Chapter 5
Invited
An hour later I found myself walking from my flat wearing my old faithful black heels that seemed to go with every dressy outfit I owned.
Amazingly, they were also what I classed as the holy grail of shoes, as they lasted the whole night and were a definite ten on the comfort scale, so needless to say, they had been re-heeled twice.
Ben had demanded that I do a selfie photoshoot with him, even if it was only for his own Facebook page as my parents hadn’t thought it wise to partake in social media and announce to the world where I was living.
And in this I had to agree, thinking that this time my parents’ worries were a solid base for concern.
Because, no matter how much my father was obeyed as King in his world, it didn’t mean that there weren’t those out there who opposed his rule, meaning my father had his fair share of enemies which essentially made me a target.
So, not being stupid over my move to another country and away from my parent’s protection, I conceded in accepting some ground rules for my own good of course.
Which meant that I basically only used my phone for what it had been first invented for, making calls and sending text messages.
But other than doing the occasional internet shopping on my break times or taking pictures and playing Bubble Witch, that was pretty much the extent of my phone’s use.
I would often catch people glued to their phones scrolling through the lives of other people and seeing what it was they were up to, which I thought was a great platform for keeping in touch with the outside world.
But I had to wonder how much of their own lives they missed by always looking down at a small screen in their hands instead of the world right in front of them.
I had been tempted to ask Ben this as he was taking pictures of us both in my kitchen doing peace signs and performing our best ‘Blue Steel’ Zoolander poses.
“There, posted!”
he declared after a few taps on his phone.
I frowned, wondering if that was still classed as a bad idea, but then I shook it off as being paranoid considering it wasn’t as though he could tag me in the picture.
Well, that had been just before I received a text message telling me a car was outside waiting for me.
I texted back,
‘Thanks Dad x’
‘You’re welcome.’
I then frowned back down at my phone, wondering where my return kiss was.
But then again, knowing my dad, he was getting used to a new phone as he was forever taking his frustrations out on it, breaking them without thinking.
Actually, this made sense considering the number had flashed up as unknown, not registered as my dad’s number under my contacts.
Then, just as I opened the front door of my building, I noticed a black van with blacked out windows parked on double yellow lines across the street.
It had a small logo on the side advertising it as a plumbing business in what I suspected was a magnetic sign that could have easily been peeled off.
I frowned, thinking there was something not right about it, as the van itself looked an expensive one and if you were a plumber making enough money to buy a van like that, then why wouldn’t you go the extra mile and get the whole thing covered to advertise an obviously booming business?
Maybe I was over analyzing it as I usually did.
But it was just the finer details always screamed out at me like that.
However, I didn’t know whether half the time I could put it down to instinct or just paranoia.
For starters, the company could have just contracted out the job in this area and had removable signs for when those type of jobs occurred.
In the end, I shrugged my shoulders, fastened up my smart, woolen jacket, one I reserved for nights out, and walked towards the car my father had sent for me.
I couldn’t tell from here what make it was, but it was luxurious enough to be a Maybach, which knowing my father, it most likely was.
Well, it sure beat the bus whatever it was.
“Good evening, Miss Draven,”
the driver said opening the door for me and tipping his cap in a gentlemanly fashion.
I smiled back at him before lowering myself into the seat, being mindful not to catch my skirt in the car door (something that had happened twice before now).
I was surprised to find myself alone in the back, wondering where my dad was, so as soon as the driver started to pull away, I pressed on the intercom to ask.
“Are we picking up my…Umpf.”
My sentence was cut off as another driver cut in front of us unexpectedly, meaning we had to brake suddenly, jarring me forward in my seat.
“I apologize, Miss,”
he said in response to his actions and no doubt the muttered curse he let slip.
“That’s fine, there is no accounting for idiots on the road,”
I told him to put him at ease and at the same time bending down to pick up my handbag, struggling to do so in such a tight dress.
Well, I was just glad I hadn’t overdone it this week on the doughnuts as they were my weakness in life.
“In answer to your question, Miss, I believe my instructions were to take you straight there where he will be with you shortly.”
I nodded in thanks and relaxed back in the ultimate level of comfort, thinking that there were some perks to being rich.
But for me, who had been brought up with it, I just viewed it as unnecessary.
Yes, it was nice not having to count the pennies when you wanted something and being able to travel and come and go as you pleased.
But I thought there was something more freeing by paying my own way in the world than if I had just accepted my father’s credit card he’d tried to give me, telling me there was no limit on it.
At first, I had outright refused, turning my back in frustration and telling him that he just didn’t understand.
But in the end, we came to a compromise whereas I promised to take it and keep it solely for emergencies.
Seven years later I still hadn’t spent one penny on it.
In fact, it remained in a shoe box hidden beneath a broken section in the floor boards I’d found once when moving my room around.
It was in the center of my bedroom, now concealed by a rag rug I’d made with extra cut offs I had from when I made my own curtains. Did I mention how much I loved crafts, having filled the space under my bed and half my closet with material, paint, sewing gadgets, wool, scrap book stuff and a shoe box full of glue sticks?
However, I should also mention that I couldn’t paint an actual picture for toffee.
Not like my mum, who was a great artist.
I used to sit on a swivel chair in the studio my dad had made for her, just spinning around and getting lost in the movement of colours around me from all the artwork she had displayed on the walls.
It seemed like no time at all before the driver was pulling the car up alongside the imposing black and gold tipped gates of the British Museum.
They had been opened wide to allow cars inside so that the rich wouldn’t have to walk the distance of the vast courtyard to reach its main doors.
The grand entrance was primarily designed in the Greek Revival fa?ade, which was an architectural movement of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.
This was a style predominantly found in Northern Europe and the United States and in this case, suited the grandeur that was the British Museum.
The entrance was made up of forty-four grand looking columns that reached forty-five feet high, making you believe yourself to be stepping back in time to Ancient Greece.
I couldn’t help but look at the building as I had done that same day when I first laid eyes on it.
I remembered it like it was yesterday at the naive age of only sixteen.
It had been my first school trip and with the rest of my class, I turned a corner and walked through the gates for the first time in stunned silence.
I even remember the way I faltered a step when looking up and seeing the past stood there in front of me.
I couldn’t help but look down at my feet, half expecting to find myself stood there in someone else’s shoes, as if this was all part of some dream.
I had heard rumors of something called the Janus Gate that was said to hold a gateway to the past.
But every time I had asked about it growing up, it just seemed to be a taboo subject that people shrugged off.
So, needless to say, if it did exist I had never seen it.
But, in that single moment, it was like being hit with a vision of my future, something inside the root of my soul beseeching me to take this leap of faith.
To take the initial steps as to what would be the first of many steps to come.
And I had done it.
I had achieved my dream of working here and finding my place within its walls.
And it had not been a difficult choice, for the second I wandered up to the upper level and into the first Egyptian room which was named ‘Death and the Afterlife’, I knew it had been the place for me.
The very first moment I saw the mummy of Cleopatra I was hooked! To the point that my teacher had a job finding me again as the first chance I got, I broke away from the group and spent all of my time in those six Egyptian rooms.
Which is precisely why, whenever I found myself at its grand entrance, I couldn’t help but look up at those tall columns and smile to myself before entering.
Something I did once more right after the door was opened for me and I got out of the car.
I thanked the driver before walking up the steps to lead me inside.
The rest of the museum was closed for the night, which meant it was something quite marvelous when there weren’t hundreds of bodies crowding around in each of the rooms, moving like cattle.
No, now there was only the gentle hum of life from within the vast and famous space of the great court.
The great court has what was called a tessellated glass roof which consisted of 6,100m2 of glazed triangular panes creating a unique shape and making it the largest covered square in Europe.
The entire court then surrounded the original circular British Museum Reading Room at its centre.
Which, although it remained the same structure having been refurbished, it unfortunately no longer housed any books as it once did.
Because in 1997 the British Library moved to its own specially constructed building next to St Pancras Station and all the books and shelving were removed from the museum’s reading room.
However, it didn’t mean that the space wasn’t put to good use as throughout the years it has been used to house the world’s most spectacular exhibitions, such as ‘The First Emperor: China’s Terracotta Army’ and is used as a stage for temporary exhibitions, like the one I was currently working on.
Tonight however, it was the great court that was to be the grand venue for the gala and what better place seeing as the court acted as a central linking point for the museum, similar to the Louvre Pyramid in Paris.
The sound of the harp being played as the guests all walked in echoed around the vast space.
This, combined with the night sky above and the flickering lights of hundreds of candles situated in modern chrome candelabras, well let’s just say that it created a sheer delight for the senses.
They had really outdone themselves this year I thought as I took off my jacket to hand to the attendant who was waiting to take it from me.
I thanked him and swallowed hard at the admiring look he gave me, hoping it wasn’t because of how revealing my dress was.
Then, as graceful as my natural abilities would allow, I walked further into the large space dotted around with London’s elite.
I recognized a few faces from previous events, one of whom spotted me and was currently making his way over to me, grabbing an extra champagne flute from a nearby waitress.
I sighed inwardly, wishing Wendy was next to me or at least my father, who I couldn’t yet see anywhere, and it wasn’t exactly as though he was the type of man you would miss.
Not like the man who was on his way over as though he could smell fresh meat.
He was a business man in something or other that I held no interest in the last time he told me, so it was no wonder I hadn’t retained the information.
All I remembered was him asking me what I had planned after the event, which at the time had been another fundraiser.
It wasn’t that he was bad looking per se, if not a lot older than me, but it was the air of self-importance he portrayed that made me want to groan aloud the second he made it to my side.
He was wearing a tailored tux and reminded me of a younger Sean Connery about ten years after he did Bond.
He looked me up and down, displaying a smirk as if openly gawking at someone was totally acceptable and I suddenly was starting to curse this dress.
Well, if I didn’t want to get stared at then maybe next time I should stick to the good old faithful pencil skirted dress that looked more suited to a boardroom than a Gala.
And anyway, it only took a quick glance around the place to see that there were others dressed in smaller, tighter dresses than I was.
But the one startling difference was that none of them were alone and dateless as I was.
Then he opened his mouth and began his conversation with a compliment.
At the same time, he held out the spare glass in his hand for me to take, something I didn’t do for fear he would see it as a green light to chat me up. Damn you, Wendy! I shouted in my head, knowing this had been so much easier last time when I could just reply,
‘Oh later, well me and my girlfriend are going to get a kebab on the way home’…yeah, that had stopped him in his tracks.
“May I say that you’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, Miss Draven.”
I opened my mouth to reply but promptly found the ‘thank you’ stuck in my throat the second I heard another voice coming from behind me,
“No, you may not!”
was the stern reply given before I myself could utter more than a muted gasp of shock.
I then found myself frowning as I quickly convinced myself that I must have been hearing things.
But this was easier said than done when I had to ignore the way a strange shiver shot down my spine at the sound of the man’s voice.
“And you are?”
The Sean Connery lookalike in front of me asked and doing so in a haughty tone, obviously not appreciating the frankness of the man’s reply behind me.
Then two things happened at once.
The first was that another glass of champagne was swiftly held in front of me, therefore rendering the first offered glass obsolete, as this one came from the mystery man who was still standing behind me.
And the second was his firm reply…
“Her date.”
The deep and authoritative voice replied decidedly, this time making me audibly gasp the moment I recognized who it belonged too.
But no… it couldn’t be…could it?
Well, there was only one way to find out, so I held my breath and turned to face the man who claimed to be ‘my date’ after so many years ago vowing never to be one.
The man who had broken my heart and who I hadn’t seen in years.
The man whose name I couldn’t help but let slip from my blood red lips in what sounded like a breathy plea for sanity to be restored…
“Lucius.”