The Prince and the Girl

Gillian awoke to another unfamiliar bedroom. The air was chilly and as she shuffled out of bed to stand by the open window, the warm morning air mingled with the cold atmosphere of the room, folding over it like a cake batter being mixed.

She had not slept much the past night. She and Harry had arrived at the hotel room around half ten in the evening and neither could sleep. Harry had flicked on the television and a late night news show had bombarded the screen. Gillian had been surprised to see her own face on the display, her picture floating beside the anchor.

“Gillian Palmer arrived in Australia from Africa tonight, accompanying her royal boyfriend Prince Harry.” The woman on the television said. “The couple are here for three days before jetting off to California. Stay tuned for all the royal news, including Gillian’s style redux, their African antics and the rumours of a possible engagement.”

Harry had shaken his head and left the room, but Gillian had been intrigued. When the show had returned from a commercial break, they had continued to examine the clothes that Gillian had been wearing, not only on the tour but previous to it as well.

“This future duchess seems to know how to dress. She’s seen here at her first public appearance wearing a stunning Elie Saab gown.” The anchor had said charismatically.

Gillian had left the television on and picked up a magazine that lay on the side table next to her. The light of the screen flashed behind the open magazine and Gillian tuned it out.

“Harry was seen dragging Jill out of the party with what appeared to be blood dripping down his shirt.”

Gillian’s spine snapped straight like a magnet to an iron rod and she threw the magazine aside.

“Insiders say Harry was punched in the face in retaliation. One of the guests apparently drank too much alcohol and was found with his hand up Jill’s dress. This led to a fully fledged fist fight in which several punches were thrown and from which the other man, reported as only a ‘drunk frenchman’ left with a broken nose.”

Harry had returned to the room at this point and had groaned. “There will be hell to pay when this hits home.”

Standing in front of the open window now, her hair and the white curtains moving slightly with the incoming breeze, Harry’s displeasure was intangible to Gillian. She could not understand how any downbeat emotions could arise in such a place as this or at such a time as this.

She could hear Harry talking irritably on the phone in the next room, probably to his father, about what had happened at the party. She wished he would relax, because for some strange reason, she knew everything would turn out alright.

She left her long hair flying behind her neck as she applied makeup daintily to her face. She looked at the dress that had been chosen for today, scrunching her face at its gray hue. She knew that she something a little more reflective of her mood with her in one of her suitcases. Phillip would die before he let her rearrange his carefully chosen wardrobe but she didn’t care.

Prancing out the where her suitcases had been left, she saw Harry running his hands agitatedly through his hair. He too stood in front of a window but he did not seem to see the same outside world as Gillian did. He had hung up the phone and now hurled it at the couch.

“Hey.” Gillian said, coming to a stop beside the couch. “What’s wrong?”

Harry shook his head and exhaled tensely, much like a horse. “It’s nothing.”

Gillian walked to him and gently laid a hand on his back. “Tell me.”

Harry looked away from Gillian but she reached for his face. She ran her hands gently over his cheeks, feeling the small prickles of stubble on his chin. She watched her own thumbs affectionately sweep over his lips and looked up to him. She was surprised to see water gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Harry, tell me what’s the matter.” Her voice hardened.

He pursed his lips and took her hands away from his face. “I can’t.”

He turned away from her before she could see any tears and made for the bathroom.

•••

Harry’s unusual behaviour had not dampened Gillian’s mood, but it did make her worry. It wasn’t like Harry to be so upset over something so small as unfortunate media exposure; but could there be any other reason?

Her unending mane of hair billowing gently over her shoulders, Gillian looked up at the massive set of organ pipes set into the wall of the Sydney Opera House. The air inside the concert hall was old, but silken on her skin. She had only a few minutes left in here before she and Harry had been allotted another hour of ‘free time’.

Throughout the entire morning, Harry kept a straight face, maintaining his royal posture. Up close, Gillian could see that it wasn’t genuine; but hardly anyone really got close to Harry. In the morning, they had been given an hour to walk about the city between their visits to the garden festival and the aboriginal art museum but hardly got anything done. From every direction, someone approached them, looking to greet them; some even had flowers. Harry was stoic, but it was obvious to Gillian that his charisma was illegitimate.

They had one more hour in the city before they boarded a flight to Canberra, where they would dine with the prime minister. Gillian reckoned that if they didn’t get any time alone, the hour would be painful for Harry.

They were escorted out of the Opera House and into the car in which they had been travelling all over the city.

“Anywhere you’d like to go now?” The driver asked.

Gillian looked over at Harry, who was still looking despondent. “Could you take us somewhere where we could have a little privacy?”

The driver nodded. “I know just the place.”

He took them to a small cafe, tables and chairs littering the sidewalk in front of it and led them stealthily through the side door.

“My family owns this place.” He said, smiling.

They had entered the building via the kitchen and the scents of vanilla and coffee beans fused in the air. Gillian inhaled deeply just as barista wearing a blue apron walked through the door, carrying a tray.

“David.” The barista said, obviously surprised.

“Fel, I brought some visitors.” He stepped aside to reveal Harry and Gillian who stood hand in hand behind him.

Fel’s face stretched into a look of surprise. “Of course, can I get you anything? I’ll bring a table back – unless you want to sit out front?”

Gillian smiled relaxingly. “Thank you, a table back here would be lovely. Just two teas, please.”

“Of course! Just a moment.”

There was a flurry of activity as a table was set up in the kitchen for the two of them where they took their seats. The barista returned moments later with two teas and a tray of sugar and milk packets, setting them down on the table before giving a curt nod and returning to the front of the store.

Harry finally seemed to relax when the two of them were on their own again. He carefully poured milk into his tea and stirred it agitatedly with a spoon.

“Harry,” Gillian ventured quietly, setting her clutch of stamped leather down on the table beside her. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

He looked into his tea, examining it carefully. “Someday. Someday I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Gillian smoothed her yellow dress, looking down at her feet that had been squished into wedge sandals.

“Someday soon?” She asked quietly.

“Someday very soon."