(Another unfinished experiment. Surprisingly not porn.)
One expects many things from the Royal Suite at The Mandarin Oriental. Self-indulgent luxury, the pinnacle of affluently-sensitive service from attractive, eternally-smiling staff members, food and drink of a quality and quantity that would entice the Greek and Roman gods to blush, and last but not certainly least is a final bill not significantly smaller that the GNP of several second world countries.
The one thing a guest might not expect is to open the door of their sumptuous suite to find a very attractive, very confused, and very naked man sitting on the extremely expensive Guiddenlott designer settee. Prudence paused only a moment before closing the door, stepping to the antique side table beside the door, and depositing her handbag and keys. She then looked back to her unexpected guest.
Many possible statements, questions, and exhortations flitted through Prudence’s mind, but the most appropriate and safest seemed to be “Can I help you?” She said this with an open, caring smile with only the slightest suggestion of confusion in her eyes as she took two steps towards him. Her very specific and carefully thought-out movement was for two reasons: one to at least give the appearance of not feeling threatened and also to allow herself some free space to the rear just in case she needed to make some quick yet extravagantly defensive maneuver.
She need not have worried. The man smiled and his face clouded with even greater confusion as he looked to his naked feet. “I hope so.” He said, raising his face to meet her eyes, which had only momentarily glanced at the gentleman’s extremely impressive six-pack and then to the even more impressive personal equipment below. “I really do hope so.” His voice faltered and he slowly shook his head, as if he could not believe the words coming from his own mouth. “You see I don’t know how I got here, and worse, I have no earthly idea who I might be!” His gaze returned to her eyes, as if he they might hold the answers.
Prudence smiled her most encouraging and comforting smile. For she knew exactly who the man was and had a fair idea of exactly why he was here. Now, she thought, if only I could come up with some way to explain all this to him without getting us both killed.
The invitation had arrived at her New York apartment two weeks ago. Davis, her butler, cook, chauffeur, maid, handyman, and occasional accomplice in various illegal but well-intentioned activities brought it to her breakfast room on a silver platter. “Well aren’t we formal this morning?” She said taking the heavy envelope and examining it.
He nodded. “It seemed to be appropriate. Very heavy paper and elaborate calligraphy. Someone knows how to send an invitation.” Prudence pursed her lips slightly as she took the jade Faberge letter opener Davis had thoughtfully placed on the silver tray and carefully slid the blade under the envelope flap. She paused a moment and glanced back at Davis. “Hmm… No return address. Care to make a guess as to who might have sent it?”
He smiled. “Certainly, whoever it is, they aren’t local. I’d guess European, probably British. They do seem to have a predilection for formality. ” She smiled and her voice took on an ever so slightly teasing lilt. “Predilection, you’ve been working on your vocabulary.” He returned the smile with one as dry as a PJ Clarke’s martini. “I try to do service to my station whenever possible.”
She looked at the envelope and then back at him. “Anything more specific?” Davis sighed, glanced downward momentarily and looked back up. “It’s probably your cousin Winston. It’s his style or what he might consider to be style.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “His name’s not Winston” she said, rather unconvincingly. Another very dry smile from Davis. “It should be. He thinks of himself as the next Winston Churchil.” He remarked.
Prudence shook her head, looked back at the smiling butler, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, frowned slightly, and then smiled. “I suppose he does at that.” She said sheepishly. “Ah well, nobody’s perfect.” She sighed, and then smiled. “Present company excluded of course.”
“Yes miss.” Davis said, nodding graciously. “Would you care for more coffee?” She shook her head. “No thank you. I’ll read the invitation, if that’s what it is.” He nodded and turned to leave the room.
She removed the letter opener, placed in on the table, and examined the envelope one last time, turning it around in her hands, feeling its heft, even sniffing it. “Can’t be too careful these days.” She sighed, picked up the letter opener and slit the top of the envelope.
She was not gassed, poisoned, infected, exploded, or otherwise injured. She was however, slightly disappointed. She withdrew another, very similar unsealed envelope nestled within the first. It also had no return address. Just her full name: Prudence Meredith Smythe, no address. This envelope contained the guessed invitation, several sheets of protective tissue , and a round-trip, New York to London Virgin-Atlantic Upper Class ticket. The ticket granted one Prudence Meredith Smythe chauffeur server to and from her apartment to either JFK or La Guardia and, in London, to and from Heathrow. It also offered a phone number or weblink to arrange for any departure date in the next month. “I’ll say this for Reggie.. he does know how to send an invitation.” She thought.
Next she looked at the invitation, printed in the same calligraphy as the envelope but with a much less common message:
Who: Miss. Prudence Meredith Smythe.
What: Is invited to a formal Costume Ball.
Where: The Carlyle Room, Royal Mandarin Hotel, London.
When: Whenever the fair lady desires within the month of August 2014.
Dear Miss Smythe, Please forgive the immediacy. But your attendance to this event is most important. Please reply at once via wire.
Yours Very Truly, Sir Reginald Davis Smythe, NH,TC.
Her forehead wrinkled with interest as her gaze rested on the curious letters “NH, TC” following her cousin’s name. Most people would assume them to be certifications of some kind. She knew otherwise. These was alerts. “NH” meant “Need Help” and “TC” meant “Take Care.” It meant that Reggie was in over his head (not an uncommon situation for him) and that Prudence should take extra care as the situation involved serious personal danger.
Not for the first time Prudence felt herself come alive with the electric mixture of anticipation, curiosity, and excitement.
She looked back to Davis and smiled. “What do you think? Fancy a quick trip to London?”
Davis returned the smile and nodded. “London in the Springtime is always a pleasure. I’ll make our travel arrangements. Today or tomorrow? Prudence looked back at the invitation. “Hmmm… tomorrow I think. I do so hate to rush. Let’s get an early start.” Davis nodded and spoke. “Considering Sir Reggie’s “Take Care” message, it might be prudent to travel separately. It seems as though he thinks someone nefarious might be watching.”
Prudence pondered Davis words. “Probably a good idea. Why don’t you go ahead and make my arrangements to depart tomorrow evening. That way you can depart in the morning and have plenty of time to disappear. Use British credentials and fly into London City rather than Heathrow.”
Davis nodded, “Yes miss. I’ll reply per his instructions.” He bowed, turned and left. Prudence read over the curious invitation one last time, laid it down on the table, and then rose to leave the room.
She spent the rest of the day packing and making various other preparations. Her luggage would contain none of the highly suspect and definitely illegal tools they would use. She trusted that Davis would have everything transported and in place in his usual almost magical manner. She had a late lunch and spent several hours with her personal Aikido trainer, honing her skills and pushing herself much harder than usual. She had a light dinner and retired to her bedroom where she meditated for two hours before going to bed. She slept fitfully, too excited to relax completely.
32 hours later, 8:16 AM London time, she was in Terminal 1 at Heathrow, looking for Clancy, Reggie’s personal chauffer. Normally she would spot his huge, 6 foot 7 bearlike figure moving through the crowd, his chauffer’s hat cocked just a bit to the right, beaming a welcoming smile. Today he was nowhere to be seen. Prudence felt silent alarm bells begin to sound in her head. Something was wrong.
Through the crowd a young man pushed towards her. He had a very welcoming smile and was dressed immaculately. She recognized the singular cut of a Gieves & Hawkes suit. The charcoal double breasted jacket and matching single-pleat trousers fit perfectly. She noted his black leather boots. Gucci she guessed, and thought that odd. The alarm bells in her head rang a little louder.
“Miss Smythe?” he spoke as he approached her. She nodded, smiled, and spoke. “Is Fred sick today? His face clouded slightly as he answered. “You mean Clancy. No, he’s fine. Sir Reginald had him run a personal errand. Right this way please.” He said, reaching towards her.
Her internal danger sense was now ringing off the scale. His Northern London accent was very good, almost perfect. But her ears detected the effort he made to mask his own true accent. Yet, her face was quite composed as she smiled and started to walk towards the young man. She stopped suddenly. “Oh! I forgot my luggage! I’ll just run and get it.” He moved quickly, catching her arm with just a hint of force. She turned a surprised face first to his hand holding her elbow and then to his still smiling yet somewhat serious face.
“I’m sure Virgin has already arranged for your luggage to be transported to the Mandarin. If you’ll just come with me I’ll have you there in a jiffy. “His grip on her elbow tightened just enough to be slightly uncomfortable. The hold was expert, putting pressure on the two most sensitive parts of the elbow. She allowed herself the instinctive elbow hold break, twisting her arm first up and then under and around his, breaking his hold quickly and cleanly, while taking two steps back. “I don’t think so.” Her voice was low, but its steely tone carried well enough to startle several people standing or moving by. Most looked, sensed a situation they wanted no part of and moved away.
The young man’s smile fell and was replaced with a determined blankness as he moved towards her. “Please don’t make a scene miss Smythe. If you’ll just..” his sentence was unfinished as he seemed to collapse, first backward, then forward, being held up by Davis, who had magically appeared from the crowd behind the man. “Sir! Are you all right?” Davis said, his Northern London perfect, as he held the man up. “Please help! Can someone help?” Two airport police, their uniforms perfect, appeared, one from the left and one from the right. Both performed a quick, single nod to Davis who returned the nods and then nodded once towards Prudence. They took the young man off into the crowd.
“Are you all right miss?” Davis said smiling, his eyes darting first right then left, indicating caution. He took her arm and seemed to steady her. “I’m fine, thank you. Although I do seem to have missed my chauffer.” She said, looking into his eyes for any other message. Davis smiled encouragingly. “Sorry about that miss. Perhaps he’ll be along presently” he said, nodding twice. “Yes, that’s a very good idea. I’ll have some coffee and wait for him. Thank you!” She nodded her understanding and thanks. “Don’t mention it.” He said, touching the bill of his hat and moving away. “Enjoy your trip to London!” He said happily, moving into the crowd.
Prudence walked to the nearest AMT coffee, ordered a large cappuccino, and then returned to the arrival area to wait.
She was halfway through the coffee when she saw Clancy’s towering figure enter the terminal and begin to scan the crowd. She rose and began to walk towards him. His face broke into a beaming smile when he saw her.
As she approached him she noticed a small plaster on his forehead. She also saw some bruising around his left eye.
Prudence allowed her great affection for this gentle beast to overcome her. She rushed into his arms and hugged him. Clancy was surprised and not a little embarrassed as he somewhat awkwardly patted her back. Finally, she let up her embrace and pulled away, holding fast to his hands.
“What happened to you? Are you all right?” she pleaded. He smiled and shook his head. “It’s nothing miss. Just a bit of a cock up, If you’ll pardon my language.” As he spoke he looked up and scanned through the crowd, taking her by the arm, and gently leading to the terminal exit. “Why don’t we get out of here? Never did like Heathrow. Just too fookin’ busy, pardon my language. “ Prudence smiled and shook her head. One the things she adored about Clancy was his constant colorful swearing, followed immediately by an apology.
Clancy paused just before they exited the terminal, oblivious to the numerous irritated and frustrated people following behind them. His face clouded slightly as he spoke. “I have to apologize. Because of the little incident this morning I’m not driving…” She saw his eyes shade with pain and half expected the giant man to break into tears. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and continued. “I’m driving a piece of shite, pardon my language, that they gave me.” Without another word he turned and guided her through the exit.
They walked briskly through the crowd to a waiting area marked “Busses Only – No Other Vehicles”. As they approached the car parked there, Clancy smiled and nodded to an airport policeman leaning against the vehicle. “Thanks Jaime. I owe you a pint or two!” The policeman smiled, stood up, and raised his head in greeting.” “Anytime mate” He then looked to Prudence, nodded, and touched the bill of his hat. “Maam” he said as he walked away.
Prudence paused a moment to take a look at the “Piece of shite” as Clancy had called it. It was actually a Bentley Mulsanne, either a 2014 or 2015 model. Prudence now understood the reason for Clancy’s distress.
Clancy, knowing Prudence’s preference for riding in the front seat, guided her around to the left side of the car and opened the door. Prudence seated herself and Clancy closed her door. She sat back in the seat, fastened her seat belt and waited for Clancy. He opened the door, seated himself, closed the door, fastened the seat belt, and started the car. The powerful engine came to life with an understated but still impressive roar. Clancy snorted softly, looked to his right then pulled out into the lane.
Prudence waited until they were out of the airport chaos to begin to question him. “Tell me everything Clancy. Please.” He nodded and took a deep breath. She knew better than to expect him to spare her even the quickest glance. Clancy’s gaze never left the road when driving. He sighed and began to speak. “I was on the way to the airport to pick you up. Traffic was crap o’course.” Prudence smiled. Apparently “crap” didn’t quite rate an apology. “Anyway, I was comin’ down Stockley, about half a mile from Shepiston when it happened.”
Clancy shocked Prudence by actually glancing in her direction. “Whoever they were, they were good. One came at me fast from a side road on the left. I dodged him mostly. He clipped us a bit on the back left but I held it together. We were ok.”
The big man steeled himself before continuing. He took another deep breath and exhaled very deliberately. “The other one came from the right. We were back in control but he hit us dead on in the front corner. It spun us around and my blame head hit somethin’ and I went out.” She put her hand on the big man’s shoulder and squeezed.
He continued with a shake of his head. “It was nuthin’. I’m ok. But she…” his voice began to break and his eyes filled. “She’s…. They… “ his voice choked away to nothing.
Prudence like hugging the huge man but could only squeeze his shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand. Shawna. How is Shawna?”
Clancy again took a very deep breath and exhaled slowly. He took several seconds to steel himself and continued. “My Shawna. They hurt her bad miss Prudence. Real bad.” His eyes filled again and his body shook in silent weeping.
Prudence squeezed his shoulder, then reached into her purse, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and handed it to him. Clancy nodded his thanks, took the handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. Another deep breath and he continued. “She’s bad, but Sir Reggie has been great. He’s promised me he’ll spare no expense to make her right.” He nodded, as if trying to convince himself as much as Prudence. She continued to squeeze the huge man’s shoulder and shook her head as she thought about Shawna and how much any injury to her affected Clancy.
Shawna, the total and absolute love of Clancy’s life was a 1973 Bentley T1 Four Door Saloon. Clancy Emerson Chatwin III was a private chauffer, as his father had been, and his grandfather. All had driven Bentleys. The first Clancy Chatwin had driven the 1947 Mark VI door standard steel sports saloon throughout most of his career. The second Clancy began his career with a 1962 Bentley S2 standard saloon and ended with the 1973 Bentley T1 that ultimately became known as Shawna. All three Clancys had served as the private chauffer to member of the Smythe family.
As the Smythe family seemed to be genetically inclined towards danger, intrigue, and adventure, so did the Chatwins. They demanded consistently exception performance from the vehicles they drove.
Shawna had served Clancy the second heroically. He had come to depend on and love her as much as any member of his family. He had passed her on to Clancy the third which great trust and love. He had trusted his son to take great care of his Shawna, and he had trusted her to take great care of his son.
“Anyway, I was out for a bit. When I came to they were gone and the police were just arriving. The cops had already contacted Sir Reggie and he sent this monster..” waving his left hand in a circle, indicating the Bentley, “ as a stand in.” He snorted.
