PROLOGUE

Before the big fight with Robert, before throwing in the towel, and before buying a one-way plane ticket back to North Carolina, Michelle Davis wrote a letter:

Michelle Davis
London
July 20th, 2017

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing to you in the hopes of being considered for a position at Her Majesty’s service.

I have a master’s degree in English history and my experience to date is varied, including jobs in PR, teaching English to business professionals in Japan, working as a personal assistant, and meaningful time spent caring for others.

Most importantly, I offer genuine affection for the Monarchy and for British Identity. I am eager to learn, and ready serve the institution and their people. As a dual citizen of the US and the UK, and given my current circumstances, I can start immediately.

Should you wish to talk further, I would be very pleased to meet for an interview, and I thank you for your consideration.

 Kind regards,
Michelle Davis

***

A month after sending that letter, with no reply, Michelle was on the Heathrow Express, bound for her flight home, her belongings in a small, red roller suitcase by her side.

CHAPTER 1

The rainy drizzle painted a thin wash of grey over everything in sight that morning. Feelings of hopelessness and defeat ebbed and flowed from the pit of Michelle’s empty stomach. The adrenaline from last night’s fight had worn off, utter exhaustion taking its place. Her limbs ached, her puffy eyes were cried dry. She sat slumped in the train seat, one limp hand on her red suitcase, the other clasping her aching face. The weight she carried in her heart was not visible to other passengers, mostly professionals on their way to work, absorbed in their own internal lives. What now? She didn’t know, but it was time to leave. There was nothing left for her in London. No relationship. No job. No future. No home. Recognizing these facts again triggered a series of dry sobs. This hurt. She was all cried out, but the pain would not ease anytime soon.

All her hopes for a life in the city of her dreams had been dashed. To think that only three months ago, on her thirtieth birthday, fueled by a vision of conquering London, she had neatly packed every item in that suitcase; now its contents were haphazardly stuffed back in, and Michelle was ready to get out and give up, with scarcely a shred of pride remaining.

So, this is 30, she thought.

For the past two months, she had blanketed London with over a hundred job applications in the hope of finding footing somewhere — anywhere — but what came back were countless rejections, all confirming that her spotty resume did not help her qualify for any traditional career path. She was too inexperienced for a mid-level position, and too old for a junior position. Her master’s degree in English History looked nice on paper, but she did not have enough practical experience for teaching, or for a museum job (even though she could rattle off a detailed and accurate history of the monarchy since William the Conqueror, on command).

Her live-in situation with Robert was done, the relationship over. She should have picked up on the clues earlier. He had earned a promotion with a New York-based bank, requiring him to move to their London office, along with a generous relocation package and housing. Robert’s move coincided with the passing of Michelle’s beloved grandmother Rose, an anchor in her unrooted, transient life. Michelle had quit her job as a personal assistant in New York to live with and take care of Grandma Rose for the past year, until her death from a stroke at age 90. With Grandma Rose gone, Michelle’s options were to stay, alone in the tiny, two-bedroom house just outside Salisbury, North Carolina (it had been left to her in the will), or to accompany Robert to London on an adventure in the city of her dreams. For Michelle, the choice was clear.

But come to think of it, she was not entirely sure Robert meant to have her join him in London in the first place. The last year of their relationship, before the move, had been long-distance. They only saw each other once every six weeks when she flew up to New York to visit him for whirlwind weekends, packed with friends, parties, and meals in trendy restaurants. It was fun (if exhausting) and a nice contrast to her routine in North Carolina, which included long, quiet hours of reading, strolling aimlessly through the Walmart in town, and spending time assigning names and back stories to the squirrels in Grandma Rose’s front yard. But with all the distractions of the city and Robert’s packed social calendar, they only had a few hours alone together on each visit. On her most recent trip to New York, right after the funeral, Robert shared the news about London and it had been Michelle who immediately blurted out, “I would love to come!” before he could even ask her to join him.

Regardless, none of that mattered now. These three months in London had found Michelle spending most of her time alone in Robert’s tiny corporate Chelsea flat. While he was in the office or out in the evenings with colleagues at swanky bars, she sat in the kitchen, filling out application after application, collecting countless rejections.

On one of those days, she was having a rare moment of cautious optimism about her life in London and took time off from job hunting to simply enjoy being a tourist. She stood at the gates of Buckingham Palace, imagining what life might be like inside. The Palace was open to the public in the summer months, but since Michelle was so short on money, she could only gaze through the gates amongst the throngs of curious onlookers. She watched the police officers with their iconic bobby helmets politely manage the crowds, while the guards performed their choreographed rituals. Occasionally, the gates would open to allow some car or another with tinted windows to pass through and Michelle wondered who these people might be and what had brought them to the Palace. Business? A social call? A national crisis?

Later that day, she found a charming little tea room where she treated herself to a cup of Earl Grey and a freshly baked scone. Sitting at the small, marble-topped table, watching Londoners go about their day outside the window, she was filled with excitement about undiscovered opportunities this dazzling city might have in store for her. Her heart full of hope, she returned to the flat with Buckingham Palace on her mind, looked up the address for general correspondence and wrote that letter. Then, before she could give herself a moment to second guess it all, she dropped it in the mailbox. That day now seemed like a distant memory.

Now, rejection and defeat filled the space in her heart that once housed abundant courage and optimism. A sense of gloom took hold of her. After weeks of bickering and growing tension with Robert, everything had come to a head in one big blowout, when he finally admitted, very loudly and very clearly, that he didn’t want her in his life. It was crystal clear. He wanted her out. Now. And that meant leaving the country, because Michelle no longer had the funds (or seemingly the strength) to make it in the city on her own. She slept on Robert’s couch that night, and with no wish for awkward goodbyes, had risen early while he was fast asleep, and made her way to the station without any breakfast.

 ***

Michelle disembarked the Heathrow Express, and a faint smell of urine in the underground tunnel took her aback, unsettling her empty stomach. She went upstairs to the terminal, and when she approached the check-in area, she noticed a small group of Americans making their way, somewhat theatrically, to one of the self-check-in kiosks. After only three months in London, their loud voices and mannerisms were jarring. She overheard them talking about how they did the Tower of London, did Stonehenge, and the next day were going to do Paris, as if these were rides at Disney. Seeing such brash ambassadors from her homeland made her dread returning to her grandma’s little North Carolina town, where the local barbecue joint offered not only the best Saturday nightlife, but also the best employment benefits. The thought of having to leave London, after only a glimpse of all it had to offer, was devastating. London was glorious. It had everything that made her feel alive: a quick pulse, fizzing energy, cultural diversity and a rich and complex history. She desperately needed a change after years of sleepwalking through her adult life, so small and so safe, and this was the chance she had been waiting for; this was the place she felt she belonged.

But it was not to be.

Feeling shaky, she found a bench and sat down, wanting very much to pull herself together. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the hustle and bustle at check-in, security, and all annoyances that went with one of the world’s busiest airports. Her stomach ached, her mouth was dry. How she hated giving up! New tears welled up in her eyes and she reached into her handbag in search of a tissue when she heard her familiar ringtone, the theme music to Downton Abbey.

Her phone read, “Unknown Caller.”

“Hello?” she answered.

“Good morning. May I please speak to Michelle Davis?” asked a formal sounding male voice.

“Speaking.”

The voice on the other end was difficult to hear amid the busy airport buzz. She pressed the phone to her wet cheek, got up from the bench, and shuffled towards the ladies’ restroom where it was quieter.

“Hello, this is Rufus Wellington calling from Buckingham Palace. We received your application and I am calling to enquire if you’re available to attend an interview day that we are holding tomorrow.”

Michelle held her breath. Had she heard him correctly?

“What?” she stammered.

Struggling for composure, she took a deep breath. “I mean, yes, of course. I would be glad to. Can you please tell me more?”

Instantly self-conscious, she wondered if she sounded polite enough. Had she heard correctly that he was from Buckingham Palace? A voice over loud speaker instructed passengers to keep an eye on their belongings and not accept parcels from anyone unfamiliar. She jammed a finger into one ear and pressed the phone closer to the other.

“Excuse me. I’m at the airport ...” Michelle made the decision in a split second to end with, “… sending off a relative. I missed what you just said. Would you mind repeating it, please?”

“Certainly. Tomorrow we are holding an interview day at Whitehall near Charing Cross. I am emailing you the address. Please be there at 10 in the morning. It is an all-day recruitment event. The sign on the door will read, HR Solutions Recruitment Day. This is for confidentiality. The interview is by invitation only and we ask that you please be on time and that you refrain from publicizing it.”

This Rufus Wellington sounded like he meant business while managing to retain an immensely polite tone, a skill she admired about the English.

“Of course. I understand. I will be there, and I will be discreet.”

In this case, it was Michelle who meant business. Being an introvert, she was never one to publish her every move on social media anyway. Her sleepy Facebook feed had not been updated in almost six months. Her long-distance friendships had gone into hibernation when she moved into Grandma Rose’s house. Most of her old college or work friends were occupied with high flying careers or raising babies, and she did not have a close relationship with her parents, so nobody was really keeping tabs on her life right now.

“Do you have any other questions regarding tomorrow?”

Michelle racked her brain, trying to think of something to ask.

“What should I bring, other than my resume, I mean, my CV?”

“We have your CV. Just bring your passport or work permit — any documents that prove your legal working status. Anything else?”

“No - and thank you for inviting me. I look forward to meeting you.”

“Very well. We will expect you tomorrow then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye! Thank you!”

She stared at her phone in shocked silence. Leaning against the restroom wall, she sighed with her whole body, as the first big smile in weeks appeared on her face, breaking like the sun through the clouds. For a few moments, she just stared at the ceiling, holding her head in disbelief.

Buckingham Palace. This is crazy!!!

Still smiling, now with tears of joy welling up in her eyes, she went back to the bench where she had received the call and sat down, a slight tremble in her hands and a tingling sensation in her face. Had that just happened? Should she pinch herself? She was just hours away from getting on a plane back home.

“Grandma, did you do that?” she whispered to herself with a smile. Michelle felt slightly superstitious after Grandma Rose’s death. Although she was not at all religious, she sometimes allowed herself the comforting thought that Grandma had a hand in things that happened or was watching from somewhere. A mix of emotions rolled into pure, unrestrained excitement, and an elated shriek escaped her lips.

 “Oh, my god! Buckingham Palace!” she squealed, hopping up and down.

A middle-aged British woman, sitting and reading nearby, was startled by this sudden outburst and spilled some tea on her book. She pursed her lips and gave Michelle a look. But Michelle didn’t care. She was allowing herself to be carried away by this unexpected turn for a moment, smiling so wide that her cheeks were starting to ache.

Ping! Seconds later, Michelle’s phone signaled that the email had arrived from Rufus Wellington at Buckingham Palace. She silently read the invitation email in her head, imagining a polite English cadence. She googled the location on her phone. There was no hotel anywhere near the site of the interview in her price range, but she also knew that she needed a good night’s rest if she was going to look presentable in the morning. For a brief second, she considered swallowing her pride, and awkwardly asking Robert to let her spend one more night at his flat, but she quickly discarded that option. They were through, and that was that. 

Her mind began racing. She had so much to do. So much to prep. And she hadn’t much money left. Her plane ticket was only partially refundable at this point, but every little bit counted. She thought back to her last several meals and began making a mental list of ways to eat on the cheap. Two meals should be enough and thank goodness the tap water was drinkable.

London was so expensive, she had learned this summer that every choice mattered. At least the museums were free, and she had certainly taken advantage of those in her short time in the city. Upon arriving in London, she decided that her one credit card would be limited to emergency use only.

“Well,” she thought, “I believe this situation qualifies as an emergency.”

She sprang into action. After running to the counter to cancel her flight ticket and getting a small refund kicked back onto her credit card, she used it to book a room at an airport hotel for the night. This way, she could take the first train back to the city in the morning and be at Charing Cross an hour early with enough time to find the building where the interviews were being held.

Next, she found an ATM and withdrew some cash, wincing at the extra fee required for using an American debit card; she never had the time or funds to set up a London bank account and her little account in North Carolina was officially on life support. She had enough in her purse now to buy sandwiches to last her the rest of the day, thus avoiding the expense of hotel food, with a few pounds left over for a snack in the morning, as well as her train fare.

Beyond that, she had no plan. She didn’t need one. Something new and exciting was about to happen, and she didn’t have time to worry about whatever came after.

 ***

Later that day, settled in a tiny hotel room, her favorite interview dress selected, ironed, and ready waiting on a hook, she pulled back the sheets to the clean bed and flopped down, staring at the ceiling. Her back and shoulder muscles relaxed for the first time in days as she melted into the mattress.

Impressions from the day flashed through her mind, all out of sequence, and she decided to pull out her diary to capture them. Michelle’s diary had been a part of her life for years, and served mainly as a place to mark down her feelings and experiences during periods of transition. After Grandma Rose died, Michelle missed their frequent conversations, and her diary entries took on the form of letters to her dear, departed friend and confidante. She preferred this format now; it was easier to share her innermost thoughts with a person she loved. She opened her diary and wrote:

Dear Rose,

This summer in London has been a mess, but I have been given one final chance to turn it all around. Sorry that I have not been in touch lately. My time with Robert was mind-numbing in the end. The fights, the uncertainty, and the growing feeling that I was nothing but an unwanted house guest really sapped my strength. I didn’t have the energy to write.

But now, I feel hopeful for the first time in ages. I can hardly believe what has happened! I was so close to giving up (and you know I HATE giving up). What is left for me in North Carolina? Without you, it’s no longer my home. Just this morning, it felt like there was nothing left for me here, either, and then along came this opportunity that feels almost too good to be true, and I am not going to let it slip through my fingers.

Okay, no more suspense: tomorrow, I am going to interview for a job at Buckingham Palace! Can you believe it? I feel like I’m dreaming. I wish I had more to tell you about it, but I’m honestly recovering from the shock of it all, and I hardly know where it will lead, if anywhere. Wish me luck. I hope I can get some sleep tonight.

I miss you!

X Michelle

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