I straighten my shoulders. Pluck my compact out of my purse, snap it open. That’s it, Victoria... Calm, composed. A survivor. You can do this. You can. I pull out a tube of my favorite lipstick, twist, and raise it to my lips.
A hand touches my shoulder. I jerk and the lipstick smears. I glance to the side, “Wha—?”
"Victoria?" The elderly woman smiles at me. Her greying hair is pulled back in a sleek chignon; creases fan out from the sides of her eyes. "Are you okay, my dear?"
"What? Yes." I frown, "Do I know you?"
"I’m Meredith, I’m…"
"Assistant to the Seven?"
Her features light up. "Indeed. We met when you came to the 7A offices?"
"Of course. I remember you now." I glance past her at the pedestrians. Pinpricks of awareness dot my neck. "What are you doing here?"
"I was passing by and saw you."
"Right." I glance back at my reflection in the compact mirror, then scrounge around in my bag.
"Here." She offers me a tissue.
"Thanks." I use it to fix my face, then snap the compact shut.
"So, you happened to be here the same time as me?"
"Coincidences." She raises her shoulder. “People think London is a big city, but really, it’s a village."
"Hmm." I slip my compact into my bag. "I’m afraid I need to be somewhere else."
"I’m afraid I can’t let you leave yet, Victoria." She smiles, her eyes twinkling up at me.
I frown. "Why is it that all of you seem to speak in such riddles?"
"Us?"
"Saint, and everyone connected with him."
"Perhaps you’re finding hidden meanings because you’re playing in them yourself?"
I pale and the world tilts around me.
"Victoria, what’s wrong?"
Her voice seems to come from far away. There’s a roaring in my ears. My vision tunnels. Games. Playing. Hidden meanings. Not what it seems.
"Victoria?" A hand grips my fingers. "My dear, you’re freezing."
My teeth chatter. "It’s just… The weather… It’s gone cold suddenly."
"That's London for you, my dear. Still, I like it best when it's raining." She rubs my freezing hand between her warmer ones. Her flesh is smooth, unmarked. No calluses. Such well-preserved skin. Wonder what hand cream she uses. A chuckle rolls up my throat. Am I getting hysterical? I bite the inside of my cheek, swallow down the bile that laces my tongue.
"Better?" She peers into my face.
"Y…yes." I meet her gaze. "Thank you."
"Come on, let’s get some food into you. Have you had lunch?"
"N…no."
"There’s a lovely spot around the corner, that serves the best afternoon tea.
"But."
"No buts. Saint would never forgive me, if I left you here, on your own."
I twist my lips. "Oh, I don’t think Saint would care either way."
"I think you’d be surprised, my dear." Her eyes gleam.
I frown, "What are you not telling me?"
She laughs. "I’m not hiding anything from you, I promise."
Where have I heard that before?
"You’re right to be this cautious, but I am not the enemy. In fact," she rises to her feet, "I am on your side."
"You are?’
She holds out her hand, I take it and she pulls me up. "Most definitely." She begins to walk. I keep pace.
"Anyone who’ll bring Saint to heel gets my vote… And when it happens to be the right kind of woman who can stand up to him, then trust me, I’ll do anything in my power to ensure that the two of you are happy."
I stumble over a crack in the pavement.
She grabs my arm, "You all right?"
"Of course." I glance up at her, "But you have the wrong idea here."
"Do I?"
I nod, "Most definitely."
We take the zebra crossing across Oxford Street, then turn right.
"It’s not like that between me and Saint."
"Then how is it?"
I peer sideways at her. Is she making fun of me? Maybe having a laugh at my expense. She meets my gaze, her own clear. Her features are composed into an expression which seems to portray… Curiosity…? A slight concern, perhaps. Can I trust her? I raise my shoulders. Does it matter? I have nothing to lose… I have come this far… I only have to see things through, and if she can help me, well, then why not?
"He asked me to marry him."
Her gaze doesn’t falter. No surprise on her face.
"You knew?"
She turns her head, navigates us around a couple loaded with shopping bags. "I had hoped, though I have to admit, I hadn’t thought Saint would have the balls to pop the question."
I choke.
She chuckles. "I’m a plain talking kind of gal."
"I can see that."
"Get it from my mama. She raised eight of us, and she suffered no fools."
"Right."
"Comes in handy when you have to herd the Seven and their friends along in the right direction. Know what I mean?"
I snort, "I am getting an idea who actually wears the pants in 7A."
She leans in close, "Let’s keep that to ourselves, huh? Our secret."
A warmth spreads in my chest. "You bet."
"So, back to you and Saint," she pauses, then turns right and away from the bustling High Street. "You were saying?"
I wasn’t…but fine…if she wants to know what my answer was. "I haven’t said yes…yet."
"Are you going to?"
"Should I?"
"Are you asking my opinion?"
I turn to her, "I am."
"I think you should take your time about it."
I jerk my head toward her, "You mean…?"
She nods, "He needs you more than you realize.”
"He doesn’t depend on anyone." I bite the inside of my cheek.
"He wants you in his life."
"His asking me to
