The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 61 - One Departs and One Returns

Samantha

I spent the weekend scouring charity shops and fabric stores hunting up supplies for Eugenie's coats. I'd already left a message with my boss at the polo yard, Ricky, and told him I would be back at work on Monday, so I wanted to stock up on my sewing supplies while I had the chance.

Besides needing the money, I knew I couldn't hide out from the press forever. I had to get back to my regular routine.

When I stepped out of the door early Monday morning, the paparazzi vultures were already waiting. I walked past them, ignoring their questions, knowing that they were snapping photos of me in my usual polo-yard attire of faded jeans, holey sweater, and scuffed boots, topped by a warm coat to hold off the late-February winds. I steeled myself to look straight ahead, disregarding the footsteps that followed me.

I did not put on any makeup or do anything with my hair beyond tucking it up into a messy bun. I was headed to a stable, not a gala charity event, and I refused to play the game of making myself all Instagram-worthy for the press. If they were going to take photos of me, then they were going to get the real me. The only one whose opinion mattered was Harry, and he had already seen me in my barntastic best and covered in blood to boot, and he didn't seem to mind. Maybe he liked the fact that I was almost the polar opposite of the woman he was currently engaged to.

Amazingly, there was no press waiting outside the stable. I snuck in the side door and breathed deeply of the quiet warm scent of horses and hay. It was good to be back.

I made my way down the aisle, greeting horses as I went, until I reached Driz's stall. It was empty.

Not just empty, like the mare was off being exercised. It was clean, unused.

"Hey, where's Driz?" I asked one of the other grooms, nodding at the empty stall.

He shrugged. "Better ask Ricky."

That didn't sound good.

Ricky's office was a tiny space behind the tack room, filled with papers and action photos of polo ponies. He was on the phone and I stood impatiently in the door, waiting for him to finish.

"Sam, good to have you back!" he said, standing up to greet me.

"Where's Driz?" I asked.

He looked confused.

"Drizzle. Cloudburst. The gray mare? You know, the one I was hired to babysit?" I tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and probably failed.

"Yeah, I meant to tell you. She's not here any more, so now you can work with the rest of Mr. Coster's string like the rest of the grooms."

"What do you mean, she's not here any more? Where did she go?"

"Off to the auction, I guess. She tore a ligament in a match and the vet wasn't hopeful that she'd make a full recovery."

I felt sick to my stomach.

Ricky patted my arm. "You know how it is, Sam. A top-notch polo pony can cost £100,000 or more. The gray mare was getting a bit of age on her. Mr. Coster can't afford to keep a pony that isn't earning its oats. It's a business with him."

I nodded, afraid to open my mouth in case I either started to cry or began to curse. Who knew I would get so attached to the bitey beast that I would be upset when she was gone?

"Come on now. Let's go have a look at the black gelding that Mr. Coster's trying out to replace her," he said, leading me down the stable aisle, and I trailed after him, taking only a minute to send off a text to Harry.

Coster sent the gray mare to the auction. Torn ligament. Guess she's gone for good.

Harry's reply was swift but vague. You never know. The mare might just turn up someday.

I was exhausted, mentally and physically, after my first day back at the stables. I went straight from the bus stop to the Sleeping Lion and somehow managed to avoid any vultures. I needed a pint and some comfort food.

The old gents at the end of the bar looked up when I entered and then went back to their conversation. Tom smiled and poured me a pint, but I hesitated when I saw where he placed it—right next to a woman with her back to me, her curly dark hair held back with a scarf.

Randa.

I didn't think I had the energy to deal with her today. We had not spoken or exchanged texts in weeks, since she stormed out of the pub after accusing me of using Harry and Eugenie to climb the social ladder. I turned to leave, even though the pint and and a burger and chips were calling to me.

"Sam," she said. And then she was off the bar stool, wrapping me in a hug.

I just stood there in shock. Finally I said, "Does this mean we've made up?"

Randa laughed. "Well I'm not going to kiss you, if that's what you're after. But let's not have a row," she said.

We sat down and I took a much-needed swig of beer. Tom polished glasses nearby, a smile on his face, no doubt taking credit for ending our fight.

"I've seen your photos all over," she said. "I can't believe some of the nasty things they've been saying about you."

"Please don't tell me," I warned her. "I really don't want to know."

"I know I was pretty much a bitch," Randa said awkwardly. "I mean, he's a prince. I can't blame you. I would have done the same thing if he'd wanted to date me."

I cringed as she used Harry's title. It still sounded strange to my ears. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I guess I knock guys like him right off their feet." Stealing a few chips off her plate, I said, "I kinda need someone who's outside of all the insanity to keep me on track, ya know? Someone I can trust not to run to the press with all my secrets."

Randa held up her hand solemnly. "I promise to not let you get all caught up in the tiara-crowd craziness. If you start wearing ball gowns and emeralds to the stables, I'll call you on it."

"Thanks. Although I may not be at Coster's much longer," I said, and told her about Driz.

She shook her head in sympathy. "That really sucks. So what will you do? Sign on with another polo string?"

"I don't know," I said, feasting on the juicy burger that Tom put in front of me. "I've got some orders for custom coats. Maybe that will take off enough that I can concentrate on the sewing. Hey, how would you like to be a model?" I asked suddenly, the thought just occurring to me.

"Me? I'm not some skinny catwalk girl, in case you hadn't noticed," she said, gesturing at her curvy figure.

"That doesn't matter. I need to build up my Instagram presence and I can't model my stuff, for obvious reasons. Come on, let me get some snaps of you."

Randa looked surprised and shrugged. "Sure. Why not? Might be fun. I'd just adore standing knee deep in that barmy dancing fountain in Hyde Park trying to look all sexy and buy-my-coat at the same time."

"You better not be hopping into a fountain in one of my coats," I said, and we both laughed.

"I've missed you, crazy girl," she said.

"Yeah. Ditto," I replied. "So let's make sure this whole royal thing doesn't come between us, okay?"

"I'll drink to that," she said, and we both lifted our mugs.

"To the Queen!" we cried at the same time, and burst out laughing.