‘We have to find a way to get a map of the inside,’ said Peg. ‘Or something. Even a rough sketch would be something to go on.’
‘Did you learn anything from inside the museum?’ asked Belle.
‘No,’ said Peg. ‘There were guidebooks, but they just had photographs of the public rooms. And you can’t access anywhere else from the museum.’
‘We need to find a way in,’ said Belle. ‘I wonder if we could get Lyra to interview a member of the kitchen staff? Maybe she could get a tour of the service level.’
The doorbell rang. Peg jumped off the couch to answer it. He came back a few seconds later with a parcel.
‘It’s for you, Eden.’
‘What? Who would send me a parcel?’
‘Delivery guy said he tried the Lakeview Hotel first, but they told him you’d moved here.’
‘I left a forwarding address,’ I said, taking the parcel.
I tore off the brown paper to reveal a white box with a lid. I lifted the lid. Inside was a long length of shimmering blue fabric, laid on a thick bed of white tissue paper.
‘It’s a dress,’ I said, lifting it out of the box.
‘God, it’s beautiful,’ said Belle, helping me hold it up.
It was pale blue silk with a beaded bodice.
‘Who the hell would send me a dress?’ I said, confused.
‘There are shoes in here too,’ said Belle, looking into the box. ‘Heels.’ The shoes were the same blue colour as the dress. ‘And a letter,’ said Belle, passing me a small blue envelope.
I ripped it open. Inside was a simple handwritten note.
Be my date for the Late Summer Ball? CW
I laughed. ‘I can get inside the Institute.’
Everyone looked at me.
‘If I go to the Late Summer Ball with Clarence Wolfe tomorrow.’
Chapter 17
Peg opened the door.
‘Can I come in?’ I heard Clarence ask.
‘Sure.’ Peg turned and winked at me.
Clarence was dressed in a cream linen suit with a silk bow tie the exact same colour as my dress.
‘I knew that colour would suit you,’ he said, running his eyes slowly up my body, from the blue heels to the plunging neckline.
‘What time are you planning on bringing her home?’ asked Peg.
Clarence raised his eyebrows. ‘Pegasus, I know you’re now her legal guardian, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to act like her father.’
‘If you touch her . . .’
‘What?’
‘She’s sixteen.’
‘Peg, I’ll be fine,’ I said, glaring at him.
‘Last time I checked she was over a hundred years old,’ said Clarence with a smirk.
He took my arm and we walked – slowly, me tottering, despite an hour of practice in the living room – down the stairs and across the street to the waiting car. Someone must have tipped off the press because the number of photographers was ten times the usual number that loitered outside the entrance.
‘Just look down and let your hair fall in front of your face,’ said Clarence. ‘Don’t let them get a good shot.’
He held the door open and then climbed in the back of the car with me. A driver in a white uniform and hat checked that we were ready to leave and then pulled out into the traffic.
‘We’ll have to do the red carpet,’ said Clarence. ‘It’s just five minutes of posing for photographs and shaking hands. And then I’ll introduce you to my family, because they’ll expect to meet my date. But the rest of the evening will be fun, I promise.’
The car drove right up to the barricades around the red carpet. The driver opened the door for us, and Clarence – thankfully – lent me a hand so I could get out without revealing too much thigh. My shoes were pinching the skin of my foot, right where the ankle met the heel, so I walked slowly, clutching Clarence’s arm and trying not to limp, determined not to broadcast my high-heel inexperience to the whole world.
After shaking hands with a few people, he guided me to the middle of the carpet to pose for photographs. He put an arm loosely around my waist. Cameras flashed from every direction, but the questions were gentler than what I was used to.
‘Such a beautiful dress, Eden. Who is the designer?’
‘Did you pick it yourself?’
‘How long have you known Clarence?’
‘The designer is Miller,’ said Clarence. ‘Eden and I met through mutual friends. I knew her friend Orion Westland.’
The main entrance of the Institute had been transformed. A wooden arbour had been constructed in front of the white stone doorway; hundreds of red and pink roses were twined around it. The scent from the flowers was overpowering.
Once inside, a welcoming party of the Guardians and their spouses – all except the Westlands – awaited us.
‘It’s OK, they won’t bite,’ Clarence whispered.
Clarence introduced me to just one couple: his parents.
‘Mother, Father,’ said Clarence with exaggerated politeness, ‘may I introduce Eden Anfield.’
Clarence’s mother – a petite blonde with bright red lipstick and unnaturally white teeth – almost curtseyed. ‘How lovely to meet you in person.’
Admiral Wolfe shook my hand. ‘I’m pleased to see you’ve settled into life in Lakeborough,’ he said tonelessly.
I smiled at the man who had determined my life was nothing more than collateral damage. ‘I’ve found the locals to be exceptionally friendly.’
We walked into the room. It was a formal hall, the sort of thing I’d only ever seen in stately homes in England, though they probably existed in palaces and official buildings all over the world. The ceiling was as high as three floors and the dimensions of the room were as big as a football pitch. The walls were the same white stone as most of the Institute, but tonight they glowed a warm pink – the result of thousands of fairy lights strung around the walls.
There were hundreds of people in the hall, and the sound of their laughter and chattering bounced harshly off the cold floor and high ceilings. I was grateful to Clarence for quickly ushering me through the room – with just a few polite introductions – to the courtyard garden at the rear of the Institute. This, clearly, was where the real party was happening.
Under a gazebo at one end of the lawn an orchestra was noisily tuning up. We wandered across the grass to the other side where a lone harpist was plucking the strings of her instrument, creating a timeless, haunting melody. In between the two musical acts were dozens of food and drink stations, and ahead of us – on the lake – thousands of white candles floated and bobbed on the calm water.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.
Clarence smiled. ‘Isn’t it? And everyone who matters in the whole of the Federation is here tonight. The Guardians, admirals, judges, film stars, musicians, diplomats, fuel tycoons, the young, the rich and the beautiful. And you.’
I bit my lip and tried to think of something to say. It was a genuinely stunning spectacle. And Clarence seemed all right to me, despite Lyra’s warnings and Peg’s obvious dislike.
‘Is it true what you said about being Ryan’s friend?’ I asked.
Clarence smiled. ‘Of course. We were in school together. Sat next to one another in Advanced Maths for Portal Creation.’ He leant in and whispered in my ear. ‘I stole the fuel that sent him back to 2012.’
‘You did?’
‘My family’s filthy lucre comes from fuel,’ he said. ‘If anyone can get their hands on large quantities of it without attracting attention, it’s me.’
Peg and Lyra had never said anything about Clarence being one of the good guys, one of those who helped Ryan get back to me. Was it possible they didn’t know?
‘You were part of the whole plan?’