Constable Stephen Dene walked quickly, head down, through the confused crowds clinging to the outer regions of Harrods, all of them moving in confused, pointless patterns with their green signature Harrods bags. The lights that outlined the building were already illuminated, even through it was only two o’clock. The uniform was fairly warm and comfortable. It was still new and despite two ironings still had some of the creases from the packages it had come in. Still, it was the best outfit he had ever worn. Once it was on, he felt different. He felt right. People stopped him and asked for directions and help and occasionally, for photos. Some people his own age sneered at him, and most people seemed a bit confused by his youth. The training had been intense, but as Thorpe had pointed out, Eton did nothing if not prepare one for intense training. For six months, he had done nothing but study, train and practise. He was moved around a lot so no one really got to know him for long. One day, Thorpe just told him it was done.
