Aisha and the Prince of Wales

Chapter III: Office Gossip

As expected, the bill came up to a staggering total not that it would be a problem for a member of the royal family. Nick made the payment in a discreet manner, not flashing his fancy card in the obnoxious way Aisha had seen some of their more flamboyant celebrity customers do. 

"Good choice, Your Highness," said Colette, deigning to look down her pointed nose at the clothes packed in their trademark  Elise Alva bags. "Oh, it was all Aisha. I just sat there," smiled Nick as his driver collected the bags carefully with gloved hands before loading them into the long, sleek car. Colette raised her thin eyebrows, clearly surprised that the Prince of Wales was on first-name terms with Aisha. Aisha kept her face smooth, but she knew she was going to have to put up with a few acid comments later. 

As soon as the Prince left the store, it was like the stafflet out a collective breath they'd been holding in ever since he first walked in. 

"So, what was he like?" asked Rita, her eyes wide. Her burnished bronze fringe fell into her big, blue eyes, and her eager smile reminded Aisha of a child waiting excitedly for toffees. 

"Do tell," said John, a meticulously groomed personal shopper with slightly receding black hair and a pointed chin, leaning against the counter, "We can't wait to hear what the PoW is like in person!" 

"Doesn't PoW stand for prisoner of war?" asked Kat, another one of the personal shoppers, wrinkling her nose. 

John was just opening his mouth to retort when Colette gave him her famous evil eye, forcing him to retreat. She then gave Aisha a haughty nod, as if giving her permission to speak. 

Aisha decided to keep her description brief and matter-of-fact. "He was very down-to-earth and polite," she said simply, adjusting her name tag. When she looked up, she saw that her audience was still staring at her. "What?" she asked. "Oh, come on, Aisha! Don't be boring! Give us the deeeeetails!" burst out John in his trademark dramatic style. Aisha laughed. "What details? We barely spoke," she said. John rolled his eyes. "Not that! The real details! What does he smell like? Is it true he carries around a picture of the South African model Ilana Johnson in his wallet? Ooh… What's his shoe size?" asked John meaningfully, waggling his perfectly-shaped eyebrows. 

"Gross, John!" replied Aisha, "I didn't sniff him, for God's sake! And neither did I peep into his wallet. As for his shoe size, I don't remember. Probably ten, or something."

"Ten. Not bad," said John, looking impressed. Aisha gave him a light shove. 

"Did he say anything about us?" asked Rita eagerly while Kat retorted, "Why would he? I bet he meets loads of people everyday. Why would he remember us?" 

Aisha gave Rita an apologetic look as she turned to return to her station. Once she was alone, she planned to Google a certain Ms Ilana Johnson… 

A week later-

Aisha was seated at her desk, looking for a Christmas outfit for herself from the latest Elise Alva catalogue when her bell chimed. 

Marking the page she was on, she stood up, smoothed down her navy blue blazer, and walked smartly to the foyer. John had evidently been lying in wait for her, as he grabbed her arm before she could enter, and muttered in her ear, "It's him again. And he asked specifically for you!"