A knock sounded at the door but Alejandro didn’t answer, cuddled as he was against Joe’s chest. A few seconds later there was another knock and Joe pictured some poor member of staff out in the hallway, cases and blankets and wigheads piled around him as he waited for an answer.
With a smile in his voice, Joe said, “Alejo, let me go and answer that.”
“Go on then,” he replied reluctantly, unwrapping his arms from around Joe. “I’ll call Mamá and tell her that all is now very well, with her Pepe here to keep me safe.”
Joe passed him his phone. “It was hopping about on the kitchen table like it was trying to dance! Your public need you, Alejandro.”
Joe went to answer the door and it seemed as though a very well-ordered circus rolled into town when he did. An army of attendants descended on the apartments carrying the luggage Joe had last seen in his service car, Alejandro’s wighead with its Union flag tresses at the front of the procession. Joe’s bags were there too and somehow, by some process of elimination, the castle attendants seemed to know which bags belonged to which half of the party. Or perhaps it was the fact that Alejandro’s luggage was in various neon shades and animal prints, with sparkles and gemstones liberally applied all over everything.
“I’ll put your luggage in your room, Sergeant,” one of the legion told Joe, leading him through the apartment and into a bedroom. “And let us know if you need anything further.”
Joe had stayed in palaces before, but he’d never had a bedroom quite as plush as the one he now found himself in. It was like a museum, with its antique pieces—its huge gold bed, oil paintings and elegant cabinets. The curtains and cushions were covered in silk, and Joe was convinced he could only sleep in the room if he laid down plastic sheeting everywhere. But he’d have to make himself at home, so he dug out his bear and sat it on his bed. It was only tiny and looked smaller still then, lost in the vast acres of the mattress.
Joe decided better of it and took the bear for a ride in his pocket.
He poked his head around the door and called, “Mr Fuente, do you need a hand unpacking?” He hoped he’d brought everything. For a few seconds there was silence, broken only by the sound of the attendants leaving and closing the door behind them. Then the face of Alejandro’s tiny bull emerged through a doorway further along the landing.
“Hola!” Alejandro’s voice said, the bull merrily bobbing as though speaking. “Bienvenido a Windsor, Osito!”
Joe laughed. He hurried along the landing, then held out his bear. “Grrrrr!”
“Hola, handsome bear!” Alejandro—or his bull—announced, then he appeared in the doorway, still holding the little bull up so he could touch its nose to the bear’s fuzzy face. “You do speak Spanish! All this time and you knew! Hello, little Osito, I hope big Osito gives you lots of snuggles!”
“Knew what?” Joe jigged his bear about as the two stuffed toys introduced themselves. “Osito? I thought that meant…well, I wouldn’t like to say or I’d sound big-headed. Hunky man in tweed or something?”
“Oh bless you! You are a hunky man in tweed but—” Alejandro stroked his fingertip over the bear’s tiny ear. “It means teddy bear, Osito!”
Joe burst out laughing so loudly that he bent double. “Teddy bear? All this time, you’ve been calling me teddy bear! Bloody hell!”
Alejandro laughed too, so long and loud that Joe knew the tension was draining from them both. After a day of fear and drama, without a moment to rest, they needed to laugh at bears and misunderstandings and the sheer silliness of it all. Eventually Alejandro managed to curb his hilarity just long enough to ask, “Does this little bear have a name?”
“Sir Robert. My dad named him. That’s what happens when your dad’s a copper.” Joe leaned back against the silk-covered wall. “Does your bull have a name?”
“Perfect! A little bear should have a grand name like that.” Alejandro touched the bull’s nose to the bear’s cheek and make a comically loud smooching sound. “This little toro is as old as I am. His name is Paloma.”
“Paloma! That’s a great name for a bull! Did you call him that?”
“When I was tiny. And my uncle said, ‘Bulls are boys, Alejo.’” He grinned. “And I told him that so was this bull, and his name was Paloma!”
Joe slipped his arm around Alejandro’s shoulder. “A good name. A good, strong name.”
“Come and see my amazing room, Joe and Sir Robert. Imagine a room for a mistress furnished by a drag queen in the 19th century and you’re halfway to how gorgeous it is!” He pecked a platonic—nothing more—kiss to Joe’s cheek and stepped through the door into his bedroom.
Apart from the room being so large that it could easily accommodate a raucous party, as it no doubt had in its past, it was filled with a bed that was even bigger than the one in Joe’s room, with velvets and silks everywhere Joe looked. The subjects of the paintings were more undressed than the horse-riding gents on the walls of Joe’s room, the decor more sensual. This was the room for a monarch to while away the hours despoiling with his mistress. A tucked away little world within a world for enjoying and loving unseen.
“What a room.” Joe gazed around at the long, swagged curtains and the bright colours, the weak light from outside somehow making the gold leaf shine. “If walls could talk, they’d probably just do a saucy giggle!”
“Paloma and Sir Robert look very pleased with this room,” Alejandro decided. “Don’t you think?”
“They do!” Joe said as he dropped down onto one of several sofas. “What a bloody day it’s been. But we’re still in one piece, in a castle. So it hasn’t been all bad.”
Alejandro settled beside him, curling his legs beneath himself. He said nothing, just sat there with Paloma in his lap, looking more serene than Joe had ever seen him.
“I need to apologise,” Joe said. “I had something sent to your address. Not the you-know-what, or the shoes. I should’ve warned you it was coming, but I hadn’t expected to be out when it came.”
“I’m desperate to know what it is,” he admitted. “I was so tempted to peek.”
Joe grinned. “I could always model it for you?”
“If it’s leather and studs, maybe we should save it for when we’re past platonic.” Alejandro’s face was deadpan. For a moment. “Fashion show with Beyoncé playing! Come on, Sergeant Osito, model for me!”
“It’s definitely not leather and studs. I’ve got my tux too but perhaps I should keep that for the party?” Joe got up from the sofa and left Sir Robert in his place. “Will you look after my bear? He’s been getting lonely.”
“Tux for the party, lovely fashion surprise for now. Paloma will keep Sir Robert snuggled and happy.” Alejandro scooped Sir Robert into his lap. Then he smiled, his expression gentle. “Thank you for bringing my blanket and little P. It feels more like home with them. And with you.”
“Least I could do,” Joe said. “Give me five minutes. And promise not to laugh if it looks awful?”
Alejandro gave a gracious nod. “Work it, girl. I’m ready to see you slay!”
Back in his room, Joe tore off the packaging that cocooned his new suit, his hands shaking. The dark blue tonic fabric he had chosen was subtly iridescent, a shimmer of purple running through the fabric when it caught the light. It seemed more appropriate by far for his plush surroundings than the jeans he’d been wearing all day.
The cut was flattering too. No tailor on Earth could have hidden Joe’s shoulders but careful tailoring had at least given the impression of a neat waist. He hadn’t wanted to look as wide as his shoulders all the way down. He wasn’t a bouncer, after all.
Joe added a crisp, white shirt, worn open-necked, and a pair of smart black lace-ups that had been in the back of the wardrobe for too long.
Joe combed his hair, trying to ensure that each strand was in place, and added a small squirt of cologne. Then he went back to Alejandro’s room where Beyonce was already singing.
“Mr Fuente?”
Alejandro was still on the sofa safely snuggled under his blanket. The two cuddly toys in his lap each wore a length of gold braid around their neck, tied off in a flamboyant bow. It was the same gold braid that Alejandro had been putting through his sewing machine all week, ready for his seamen. At the sight of Joe his mouth fell open, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Oh my God, look at you!” He clapped his hands together, his gaze roaming over the suit and, Joe knew, the man who was wearing it. “Dressed for the gods, the house down!”
Joe came farther into the room at a strut, in time to the music. He spun round and smiled at Alejandro over his shoulder, then when he turned back, held out one side of the jacket to show the dark red satin that lined the suit.
“You can stroke it if you like, Alejo! The lining, I mean.”
Alejandro put the toys down on the sofa and arranged the blanket around them, then rose to his feet. He moved to stand in front of Joe and drew his fingertips very lightly over the lining of the suit. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though inhaling a gorgeous fragrance.
“You’re the finest, most handsome, bravest man I’ve ever met, Osito.” His eyelids sprang open. “And now you’re the best-dressed too!”
“So you like it, then?” Joe couldn’t resist his cheeky tone. “I don’t look like an undertaker anymore?”
“You must know you look amazing. This is what I was trying to say before, why would you be generic when you could be fabulous?” Alejandro stroked his fingertip down Joe’s lapel. “How does it feel?”
“Pretty amazing, actually.” Joe laughed awkwardly. “I need more colour in my wardrobe, don’t I? Although you’re the wrong person to ask. You’ll just say yes! But I feel more like your CPO now. Alejandro’s man.”
“And Paloma’s too.” He quirked his eyebrow. “Would you like to go for a wander in that amazing suit? Just you and me? I need to change first though, because I look like a tramp next to you!”
“I’d love to have a wander. I’ll see you in the lounge—well, drawing room, I suppose it is—in a couple of minutes?”
“Pick a colour?” Alejandro grinned, then added, “What would go best with your suit?”
“Purple,” Joe decided. “And shimmery?”
“Oh, you know I can do that with my eyes closed.” He winked. “Give me five minutes, Osito, and I shall be ready for the verdict of my favourite fashionista!”
Joe went off to the drawing room and occupied himself looking at the paintings. There were landscapes of forests, and cliffs studded with crumbling Roman temples. Tiny human beings in togas cowered below, rendered insignificant by their surroundings. Joe wasn’t a fan of those, so he turned his attention to portraits of Alejandro’s extended family, many years ago, as they posed in exquisite gowns. It was good to see that Alejandro was continuing the tradition.
“Ready, Sergeant!” Alejandro announced as he shimmered into the room. “I invited Sir Robert and Paloma to join us but they’re enjoying a bottle of bubbly and some bonbons.”
Although the drawing room was colourful already, Alejandro managed to brighten it up even more in his vivid purple trousers and a red shirt that glittered as if it were covered in sequins.
“An understated, everyday outfit.” Joe grinned. At least, it was everyday if your name was Alejandro. “You’ll be okay without your shoes on?”
“No shoes is the best feeling in the world when you spend hours in heels,” he said, with the hard-won wisdom of a queen. “I bet you know this place better than I do, don’t you? Granny’s house?”
“I’ve been here a few times, yes! But I’ve never stayed in a room like the one I’ve got here. It’s gorgeous.”
“Do they usually put you out in the stables?” Alejandro held out his hand. “In a tiny little attic filled with other muscular men who have shirtless pillow fights? Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad at all. Five stars. Would recommend!”
“Oh yes, strictly no shirts allowed. We do one-handed press-ups on the hour, too.” Joe took Alejandro’s hand. “Let’s go for a wander. Although, we can’t hold hands all the way round. They’d think I was your Too Close Protection Officer then!”
Which Joe knew very well he was, as CPOs didn’t generally massage their principals’ feet or introduce them to their childhood toys.
“So tell me more,” Alejandro teased as they headed through the apartment towards the door, “about these press-ups.”
Joe lowered his voice, trying to sound seductive. “We get very warm. Sweaty. But we keep going. And no shirts. Nope, none at all.”
“I like being platonic with you.” Alejandro lifted their joined hands and kissed Joe’s fingers where they held his own. “Especially when you tell me platonic policing anecdotes like that.”
“Did I mention the communal showers?” Joe raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, where shall we go first? The castle is ours!”
“Let’s go to the chapel?” It was a surprising choice perhaps but few CPOs hadn’t stood on duty in St George’s Chapel over the years, hoping that their earpieces didn’t feedback as the archbishop of the day read the Order of Service. “The sun’s setting, it’ll look amazing in the windows.”
Joe led them through the grand corridors, regretting that he had to let go of Alejandro’s hand when other officers and staff appeared. No one seemed to find anything odd about the duchess’ son wandering about barefoot, although Joe’s suit attracted surprised glances from officers he’d worked with in the past.
And Alejandro still had surprises of his own, producing a pair of folded ballet flats from his trouser pockets. He slipped the flimsy shoes onto his feet as they ventured out into the November dusk and, together, they crossed in front of the illuminated tower. Alejandro paused to snap a few photos of the castle as they went but soon they were on their way again, walking in companionable silence until finally, they reached the large doors to the chapel.
“Here we are, then.” Joe tried the door. It was unlocked and swung open, revealing the chapel’s interior to them.
“Look at this place!” Alejandro stepped over the threshold and into the vast expanse of the chapel. He spun in a circle, his face turned upwards towards the heavens. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It’s pretty big for a chapel, isn’t it?” Joe had never been inside while off-the-clock, or at least, not on such a relaxed visit. He gazed up at the columns, which seemed to spread stone branches up to the ceiling as if they were in a very grand petrified forest. “Almost looks like lace up there, doesn’t it, but it’s stone.”
“It’s magical.” He sighed, utterly contented. “I like to sit here when the choir practices. I don’t think I’m supposed to, but I do anyway.”
Joe gazed at the kaleidoscope of light in the stained glass. Above the choir stalls, the banners of the Knights of the Garter swayed ever so slightly in the breeze brought in by Joe and Alejandro. “No one’ll mind as long as you don’t distract them. Although I don’t suppose you should bust out some diva numbers while they’re practising. Could make Sundays more interesting, though!”
“The years after Papá died were horrible, but I never cried because I didn’t want Mamá to be sad again.” Alejandro led them up the wide aisle towards the altar, passing beneath the vast, glittering windows of the chapel. The dying daylight bathed them in a thousand colours just as it had generations that had walked this aisle before, from joyous newlyweds to mourning consorts. “The first time I came here, I hated it and I thought, I’ll run away to Madrid, I’ll be gone before they notice. I really meant to, but when I heard the choir, it felt like they were calling to me. So I came in here and I sat right at the back and I wept. And I felt closer to Papá than I ever had since I lost him.”
Alejandro was even more colourful than usual as the light touched him, and Joe wished he’d never had to lose his father nor his home. But standing here, where so many couples had stood to be married, Joe had to shut his eyes to stop himself from seeing the smashed wedding photograph again.
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Joe squeezed Alejandro’s hand. As he opened his eyes again, his gaze settled on Alejandro illuminated by the ancient colours of the stained glass. “I’m so sorry for what happened to your father. I lost mine three years ago. I don’t know how I would’ve coped if I’d been a child. I still miss him, even though he was a bit of a tyrant. I know it sounds odd but I can still hear him in my head. ‘Sergeant Wenlock, are you having a cuppa?’ Silly, isn’t it?”
“Think of how proud he must have been. His sergeant son, looking after royalty.” Alejandro turned to face Joe, studying his face with his large eyes. “Do you still have a mamá?”
“I do, yes.” Joe nodded. “After Dad died, she moved to Bristol to live near my sister and her horde of kids. “She’s taken up line-dancing and dates retired divorcés! She’s having a great time. Mum’s always been happy in her own company. Comes with being a police officer’s wife, I suppose. Dad was ambitious, worked every shift he could get. I hope he’d be proud of me, but when I first started in this work, all he said was, ‘Bloody easy job, that!’”
Joe chuckled as he took Alejandro’s hand again.
“He never met me,” Alejandro said, his face lit by mischief. “Or he’d know it was anything but easy.”
Joe swung their joined hands. His dad would’ve been furious at such a breach of protocol, but Joe wasn’t going to live his life for his father anymore. “I did remember all your wigs, didn’t I? Everything you need for tomorrow?”
“Every last thing, even my new shoes. All I need to do is style the wig, then Admiral Paloma is ready to set sail!”
“Brushes, combs, lacquer… I did remember all that as well, I think. But I’m sure Abuelita would lend hers.” Joe glanced at his watch. “Is it dinner with the family this evening?”
“Not on the night before a performance,” Alejandro replied. “I was going to have a very quiet, pre-show evening all on my own. But I’d happily extend the invitation to a handsome, well-dressed copper to join me.”
“Thank you, I accept.” Joe gave Alejandro a small, courtly bow. Alejandro met it with a deep, formal curtsey of his own. He was almost ridiculously dainty, balletic even in his boy clothes.
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