Page 130 of Pervade London
“A speech.”
“When do you have to give it?”
He gave me a rueful smile.
“Can you read some?” I threw in a cute grin.
James’ long fingers reached for the mouthpiece. “Microphone off, please, Carl.”
The pilot’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Got it, boss.”
I readied myself for the upcoming lecture he was about to deliver—something about not asking too many questions.
He gave his laptop screen a slight nudge and drew in a breath. “What is the cost of one life?” he began poetically. “Even one life is too high a price to pay. We know this, we feel it in our souls as profoundly as we comprehend it. However, the winds of change have turned against our allies and we are again reminded of our profound history. And, like before, when we refused to bow to tyranny, or cower in the face of evil, we took action. We refused to allow our allies to crumble beneath savage attacks, from savage people. We cannot expect our brothers and sisters, our allies, to endure this on their own. We cannot abandon them. We will not abandon them. It is with a heavy heart, but a strong heart no less, that I say…we must do what is good, what is right, what is honorable…” James’ gaze rose from the screen. “I’m still working on the last line,” he said, using his usual tone of voice.
“Did you write that?” I breathed.
“It’ll do.” Xavier winked at him.
“What’s it for?”
James tapped his lip thoughtfully. “To persuade.”
I watched him close his laptop.
“Seatbelt, Xavier,” said James firmly, sliding his laptop into his briefcase.
Xavier clipped in his seatbelt and then turned and gave mine a customary tug.
London came into view.
And just like that James shut down, as though his connection to this city once more drew his full attention.
We landed in Regent’s Park, where a black SUV waited for us. We left the helicopter and trudged the distance across the grass to our car, with Xavier carrying my violin case and James leading the way with his briefcase in hand.
Sitting in the backseat of the car, I turned to Xavier. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll love it.”
I wanted to ask why we’d left the castle so quickly, but as I’d not been meant to see it, I chose not to remind James how much I’d learned within those mighty walls.
Recognizing the scenery, my thoughts began to race, wondering what we were doing here. This was a stone’s throw from Camden Market, and one of my favorite towns to visit: Primrose Hill, a quiet village just north of Regent’s Park. It offered visitors the quaintest coffee shops, bookstores, local boutiques, along with picturesque walkways.
The car slowed to take a corner and I recognized the eclectic homes lining the winding street. The terraced houses and their bright colors made it easy to forget we were still in the city.
There was a history here.Ours.
Xavier liked this part of town because H. G. Wells had based his bookWar of the Worldsin this location. He loved that novel. He got a kick out of walking along the green where the aliens were meant to have landed. It was such a geeky thing to do. Now, I realized he’d been looking for a way to escape those nightmarish details in his head.
I couldn’t fathom how he endured it.
It was also during our first trip to Primrose Hill that he’d introduced me to the poems of Sylvia Plath—his way of broadening my education after learning of my compromised one in that secondary school in Devon. Crooking my neck, I could see Plath’s old home, No. 3 Chilcot Square. Fans of her poetry could often be seen outside paying homage to her.
We, too, had our moment with Sylvia Plath outside her home—both of us huddled beneath an umbrella while I read “Lady Lazarus,” setting her words free into the late evening, relishing their rhythm and flow, both of us glancing at the place she’d lived as though some part of her spirit still resided there.
The car idled at the curb not far from her former home. I gave Xavier a curious glance, a silent question as to why we were here. He gave me nothing.
The driver opened the rear door for us.
