She seems quite dedicated to psychologising kids for now, but I'll make sure to mention it to her if that should ever change."
Ken salutes me with his, thankfully empty, spoon. "Glad to be of service."
I know I should retort with something funny, if only so as not to leave him with the last word, but I can't think of anything. Luckily, it's Teddy to the rescue, "When is your sister's wedding?"
"Nan's wedding? In August," I reply. Then, aside to Ken, "You're invited, by the way. She sent out Save the Date cards as few days ago."
"Good." Ken's voice is very matter-of-fact, quite as if him attending my sister's wedding is no big deal and somehow, that pleases me more than it rightfully should.
"Is the wedding held in Canada?" enquires Teddy as he pushes his empty soup bowl away from him. (I can't imagine he cares all that much, but at least chatting about Nan's wedding gives us something to talk about.)
I nod. "Yes, in Halifax. It's where we grew up. Most of us have moved away by now – my younger brother recently took himself to California of all places! – but my parents still live there. The groom's family isn't that far away either."
"Just a quick five hour drive," Ken points out laconically and swat his arm in retaliation.
"In Canadian distances, that's not so far," I clarify. "Though I can understand why it would seem far to you."
"We on our tiny island, you mean," he adds, grinning, and if I hadn't already swatted him, I'd feel tempted to do so now.
Instead, I settle for a haughty look, but even that slips when Ken, laughing, reaches over to brush his fingertips along my face. Then, without preamble, he turns to his sister and asks, "Oh, hey, Persis, what did I hear about the Equestrian Championships potentially going to Canada in a few years?"
Persis hesitates, before raising her eyes to look at him. "Bromont," she volunteers. "In 2018."
(Am I supposed to know where Bromont is?)
"That was it." Ken nods, satisfied, before adding, "How are the horses doing? Is Tommy still lame?"
Teddy leans a little closer to me over the table and explains quietly, "Tommy is one of Persis's horses. His tournament name is Cullinan."
I blink at him. How does one go from Cullinan to Tommy?
"He's better," Persis tells Ken, looking more animated than she has all evening. "I've started some light ground training with him and he's responding well to it."
"That's great news!" Ken's smile tells me that he truly means it, too.
I tilt my bowl to scrape the last bit of soup from it, when Teddy asks, "Do you ride, Rilla?"
"Me?" I can't help laughing. "I used to when I was younger, but that was years ago. I wasn't very good either. The only prize I ever won was for a Best Kept Pony competition and, really, the prize should have gone to the pony for still standing still while I re-braided its mane for the eighth time."
"A truly well-behaved pony," comments Teddy with a smile.
"It had a lot of patience with me," I confirm, pulling a comical little grimace.
I move to turn to Ken, but my gaze halts when it falls on Persis, who suddenly looks very determined. Watching her with some curiosity, I see her taking a deep breath.
"If you want to try out riding again, I can take you," she offers, intoning her words carefully.
(She is talking to me, isn't she?)
"I have one or two very gentle horses that you might like. We could take them out hacking if you want to, or work with them in the arena if you prefer that." Her voice is increasingly gaining speed as she talks. "Or if you'd just like to –"
"Persis," Ken interrupts her gently, exchanging a glance with Teddy.
She closes her mouth immediately, looking embarrassed. "Right," she murmurs. "I shouldn't assume."
I know that Ken intervened to prevent me from feeling pressured and that's considerate of him, but at the same time, Persis's offer was the first time she directly spoke with me at all this evening. And though the thought of getting on a horse after so many years is more than a little daunting, I'd be a fool to throw away this bonding opportunity just like that.
So, I smile reassuringly at Ken and briefly pat his arm, before turning back to Persis. "That's a lovely idea. I'd like that."
My reward is a hesitant smile and I know it was the right call.
Let's only hope I don't make a complete fool of myself.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'London Calling' (written Joe Strummer and Mick Jones, released by The Clash in 1979).
To Rebecca:
I know you commented on chapter 1 and this is chapter 50 and I have no idea when (or if) you'll read this, but in case you do, I just wanted to say thank you for leaving a review. I'm glad to know that you're enjoying this and I hope the rest of the story fulfilled what the first chapter promised :).
To AnneShirley:
I, too, love Dev, so that makes two of us ;). I don't have a friend like him (which, on second thought, seems like a grave oversight on my part), so it's very good to know that people like Dev exist for real in this world. Both for my story and for the world, of course! It would be a sadder place without Devs.
To JoAnna:
I don't know if you've ever looked at the RoyalCorrespondent (an accompanying fanfic written expertly by OriginalMcFishie and Alinyaalethia), but they did have one or two articles about Rilla being caught in the rain at a train station a wile back. I imagine the press didn't have context for those pictures though (as in, they didn't know where she was coming from and why), so they couldn't spin it into more than "prince's girlfriend gets caught in a downpour while waiting for train". Even the press can't sniff out every story, I think - though they certainly do try!
As promised, the royal family has now been met (part of it, anyway). I'll even make you another promise and say that we'll meet another very important member pretty soon!
To Mammu:
It was a bit of a transitional chapter, no doubt about that. I had some loose threads I wanted to tie up before forging onwards into the next section of this story (for clarification: I am planning and writing this in sections and we're at the start of a new one), so I felt one more chapter was needed to bring the previous arc to a close. Also, I didn't really have time to focus on Oxford and all its quirky/crazy traditions before this chapter, so I thought it might be fun to do that. In the end, I put both those intentions together and the last chapter was the result ;).
I agree that it probably wasn't very wise of Rilla to go into Dev's room to change, but she can't always play by the reporter's rules without loosing a part of herself. I think it's a question of which fall she wants to take. They are always going to write something about her, but at least made up stories about her and Dev are ridiculous enough that they can all laugh over them.
I dare say Prof Schmitt was genuine in what he said to Rilla. I also dare say she won't write her thesis under his supervision. After all, Dr Gecko is both much nicer and has a far superior name!
