Sisterchicks Go Brit! (21 page)

“This morning at the train station on our way to Windsor I was saying that I’ve decided I want to start the interior-design business. And I would love for you to be part of that with me. What do you think?”

“I …”

“I know it’s not been the best time to think about it with everything else we’ve been doing.”

“My mind has been a little occupied for the past week—”

“Yet I was hoping you might have an initial gut reaction to the idea.”

The truth was, I did have a gut reaction, but I didn’t want to tell Kellie yet. Not here. Not now.

While I had been facing Kellie, I had been stealing glances out the window and was aware that we had been following the rim of Hyde Park for many blocks. She was missing the great view of the immense greenery through the misting rain. I knew this was the park J. M. Barrie frequented as he was creating his stories of Peter Pan, but that didn’t seem like a relevant point to add to our present conversation.

“You know what, Kellie?” I said as diplomatically as I could. “I think it would be easier for me if we picked up this conversation at another time.”

“Okay. Sure. That makes sense. This is a potentially life-changing subject.”

I nodded. My gut still was telling me it was a topic that would be life changing for her but not for me. I didn’t need to enter the interior-design business for Kellie to see her dream fulfilled.

Then I remembered how I had used the same sort of reasoning when Kellie wanted to go in the hot-air balloon. I was immensely glad I had taken that risk. Would I feel the same way if I said yes to becoming her business partner? I definitely needed more time to think and pray about this.

The bus stopped near the impressive Marble Arch, and Kellie grabbed my arm. “Let’s get off here.”

“Here?”

She was already in the aisle. I stumbled down the steps in her wake and barely made it off the bus in the crush of people trying to get on.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as soon as we were clear of the crowd.

“Shops!” she said brightly. “When I saw Marble Arch, I realized this is the start of Oxford Street. I read about it in your research material. This is the place for us to shop.”

I did love the idea of coming home with something new to wear, especially a new pair of all-purpose jeans. Whenever I wore them, I would remember they came from London, and I would smile.

“Is this okay with you?”

“It’s great, Lady Ebb. Lead the way.”

We entered the first large department store we came to and found it had the same layout and feel of any major department
store at home. Making our way to women’s clothing, I slipped into my treasure hunt mode and headed for the clearance rack. My first find of the afternoon was a selection of raincoats half off the original price.

“Kellie, look.” I held up the coat I liked so she could see the label. “It’s a London Fog coat!”

“Perfect! You have to buy it.”

I bought the coat along with a light cream-colored, button-up sweater. The sweater was more than half off and was made from a scrumptious blend of cashmere and merino wool. As soon as I tried it on, I felt warm. Warmer than I had felt since we had arrived. I determined to wear that sweater at all times during the rest of the trip unless the sun made another dazzling appearance. With this sweater and raincoat, I finally was ready for London.

Now the challenge was to find something I could wear fairly often once I got home. I told Kellie I wanted to have the chance to one day say, “Oh, this old outfit? Yes, this is the one I bought in London.”

Such snootiness, she assured me, would only be acceptable with my closest family members and, of course, with her.

Kellie found a turtleneck and a scarf she liked. I copied her scarf inspiration and added a pair of socks that came with a label identifying their “perfect blend” of angora and cotton. Then I grabbed a plain white cotton T-shirt and headed to the cash register.

“What about jeans?” Kellie asked.

“I’m not in the mood. I think I can get by the next two days with these pants. I have a skirt with me too.”

She gave me a skeptical look, and I knew what she was thinking. The way things had been going, it could be a challenge for me to keep my singular pair of pants out of harm’s way.

“I know,” I told her. “I should have packed another pair.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say you really should take ten minutes, try on some jeans, and if you find any you like, great. If not, at least you tried.”

That day, having a friend who was more persistent than I was proved useful. The second pair of jeans I tried on fit great, and I bought them. There, mission accomplished. I tucked my lightweight travel jacket into one of the shopping bags and tried out my London Fog raincoat. Just right.

Back out into the street we went. Both of us now had on raincoats with hoods, so we were ready to ward off the drops. The wet stuff was coming down in silver beads that looked as if they had been flung our way from around the neck of Madam Icicle of the Outer Hebrides.

We didn’t get “pretty” raindrops like this in Florida. Where we lived, the sky wrung itself out in downpours during the wet season and duplicated a moist terrarium during several months on either side of the torrents.

Here, the rain seemed to have a different personality. It was purposeful but came with a playful twinkle. A Tinker Bell sort of rain.

Kellie’s idea about hopping on and off the bus was a good one. When a bus for our desired route showed up again, we bustled our way on more aggressively than we had the first time. We tried again for seats up top and found we had to settle for holding on. At the next stop, though, two teens with spiked hair and earphones got off, and Kellie and I took their seats.

The bus rolled down Park Lane, a wide thoroughfare that leads directly to Buckingham Palace. We had a great view as we approached the imposing home of Britain’s sovereigns for almost two hundred years. The Victoria Memorial, crafted of white marble at the base and topped with a golden-winged statue, was much larger and more imposing than the pictures I had seen. The memorial created a traffic roundabout and provided great pictures, as Kellie and I snapped away through the rain-dotted windows. I felt like a true tourist. And I didn’t mind a bit.

At the front of the palace grounds, red-uniformed guards were posted at the closed black gate. Behind them loomed the decidedly rectangular, immensely large Buckingham Palace. Annette’s term for Windsor Castle applied here as well. Buckingham Palace had a “strong beauty” to it. I was sure that the interior was even more impressive than the exterior, just as Windsor had been.

The bus kept going, and we made our way toward the river.

“Are we going to be able to see Big Ben from here?” Kellie pulled out the map. She quickly answered her own question. “No. We’re heading south of Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. Wait. I have an idea. Let’s get off at the next stop.”

I followed my inspired friend, not sure what she was up to. The rain had stopped, and the clouds seemed to be clearing, but the light of day was waning.

“Should I ask what you’re thinking?”

Kellie’s eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “No, I want to see if I can surprise you. Just follow me, and don’t ask any questions.”

“All right, bossy babe.”

“You won’t be badgering me a short time from now. That is, if my little scheme succeeds. If it doesn’t work, then you can scoff at me all you want.”

“That sounds like a fair deal,” I said with a grin.

Kellie led us to the Victoria underground station. She bought the tickets for us, checked the map, and led the way down to where the next underground train to Westminster Station was boarding.

“Perfect timing,” Kellie said. “Come on.”

We slipped inside just as the doors closed, and we held on to a pole in the crowded compartment for the jostling ride. I switched my shopping bag to the other hand. I had combined all my purchases and was carrying them and my purse in one large, handled bag. The consolidation made it easier to be sure I had everything, but the weight seemed to have done a number on my wrist.

“You okay?” Kellie asked.

“I’m carrying too much in one bag,” I said in a low voice. “I’ll divide it up when we get out.”

“Here, let me carry it. Just for a little while. That way I’ll be balanced on both sides. You can give your hands a rest, and then in half an hour or so, we’ll switch, and you can carry both bags for a while.”

I liked her idea. “Ebb and Flo,” I said and handed her my weighty bag. It felt odd suddenly to have my hands free.

We rode only as far as the next stop. Kellie motioned to me that we were getting off here. She secured a firm grasp on both our bags and made her way toward the open door. I was right behind her until a large woman with a fussing toddler in her arms pressed in front of me and then seemed to stop. I couldn’t see around her to know if other passengers were bottlenecked in front of her or what was going on.

“Excuse me.” I tried to maneuver around her so I could jockey my way to the door.

She didn’t seem to hear me, nor did she move. I literally pressed my body sideways between the woman and a man who was wearing a heavy coat that smelled like wet wool and soaked mothballs. The damp odor rubbed off on my new raincoat. I felt desperate to reach the door. A swarm of business-clad passengers was pushing into the cabin. I could see Kellie already out on the platform looking around for me with a panicked expression.

“Kellie!” I pushed as forcefully as I could and reached the sliding doors as they came together and, like a cruel guillotine,
severed me from Kellie. We were packed in, body to body, with no respectable breathing space. I pounded my fist on the closed door. It wouldn’t budge.

The train moved forward, and I had no way to stop it.

K
ellie and I made eye contact
through the window. She shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her. An instant later the train entered a tunnel, and everything outside our sardine can went dark.

Don’t panic. Think. Think
.

Kellie and I never had been in a situation like this, so I didn’t have a precedent to refer to. We didn’t have an arranged meeting place or a backtrack plan. I supposed the safest thing to do would be to get off at the next station, turn around, and go back to where Kellie was standing when the train pulled away. Without the familiar convenience of instant cell phone connection, I was lost.

I decided that if Kellie wasn’t still standing where I last saw her, then I would take a cab back to our hotel. I would wait for her in our room. If she didn’t return to the room right away, at least I could ask the concierge to help me.

My racing heart calmed as I repeated the logical plan to myself.

Then I remembered. Kellie had my bag.

My purse was in the bag.

All I had with me were the clothes I was wearing.

I had been carrying a small stash of emergency money in the inside pocket of my jacket, but I had exchanged the jacket for the new raincoat. And all I had in the pocket of the raincoat was a wad of gray lint.

Oh boy, this isn’t good. Lost in London. Not good. What do I do? What do I do?

The train slowed, and I knew my first step was to get out. I couldn’t stand the claustrophobic conditions another minute. As soon as the door was halfway open, I slid out.

A recorded voice we had heard every time we boarded a train in the underground seemed to mock me as I stepped onto the cement platform: “Mind the gap.” The bloodless voice was referring to the gap between the train and the platform. It wasn’t a large space, but it certainly was wide enough for a wrong-turned foot to get wedged in.

I made sure to mind the gap as well as to mind my disoriented sense of direction. The first thing I did was stop in front of an underground map and determine which station I had just come from.

“Westminster,” I said aloud. I saw that I had gotten off at Embankment. All I needed to do was wind my way up through
the layered maze of stairs and escalators and board a train from the same Green Line going in the opposite direction.

My logic worked. I meandered my way through the concrete catacombs, found the platform for the next train back to Westminster, and waited for its arrival.

A rainstorm of possibilities pelted my thoughts.
What do I do if she isn’t there? What if I can’t find the right platform? What if she exited the underground?

The strangest peace rested on me. As confusing and disconcerting as all this was, I felt as if every step I was taking was being protected. I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. I didn’t know where I was going. But I wasn’t alone. More than I had ever experienced before, I was aware of the Lord’s presence.

I boarded the train heading back to Westminster and thought,
When was the last time I felt this secure?

I held on as the train took off, and the first part of the verse I had read in Exeter Chapel came back to me.
“I will give them a heart to know me, that I am the L
ORD.”

That’s what was happening. I was recognizing that, even in this situation, Jesus Christ was Lord. And He was with me. I wasn’t about to stand up and applaud like the man from Ireland had done in the theater, but inside, my heart was kneeling in humble adoration of the King of kings. I knew He wouldn’t leave me.