After she checked in at the airport, she walked around the terminal and bought some magazines, and then she called Raoul to see if he had any last instructions. He told her he'd fax her if he had any new information about the second story, but other than that, he had nothing. And then she boarded the plane, and headed for London. She was due in at nine o'clock that night, and she was going to be picked up and taken to a ball the Queen was giving for the couple in the Painted Hall at the Royal Naval Academy in Greenwich. She had brought a long velvet skirt, a velvet blouse, and a string of pearls, and she was going to change in the limousine on the way in from the airport. It was more than a little different from her old assignments, but she could hardly wait to get there.

She read and slept on the flight, and ate a little dinner, and she looked out the window for a while, thinking about the children she had left, who had been the boundaries of her life for so long. She knew she'd miss them, but she knew that they'd be fine for the short time she'd be gone. And then she thought about Doug, and the things he had said to her, the power he had wielded over her for so long, and the reasons he'd done it. It seemed so unfair, and so unnecessary, and now when she thought about it, she wasn't angry, but sad. If he had let her go graciously, or let her grow over the years, it would have been so much kinder. But all Doug wanted was to control her, to make her do what he wanted. And thinking about it was depressing.

She was dozing when they landed at Heathrow, and then the excitement began in earnest, along with the realization that she had spread her wings at last and done something she wanted, not because it was good for someone else, or she was expected to, but because it was what she wanted to do. She almost crowed with delight as they landed. She hadn't been in London in years, and she could hardly wait to see it. And what better way to do it?

The driver they had promised her was waiting just outside Customs, and he drove into town as quickly as he could, while she changed her clothes in the backseat and combed her hair as neatly as possible under the circumstances. She felt a little more disorganized than she wanted to, but when she looked in the mirror, she decided she would pass inspection. And she wasn't here to look beautiful, she was here to take photographs. No one was going to care what she looked like.

As they approached the Royal Naval Academy, she saw that there were cadets outside in formal uniforms, holding antique muskets and rifles, and they stood at attention as guests came in and out, and the surroundings were very impressive. The buildings framed an enormous square of lawn, and the domed chapel was built in 1779.

She took a couple of quick shots of the outside, and hurried inside to the party. And as she came up the steps, she looked up and saw the extraordinary paintings all around and on the ceiling. It was a cross between Versailles and the Sistine Chapel. And there were at least four hundred people dancing, and almost the moment she walked in, she began shooting. It was easy to spot her subjects. Prince Charles, the queens of the Netherlands, Denmark, and Norway. She recognized all of them, as well as the President of France, several Crown Princes, and then she saw Queen Elizabeth in the distance, surrounded by guards, and chatting easily with the Prime Minister, and the President and the First Lady. She had had to show her pass when she entered, but she slipped it into her pocket after that, and spent the next four hours gliding discreetly from one group to the other. And at two A.M., when the party broke up, she knew she had gotten what she'd come for. It was the same warm feeling she'd had years before when she knew she got her story, although this time her subjects couldn't have been more different.

The Queen had left hours before, and the rest of the illustrious guests filed out decorously, saying what an extraordinary party it had been, and some of them went to see the chapel. India took the last of her roll of film there, and then climbed into her car, and headed back to the city.

They had gotten her a small room at Claridge's, which had been one of the promised perks of the job, and as she walked into the lobby with her camera, and her bag, she suddenly realized she was exhausted. It was two-thirty in the morning there, which was only eight-thirty in the evening for her, but she had been working for hours, traveling and covering her story. It felt just like the old days, although her work clothes then hadn't included velvet skirts and evening shoes. She had worn combat boots and camouflage, but she knew that she would remember the sights she had seen that night forever. The Painted Hall was surely one of the grandest sights in England, and the people who had been there that night were forming the course of history in Europe.

She could hardly wait to get undressed and into bed, and she was asleep almost the minute her head hit the pillow. She didn't stir until she heard the phone ringing, and she couldn't imagine why anyone would call her at that hour. But when she opened her eyes, she saw there was daylight streaming into the room. It was ten o'clock on a cold November morning in London, and she had to be somewhere at noon. She had slept right through her alarm clock.

“Hello?” she said sleepily, stretching and looking around the room. It was small, but pretty, done in pale blue flowered chintzes.

“I thought you were supposed to be working.”

“I am. Who is this?” For a minute, she thought it was Raoul, but it didn't sound anything like him. And then suddenly she knew. It was Paul, calling from the boat in Turkey. “I didn't recognize you for a minute. I was dead to the world. Thank God you woke me.”

“How's it going?” He sounded happy to hear her.

“It's really fun. Last night was terrific. Everyone in the world was there, as long as they had queen, prince, or king in front of their name. And the Painted Hall is amazing.”

“It is, isn't it? Serena and I went to a party there once, for a very nice man, a maritime author named Patrick O'Brian. He's one of my passions. The Painted Hall is quite something.” He had been everywhere, it seemed to her. But even Paul was impressed by the people who had been there, when she told him about it.

“I think I got some really great pictures.”

“How does it feel to be working again?” He smiled at the thought of her, tucked into her little room at Claridge's. He could almost see her. And knowing what it had taken to get there, he knew what a victory it was for her, and how much it meant to her. He was glad she had done it.

“It feels terrific. I love it.” She had also told him about the second story, and he was concerned about her, but figured she knew what she was doing, and the police would protect her. “How are you, Paul?” He was sounding a little better these days, though she knew Thanksgiving probably hadn't been easy for him, but he had avoided the issue by staying in Turkey. “Any interest in coming to London while I'm here?” She threw it out as a possibility, but she didn't really expect him to take her up on it, and knew instinctively that he wouldn't. He was still hiding from real life on the Sea Star.

“I don't think so,” he said honestly. “Though I'd really like to see you, India,” he said with a smile. “You're probably too busy anyway to hang around with old friends.” In the past five months, they had actually become that. She had shared all her terrors with him, and her disappointments with Doug, and he had cried on her shoulder more than once since he lost Serena. In a short time, and from great distances at times, they had been through a lot together. “I think I'm afraid to come back to civilization.” It was still too painful for him, and she knew it.

“You don't have to yet.” She knew he was handling most of his business by fax and phone, and his partners were managing the rest in his absence. It was better for him to stay on the Sea Star. The boat seemed like a healing place for him.

“How were the kids when you left?” He had thought a lot about her the previous morning.

“Fine. Better than Doug. We celebrated Thanksgiving the night before, and he hardly spoke to me. I don't think this is going to go down too smoothly. There are bound to be repercussions.”

“Just steel yourself for them. What can he do, after all?”

“Throw me out, for starters, figuratively speaking. He could leave me,” she said in a serious tone. It was obvious that she was worried about it.

“He'd be a fool if he did that.” But they both knew he was, although Paul saw it more clearly than she did. “I think he's just making noise to scare you.”

“Maybe.” But she had come anyway. And she was here now. “I guess I'd better get dressed, before I miss the next party.”

“What is it today?” he asked with interest.

“I have to check my itinerary. I think it's the lunch given by Prince Charles at Saint James's Palace.”

“That should be entertaining. Call me tonight and tell me all about it.”

“I'll probably be home pretty late. I have to go to another dinner tonight, before the wedding.”

“This sounds like a really tough story.” He was teasing her, but he felt like her guardian angel. He had seen her come through all the agony it had taken her to get there. And now he wanted to share the victory with her. “I'll be up late. You can call me, now that we're almost in the same time zone. I think we're going to head for Sicily tomorrow. I want to hang around Italy for a while, and Corsica. Eventually, I want to wind up in Venice.”

“You lead a tough life, Mr. Ward, with your little houseboat you can take everywhere with you. I really feel sorry for you.”