She was the first one seated at the table for twelve, and the other twenty or so tables were mostly empty as well. British handlers had brought her fathers entourage in early for security reasons. She glanced at the elegant table service of the House of Windsor, and the hand lettered place card in the middle of her plate.
CONTESSA MARGAHRITA PRONTERI
The elegant china was laid upon a linen tablecloth that reached nearly all the way to the floor, or at least close enough, she thought. She quickly checked around the room as she slipped her foot halfway out of her pump.
It seemed so odd, the pageantry of it all. It was her first trip to London, and her first official trip anywhere outside her country. At 24, every person in the room was twice her age, and she felt self conscious that she didn't know anyone here. She slipped her heel into her shoe and crossed her legs, letting the opposite shoe slip off of her heel and dangle there, bringing some cool relief to her tired toes. Her eyes searched the room for the only acquaintance she had made on the trip so far, the head of the British Security detail.
She half expected him to appear out of thin air, as he had so many times in the last two days. She thought of him as she slipped her shoes off under the cover of the table, something she would never have done before these last two days. She rubbed her feet on the carpet and flexed her toes, stretching her legs before finding her shoes again. Mr. U.K. Agent, he called himself, and he had even given her his card, listing his name and telephone number, and an address at the Ministry of Agriculture. She smiled involuntarily at the thought of him, driving a farm tractor or something. He was obviously a very intelligent man, but she would bet that he had precious little knowledge of Agriculture. She had every reason to dislike the man, but had become quite fond of him in spite of a very bad start.
Mr. U.K. Agent had appeared out of nowhere when they had stepped off the plane at Heathrow. He was very handsome, but she disliked him at once, thinking that he was arrogant, and not very diplomatic, ordering them to follow him, and then walking ahead without another word. As they left the terminal, he had insisted that she go through the metal detector. She had never heard of such a thing, going through AFTER a flight, and to make matters worse, it appeared that she had been singled out, and none of the others in the entourage had to go through the scanner. When UK Agent had demanded that she surrender her shoes, it was simply the last straw. She told him in no uncertain terms that a lady of her station does not remove her shoes in public, ever. Only a stern look from her father had stayed her hand from slapping him across his insolent face.
After a lengthy standoff, she relented, and stepped out of her high heels, leaving them in front of her on the floor for him to pick up. Her feet were narrow, and her toes were long and straight, polished bright red that shone through her pale tan stockings. She took a half step back as he reached for her shoes, and felt her face go red when she saw the damp footprints her stockinged feet had made on the polished floor. She stood there nervously in the middle of the crowded terminal, a hundred onlookers staring at her as she paced in her stockinged feet. As UK Agent fed her shoes into the conveyer belt and x-rayed them, her face remained hot and she could barely contain her anger. She resigned herself to endure this and be done with it, simply because she was anxious to leave this place. Finally, one pink high-heeled pump emerged from the machine, and she quickly retrieved it, and slipped it onto her stockinged foot, balancing against the counter. Before the other shoe appeared, the belt stopped moving. UK Agent looked into the monitor, held his finger to his ear and spoke into the lapel of his jacket, before waiving one of the other security officers over.
She watched them talk briefly, then the other man walked over to the rest of the group and consulted with the other security personnel. The rest of the entourage was escorted out of the terminal, leaving her standing there with one shoe at the mercy of this dreadful UK Agent man.
"What exactly is the problem here?" she demanded impatiently, as UK Agent walked away carrying her empty shoe.
An airport official in a navy blue jacket quickly stepped up. "I'm very sorry your highness, but there appears to be some residue on your shoe that has caused the machine to sound a warning. They are taking the shoe to security to be tested. Could you follow me please?"
Her remaining heel clicked loudly on the floor as she walked behind the man. "Don't call me Your Highness, in fact, you don't have to say another word to me." she said angrily as he opened the door for her. UK Agent was just inside, and she thought she overheard him say something about dogs.
"No Dogs!" she blurted out angrily. She hated dogs, and had always been afraid of them since she was a child. Besides, she had been told she was allergic to them.
UK Agent said something to the man in the jacket, and he turn to her. "Just a small beagle, but he's quite harmless I assure you."
"I'm allergic to dogs!" she said firmly. "I'm sure your foreign service people were informed of that!" Britain's Queen was known to be fond of dogs, so she made sure that specific instructions had been sent to the Embassy.
The man turned and consulted with UK Agent again, before returning. "We have an idea that could settle all this quickly. If you could just sit here for a moment," he said, pointing to a baggage handling track. He held her hand as she stepped up, and then sat down on the edge of the conveyer. A wall of black fringe hung next to the opening. "If you would be so kind as to put your feet through that opening, you will not even see the small dog, or his handlers."
At first, she refused, but finally, she agreed for the sake of expedience. Her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed her feet through the black fringe curtain opening and turned her head, deliberately looking away and over her shoulder. The airport official prattled on about something in an effort to distract her, but it was still just horrible. She could feel the breath of the beast on her exposed stockinged toes as it sniffed around, licking and nuzzling her stockinged feet. Unseen hands removed her remaining shoe and the process started all over again, sniffing and nuzzling around her toes. She gasped and shut her eyes as she felt the flat wet tongue of the beast licking at her soles, soaking the bottom of her stockings. She recoiled, but strong unseen hands grasped her ankles tightly. She wanted to scream, or to laugh, or both, as the beast tickled her feet mercilessly with its tongue.
It seemed to go on forever, but finally, the beast had stopped licking her toes, and she felt her shoes placed on her toes again, and then gently pushed into place over her heels. She stood up quickly, and the airport official offered his hand as she stepped down, happy to have both shoes safely on her feet again, even if they were slightly damp from the interrogation.
As they waited for UK Agent to return, a man walked up to the airport official. "Mr. Cowling, Sir, the bomb sniffing dog has arrived."
Mr. Cowling's face went white as his eyes locked on hers, then quickly scanned the black fringe at the end of the baggage track. Suddenly, everyone turned as the security door burst open and a somewhat disheveled UK Agent strode in, speaking into his jacket lapel as he walked.
"All Clear," he said, smiling broadly as he stopped directly in front of her.
She was absolutely furious, but something about him was disarming, and she smiled in spite of herself. "You missed a button Agent Yuck," she said, and pointed at his hastily tucked in shirt just above his belt, where one button was undone. She turned and walked briskly toward the door they had entered through.
He hastily buttoned his shirt. "Hey! That's UK! UK Agent!" he said, as he ran after her.
She nearly laughed out loud as she replayed the scene in her mind, but the room was filling up now, and several people had joined her at the table. He was so very charming, she thought.
Suddenly, a loud crash filled the room from behind her, and several men rushed in the direction of an embarrassed dining room staffer as he bent over some broken dishes. As she turned in her chair, she felt a strong grip on her ankle beneath the table. "I was wondering when you would appear," she thought to herself. This relentless attention to her feet was strange to her, but flattering in some way, and not at all unpleasant once she had summoned the courage to let her defenses down. Her shoe slipped a millimeter at a time, so slowly that she wished she could kick it loose herself, but she let him have his way. She continued to make polite conversation with others at the table, knowing they were unaware of the events going on under the table cloth. A slight shiver ran through her and she was surprised to see her own hand had found its way to her upper thigh and was rubbing the top of her stocking through the silken material of evening dress. She wished she could just leave know and meet him somewhere private, anywhere.
Her heel was fully exposed now, and the shoe hung loosely from her toes. She could feel his hot breath on her instep as her toes lost contact with the shoe. She rubbed her nyloned arch playfully across the side of his face, before finding his lips with her toes. Slipping off her other shoe, she placed one foot on his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck with her stockinged arch as her toes worked between his lips. She shuddered involuntarily as her toes raked across his teeth before finding his tongue.
She was startled and nearly jumped out of her chair when two strong hands came to rest on her shoulders. She turned, and was shocked to see UK Agent standing behind her.
"Everything O.K. here?" he asked, smiling down at her.
"May I have your attention please?" someone said from the front of the room. As every one turned, she pulled back the tablecloth to see her bare toes and nothing more. The tablecloth moved next to some vacant seats across from her, and she saw a man emerge from beneath the table on hands and knees, charging for the exit with her shoe in his hand.
"UK!" she said urgently, but when he turned, the man had already gone.
"What is it love?" he asked, crouching next to her chair.
"Someone has just stolen my shoe from under the table," she said in disbelief.
"You can not know what I must be going through to have this shoe," said Sergei. "I pull it off very slow, so I am not making her alarmed, and now she start to make attack on me with her foots. Next she is pushing her foot inside my mouth. I would bite her but she would probably scream."
"Did you get the microchip?" asked Ivan impatiently. Their car stopped at the gate, nad the guard waived them through, seeing their diplomatic vehicle plates.
"I don't see yet," Sergei replied, "but it must be here. You saw how UK Agent, he is always watching this left shoe, yes? Ever since the airport."
"I hope you are correct," Ivan said, but looked unconvinced.
"UK, what am I going to do?" she asked. Before he could answer, one her father's ambassadors arrived.
"Your father requests your presence at once," he said, and stood by her side.
She stood up slowly, wondering what to do next. Should she leave her remaining shoe under the table and traverse the room in her stockinged feet? Should she wear her one shoe and pretend nothing was wrong?
She stood up cautiously and gripped the arm of the Ambassador. "Eyes ahead," she told herself as she strode across the room, her stockinged foot silently padding while her remaining heel clicked softly on the floor. She had miscalculated, thinking that she could pretend everything was all right. Conversations stopped and all eyes were on her tiny stockinged foot as she approached the head table. Only her father had failed to notice her predicament as he presented her to the Prime Minister. He bowed politely, but noticed her stockinged foot as he took her hand. His eyes went wide, but he pretended not to notice.
For the next fifteen minutes, she stood by the head table balancing on one shoe, her stockinged toes touching lightly on the floor as she tried to stand evenly. Everyone pretended not to notice her feet, and no mention was made, although she did notice that she was suddenly at the center of a conversation circle of some of Europe's most prominent leaders.
She was tired of her balancing act, and thankfully, it was nearly time for dinner to begin. UK Agent reappeared at her side to escort her to her seat once more. For all his special training at covert behavior and disguise, it was obvious to her, and anyone who bothered to notice, that he was visibly delighted with her Cinderella performance this evening. Either that, or he had decided to carry his Walther PPK in his waistband this evening, instead of the customary shoulder holster.
She had no idea why someone had stolen her shoe this evening, but this much was for sure: Whether she ever saw her shoe again, or not, she was looking forward to the prospect of a debriefing by one of Britain's finest Agents, UK Agent.
Snowman
