Secret Reflection

by Jennifer Brassel

  I shall not take my new wife on a wedding trip. She has shut herself within our chamber pleading illness. I shall allow her some peace until this evening then I will consummate this unholy marriage.

  Enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and safety, Kelly let her mind drift. A man’s strong arms surrounded her, and she nuzzled his neck feeling more complete and more cherished than ever before.

  She knew it wasn’t Frank. He’d never made her feel this way. Safe. With Frank she was never safe. No – in the beginning with Frank it was exciting and wild. Sensual and very daring. He made her do things she would never have contemplated: they’d made love in the back of a taxi and once at the train station. And after three weeks of courting danger with their sexual exploits he convinced her that her life would never be complete without the adrenalin rush he caused whenever he looked at her with carnal mischief on his mind. Against her family’s advice, she agreed to fly to Vegas and marry him only five weeks after that first night at the gallery.

  Of course, now she knew that it had all been a ruse. He’d planned it all. He’d decided to sweep the poor little rich girl off her feet and buy his way into LA’s A-list. And like a starving child who’d been offered chocolate, she’d grabbed him with both hands and thought little about the consequences.

  That wild excitement she had once known now filled her with self-disgust.

  Frank wasn’t a big man. He was wiry and thin; the product of a personal trainer and a strict diet regime that left no room for indulgence. No, this definitely wasn’t Frank. The arms that held her belonged to someone taller and better formed. There was no spray-on tan; the skin was fair with a sprinkling of dark hairs on his chest that tickled her chin. She nuzzled again, relishing the warmth, the smoothness of the skin beneath her lips. She smiled to herself when her touch elicited a groan of pleasure.

  Gentle hands swept down her back and she felt her skin tense in anticipation. Tingles rippled along in the wake of his slow moving hand and every tiny muscle in her groin contracted as he cupped her bottom. Heat surged through her. Moisture pooled between her legs and she wriggled closer, pressing herself against his thigh.

  His mouth descended, inching its way along her temple, then her cheek, until his lips captured hers. Gently at first, seeking and exploring, his lips sucked. Then as she sighed her lips apart the tip of his tongue sought entrance. She welcomed him, reaching to take his tongue inside her, just as she wanted to take another part of him inside her. The dampness of his mouth echoed the dampness between her thighs, and as the heat between their mouths grew, the heat deep within her grew also. Her muscles tightened until she burned to have some part of him, any part of him, touching her there too. She edged closer, arching herself against his thigh, wanting to slide over him.

  She needed to touch him, make him feel that same heat. She quivered on the edge of completion and desperately needed to be filled. But as her fingers commenced their downward march his skin began to turn hard and cold. The flat plane of his stomach suddenly became like a sheet of glass. She drew back sharply.

  ‘What?’ Her mind wailed in confusion.

  Out in the middle of an open field, she lay naked against a mirror in the moonlight.

  John?

  He was gone …

  7

  Day Six

  The electronic screech of the alarm woke her just as the sun rose. She’d planned to grab a hasty breakfast before closeting herself in the library downstairs to do a little research, but when Kelly opened her eyes the first thing she saw was John Tarrant staring straight back at her with his arms crossed. The expression he wore was exactly like in last night’s dream. She felt her entire body begin to heat.

  ‘Kelly,’ he said her name as if speaking to a child. ‘Why does that tiny box make such a godforsaken cacophany?’

  She reached across and slammed her hand onto the alarm to make it stop then sat up and shoved the hair out of her face. ‘It’s an alarm, that’s its purpose.’

  ‘I am no dullard, Madam – I am aware of such things – indeed, a clock with an alarm bell sat in the library of my London home. But your device has a particularly discordant sound. If you needed to be woken so early, why did you not ask?’

  Throwing off the covers she slid her legs over the side of the high bed. She glanced up to see his eyes widen, realising that until now she’d made a point of keeping herself well and truly covered by turning out the lights whenever she thought he might be watching or by keeping a wrap on the bed, ready and waiting for quick trips to the bathroom. The look in his eyes sent another flash of memory from last night’s dream screaming through her mind and she wondered whether he might also dream.

  She smiled to herself when he looked away, his cheeks pinkening.

  ‘What’s the matter – never seen a woman’s legs before?’

  After making a slight choking noise in the back of his throat he turned back to her, raising his chin slightly, almost in defiance. ‘Indeed I have, Madam—’

  ‘I thought you were going to call me Kelly,’ she broke in with a snort. She could tell she’d unnerved him and that gave her a lot of satisfaction.

  ‘Indeed I have, Kelly,’ he amended, his agitation obviously raised another notch by her interruption. ‘However, those I have seen belonged to former lovers, not mere acquaintances.’

  A sudden stab of hurt surged through her belly and she glared. ‘Mere acquaintances?’ she cocked an eyebrow. ‘You are in my bedroom, don’t forget. If I choose to show a bit of leg that is my business.’

  After a moment’s consideration a slow, crooked smile lifted the corners of his lips. ‘In that case, m’dear, I shall take full advantage and enjoy the sight of whatever bared flesh you decide to exhibit.’

  ‘Fine.’

  His gaze dropped to her legs momentarily before he allowed the smile full rein. ‘Yes, very fine indeed.’

  Again she snorted; men were such arses! ‘Well, I’m showering, then I’m going down to the library to do a bit of research.’

  ‘Can you not wait until the hand mirror is returned? I could accompany you and direct the searches.’

  ‘That’s not possible. I’ve got to go and watch Richard play polo this afternoon, so I’ve only got the morning free. Besides why is it so important that you direct me? I’m sure I can find the journal if it exists.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the search would be speedier if you do not become side-tracked by finds that would be of no consequence to my predicament.’

  That was odd, Kelly thought as she studied his face. Why would he think she’d become side-tracked? What other ‘finds’ might there be? He wouldn’t meet her gaze and that was a sure sign, in her experience, that he wasn’t telling her everything. Hmmm. Maybe the electronic devices that allowed him to appear in the mirrors were hidden in the library?

  ‘Sorry. That’s my plan. I’ll see you later.’ She marched into the walk-in closet with the feeling that the hoax was finally about to be unveiled.

  After making a fairly thorough check for wiring and unexplained electricals, of which she found none, the search of the library began with Kelly scanning umpteen ledgers and diaries written by previous owners or managers of the estate from around the time John claimed to have become entrapped. But after a lot of useless and very boring reading, she decided that Edward’s journal would likely be hidden in a place where it wouldn’t easily be recognised, so she changed tack and began to search the shelves from over a hundred years prior to the date she’d started with.

  An hour and a half later, covered in dust, Kelly thought she’d hit paydirt. She’d systematically removed all the books from each shelf of a bookcase, the third that she had inspected so far. At the very bottom near the floor where she now lay flat on her belly, she found a loose backing board that slid sideways. Mindful of spiders and other creepy-crawlies, she donned a pair of rubber gloves she’d found in kitchen and felt about in the small space behind. She could see little, despite the aid of a flashlight. Behind the loose board she
discovered a brick that also seemed a bit loose. She jiggled the brick for a minute or two and in a sudden puff of dust that made her cough hysterically, the brick slid out to reveal a small square cavity that did yield some prizes.

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, her pulse rate doubling as she dragged out a cloth-covered pocket-watch. The cloth turned out to be a ladies’ handkerchief with the initials E. D. embroidered in the corner by a very fine hand. The pocket-watch seemed old and Kelly handled it very carefully. Of highly polished silver with a fine circular pattern on the case, the inside held a manufacturer’s mark of A. Reiss, and the initials J.C.T. had been engraved along one edge.

  John?

  She’d take it upstairs and see if he recognised it. If not, it would be a nice antique for Tom and Nancy to put on display, or perhaps sell, if authentication proved it a genuine antique.

  Reaching further inside the cavity her hand came upon what felt like a book. Her heart tripped. Had she found it? So easily? She retrieved it very slowly and carefully. It was a book – bound in red calf leather.

  Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer and opened it. On the marbled flyleaf she read in a sloping script: John Charles Tarrant. Below the name the years 1859, 1860 and 1861 were listed.

  ‘Omigod!’ she squealed as she began to skim a few pages. She hadn’t found Edward’s journal, but she had discovered John’s!

  The grandfather clock beside the door chimed the half hour and she shrieked when she realised she’d been at it for so long. She’d become so covered in dust that she needed to shower and wash her hair, again, before going to the polo match and she had less than an hour to do it. Even though she would have much preferred to spend the day reading the journal, she knew she couldn’t disappoint Nancy and Tom – they’d seemed so excited at the idea of going to the match.

  With great care she rewrapped the pocket-watch and then tucked both that and the book inside her sweater for the trip back to her room. Hastily, she righted the brick in its cavity, before sliding the board back in place and repacking the books on the shelves. She wasn’t certain she’d put them back where they belonged, but it would have to do for the moment. Once she’d read John’s journal she’d come back and continue her explorations where she’d left off.

  Barnsley greeted her with an eagerness he didn’t show the first time. She’d barely stepped inside the front door when he begged to see the letter.

  Kelly handed it across and was instantly forgotten as he pored over the parchment. She would have given him the watch and book as well, but she wanted to read the journal first, and she hoped to use the pocket-watch and kerchief in her cross examination of John, so she didn’t mention either find as yet.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ she said, ‘my hosts are waiting outside to take me to a polo match. Can I come by some time early next week and get your verdict?’

  Without looking up, Barnsley said, ‘Yes, that would be fine. Come Tuesday … it is the quietest day. By then I should be able to give you a definitive answer on this.’ He lifted the page to catch the sunlight behind it. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured.

  Kelly nodded, though he didn’t once look up. She let herself out, mentally arranging her next few days. If she returned here Tuesday, it would leave Monday free to venture into London and continue her investigations there. The documents she’d ordered would be ready, and she still had a long list of theatrical agencies to visit. That left ample time to read John’s diary, question him further and still search for Edward’s journal.

  Amazed and enthralled at the speed and agility of both horse and rider, Kelly found herself cheering on the sideline along with her friends. She didn’t pretend to understand the rules, although by the end of three short periods of play, known as chukkas, she’d worked out that she would never play herself, and nor would her future children if she had anything to say about it. It was a rough sport. Richard appeared a very good horseman; skilled and aggressive, he didn’t seem to care if his opposite number was a man or a woman – he treated each with equally lethal contempt.

  After the final chukka, they all retired to enjoy a civilised picnic on the beautiful grounds of the polo club. Richard was philosophical about his team’s loss of the pre-season competition, more intent on filling the champagne glasses and throwing meaningful glances Kelly’s way until she almost wanted to suggest to Nancy and Tom that it was past time they head back to Stanthorpe. The idea that the journal and pocket-watch were sitting waiting for her in her attaché case had kept her distracted for much of the afternoon.

  As they sat on a blanket soaking up the sun, Kelly felt the fine hairs on her arms rise. Her eyes darted about the small crowd on the lawn nearby. She was being watched. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name, and it wasn’t Richard, though his solicitousness was really beginning to get on her nerves. No. This was someone else, someone who watched from a distance.

  Taking care not to seem obvious, she studied the people crowded about the nearby marquee but for the life of her, she didn’t recognise anyone. Not that she expected to: she knew no one here except those of her own party. Still, the sensation persisted and she found herself scrutinising every person she saw. It reminded her of the last few months before the divorce. Though she hadn’t realised it at first, Frank had had an investigator track her every move in the hope of finding some kind of incriminating evidence that would allow him to appear innocent of any wrongdoing. When she hadn’t provided him with ammunition, he’d manufactured it by setting up a fake business meeting between Kelly and her former boyfriend, Jake Mullhall, in a very public restaurant where many of her colleagues dined.

  Her teeth clenched as she remembered the scene. Frank burst in soon after they were seated, spitting accusations then playing the tragic cuckold to the hilt. It still made her feel sick. Not the accusations. Nor the break-up. Just the sense of futility she felt when nothing she could say or do would make any of those present believe anything other than what they thought they saw.

  All those months of being followed had left her with a strange feeling of discomfort and her daily run-ins with her man in the mirror had only increased her paranoia.

  When the feeling now made the hair at her nape bristle, she chided herself inwardly and accepted another glass of champagne from Richard. After all, who would be watching her here? Surely Frank had stopped having her tailed now the divorce was final.

  ‘You should call me “Rick”,’ Richard suggested to her as he leaned a little closer. ‘Richard is so formal and I’d like to think we’re becoming friends,’ he continued as he clinked his champagne flute against hers.

  Kelly’s eyes darted up in time to catch the amused grin that Tom and Nancy exchanged.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Kelly returned with a half-hearted smile. ‘But you’ll have to pardon me if I forget. In my business whenever you meet someone new you make certain to attach the correct name to the face, so “Richard” is already imprinted on my brain.’

  His lips thinned but he nodded his understanding.

  ‘Why don’t I take you all on a tour around the clubhouse?’ he suggested, once he’d drained his glass.

  ‘You guys go ahead,’ Nancy said, leaning back into Tom’s strong embrace, ‘I think I’ll just lounge here and enjoy the tranquility.’ A flock of very noisy birds took wing an instant later putting paid to her statement. Nancy giggled and batted a hand in the air, ‘Go – I’m too content to move.’

  Kelly was forced to take the hand Richard offered as she tried to stand, but made certain to claim it back as soon as she stood upright. Whether Richard noticed her reticence she didn’t know, but he didn’t appear offended.

  The clubhouse Tea Room was a quaint wooden affair with lots of windows and bright garden furniture. She was surprised it wasn’t more palatial when Richard mentioned that the Prince of Wales and his sons often played here, but the atmosphere seemed welcoming and friendly.

  As they exited into the sunshine, Kelly’s peripheral vision was caught by what looked l
ike a girl slipping out of sight around the corner that led to the parking area. For a moment, she recalled her run-in with Deanna. But then again, she really didn’t think that this was the sort of event Deanna would attend. From what she could gather, polo was very much a rich man’s sport.

  Yet, as they walked away, she still couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

  Taking her time, she covertly looked left and right, observing the little clusters of people that stood about. A sudden flash of insight made her focus on the men present, instead. Perhaps the actor who played John lurked somewhere? Maybe that was why she felt it so keenly.

  Weaving through groups that surrounded the entrance to the marquee, Kelly was so intent on studying the faces nearby that she didn’t notice much else until something warm and damp suddenly slapped into her back.

  ‘Wha—?’ she spun about expecting to see Tom or Nancy standing behind her, grinning. Nobody stood there, but the overpowering stench of horse manure assailed her nostrils and when she looked down she saw the offending pat. ‘Who the hell …?’ she began.

  For a split second Richard’s eyes hardened as he stared into the crowd beyond the marquee, then he quickly switched his attention back to her and smiled apologetically. ‘Problem with being around horses … accidents and all that. Here,’ he gripped the shoulders of her jacket to help her remove it, ‘the attendants in the powder room should have something that will fix this. I expect it’s not such an unusual occurrence around here.’

  He led her back to the clubhouse where one of the waitresses came to the rescue with a packet of moist wipes. A little scrubbing and most of the smell had gone. She wadded up the jacket, tucked it under her arm and rejoined Richard whose expression was a study in restrained anger.

  ‘If you give me the jacket, I can have it cleaned properly,’ he offered.