Chapter 14
Fourteen
Sam
I’m missing you already.
Min
Me too, but it’s only been a day.
Sam
A day too long.
Min
You know, you never got around to showing me your new magic tricks.
Sam
You never guessed the magic words.
Min
*Rolling-eyes emoji*
Sam
Well, we were also otherwise occupied. I’ll take snogging you over magic any day of the week.
Min
*Winking emoji*
Sam
FYI, I’m back at Horse Guards on Wednesday. What if I demonstrated a magic trick for you then?
Min
That works.
Sam
This one is a bit different—it doesn’t involve cards.
Min
Oh, is it coins?
Sam
Nope, it’s better than that. It’s making tourists disappear.
Min
*Slapping-forehead emoji* Does it involve shouting?
Sam
*Grinning emoji*
Min
Let me guess. If I wait around long enough, someone will do something dumb, and you’ll be able to shout at them. Then they’ll leave.
Sam
Impressive, you’ve learned how to mind read. And it wasn’t even in the beginner’s guide.
Min
It wasn’t, but that’s also not exactly a magic trick.
Sam
Says who?
Min
Says me.
Sam
Okay, fine. You win.
Min
*Smiling emoji* I’ll see you on Wednesday.
Sam
I’ll look for you in the morning. I’m also going to see about arranging some leave for after the 4 p.m. inspection. Text you about it later.
Min
Sounds good.
“Thank you so much for visiting us. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay in London.” I hand the family visiting from Germany their purchases and receipt and wave to them as they walk out the gift shop’s double doors.
“Min, Mr. G is waiting for you in his office. I’m supposed to relieve you,” Steve says.
“Thanks.” I log out of the register and step to the side. “Here’s the keys. I finished restocking the tissue paper and the small bags, but the medium and large still need to be done.”
“Brilliant.”
Humming Taylor Swift’s “London Boy” to myself, I head over to Mr. G’s dominion and knock on the open door.
Mr. G removes his glasses and sets them upside down on his desk. He gestures for me to enter. “Minerva, please, come in, and close the door behind you.”
“Okay.”
“Apologies for taking so long to speak to you. Patrick has kept me busy this morning.” He rubs his temples. “The new exhibit on water conservation is going to be installed next month and there are a lot of logistics involved.”
“It sounds like quite an undertaking.”
“You’re telling me. This exhibit is one of the most ambitious we’ve hosted yet.
Just for the entryway, we are going to have a wall-sized water feature installed, but in order to do that, we need to have new plumbing and waterproof flooring fitted out.
The paperwork on those two work orders is almost as long as some of the requisition forms I used to be in charge of in the Grenadiers. ”
“If I can do anything to help, please let me know.”
“You, young lady, have enough work on your plate. I heard you are to be the designer for the bride-to-be’s dress?”
“If our meeting goes well tomorrow, yes.”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Seeing you depart from us is going to be bittersweet. I’m losing a brilliant employee, but at least knowing you’ll be living out your dreams makes it bearable.”
It’s so strange to see Mr. G showing any hint of emotion. He’s always taken goodbyes with a professional attitude, like we’re just a business transaction.
“I’m not going anywhere yet, sir. My plan was to stay on with the museum as long as I can. One of the things I wanted to ask is if it would be possible to drop down to two days a week once work on the gown begins. I like it here and I feel like I’ll need a distraction to keep me sane.”
“Done.” Mr. G appraises me. “If you find yourself getting overwhelmed in any way, though, please come to me. I’ll give you as much time off as you need.”
“Thank you, sir. You’re too generous.”
Mr. G schools his face in a mock-serious expression. “Just don’t let it slip. I have a reputation to maintain.”
All this time, Mr. G was a cinnamon-roll kind of hero. Who knew? I wonder what type of father he is to his daughters. I bet he spoils them. He’s all bark and no bite.
“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”
My cheeks warm and I become interested in the fabric of the carpet. “Yes, sir. I was wondering if you could teach me how to properly polish shoes and other pieces of equipment that are part of the household division’s uniforms.”
“Come again?”
“I’d like to learn the basics behind how a soldier preps their kit. My, er . . . that is, the man I’m dating mentioned something about being rubbish at it, and I wanted to be able to help him if he needs it. He’s entered a competition called the Princess Alice Cup.”
“That’s very noble of you.” Mr. G strokes his chin. “By reputation, only the best soldiers enter the Princess Alice Cup. I doubt he’s complete rubbish at it, as you say. He’s cavalry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s the regiment with the most pieces of kit.” He nods. “I can’t help you on anything related to what would be involved in upkeeping a horse’s tack, but I can offer you a crash course on caring for footwear, tunics, and belts.”
Mr. G stands and walks over to a storage cabinet on his left. He spends a few moments rummaging around inside and places two pairs of shoes, a lighter, a tin of beeswax, and several brushes and oil cloths on his desk.
“All shoes begin their lives like these.” I’m handed a plain black leather shoe. It’s dull and supple, like the calfskin leather of one of my purses. “The goal is to make it appear like this.”
I exchange the new shoe for one that looks like it’s made from shiny patent leather. “Are you telling me that this shoe used to look like that?”
“Indeed, I am.”
“How long does it take?”
“Without any shortcuts and any experience, about one and a half to two hours per boot.” I place the glossy shoe back on the desk. “Cavalry lads wear thigh-high jackboots, and those can take a considerably longer amount of time.”
“I think I’d better take some notes.”
Mr. G chuckles. “We’ll start with learning how to buff.”
A part of me feels guilty for monopolizing his time and being upstairs while Steve is stuck downstairs at the register. An hour into my lesson, I shoot him a text.
Min
I’ll be up here occupied with Mr. G for a while yet. I know your girlfriend is in town. If she were to drop by, I don’t think anyone would notice if she hung out in the shop for a bit.
Steven
*Wide-eyed emoji*
Min
Yes, I’m being serious. Mr. G is in the Grenadier zone.
Steven
Warn me before you come down with him.
Min
I’ll do my best.
Steven
That’s all I ask.
Mr. G reenters the room with a grin. “You won’t believe our luck, but Patrick’s mate, Leeds, is in his office for tea. He’s a former H-Cav officer. He’ll be able to explain anything I might’ve missed and answer any specific questions on the cavalry kit. They’re on their way over now.”
I force a smile onto my face. “Great,” I manage.
Lord Renbrook’s friends aren’t your typical friends. They’re normally important individuals, like members of Parliament or other people with titles. I’m too nervous to ask who in the world this Leeds character might be.
I hear two male voices approach in a heated discussion. One of them I recognize as Lord Renbrook’s.
“No. You have it all wrong, Paddy. An H-Cav saddle is much trickier to use than a side-saddle,” a baritone voice states.
“And you would know this how? Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?” Lord Renbrook teases.
“Yes, I have. When Eddie and Alice were children, they made a bet with me that—”
“Ha, you don’t need to explain. If those two were involved, I’m sure the stakes of the wager were high, and that Alice won. She always wins.”
“She does, doesn’t she.”
The two men enter the room. The man with Lord Renbrook is about an inch taller than him.
He’s wearing a gray pin-striped three-piece suit.
No doubt it’s another beautiful Savile Row creation.
The lines of the coat are cut to accentuate his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He has sandy-blond hair and bright blue eyes.
Mr. G clears his throat.
“Louie, a pleasure as always,” the man in the pin-striped suit offers.
“Leeds.” He inclines his head.
I jump to my feet and curtsy as I realize where I’ve seen the man’s face before. “Your Highness, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
Renbrook laughs. Leeds, whose full name is Prince David, the Duke of Leeds, groans. “Please, don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry.” I upright myself. My eyes are wide and dart from Mr. G to Leeds. “Should I bow instead? Kneel? Kiss your hand? I don’t know what the proper protocol is,” I admit.
Lord Renbrook laughs even harder.
“Miss . . ” Leeds glances at Mr. G.
“Minerva,” he answers.
“Minerva, what a lovely name. The Roman goddess of war, wisdom, and strategy. Did you know that in ancient Rome, there was a temple in the—”
“Leeds, focus,” Lord Renbrook reminds him.
“Uh, yes, well . . . the proper protocol with me would’ve been to curtsy, but among friends, we don’t do that. All these formalities are tedious and a waste of time. Calling me Leeds will do just fine.”
A member of the royal family just casually instructed me to call him Leeds. This day could not be any stranger.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. G sees my shock and takes pity on me. “Leeds, I was hoping I could entrust you to give Minerva a brief explanation on H-Cav kit wear for the enlisted men? We’re on a tight time frame. Min’s shift ends in a half an hour.”
He adjusts his glasses. “Then I suppose we’d better get right on it.”
When I walk out the Buckingham Palace gate later that evening, my mind is still whirling over whom I’ve just spent the afternoon with. Tomorrow is going to be an important day for me. I need to clear my mind to ensure that I’m sharp and ready to go when I meet Clarissa and Sonya.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I order a car and direct it to take me to the Gloucester Gate Dance Studio in the Camden Town area of the city.
I’ve pushed myself to continue to do a ballet barre every single day at home this past week, but I’ve reached the end of my rope.
I can’t progress any further without another set of eyes to look over my technique and offer me corrections.
I spent all day yesterday looking for a dance studio that offered intermediate and advanced ballet classes for adults. Despite the popularity of adult dance classes back home in Canada and in the States, there are surprisingly few options available to me here, even in a big city like London.
Everything I could find was either a beginner class or, based on the reviews, didn’t sound like it was a class that treated adults like students who want to learn.
Post after post on the adult-ballet forums on the internet expressed frustration that teachers treated adults with kid gloves.
More often than not, adults who wish to pursue advanced ballet training have no other alternative but to take a ballet class with children.
I don’t understand how that can be. Why don’t studios offer more classes for adults?
They aren’t like kids. They aren’t forced to dance by their parents. They are choosing to dance.
“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver says.
“Already?”
I’ve been in my head the entire trip; I didn’t even notice the car had stopped. I thank the driver and climb out. Standing outside the studio, I stare through the glass windows at a class of adults, performing a set of slow battement kicks.
My legs quiver. My stomach muscles tighten. My body is suddenly hot. I will myself to move, but it’s like my feet are glued to the cement. Memories of Artem and my last moments at LABT flash in front of my eyes.
“This is a mistake.” I take two steps backward. “I can’t do this.”
With shaky hands, I tap my pockets, searching for my phone. Maybe I can reach the car that just dropped me off. Just as I open the app, my hand slips, and I drop my phone.
Ugh. I hope I haven’t broken it. I’ve only had this a week or so. I can’t afford another new device.
“Hello?” Sam’s voice says. “Minerva, are you there?”
I bend down and scramble for the device. “Sam, hi. Sorry, I must’ve called you by accident. I was trying to order a car.”
“Oh. Where are you now? Do you want me to come get you?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Always, but you’re a priority, Fashion Guru.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me with his words.
“Fashion Guru?”
“I’m still here. I’m, er, standing in front of a dance studio like a lawn ornament. My legs are lead. I thought I’d worked up the courage to take a class tonight, but it was a bad idea. It’s too much too soon.”
“Text me the address. I’m coming for you.”
“Sam, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t, but I want to.”
Reluctantly, I give in and find a place out of sight of the windows to wait for my Soldier Boy. My heart wants more than anything to dance, but I can’t bring myself to face the music. The scars of the past are still too strong to overcome.