The Thrill Is Gone

Harry ended up staying in Oxford until Monday morning. He was initially supposed to return to London on Sunday to have dinner with his family, but he implored William to cover for him, and his brother did just that. William told his grandparents that Harry was indisposed at the present. There was a matter that needed his tending to. Their grandmother was weary, immediately inquiring as to what the nature of that matter was. William reassured her that he did not know the nature of it, but that judging from his brother’s tone, it had to of been of the upmost importance. She wasn’t convinced. Harry was out doing something rash, she was sure of it, and so she waited patiently by the phone for all of Sunday night and Monday morning, expecting to hear a scandalous story involving her young grandson in the papers. But no such story was printed.

When Harry arrived at Buckingham Palace, he was wearing a shirt that she’d never seen him in. It was a faded shirt, one from a band called Pink Floyd that she had never heard him listened to. She, personally, had never paid much mind to that rock band, it wasn’t her type of music, but in his younger days, Charles had been an avid fan, going from concert to concert to listen to watch them live. She casually inquired if that was his father’s shirt. Harry looked down at the faded fabric, a coy smile tugging at his lips and assured her that it was not. The smile on his face was so secretive that she had half a mind to demand to have the former owner of the shirt to be made known to her, but just as she was preparing to make her demand, her head of staff came looking for her, there was a matter that needed her approving. She bid Harry adieu with a slight nod, and was then on her way, leaving her grandson to make his way back to his personal chambers, where his father sat waiting for him.

“Ah, there you are.” Charles stood from the armchair. “We missed you at dinner.”

“Yes, I'm afraid I had some urgent business to tend to.”

“Did you?”

“I did.” He paused briefly. “Though I did send word with Wills that I would be unable to make it, that way you wouldn’t be sitting at the table, waiting for me.”

“William did give your message.” Charles walked towards him. “Harry, son, I know we’ve not had the relationship we once had. Given recent circumstances, there’s been a strain on it, but I do want you to know that I care deeply for you and that . . . that if there is anything at all troubling you, you may always come to me.”

“Dad, I thank you, but nothing’s bothering me.”

“But you’ve been so secretive lately. No one see’s you on weekend and you’ve not been in the news in ages.”

“Do you want me to be in the news? I can stumble out of a club if it would please you.”

“No! God, no, I don’t want you stumbling about. I was simply – it’s not like you to be so, shall we say, quiet. Have you gotten into trouble? Is that way you’ve retreated from society?”

“Haven’t gotten into any trouble at all,” reassured Harry.

“Then where do you go?”

Harry sighed softly. “Dad, in this family, everyone knows practically everything about everybody. Secrets are a rare privilege, and I ask you to respect my wish for secrecy. I wish to have something that is solely mine.”

Charles’ eyes flickered with realization. The manner his son spoke, his behavior during the last month and a half suddenly became clear to him. There was a woman, a woman whom he was courting in secret, aside from the harsh lights and criticism that come from being with a royal. He was curious to know who the woman was, to at least ask her name, but he respected his son’s desire for privacy, and reassured that no more inquiries would be made on his account.

“I shall respect your privacy,” declared Charles. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must be off. Camilla and I are to return to Highgrove this afternoon. Apparently there’s been an incident.”

“An incident?” questioned Harry.

“One of the horses, Bessie, was injured. We must see if the damage is irreparable or if she can make a full recovery.”

“Are you to be back this week?”

“There’s an event scheduled for Wednesday evening, so yes, I believe we shall. Will you be here? Or will you have run off?”

“I’ll be here, dad.”

Charles smiled. “I do care for you, Harry.”

Care, always care, his father had a difficult time saying the word love.

“I know dad, I care about you to.”

Charles walked towards the door, and stopped. “And Harry?” he called to him.

“Yes dad?” asked Harry

“Lovely shirt, son,” a brief smile was exchanged and then Charles walked out the door.

Harry closed the door behind his father and then walked towards his bed, kicking off his shoes and pants, only leaving on his shirt because it smelled faintly of Paulina. She wasn’t one for perfumes, the smells often gave her headaches, so her clothes smelled of fresh linen fabric softener and a soft, citrus body spray whose scent didn’t send her eyes watering and head throbbing. He wondered how much longer she would be able to remain his secret. With things developing the way they were between them, it was only a matter of time before he either introduced her to society or someone found out his secret. He was terrified of what the consequences of such an action would be. Would she be able to stand the harsh light and criticisms? Or would she break things off with him? He didn’t know. He hoped that she’d be able to endure it with a smile, but being with royalty was not a task easily done. That was one of the many reasons why things simply didn’t work between Chelsy and him.

As Harry drifted off into his afternoon nap, Paulina was walking out of her last lecture of the day. She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go home and nap for the rest of the day, but it was a Monday, which meant that she had to go to the hospital to keep the children company, and after that, she had to go to the grocery store to stock up her fridge. She didn’t want to peddle all the way to the market. It was a hot day and she was wearing thick trousers since she’d forgotten to do her laundry on Friday, but she needed to buy food, because at the present the only thing in her fridge was a tomato that had seen better days and a carton of orange juice.

“Any plans for tonight?” asked Alfred as they walked towards her bike.

“Uh, I don’t really have any. I'm just gonna go to the hospital like I always do and then grab some groceries. How about you?” she looked over at him.

“As you know, I’ll be heading to the hospital with you, and then, I hope my plans for the evening will be the same as yours.” He told her. “Via invited us over for dinner. Told me to ask you after lectures were done with if you’d join us. Apparently she tried calling yesterday, but ya didn’t answer.”

“That’s cuz I lost my phone,” she lied. “It got stuck in the couch and the battery died so I was all looking for it like crazy and didn’t find it until this morning when I started flipping furniture over. I went straight up hulk status.”

If that hadn’t happened once before, Alfred wouldn’t have believed her lie, but as it was, there’d been a weekend a few months back when she’d done the same thing and had called him up to help her search for her phone.

“I'm down to go to the dinner.” Paulina continued. “I’ll call Via up and tell her that I’ll take some dessert for us. Think I’ll make a fruit tart, it’s been awhile since I’ve made one of those and I could definitely go for one.”

“You should! You make the best tarts! I remember once I ate like five of them. Was it five? No, think it was more. All I know is, I ate so many that I lapsed into a food coma and then you drew all over my face.”

“I didn’t draw all over your face,” she protested. “I just fixed up your mustache.”

“With a sharpie!” he reminded.

“Hey, I was stoned and I thought it was a pen. It’s your fault for leaving Sharpie’s around people that are stoned. You should’ve known better.”

“I should know better than trying to reason with you.”

“That you should,” she wiped away some beads of sweat from her forehead. “What time’s the dinner at Via’s?”

“She said around five.”

“Okay, good, that gives me plenty of time to go to the grocery store and handle my business.”

“If you want I can give you a lift.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“No, it’s alright. Just promise that I can lick the custard bowl after you’re done.”

“Hah. Of course you can lick the custard bowl! Just don’t even try to get at the spoon, because that’s my property.”

“Hmm, I promise I’ll try but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’ll kick your butt if you get at the spoon.”

“Ah fine, fine, I won’t touch it.”

Paulina placed her bicycle on the bike rack on Alfred’s car and the pair then drove over to the hospital, where they remained in the children’s wing for a little over an hour. Leaving them was always the hardest part, their eyes always watered as they implored them to stay a little longer, which they usually conceded to, but since they were pressed for time. They simply promised the children that they’d be back next week, and bring some sweets for them to share. After that, they drove to the market, where Paulina stocked up for the week and on the supplies that she’d need for the tart. She was glad that she didn’t have to bike home, because if she had, she would’ve been exhausted and probably taken a nap for a few hours and ended up taking store bought cookies instead of freshly made fruit tarts.

Since there were a little over two hours before they had to go over to Olivia’s, Paulina decided that she had time to do a few loads of laundry, and luckily for her, two of the washers were empty. She piled her clothes inside, adding detergent and fabric softener, and then ran back upstairs to her room to get started on the fruit tarts. She charged Alfred with cutting the fruits. He was surprisingly at ease in a kitchen, being better skilled at preparing meals than Olivia was, so he gladly chopped up the fruits as she told her to, and grabbed ingredients for her when she asked him to. The pair scurried around the kitchen and by the time the loads of laundry were done, they’d finished three medium sized fruit tarts. Paulina was pleased with how they’d turned out, and after handing off the bowl where the custard had been prepared to Alfred, she ran downstairs to the laundry room to put her clothes in the dryer.

They waited until her clothes finished drying so that she could fold them and leave them in a neat pile on her bed, and when that had been done, they grabbed the tarts and went out to the car to head over to Olivia’s apartment. Olivia had tried to cook a proper meal for them, but after burning the chicken past recognition, she decided that spaghetti would be the best course of action, even she couldn’t mess up spaghetti. She bustled around the kitchen, putting the water to boil, and then heated up the mushroom and spinach sauce. By the time that her friends had arrived, she’d finished with the food and had put a loaf of bread to toast in the oven.

“You’re alive!” she cried overdramatically when Paulina walked into the house. “I was beginning to think you’d died on us.”

“I don’t answer my phone for one day and you think I'm dead.” Paulina gave Olivia a one armed hug. “If I didn’t answer it for two, you’d send a search party out for me.”

“I’d put up posters around the city. Make sure to put the worst picture of you on the poster, perhaps that one from New Years when you puked into your purse.”

“Hey! It was either my purse of your lap,” reminded Paulina. “I think I made the right choice.”

“It was still nasty.” Olivia cringed at the memory. “And then that poor cabbie nearly had a heart attack when he thought you puked in his cab, and then you held up the bag and told him that ya didn’t get any on the ground. You were really proud about that.”

“Of course I was. All my puke went in one spot,” Paulina smiled, “Unlike Alfie’s puke. He opened the window and threw up while the car was in motion.”

“I had to puke out the window,” Alfred joined in on the conversation. “It was either that or I throw up in the car and get us all kicked out on some random corner. And I tipped the cabbie handsomely, and I apologized like a million times.”

“A million, really?” was Paulina’s response.

“Yes, a million. Come to think of it, it might have been more.” He looked over at Olivia. “What do you reckon Olivia? Was it more than a million?”

“I reckon you two ought to bring your bickering to the table,” was her answer. “Don’t want the pasta to get cold on us while you lot are fussing about.”

“We’re not fussing about,” argued Paulina, though she knew very well that that was what they were doing.

“Yes, you are. You two are always fussing about. If I didn’t know any better I’d think that you were brother and sister with the way you two get on.” Olivia closed the door behind them and walked towards the kitchen. “I picked up some wine at the market. Wasn’t sure if you two were in the mood for a drink, on account of how much we all indulged at the party, but it’s a light wine, not to heavy.”

“You know we’re always up for a drink.” Paulina placed the tarts down on the kitchen counter. “And Friday was two whole days ago. Even if we had gone massively overboard, we’d be recovered by now.”

“Maybe you lot, but I'm still recovering.” Olivia stated, her cheeks taking on a rosy appearance. “I made a proper ass of myself. Drank much more than I should’ve, thankfully Alfie was there to look after me. Sorry about that, Alfie.”

“No need to be sorry. You know I like looking after you.” He grew nervous by his choice of words. “Not that I look after you a lot. You know? Wait. That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I was glad I could look after you while you were drank. Not that I was glad that you were drunk, but I was glad I could help.”

Olivia absolutely adored seeing him so flustered. It made her heart flutter with joy and her smile widen to a degree that was almost unnatural. Alfred was always left a mess whenever she smiled at him like that. He just stood there, a smitten lover who was admiring the graceful beauty of the object of his affection. It wasn’t until Paulina forcefully bumped into the corner of the stove and let out a string of profanity that the pair remembered she was there.

“Are you alright? Come here. Let me have a look at you,” fussed Olivia. “Are you bleeding? Do you feel faint?”

“I'm fine,” reassured Paulina in a high pitched voice. “I just ran into that fucking stove. I’ll live, though.”

“Why don’t you take a seat? You’ll feel better.” Olivia pulled out a chair.

Paulina shook her head and rested her hand atop the tender spot that would surely bruise. “I’ll just stand for a bit, catch my breath.”

“If you won’t sit, then at least have some wine. Alfie, can you open the bottle please?”

“Yeah, of course,” he took the bottle from her and gladly opened it, pouring a generous glass for Paulina and then two average filled ones for him and Olivia. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Paulina lifted the glass to her lips and downed its contents instantly, letting the crisp wine flow into her awaiting stomach. The empty glass was set on the table and she was left to stand there, her hand rubbing the tender spot on her side, gently. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if the damn stove hadn’t collided against the already tender flesh where Harry had grabbed onto her during their romps, but it had and she cursed inwardly at the damn ginger that had gotten to grab happy, but consoled herself with knowing that his shoulder wore her bite mark, and was liable to wear it until at least the end of the week.

“The party was brilliant.” Olivia was the one to bring up the subject. “Music was really lively, loved when they put on the Spanish tracks. They had this infectious rhythm that just had me going! And even Alfie was shaking his hips about.”

“Was not,” he mumbled, though he knew very well that the alcohol and his desire to impress Olivia had led to his making a dancing fool of himself. “Oh, alright, maybe I was shaking my hips about, but I didn’t go wild about it.”

“He’s being modest.” Olivia commented. “You should’ve seen him, Paulin! He was absolutely brilliant, but of course, you weren’t paying attention to our dancing.”

Paulina knew what was coming. She braced herself for it.

“Glanced your way a few times and saw you in very compromising positions.” Olivia grabbed the premade salad out of the fridge and placed it in a glass bowl. “Not that I can blame you. That Henry only had eyes for you.”

“That’s so not true.”

“It is!” exclaimed Olivia, her lips curled into a bright smile. “You should’ve seen the way he was staring at you and Callum when you were off dancing with him. I honestly thought he was gonna run onto the dance floor and get in between you two.”

“Via, I love you, but I'm pretty sure you’re exaggerating. Henry was at the bar when I finished dancing with Callum, and I'm pretty sure he’d been there for most of the song.”

“Think what you want, but I know what I saw.” Olivia said in a singsong voice.

“You’re insane, but it’s not like I didn’t know that already.” Paulina removed her hand from the side. “So . . . what’d you think of him?” she stared at Olivia with curious eyes.

“Hmm, well if you must know, I quite liked him. He was very friendly to both of us, was at ease and joked around a bit, so I thought that was quite lovely of him. You know how some blokes are nowadays, they’re so full of themselves that they won’t even make a go at being friendly with their girlfriend’s mates, but he was. He was very much lovely to us. Isn’t that right, Alfie?”

“He was,” agreed the bearded philosopher. “But more importantly he seemed very attentive and respectful of you.”

“Wait. What?” Paulina was caught off guard by his statement.

“He was attentive and respectful.”

“Even though we were grinding up on each other?” she questioned.

“Well, if he was grinding up on you and you looked like you wanted to get the devils out there, then I wouldn’t have called that respectful, but judging by how you were smiling and laughing, he seemed to only be doing as you wished.” Alfred replied, cheekily.

That earned him an elbow to the gut.

“Violence, always violence,” he muttered as he rubbed his stomach. “Since we’re on the topic of violence, have ya started the paper for Thursday?”

“Ugh, no, don’t even remind me of it.” Paulina cringed at the thought of the twenty-one page paper they had due. “I'm gonna start working on it tomorrow night and just go at it till like four, and then nap and go to class. And then work on it again when I get home, after I take a nap of course, and make some coffee. I fucking love coffee.”

“I’ll never understand how you can drink coffee and sleep. I drink coffee and I can’t sleep a wink.” Olivia commented.

“That’s because I’ve been drinking since I was like four. On my dad’s side of the family, coffee is like the nectar of the gods, so whenever he got me or my brothers something to drink, he’d make us cold coffee and put some ice cubes in there. I don’t know where he got the idea to put coffee in a sippy cup, but he did and I’ve been drinking ever since.”

“That’s so strange. My mum didn’t let me have coffee until I was fifteen, said I wasn’t mature enough for it.” Olivia said. “How about you, Alfie?” she asked.

“Started drinking it my freshman year of college. Before that I was strictly a tea sort of man.” Alfred replied.

“That’s fucking insane. I can’t imagine going that long without coffee.” Paulina walked over to the kitchen area and helped Olivia by placing the plates and cutlery on the table. “I mean, tea’s find and all, but it’s no coffee.”

“I'm afraid there’s where I’ll have to disagree with you. Tea is clearly superior to coffee, and more refined.”

“Refined my ass,” said Paulina.

“What does Henry say about the coffee/tea debate?” asked Alfred.

“He prefers tea. Not like that makes any different to my opinion. Coffee is the best and that is that.” Paulina scrunched her nose at him. “The only thing that even comes close to coffee is Horchata.”

“Whore – what?” asked Olivia, puzzled.

“It’s a drink from Mexico. I’ll make it for us one of these days. It’s really good and I can ah. My mouth’s watering just thinking about a glass of Horchata and some tacos de lengua (of tongue).”

“Lengua,” repeated Alfred. “Doesn’t mean tongue?”

Paulina nodded. “It’s tacos from cow tongue. I know it sounds gross, but they’re so fucking good. My mom used to make them once a month and I’ve been craving them like crazy but haven’t made any. Maybe I’ll have her make them for when she comes and we can have just like a proper Mexican food feast.”

“That sounds brilliant, it does. But don’t you think your mum will mind? Isn’t this her vacation?” asked Olivia, softly.

“She won’t mind,” reassured Paulina. “She’s been complaining that I haven’t had a decent meal since I left home so she’s already planning to cook for me. I'm just gonna make a list of what she should cook.”

Olivia chuckled. “Well in that case, I will most definitely be there for that feast and however more you choose to have.”

“As will I,” commented Alfred. “Is Henry going to be there as well?”

“I'm not sure,” she answered honestly. “We’re not officially boyfriend and girlfriend, so I don’t know if he’d want to meet my mom and brother. And even if we were, it’d be really soon . . . wouldn’t it? I mean – ah fuck. I don’t know. Who knows, maybe he’ll want to meet them or something. I really don’t have a clue, but . . . uh; I’ll let you know if he’ll be there. I mean there’s still awhile until they fly out, like almost six weeks so who knows what’s gonna be going on then.”