The Thrill Is Gone

“Stalking me, are you?” he asked, an amused expression forming upon his gingery face. “Must admit I didn’t take you for one, but this,” he motioned to the tent, “is quite the production. Done this before have you?”

He wasn’t supposed to remember her. The startled look on her face told him that she hadn’t expected to be recognized. And why would she? They hadn’t spent a night shagging. They hadn’t flirted shamelessly over drinks in some club. In truth, they hadn’t done anything remarkable together. She simply punched him in the face and gave him some coffee. Both of which weren’t instances worth remembering. Other women had punched Harry in the past, a few slapped him and a handful had even managed to knee him in the groin. All their faces had been forgotten. Cast aside. But for some reason hers stayed with him. For some reason he remembered her enough to make a joke when he spotted her talking with William.

Had he been someone else – anyone else – she would’ve taken his remembering her as a compliment. It would’ve served to fuel her vanity and made her feel that she possessed a certain charm that made others remember her. But the problem was that he wasn’t someone else. He wasn’t just some stranger. He was Prince Harry of Wales. And if Lord Fellowes somehow managed to find out that Paulina had punched his beloved nephew, he would have her head; regardless of the fact that the incident occurred weeks earlier.

That odious man would complain about her to the other trustees, telling them about how impertinent and savage her behavior truly was. She could picture how the trustees would react. They’d hate her as much as they hated Michael – an American that had been stupid enough to insult the Queen in their presence. The only person that would still be kind to her would be Sir John, but that was only because he detested Lord Fellowes. He thought him a pompous wanker that thought himself better than everyone else just because he was connected to the young Princes. Most people felt that way about Lord Fellowes, but they knew that being in his favor was something they all needed to be and it was for that reason that they would side with him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Your Royal Highness, but I'm no stalker of yours. Only person I’ve ever stalked was Bill Clinton and he was visiting my old university so lurking around there was pretty convenient and come to think of it, not all that stalker like.” Paulina paused before adding. “But your stalkers should begin arriving within the hour. When word spread that you would be participating, all the tickets sold out. Very good sign, charity and stalker wise. The grounds will be crawling with stalkers whom happily paid the five thousand quid ticket.”

“That how much I'm worth, then?” he asked.

“For charity, yes,” she replied. “Though there were a substantial number of people that paid four hundred quid, but don’t worry. Those stalkers are only allowed in the bleachers that were set up. The five thousand quid stalkers are the ones to worry about. Closest to the field and can walk around wherever they like, except the stable area.”

“Why not the stable area?” asked Harry.

“Not really sure. Think they might spook the horses with those hats of theirs.”

He laughed. A loud booming laugh that was better suited for a pub on a Saturday night, instead of a charity event in broad daylight. Not like he could help himself. The hats worn to these events had a knack of bordering on the ridiculous and he could very well imagine a horse being frightened by the overdramatic designer headwear.

His laughter eventually died down, allowing him to speak. “So what are you doing here then? Shouldn’t you be in London with . . .” he wracked his mind for the blonde’s name, but for the life of him, couldn’t remember. “That blonde, you know the one with the flat.”

“She has a name.”

“A name I don’t very well remember.”

“Well, her name’s Charlotte. And no, I shouldn’t be in London, Sir. Was only visiting when . . . when we ran into each other,” she explained.

“That what you’re calling it?” he almost started to laugh again. “Makes it sound like we ran into each other at a shop and chatted. Much different from the beating it was.”

“That’s how he knows you.” William suddenly realized who the brunette was. “Must say, you have quite the arm for one punch to have done such damage,” he complimented.

“Let her have a go with your face.” Harry proposed. “Then we’ll see if you’ll still praise that arm of hers.”

“Have a better idea. I think Miss . . . well I haven’t had the chance to catch your name. Suppose Harry won’t remember it. Those nights of his never let him. Might you humor me with it?”

“Of course, Sir, it’s Miss Balcázar, but if you like, Paulina will do just as well.”

“Very well then,” William smiled politely. “I think Miss Paulina, should recreate the punch. See if it has the same effect.”

Harry shook his head in protest. “Already had a go at my nose and my ego,” he said. “Only thing left is the royal jewels. Really want her to punch those?”

“Harry!” William bellowed, embarrassed by his brothers language. “You honestly can not be talking like that in front of –”

“Come off it, Will. She’s seen me sneaking out of her mates flat with my shoes in my hand. Doubt that a comment about royal jewels will give her a fright. And if it did she’d probably give me a right hook to the nose.” Harry added with a smirk.

“If you hadn’t snuck up on me, I wouldn’t have punched you.” Paulina argued.

“What was I supposed to do?” asked Harry. “Shout that I was coming out? I was trying to leave unnoticed, not announce my departure. That would have made that girl go positively mental on me. Seemed a bit unstable she did. Worked out for the best, did some strange things in bed, she did.”

Instead of commenting like he expected her to, she redirected her attention to the boxes, acting as if they were the most interesting boxes on the face of the earth. With newfound determination, she tore off the tape that kept them shut and began placing the neatly packed uniforms upon the table, completely ignoring the two men staring at her. Had she been somewhere else, she would’ve made an inappropriate comment and laughed, but she was at an event and would behave as such; even if the idea of telling him that running off with someone that seemed unstable could have easily ended with him in a trunk or in a trash bin, tempted her.

“Here are your uniforms and helmets,” she carefully handed them off. “The changing area runs alongside the stables, round there,” she motioned to it. “But if you want, you can also go back to Rhodes House. More privacy there, but it’s quite the walk.” Paulina paused before saying, “If you like, I can take you in the cart. Enough room on it for both of you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” William assured. “Thank you for the uniforms, Miss Balcázar. You’ve been very helpful and I’ll make sure to tell the Trustees how obliging you were.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Paulina did a semblance of a curtsy.

To have Prince William tell the Trustees that she’d been obliging would be fucking fantastic. This would put her as the topic of conversation among them. It would take the spotlight away from Christopher – the Canadian biochemist – and place it on her. She had half a mind to make him promise that she’d tell the Trustees how helpful she’d been, but decided against it.

“Coming along then, Harry?” William asked.

“Need to wait for Alistair. Forgot my mobile in the car so he went to fetch it,” Harry replied.

William walked away, leaving Harry to stand beside the tent. He stared at the neatly dressed brunette, watching as she fussed over the uniforms and helmets, placing them according to their owner, then according to sizes, and then finally deciding that placing them according to their team and team number would be best.

“Didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“Which one?” she looked up from the table.

“The one about what you’re doing here. Do you just make it a habit of helping charities?”

“Sometimes I do, but right now I'm fulfilling my duties as a Rhodes Scholar,” she motioned to the uniforms. “I’ve been charged with handing out uniforms to the participants.”

“That explains why you punch so well. Probably studied manuals like mad and then mastered it,” he joked.

“Didn’t study,” she replied. “My brother’s taught me how to punch when I was seven.”

“My brother taught me how to play cricket at that age.” Harry chuckled.

“Well I'm sure that’ll come in handy one day. Just need to keep the cricket bat on hand.”

“I’ll have to make sure of that.” Harry stretched, a soft groan escaping his lips. “So what are you specializing in?”

“Philosophy, I'm hoping to get my B.Phil.”

“Heard that one was very demanding,” he spoke as if he were very well informed on the subject.

“It is. But I comfort myself with thinking that everyone at university is losing sleep, regardless of their major.”

“See, that’s one of the reasons I never went to university. Value sleep too much to lose it on readings and studying,” he said. “Can lose it on drinking and women, but not studying, seems tedious to me.”

“Well I don’t like losing sleep on readings either, Sir, but I’ve got to put in the work if I want to reap the benefits later on.”

“Sir!” shouted a broad shouldered man whom she presumed to be Alistair. “Got your mobile!” he said. “Two missed calls, it says.”

“Can’t leave it anywhere without missing a bloody call,” Harry muttered angrily to himself. “Excuse me, I’ve got to get going, but I assume I’ll see you later. Might hide here from the stalkers,” he said.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she told him, a coy smile playing across her lips.

“And why not?” asked Harry.

“Sir, I’ll probably charge your stalkers to come see you,” she teased. “Bet I could make some good money off that.”

“Never have to work again, if you did.”

“Wouldn’t make that much money, Sir.”

“Probably make more,” and without saying anything further, he walked away with his uniform, leaving Paulina to await the arrival of the other participants.

Ten minutes before the uniforms were supposed to be distributed. The other participants began arriving. They were gentleman that came from money, the fact that they’d spent a hundred thousand pounds to simply play polo with the young Princes, attested to that. Two of them were investment bankers from Barclays, one was a Tory Party politician, and the last was a man that served on the board of the global banking group, BNP Paribas. They were all wealthy powerful men, and as she readied herself to begin handing them their uniforms, she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d donated to the charity because they cared about the Royal Marsden Hospital or because they wanted tax breaks and wanted to appear charitable in the public eye.

Whatever their reason for being there, the only thing that truly mattered was that in between the four men, they had raised €400,000 for charity and when that was added to the money raised from the three hundred spectators that paid €5,000 a ticket and the two thousand spectators that paid €400 a ticket, the event raised more than €2.7 million. That money would help reconstruct the top floor of the Chelsea Wing of the hospital which had sustained serious damages after a dreadful fire in January.

After handing out all the uniforms, she took a seat at the table. Her part was done. Now all she had to do was sit there until the match ended so she could help clean up and pack up her area. She was tempted to leave for an hour. She didn’t know how long polo matches usually were, but she felt that an hour would be a decent amount of time to be gone. It’s not like they would miss her. The players would be on the field, unable to ask her any questions and the spectators weren’t allowed near the stable area, which meant that her area would most likely also be deserted. Just an hour, she thought. An hour to grab free food at Rhodes House, an hour to curl up on a couch in the library and nap, just an hour, but she knew she couldn’t leave.

That was where they’d assigned her. And she stayed there, without company, for a little over fifteen minutes because Alfred came trudging towards her, dressed in a fine suit that looked out of place on the bearded philosopher. Alfred didn’t care for dressing up. He always said that suits made him feel as if he were wearing a straitjacket and that ties unnerved him because they gave him the sensation of being choked. So to see him in a suit, with his hair slicked back and beard neatly trimmed, was a bit unsettling. Not that he looked bad. He didn’t. He looked like he belonged there, which he did since his father was a very wealthy corporate lawyer that worked for Barclays. To tell that to Alfred would be an insult to him. He didn’t like being among that society. They weren’t the sort of people he liked. Their conversation wasn’t the type of conversation he wanted to have. And it was because of that that he looked like a petulant little child as he trudged towards her.

“Not a word.” Alfred sulked.

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” she fought a smile.

“Yes, you were. You’ve always got something to say and you’re gonna say it even though I’ve asked you not to. So go on, say it. Let’s have this done with.”

“Alfred, you really need to get that syphilis under control. It’s starting to mess with your brain.”

“Oh. Shove off.”

“That’s not how gentlemen are supposed to speak to ladies.” Paulina said, in a singsong voice. “So if you’re gonna talk to me like that, throw on your worn in sweater and take off that suit, Sir Ferrars.”

“And there you go.” He muttered.

“Shall I fetch tea for you? Or do you want a servant from your household to ravage? No. I have a better idea! I’ll get the barouche ready!”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “You done yet?” he asked.

“No.”

“Can I at least sit down while you do this? Tired, you know.”

“Here,” she abandoned the chair on which she’d been sitting. “Sit down and I’ll go grab one from the back. If anyone asks a question just stall,” instructed Paulina.

Her feet carried her towards the back of the tent, where two extra chairs had been neatly stacked against a table. She quickly grabbed one and ran back to the front, not wanting to leave Alfred alone. He didn’t care for people. His reserved nature made him detached from those around him. That was why he only had two friends at university; Paulina and Olivia. And he hadn’t even been the one to approach them. Paulina was the one that initiated the friendship. She kept talking to him during class, chipping away at his walls until he finally befriended her during their second month at university and he’d met Olivia through Paulina, though things with Olivia were completely different than they were with Paulina.

“So how’s the event going?” she placed her chair beside his.

“Alright, I suppose. The food was rather good. And the champagne is superb.” Alfred reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of champagne that he’d smuggled, “Brought you some.”

Paulina stared at the bottle with longing. “Don’t think I should. Someone might see me and I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“Is this really happening? Are you turning down this free top shelf champagne?”

“No,” she grumbled. “But can you keep an eye out? Please? I don’t want to end up being scolded by Lord Fellowes. I swear, if I ever get the chance, I will smack him clear cross the face and run.”

“But he’ll know it’s you.”

“I’ll wear a mask.” Paulina lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. “That’s some good champagne.”

Alfred nodded in agreement.

“Here you go. I'm done for now.”

“Alright,” he placed the bottle between his feet. “Just tell me if you want more later on. So . . . how’s it been? People, been treating you well?”

“Yeah, the men that picked up the uniforms were very polite and I’ve been good. Just trying not to fall asleep since this is so secluded. Keep thinking that maybe I can rest my eyes for a few minutes and no one will notice, but you’re here now, so you get to be the entertainment.”

“If I'm the entertainment, you’re shit out of luck. Finished doing my standup about an hour ago won’t do it again until tomorrow.” He replied sarcastically.

Paulina scrunched her nose at him in disapproval. “Then explain polo to me. I don’t understand it. All I know is that there are four players on each time and that they use horses.”

“Just because I'm forced into these things, doesn’t mean I pay attention.”

“Do you at least know how long it’ll last?”

“I know that.” Alfred replied as if she’d insulted his intelligence. “There are six chukkers.”

“What’s a chukker?”

“It’s another word for period. And there are six of those, each period lasts seven minutes and there’s a mandatory three minute break in between each chukker and a five minute halftime, so in theory this should last like an hour but something might happen to make the clock stop, so it might be an hour – hour and a half. Not to long though.” Alfred took off his jacket and placed it across his lap. “This started at two, so by the time you finish helping clean up, it should be like six.”

“I wish they’d just hired people to clean up.”

“That would’ve taken money away from charity.”

“Fuck charity. I just want to sleep. I’ve honestly been fantasizing about just turning on the air conditioning so it gets really cold, and that way I can cover myself up with a bunch of blankets and pretend its winter. I seriously think I'm gonna sleep for a day or two. I can feel it.”

“Since we’re talking about sleep, I need to ask a favor.”

Paulina nodded as if to tell him to ask away.

“As you know, Charlotte’s in town and my parents, well not my parents, it’s my mum. She told me that Charlotte has to stay at the flat with me. My dad wanted to get Charlotte a room at a hotel, but mum wants us to spend time together so she devised this method of torture. And since Charlotte’s staying with me, and since she’s probably going to fuck some stranger in my flat, I was wondering if I could crash on your couch. Really could use the sleep and with her screaming like a cheap whore, I won’t be able to get any.”

“Yeah, you can stay with me. You know you don’t have to ask, Alfie. Just have to show up and claim the couch or the bed. And when Olivia’s over, it’s claim the couch, the bed or the pile of blankets of the floor.”

“Always end up the pile on the floor.”

“That’s because you’re a gentleman that rides in a barouche. And one day you're going to have a very fancy wife named Ol –”

“If you finish that sentence, I will not take you to Bath for your birthday.”

Paulina closed her mouth and shot him a nasty glare. “Tosser,” she cursed.

Alfred smiled smugly, “Makes me quite proud to hear you curse like a proper Brit.”

“Want to know what’ll make me not only proud, but very fucking happy? If you go bring me some food, because I'm starving,” she smiled brightly at him, putting the small gap between her teeth on display.

Alfred was tempted to say no. He didn’t want to go back to the crowds. He didn’t want to have to sneak back into the stable area, because sneaking through security had been draining enough once. But he agreed to go; on the condition that he could take the pass that Paulina had hanging from her neck. And as he walked over there, he began to realize that his own stomach was demanding nourishment. Better to take enough for both of them.