The Princess Affair (6 page)

The clickity-clack of Miranda’s heels heralded her approach, and Sasha looked up to the sight of her best friend, dressed in a deep blue silk dress with a plunging neckline and carrying two steaming paper cups. She deposited one in front of Sasha before gracefully sinking into the opposite booth.

“You’re a saint,” Sasha said as she popped the lid off to reveal coffee the color of midnight, swirling with just a splash of skim and a dash of cocoa powder. Perfection.

“How was your meeting with the weasel this morning?” Miri had bestowed the rather uncharitable nickname on Reginald Bloom during their adolescence, and it had stuck.

She shrugged. “Long and boring.”

In fact, the first of her preparatory sessions had been long and humiliating, but Sasha wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. Bloom had handed her a printed copy of the officially sanctioned remarks for the evening’s event. Then, he had made her read it out loud at least a dozen times, until he was satisfied that she had committed enough of it to memory not to flub her performance. The entire time, she’d felt like schoolgirl in remediation.

At several points, she had tried to convince him to let her deliver her remarks off the cuff, but he had rejected the idea out of hand. She didn’t need a script. Whenever she stood before a crowd, she could sense its prevailing desire. If they wanted her, she flirted with them. If they required persuasion, she summoned a clever anecdote that would help to prove her point. If they craved reassurance, she channeled the memory of her mother and comforted them. Pulling their energy into herself, she magnified it and reflected it back.

Reading in public, on the other hand, was a nightmare. Letters unhinged from their proper order and rearranged themselves willy-nilly. The page blurred and swirled like a river, engendering nausea and headaches. At such times, the expectation of the crowd didn’t serve to inspire her confidence, but to destroy it. Sasha couldn’t escape the feeling that despite having practiced her bland speech repeatedly this morning, she would still trip up when she delivered it. That meant more humiliation, this time in front of a crowd of intellectuals and their new, snobby protégés.

If only she could convince Bloom of where her true talent lay. She was brilliant at extemporaneous public speaking in a way her siblings weren’t, and yet she was rarely called upon to do it in any official capacity. Part of that was her own fault, of course—having embarrassed her father several times, she had lost his trust. But had he been more tolerant of her as a child, she wouldn’t have wanted to act out. A vicious circle.

Miri reached for her purse. “I have some news that might cheer you up.”

“Oh?”

“The bloke who owns The Box is opening a club here as well.” She passed a gold-embossed postcard across the table. “It’s called Summa, and we’re on the guest list.”

Sasha turned the card over in her hands and perused it carefully. The words shivered once and then were still. The club’s grand opening involved a reception catered by one of the most exclusive restaurants in London, a private concert by the hottest new boy band, and an open bar all night long. For the first time since she’d woken this morning, Sasha felt a rush of anticipation. A night of dancing was the perfect remedy for the funk she’d been in since leaving Clarence House yesterday.

“You’re more than a saint, Miri, you’re a goddess. I’ll leave the bloody event as soon as I possibly can.”

When Miranda cocked her head, the delicate sharpness of her features gave her a birdlike appearance. Gold teardrop earrings tipped with diamonds framed her jawline, winking in the dusky light of the shop. She had that mischievous, almost predatory look about her that always signaled trouble.

“Why not just skip it? Tell them you’re ill.”

“This thought just occurred to you now?”

“No, it occurred to me last night when you called. But you seemed so rattled that I didn’t think you would be sympathetic.”

“Are you trying to taunt me into doing this?”

“Taunt you?” Miri squeezed her forearm lightly. “Of course not. I’m just trying to help you get out of a situation that’s clearly making you unhappy.”

Sasha leaned back against the vinyl, enjoying its coolness against her shoulders as she took another sip of coffee. Miranda’s attempts to manipulate her were always so obvious.

“And you don’t want to go alone.”

Her lower lip jutted into a pout. “Fine, yes. And that.”

As her internal debate waged, Sasha closed her eyes. She knew exactly what would happen if she kept her promise to her father: she would make some kind of blunder while regurgitating the canned lines she’d been spoon-fed. Outwardly, her audience would remain polite, but later she would hear them murmuring. They would look at her slightly askance, with that nauseating blend of pity and condescension perfected by academics. Word would get back to King Andrew, and he would chastise her for not taking her responsibilities seriously.

Well, fuck it. She wasn’t going to be controlled by anyone. She would either call her father’s bluff, or force his hand in making good on his threat to her company. And if he dared to do the latter, she might be able to spin the story to her advantage. The tabloids were shallow in their interests and fickle in their loyalty, but at least they always listened.

*

The Great Hall at New College was everything Kerry had anticipated from one of the university’s most venerable institutions. Founded in the late fourteenth century, the college’s oldest buildings exemplified the Perpendicular Gothic mode, with their high ceilings, tall windows, and narrow arches. The space gave the impression of an ornate cage, but she didn’t feel trapped. As she occasionally contributed to the conversation that ebbed and flowed around her, a part of Kerry’s mind remained detached and observant, marveling at the intricacies of the ornate vaults high above her head.

Elaborate chandeliers hung down between the arches, and their light cast dancing shadows along the stone floor. The room was nearly filled to capacity with several long rows of tables covered with deep blue cloths, each of which boasted a tall, sweet-smelling candle as thick as the circumference of her biceps. The high table was set perpendicular to the rest and elevated on the stage. Glancing up from her cup of tea, she realized it was beginning to clear.

Kerry wondered where Princess Alexandra was. She’d assumed the princess would be dining with the warden of the college and the members of the Rhodes Trust, but perhaps she would only be joining them for the reception. Harris’s fascination seemed to be rubbing off on her, if only a little. She supposed it was natural. Most Americans couldn’t help but be curious about the vestiges of the system that had prompted the very foundation of their country.

When the butler of New College stopped at the head of their table to ask them to follow, Kerry pushed her chair back, stood, and immediately winced at the soreness in her legs.

“What’s wrong?” Harris asked.

She waved off his solicitousness. “Just a little stiff. I meant to run five miles today. Ended up being closer to ten.”

He gestured for her to precede him as they filed toward the door. “While I took a nap this afternoon, you accidentally went on a ten-mile run? What are you training for, the Premier League?”

Kerry laughed. “No, I just wanted to see the city. It was a good way to take myself on a tour.”

He clapped one hand on her shoulder. “They have buses for that, you know.”

“How on earth did you win silver in the Olympics with your lazy attitude?”

“I’m an entirely different person when there’s a coxswain in my life who will chew me out and get my butt into gear.”

Kerry glanced back at him, incredulous. “I’m not touching that sentence with a ten-foot pole.”

A devilish grin spread across his face, and she only narrowly dodged his attempt to ruffle her hair. When they were forced to wait at the door, she turned warily to face him.

He held up his hands. “Truce. And if you ever want a running buddy, let me know.”

“You can come with me whenever you like. But here’s the catch: I prefer to run early in the morning.”

Harris groaned. “Never mind.”

As they filed outside, Kerry buttoned her suit jacket. The temperature had fallen significantly during dinner, and a light rain began to fall as the butler led them across the immaculate quad. When she turned her face into the wind, the spatter of cold drops against her cheeks mingled with the scent of damp autumnal foliage to stir up a tide of nostalgia in her blood. Soccer weather. This was the first September in memory when she hadn’t been in training, and her insteps ached with longing for the pitch like the pain of a phantom limb.

A wave of homesickness crashed over her as she thought of her teammates, now dispersed to the four corners of the globe. One of them, their star forward, was training with the national team. The others were either employed or had moved on to graduate school. She missed their easy camaraderie—the way they’d protected each other and teased each other and finished each other’s sentences. She even missed her nickname, though she never would have admitted that to them.

But freshman year wasn’t so long ago that she couldn’t remember how it took time to settle in with an unfamiliar group of people. She had a new cohort now, and though they weren’t joined by anything like the ties of shared purpose that bound a team together, some wonderful friendships would surely grow out of their shared experience. She just had to be patient.

“The name may have predisposed you against it, but I didn’t think the spotted dick was
that
bad.” Harris’s teasing whisper sliced through her reverie.

She jostled him lightly in the ribs. “I liked it quite a bit, actually.”

“So why the long face?”

“Just thinking.”

Up ahead, the butler was explaining to one of her compatriots that the warden of New College had wanted to host this reception in his garden, but that the inclement weather had interfered. As they paused at the entrance marked “Warden’s Lodgings,” Kerry turned to admire the picturesque view of the quad and its surrounding buildings, most of which were at least two full centuries older than anything on Princeton’s campus.

Harris flung one arm around her shoulders. “The only thing you should be thinking about right now is how you’re going to behave in the presence of royalty.”

“You’re the one obsessed with Princess Alexandra. I’m going to leave her alone, and I’m sure she’ll afford me the same courtesy.”

“Oh, bollocks,” he said, and Kerry couldn’t help but smile at how easily he’d appropriated the expression. “Where’s your sense of romance? We’re not talking about the daughter of some media kingpin or dot-com-bubble entrepreneur. This is the British crown!”

Before he could launch into a rapturous ode about “this royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,” they emerged into a rectangular, mahogany-paneled room that smelled of pipe smoke with a faint undercurrent of wood conditioner. Firelight flickered in the far corner, and Kerry moved instinctively toward the flames. When a waiter appeared before them with a tray of champagne flutes, Harris deftly plucked two and handed one to her with a chivalrous flourish.

“Good evening, distinguished guests.” Space cleared around the warden as he spoke. “On behalf of the university, I am immensely pleased to welcome the newest Rhodes scholars to Oxford. I shan’t bore you with a long speech, and I look forward to conversing with each of you individually. I have only one announcement: Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra sends her regrets with the news that she is ill, and will therefore be unable to attend our soiree this evening.” Harris’s face fell even as the warden raised his own glass high. “Now, for a toast: may your time with us be at once challenging and illuminating, and may you bear that light with you when you finally travel hence. Cheers.”

Slipping her arm around Harris’s waist, Kerry lightly clinked her glass with his. “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to basking in her presence.”

As she watched, his disappointment gave way to determination. “We’re here for two years at the very least. Plenty of time to have a royal encounter.”

“That’s the spirit. Oh, look—there’s Julia. Let me go introduce you.”

For the next hour, Kerry made a methodical effort to say all the proper things to all the proper people. Burying her melancholy, she slowly circuited the room, moving from group to group like a honeybee gathering nectar. This performance was one she’d delivered successfully many times before, and it came easily now. She sipped only lightly from her flute as she exchanged pleasantries with her peers, with the warden, with members of the Rhodes Trust. The approval of her superiors washed over her like a drug, blunting her lingering homesickness. She belonged here. She could do this. Already, the pieces were falling into place.

As the reception drew to a close, Brent mustered them near the fireplace. “We’re very sorry that Princess Alexandra was unable to be present,” he said. “But I have some good news. Thanks to one of our trustees, your names have been added to the guest list at Summa, a brand new nightclub in town. If you’re interested in continuing tonight’s celebration, please stop by. Otherwise, I’ll see you at our morning breakfast.”

The excited hum began as soon as she walked away. Summa was Latin for “highest.” Kerry knew that much. But her peers had far more specific information. Anna informed them that it was owned by the same person behind one of the most exclusive clubs in London. Tonight was the grand opening, and she’d heard that someone famous was giving a private concert. The event was nearly impossible to get into, and yet they’d all just been given a free pass.

“This is so exciting!” Harris linked his arm through hers as they reemerged into the misty night.

Kerry didn’t answer right away. She’d never been inside a club of Summa’s caliber, and part of her wanted very badly to witness the dazzling spectacle. The rest of her was fatigued and needed to do some recharging, far away from crowds and noise. Harris must have sensed her hesitation, because he stopped and grasped her shoulders.