The Thrill Is Gone

It had been an incredibly stressful week. There’d been two papers due, one on Monday and another on Wednesday, and on Friday, there’d been a midterm that counted for 35% of her overall grade. She was exhausted from all the damn studying. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and stomach rumbled from hunger. In order to spend more time studying, she’d decided that eating actual meals was an unnecessary indulgence. So instead of cooking for herself, she ate cereal and yogurt, all week. It wasn’t the least bit satisfying, but she didn’t want to go through the process of cooking, eating, and tidying up. That would take up too much time, time she didn’t have. She had far too much to study for, too many pages to write, so her taste buds went ignored, and at the end of the week, when she’d finished her midterm, she bolted off the lecture hall, jumped on her bike and peddled to the nearby grocery store to pick up a roasted chicken.

That afternoon, she had herself a small feast and enjoyed being alone in her apartment. She loved having Harry over, but there were times when the only company she wanted was her own, and after the week she’d had, she wanted nothing more than to shimmy out of her pants, have a good meal, curl up on the couch and have a marathon of her favorite movies. And for the most part, she managed to do everything on her list. The only exception was the movie marathon. She was barely halfway through Sense and Sensibility before her exhaustion got the best of her, and she fell asleep. It was alright though, she’d seen that movie more times than any person should, she knew the films dialogue by memory, and even in her sleep, she dreamt about Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars.

When her alarm went off early the next morning, she was reminded that her Saturday wasn’t going to be spent catching up on sleep and relaxing, even though that was all she wanted to be doing. But alas, Paulina had to go to Rhodes House. There was a small event being put on by the trustees, it was a special lunch that they were putting on for the scholars, as motivation to help them get through the last half of Trinity Term. Had it been any other week, Paulina would’ve been glad to attend. She would’ve been excited by the prospect of fine dining and mingling with the trustees, but on that Saturday, she wasn’t in the mood to make herself amiable and to humor people that she didn’t care for in the least, but it was her duty as a Rhodes Scholar to be there, and with that thought she forced herself out of bed, willing herself to get some laundry done, do some tidying up around the apartment and then make herself presentable for the luncheon.

By the time the clock struck 10:30, she’d finished doing all her laundry, given the apartment a much needed scrub and finished getting herself ready. The dress code for the luncheon was smart casual, which meant she didn’t have to get herself into a suit or a fancy dress, a simple blouse and skirt would be enough for the ordeal and with comfortable shoes to match; she’d be ready to endure the countless hours of forced smiling and polite conversation. It was at these events that the Scholars swarmed the Trustees, where they vied for their attention and did their absolute best to impress them. It was silly how they bent over backwards for them, how they went out of their way to be agreeable, but most of them were just normal twenty-something-year olds whose families didn’t have influential connections, so they had to make their own.

And Paulina had already made a few. Well, a few if one counted Lord Fellowes, though he wasn’t truly as taken with her as Sir John was. Lord Fellowes thought her an amiable sort of girl, polite and intelligent, but he wasn’t sure if he would go out of his way to introduce her to society and take her along with him to political events. Sir John, on the other hand, viewed her with kind eyes. She was bright, endearing, and there was just something about her that he was very fond of. He viewed her as a niece, but his kindness and support would not help further her in the field of politics. For he was a geneticist, a respectable one, to be sure, but a geneticist is only good for advancing a person in the medical realm, not the political one. Then again, maybe that was why he was so fond of her. She had nothing to gain by being a favorite of his. Their friendship was less out of interest on her part, than it was with the medical students fawning over him.

“Paulina!” he called to her when she walked into the Milner Hall, the space where the luncheon was being held. “Running late, I see.”

“A bit late, yes,” her cheeks were rosy from the exercise. “It seems that the tires on my bicycle decided to conspire against me.”

“Did they?”

She nodded. “They thought that going flat during my ride over was a great idea.”

“That must’ve been dreadful. A flat tire is no laughing matter.”

“It’s not, especially when they go flat in the middle of a busy intersection, but I was fortunate enough to know of a petrol station nearby, so I sorted the situation out as quickly as I could. And then came right over.”

“And it’s a good thing you came when you did, they’ve just set out the first batch of champagne, and as you know, the first batch is always the best. The quality diminishes as time progresses, because intoxicated taste buds are not as discerning as sober ones.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” she chuckled, sincerely.

“Will you indulge me by having a glass of champagne with me? And my son?” he added. “You’ve not made his acquaintance before, but he’s driven down from St. Andrews for the weekend.”

“I’d be honored to make his acquaintance, Sir John. Does he, by chance, also study medicine?”

“No, I'm afraid he does not.” Sir John replied. “His passion lies in Classical Studies.”

“The ancient Greeks and Romans,” she stated, knowingly. “They’re fascinating civilizations; such brilliant minds came from them.”

“It is in their philosophy that you specialize in, is it not?” Sir John already knew the answer.
“Yes, it is.”

“Well then, I daresay that’s a greater incentive for you to meet my son. He’s getting his doctorate in Classical Studies so I'm sure the conversation will be as lively as it can, given, the subject matter.” He smiled brightly. “Irving is right by the fireplace. Right through here, ah, the champagne! Nearly forgot it, here you are,” he handed her a glass. “My wife was meant to attend this luncheon as well, but she fell ill last night.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.” Paulina said as she followed him towards one of the black marble fireplaces.

“It’s not serious, just a cold that she caught from being out in the garden too late. A day or two of repose will set her right. Here we are, Irving, my boy.”

It was then that the gangly young man who stood before the fire, turned to face them. He had his father’s chestnut brown hair, but it was obvious to Paulina that Irving had inherited his looks from his mother. His features were reserved, strikingly different from the more inviting features that gave a friendly look to Sir John’s face.

“Father,” spoke Irving in a low, monotone voice.

“Irving this is Paulina Balcázar, a Rhodes Scholar from America, Paulina this is my son, Irving.” Sir John concluded making the introductions.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” stated Paulina as she held out her hand.

They shook hands, and at some point during the awkward handshake, Sir John ran off. Paulina cursed inwardly. He was trying to set her up, just like Terrence had pointed out awhile back. She hadn’t thought Terrence had been serious, she’d written his statement off as just friendly bullshitting, but now she was standing in front of Sir John’s socially awkward son and she hadn’t a clue as to how to get out of the situation. She knew she had to be polite, to humor Sir John’s intent, so she tried to make small talk, but he gave her short answers and his voice was so low that she had trouble hearing him. Irving was a recluse. He avoided social gatherings at all cost, but his father had insisted that he come down to meet a scholar that was delightful. Irving didn’t think she was delightful. She smiled too much. No normal person smiled that much, and he didn’t like the fact that she was trying to force conversation when it was so clear he didn’t want to talk.

The awkward exchanged lasted well over seven minutes, and it only came to an end when Sir John swept in. He’d been keeping an eye on them, expecting to see them hit it off, but instead his son kept up his unsociable behavior while Paulina tried in vain to carry a proper conversation with him. Paulina was so happy to be rid of Irving that she was tempted to give Sir John a great big hug, but instead settled with shooting him a grateful smile as she walked off in direction of the champagne. She was nearly there when she ran into Callum, who was in company of Graham.

“How was the chat with your boyfriend?” asked Callum, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a smile.

“Oh bugger off,” she told him.

“Hah. We told ya he was a boring sod.”

“You didn’t mention that he was so boring and unsociable that I was gonna want to bang my head against the wall. I thought he might just be boring by your standards, and interesting by mine, but no.”

“We told ya, he was monotone and boring. Don’t get how you could’ve thought he’d be remotely interesting or exciting.” Graham stated. “Then again, ya might’ve been on something and forgotten what we said.”

“I wasn’t on anything,” she whispered. “Only had a few drinks that day.”

“Mhm, right,” Graham took a drink from his glass.

“You’re not one to talk, Graham. I ended up having to fix up your forehead.” Paulina reminded.

“She’s got you there.” Callum laughed. “So do you lot know when they’re gonna food us? Or are they just trying to fill us with hors d’oeuvres and champagne?”

“Bloody hell, I hope not. I'm bloody starving over here.” Graham complained.

“Same here,” said Paulina. “I was too busy cleaning up and getting ready that I didn’t bother having breakfast.”

“Well with any luck they’ll have us fed before one.” Callum scanned the room. “Ah, it seems Baron Waldegrave has spotted us. Time for us to be charming,” he whispered to them, a mischievous smile adorning his lips. “Baron Waldegrave, My Lord. I trust we find you well.”

“Yes, quite well indeed, Mr. Key,” replied Baron Waldegrave. “And is your father well?”

“I believe his health has deteriorated in these last few weeks, but the doctors expect him to make a full recovery.” Callum replied, politely.

“It’s nothing serious, I trust?”

“Not at all, at least I would not refer to it as serious, he simply had knee surgery done to his right knee, but in a month’s time he’ll be at his best.”

“Do tell him, I send my regards.” Baron Waldegrave turned to acknowledge Graham and Paulina’s presence. “And you, Mr. Murray and Miss Balcázar, do you send your regards?”

“We have been sending ours since the surgery occurred, My Lord.” Paulina replied. “And God willing, the Right Honorable John Key will make a speedy recovery.”

“God willing,” Baron Waldegrave bowed his head in a moment of solemn agreement. “Mr. Murray, you are awfully quiet. It is not like you to be so.”

“I was saying a silent prayer, My Lord.” Graham lied. “The Right Honorable John Key is an excellent Prime Minister and has gifted to myself and Miss Balcázar, a dear friend.”

It was moments like these that made Paulina want to burst into a mixture of laughter and tears. They were so fake, the lot of them. Callum didn’t keep up with his father’s health, he hadn’t known about the surgery until days after it happened because his mom scolded him for not having called to check up on his father. Graham didn’t pray. Graham wasn’t even religious. He’d been brought up Anglican, but then, at some point in high school, ended up deeming all religions nothing but a load of bullocks, and had been an atheist ever since. Not that he would have that be known by everyone. Politicians had to be viewed as having a religion, that was just the way things were and if being successful meant that he had to waste an hour of his life by sitting in Church, then so be it. Paulina, while having actually included Callum’s dad in her prayers, was in no way interested in discussing him. She wasn’t fond of his politics, nor his manner of address. She’d once heard him scolding Callum over the phone, calling him foul things that no father should ever call his child, and ever since then, she’d deemed him a right bastard. But Baron Waldegrave didn’t have to know that. No. All Baron Waldegrave had to know was that she was considerate and compassionate, and that she was just the sort of person that he should invite to a dinner with the members of Parliament.

“My word,” whispered an astonished Baron Waldegrave, several minutes into their conversation. “We are to be greatly honored this afternoon.”

“How so, My Lord?” inquired Paulina.

“Lord Fellowes has brought his nephew.” Baron Waldegrave stated, his eyes never leaving the doorway.

“Wait. What?” Paulina turned to look towards where Baron Waldegrave’s gaze was fixed. And there, walking through the doorway was Lord Fellowes, accompanied by his nephew, Prince Harry. “He’s brought Prince Harry.”

“Indeed he has.” Baron Waldegrave was already preparing to leave them. “It is a true honor for all us present, particularly you, scholars. To have a Prince among us, such an eloquent and charming young man, one does not often find his like in even the finest company.”

Paulina held back her smile. “I would imagine that you must take your leave from us, now, My Lord.”

“Yes, indeed I do.” He shot her a thankful smile. “Mr. Key, please send your father my regards. Mr. Murray, Miss Balcázar, I shall take my leave now.”

They waited until he was out of sight to start talking.

“Sees a fucking Prince and takes off on us. Nice to be reminded of our place,” Callum spat.

“Did ya hear how he said that one doesn’t find his like in even the finest company? Was that a jab at us or was that a jab at us? Finest company, my arse, he’s a bloody prick, he is.”

“The Prince or Baron Waldegrave?” asked Callum.

“Both of them,” Graham boldly declared. “Oi, why aren’t you running your mouth with us?” he asked Paulina. “Ya sick or somethin’?”

“I . . . I was too busy thinking about what a pain Lord Fellowes is going to be. He’s going to be throwing it in all our faces that he got his nephew to be here, keep telling us that we ought to be grateful that he looks after us as well he does.” Paulina raised her glass to her lips and took a long sip, trying to compose herself. “It’s going to be so annoying.”

“He is,” agreed Callum. “Ten quid says it’s all he’s gonna be talking about for the next week.”

“Do you honestly think either of us is gonna take that bet?” asked Paulina.

“We’d have to be to take that bet or be keen on losing a few quid, neither of which we are.” Graham added. “Right Paulin?” he glanced over at her.

She nodded in agreement.

“Have any of you met the Prince before?” inquired Callum as he glanced his way. “I think I remember Fellowes rambling on about how Paulin was attentive to the Princes when we did that one polo match. Was that you or did I just get the names mixed up?”

“That was me,” answered Paulina, honestly. “I didn’t really talk to them, though. I just gave them their uniforms and told them where they could get dressed. They were just really polite when they mentioned me to Lord Fellowes and then he just exaggerated for his ego.”

“Does sound like something Fellowes would do.” Callum sipped from his glass. “It’ll be awhile before Fellowes brings the Prince this way. He’s showing him off to everyone. All the Trustees have already swarmed them. Well, nearly all of them. Sir John’s lingering with your boyfriend.”

“Keep this up, and I'm gonna tackle your ass when we play Rugby tomorrow.”

“That a promise?” Callum wiggled his brow suggestively at her.

“Wiggling your brows at me won’t work.” Paulina declared. “That only works on those ladies you pick up at bars.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been expanding my horizons.”

“Have you?”

“Mhm, now I get them at cafés as well.” Callum puffed his chest out. “So is Graham.”

“I’ve only gotten one at a café, mostly finds myself birds at the market.” Graham looked very please with himself. “They’re always shopping on Saturday’s and if ya go in there looking sharp, more than one will bat her eyes at ya. In fact, I got a number from a bird there today, seemed nice enough, and had a lovely face and all that.”

“What was her name?” asked Paulina, keeping herself engaged in the conversation even though her insides were imploring her to turn around and look at Harry.

“Meghan,” replied Graham. “Was an Irish lass, she was. Had the thick accent and that bright red hair, bloody hell, she was a sight. I’ve got a thing for gingers, well, you lot already knew that.”

“Do you know what this means, Callum?” asked Paulina, glancing over to him with a cheeky smile.

“What’s it mean?” he asked, though he knew very well what she was going to say next.

“It means we’re gonna have to keep Graham here away from Prince Harry. He might try to shag him.”

All three of them had to cover their mouths to stop themselves from laughing too hard. They’d get glared at by the Trustees for not being civilized, so they did their best to stifle their laughter, and when at last they were composed enough, they walked over to the table to get more champagne. It was there that they bumped into Baron Butler of Brockwell. Baron Brockwell was an elderly man who was very pleased with himself. He was a proud man, though nowhere near as pompous as Lord Fellowes and when he saw the two political science scholars and the lone philosophy scholar, he gladly jumped into conversation with them, eager to drown out the noise that the other Trustees were making over Prince Harry. They were acting like they’d never been in the presence of a Prince before, which wasn’t the case for any of them. Each of them had met Prince Harry and Prince William on several instances. They were just throwing themselves at the royals in order to be in their favor. Had Baron Brockwell been a younger man, he to would’ve done the same, but as it was, he’d made his fortune, had long ago established his station in life, and no longer felt the need to chase after the royals as others do. So he stood with the three Scholars, discussing current political events that were taken place around the world.

Their conversation was so lively that all four of them managed to tune out the rest of the room. It wasn’t until the announcement for lunch was made that they remembered where it was they were. Baron Brockwell, not wanting to hear his peers going on and on about the Prince, decided that he would do the young Scholars the honor of allowing them to have him for lunch at their table. Taken aback by such a distinction, the three of them exchanged nervous glances before Paulina took it upon herself to tell him that they would love nothing more than to have lunch with him. With that settled, the four of them clamored towards a table that was far enough from the Trustees table so as to not be bothered by them, but close enough for them to, if they strained their hearing just a bit, listen in on their topic of conversation.

The only one out of them that choose to lend an ear to the conversation at the head table, was Paulina. She was curious to know why Harry was there. Maybe it was just a favor to her uncle, but when they’d talked last, he’d said that he’d just stay in London for the weekend since she was going to be swamped with things for Rhodes, but there he was, sitting beside Lord Fellows, being his charming self and having his every word clung to by the Trustees.

When lunch ended, and the tables were cleared out, the Oxford University Sinfonietta made their way into Milner Hall and set up for an intimate performance. The Trustees believed that every event should involve music. That was the mark of superior taste, and with fine music came fine dancing. The Trustees thought it a necessary indulgence for the Scholars. They worked tirelessly in their academics and deserved to be rewarded. Though if the Trustees were truly so set on rewarding their young Scholars, it would’ve been best that they rent out a club and supply them with an open bar, but that was not smart enough, the Oxford University Sinfonietta was what they needed.

Baron Brockwell, an avid dancer, immediately asked Paulina if she would stand with him for the first dance. She was always nervous about dancing in front of the Trustees. She hadn’t grown up with those dances. The only reason she knew them was because she’d seen a bunch of videos about them on YouTube and because Alfred had instructed her in the way of fine dancing. But even then, she didn’t think her abilities were up to par. Despite that, she gladly accepted Baron Brockwell’s offer, extending her hand for him to lead the way to the clearing in the middle of the hall that acted as the designated dance floor.

Having the Baron as her dance partner, greatly improved her abilities. He steered them with such elegance and grace that even his nervous partner seemed perfectly at ease on the floor. They ended up dancing for the first two songs, and Baron Brockwell had been so pleased with her dancing that he fully intended to stand with her for a third dance, but unfortunately for him, Harry decided that it was time he danced with Paulina.

“Baron Brockwell is quite the accomplished dancer,” commented Lord Fellowes as he stood with his nephew. “I believe him to be the finest dancer in the House of Lords.”

“He moves with much elegance and grace,” commented Baron Waldegrave. “And his partner, the Miss Balcázar, she moves quite well to the music.”

“Remarkably well for an American,” said Lord Fellowes. “I wonder how she came to dance so well.”

“I believe it is safe to assume that she has devoted a significant portion of her time to studying dance.” Baron Waldegrave watched as she glided across the floor with Baron Brockwell. “With dedication, one may learn how to dance well. That is what I did for my wedding all those years ago.”

“But do you not think it might be an inherent skill she was endowed with?” Harry made his way into the conversation, mesmerized by her graceful movements.

From his place beside Harry, Alistair smiled slightly.

“You are quite right, Sir. She was surely endowed with a natural grace for dancing.” Lord Fellowes spoke. “Then again, it is not surprising for Miss Balcázar to be so adept at dancing. She is a very accomplished young woman, very accomplished indeed.”

“All this speaking of how accomplished and graceful she is has made me wish to stand with her for a dance,” commented Harry, seeming perfectly nonchalant about it. “I beg your pardon Uncle, Baron Waldegrave, but I feel inclined to dance.”

“No need to beg pardon, Sir.” Baron Waldegrave reassured. “We will count ourselves very much fortunate to bear witness to your dancing.”

Harry smiled, but said nothing. He simply bowed his head politely and then went off in search of the dancing brunette whom he’d been stealing glances at all afternoon. He found her just as the second song was ending. She’d just parted from Baron Brockwell. The pair of them clapped politely in direction of the performers. And just as the Baron was readying himself to ask if she would dance with him a third time, Harry made himself known.

“Baron Brockwell, might you be as kind as to allow me to cut in?” inquired Harry. “That is if the young lady would consent to stand with me for the dance.”

“Your Highness,” Baron Brockwell bowed in reverence. “If Miss Balcázar wishes to dance with you, I have no qualms with stepping aside.”

“Would you care to dance, Miss Balcázar?” asked Harry, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes.
She curtsied, as was expected. “I would be honored, Your Highness.”

Baron Brockwell bid them both adieu and sought out the company of Callum and Graham, whom were now speaking with Lesedi and Terrence.

“You are quite the dancer, Miss Balcázar.” Harry commented as they began to move to the music.

“Am I?” she smiled at him, trying to keep herself from meeting his gaze out of fear of seeming like the love struck fool she was.

“I speak in earnest.” Harry said. “Lord Fellowes and Baron Waldegrave were discussing the elegance and grace in your movements.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” She couldn’t help it; she met his eyes and playfully scrunched her nose at him. “Those two never compliment anyone, unless they absolutely have to.”

“Well, I might have told them that I thought you graceful.” Harry smiled fondly at her.

“Then my life is complete, for a Prince thinks me graceful. I thank you, Sir, for your favor.”

“I am glad I could bring you such joy, Miss Balcázar.” Harry pulled her in closer to him. “What else may I bring you?” he whispered into her ear.

“Ideally, a glass of champagne, but that’ll have to wait until we’re done dancing.”

“It’ll be awhile then.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” he declared. “Dancing seems to be the most of contact we’ll have during this lunch.”

“If you dance too much with me, people will talk.”

“Would you care if they talked?”

“Not as much as I should.”