He chuckles.
I wave goodbye and exit out to Trafalger Square to see that London has woken up. The area surrounding the water fountain and Nelson’s Column is flooded with tour groups. Live music is being played by several street buskers vying for attention and tourist pounds.
Pausing at the signal, I see people rushing up and down the Tube station steps, and the iconic red double-decker buses and black taxi cabs drive past me. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s ten fifteen. I have just enough time to grab a coffee and pastry, and make my way over to Buckingham Palace.
Today is Thursday, which means there shouldn’t be a Changing of the Guard ceremony, and I’ll be able to take my preferred shortcut through Horse Guards Parade and save myself an extra five minutes. It’s shaping up to be a good day.
The bellof the clock tower over Horse Guards Parade chimes, indicating it’s ten thirty. As I leisurely stroll down Whitehall, sipping my coffee, I hear my phone ring. Ishuffle my drink to the other hand and reach into my coat pocket to retrieve it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Min, it’s Liz.”
“Oh hey, what’s up?”
“I know you’re on your way to work, but I just wanted to check in and see if you’d submitted your portfolio for the Clarissa Lee Atelier internship. Today is D-Day.”
I chew on my lip. “Um . . .”
“Min! Why not?”
“The last sketch. It didn’t look right with the rest of what I had.”
“The deadline is three p.m.—today. There is no more time to muck around. You need to use what you have.”
“I know. I brought everything with me. I’m going to put the packet together during my first break and scan and upload during lunch.”
Staying to the far left on the sidewalk, I weave in and out of the assembled tourists who are crowding around the mounted soldiers in the sentry boxes. After Buckingham Palace and the Palace of St. James, Horse Guards Parade is the third most visited tourist site in London. It’s the only place where members of the public can walk right up to the horses and soldiers. It’s always a human zoo.
“Is there a decent computer you can use? I hope you’re not planning to use your phone.”
She’s caught me. “Er... no, of course not. I’m planning to sneak down to the IT room. The guys are super sweet, and I’m sure they won’t mind letting me borrow a laptop for an hour or two.”
“That’s a lot of hypotheticals.” I can picture Liz pinching the bridge of her nose. “Promise me that if you run intoanysort of trouble, you’ll ring me straightaway.I’ll come right over, pick up your portfolio, and hand deliver the sketches over to the company’s HQ myself if I have to.”
My cheeks warm. “It won’t come to that.”
“Promise me,” Liz repeats.
“Fine. I promise.” I turn right, and like a salmon swimming upstream, squeeze past the tourists exiting the inner courtyard.
“Good. I won’t keep you any longer. I know you’re in a hurry. Good luck!”
Disconnecting the call, I move off to the side set my coffee down, and take a moment to drop my phone into my bag next to my palace security badge. I grimace as I see loose pencils and pens, tangled cords, containers of makeup, a pair of socks, lotions, hand sanitizers, hair ties, and an entire pack of Tesco tea biscuits that I don’t even remember buying. At least it’s unopened, although it may be all crumbly. One of these days, I’ll get around to buying an organizer or using pouches so it looks a little less like a junk drawer, but for now, the best I can do is pretend the mess doesn’t exist.
Zipping the bag closed, I reach for my coffee and notice a piece of metal attached to a leather strap sitting next to it. It looks like something that might’ve fallen off a soldier’s uniform. It takes me a second, but I recognize the mysterious leather-and-metal strap as a spur.
Glancing around me, I see the yard is devoid of any police officers. Normally, they’re all over the place, but apparently, not this morning. I walk deeper into the yard. Maybe I can pass this over to the foot guard who stands sentry near the black slatted stable door. But as I approach, I find his post is empty too. I frown and finally just decide to leave it with the gent staffing the kiosk selling touristtrinkets opposite me. There are about ten people clustered around the cart.
“At least the guy is inside,” I mutter to myself.
However, just as I make my way over, he disappears. I squeeze my eyes shut. What is it with everyone today?
“Excuse me, do you know where the clerk has gone?” I ask a woman in an ice-blue jacket who’s inspecting an “I Heart London” shot glass.
“He’s around back checking a couple T-shirt sizes for me.”
“Thanks.”
