The COP26 Kabuff: A Beatrice Deft Short

11

Beatrice splayed across the hotel bed, the distinctive red and silver wrappers of a couple of Tunnocks strewn at her side. She licked the white mallow with pleasure. Not quite the same category as the dinner she'd had earlier, but a sweet delight nonetheless. She wondered if they could be sourced in Melbourne.

She picked up the remote and switched on the television. Onto the screen jumped scenes from the city she was in. The gothic lighting on the museum, and the ranks of police which had prevented her safe passage back to the city centre and forced her into the park. A note of fear, then anger, leapt up, as she remembered picking her way through the darkness in an unknown city.

The camera focused on the steps to the museum, and the dignitaries entering for the dinner. She booed and cheered as each appeared, depending on their record on human rights, gender, ethnic, disability, LGBTQ+ and other intersectional equalities, climate change policies, and dress sense.

Suit, suit, suit, great suit, suit, suit, terrible suit. A small but determined blonde climbed the steps in a cerise jacket and skirt, along with killer heels. Beatrice let out a 'Yesss' for the Scottish leader.

Suit, suit, incredibly scruffy suit and uncombed blond hair, suit, suit, ghutra, iqal and robes. Suit. Suit. Suit. Electric blue coat dress and heels. Suit. Suit. Suit. Suit. Suit.

An older woman climbed the steps, wearing less stylish footwear. Beatrice forgave her this sartorial lapse for her leadership role in Europe for many years. By her side, a bodyguard in a dark grey suit, sharply cut, showing his body off to best effect. As they reached the top of the steps, both turned briefly to face the way they had come. The camera zoomed in on their faces.

That jawline. Those eyes. Those full lips. Could it be?

'Caspian!' breathed out Beatrice.