by Grace Lowrie
There were three different reception rooms leading off the lower hall, with different music and lighting exuding from each doorway. One was very smoky and smelt distinctly of dope. I decided to follow a string of colourful paper lanterns suspended from the ceiling, which led me into an open-plan kitchen-breakfast room. It was even more crowded with people than it had been upstairs and I wondered if I’d find Celeste at all. There were more tuxedoed barmen in the kitchen serving cold beers, wine, and soft drinks, presumably to those who didn’t want cocktails. I scanned faces, marvelling at how beautiful and glamorous everybody was. Some of them were almost certainly models, what with the line of business Celeste was in, but that didn’t explain the rest. Was it money that made all these people so attractive or was I just drunk?
The music was slow and soulful with lots of bass and a hypnotic beat, Massive Attack or something similar. The softly muted light came from the hundreds of little lanterns strung across the ceiling and a large cluster of church-like candles, which were welded to the surface of the kitchen island with melted wax. I downed the last of my drink, set down my empty glass, and turned towards the throng of dancers in the middle of the room. That was when I spied Celeste.
Chapter Ten
She was right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by beautiful people, men and women who weaved around her adoringly, absorbed and enraptured. She was dressed all in ivory, a strapless satin dress that clung to her body and flowed down to her knees, forming a floor-skimming train at the back. She was dancing barefoot, with a long string of pearls draped around her neck and white blossom in her hair. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and she seemed oblivious to those around her. I was reminded of when she danced in the sea, in the moonlight on Brighton beach. Celeste’s fellow dancers moved, touched, and interacted with each other whilst sustaining a subtle space around her. Celeste’s solitary body language implied she was not intimate with them. For a while I remained hypnotised along with everyone else, hovering on the edge, unable to take my eyes off her and incapable of approaching. Eventually after several long minutes, her eyes fluttered open and she saw me.
A smile spread across her face, igniting her eyes as she glided over to me, the crowd parting before her.
‘You made it!’ she cried triumphantly above the music before clasping my face and kissing me quickly on the mouth. She tasted of Strawberry Daiquiris and my face heated self-consciously as she casually took my hand. But now that she was no longer dancing Celeste’s guests felt free to approach her, congratulate her and effuse about her style, eagerly offering up their friendship and respect. Celeste responded to each individual with warmth and easy charm – all eye-contact and air kisses, gently touching their arms with her fingertips and flitting from person to person as if in her natural element. And yet she maintained a discreet distance between herself and the others, deftly side-stepping potentially awkward moments before they even occurred and gently admonishing those who tried to get too close, or crossed an invisible line. She introduced me to those who asked, ‘This is Tasha, my best friend from school’ and then swiftly changed the subject before they could pry any further. She seemed protective of me, possessive almost and it felt good.
In the kitchen a small group of us drank champagne and ate slices of chilled watermelon over the sink. Celeste and I giggled at each other as juice dribbled down our chins.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she whispered to me.
‘Me too,’ I whispered back. A beautiful woman came to ask Celeste if she had seen Sebastian, and I started at the sound of his name and the thought of his proximity. I jealously wondered if the woman was his girlfriend, before pushing the unwelcome idea from my mind. Celeste said that she hadn’t seen Sebastian for hours and as the woman retreated into the crowd I silently urged my mind and body to forget about him and relax.
A row of traditional French windows stood open along the back wall of the kitchen where people were spilling out onto a garden terrace. I was staggered by the sight through the glass doors – it was dark but the terrace and all the nearest trees were decorated with colourful fairy lights and a large heated swimming pool glowed luminous neon blue. Clouds of steam hovered over the water’s surface and I could taste chlorine in the still night air. It was another world. Beyond the terrace a green lawn stretched away into the darkness. I had no idea how far back the garden might go. I mentally shook my head. How much must this have all cost? And what was I doing here?
We sat and dangled our legs in the swimming pool. It was as warm as bath water and our dresses clung to our bodies in the steam. The pool soon filled with people, some in their underwear, some fully clothed. Some splashed us playfully and threatened to pull us into the water but they were thankfully idle threats.
At some point we returned to the writhing bodies on the dance floor. My head was fuzzy and the music was louder now. ‘Shot Me Down’ by the Audio Bullys pulsed through my body, making me want to move. How long had it been since I’d danced? I loved dancing. Celeste caught my eye and we start to let go, to move, surrendering ourselves to the music.
As we danced my body continued to throb to the music which was now louder still. A smile played on Celeste’s lips and her normally pale blue eyes looked dark and sultry. She mouthed my name, pulling me close and hugging me tightly, her face against my hair. I tried to ignore the feel of her soft breasts pressed up against mine, but my nipples hardened involuntarily. Her perfume was intoxicating – so light but mouth-watering and her hair smelled sweet. Her hips moved slowly against mine, the sensation confusing me, making me ache inside. After a while she pulled away but didn’t release me, her face just inches away. The music was too loud for us to speak but we stared into each other’s eyes. I couldn’t look away – I didn’t want to look away. I felt lightheaded and it wasn’t just the alcohol – Celeste had this effect on me, made me feel special. She raised a hand and brushed my hair back away from my cheek and over my shoulder, her fingertips trailing across my skin and down my bare back, giving me goose bumps despite the heat of the bodies around us. Her other hand trailed gently down my arm until our fingers entwined. Her breathing mirrored my own as we continued to dance.
In time the music changed and Celeste silently led me off the dance floor and out of the room. As I began to focus I became acutely aware of the blood throbbing in my veins and a drowsy desire saturating my limbs, like nothing I’d ever known.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, suddenly disconcerted.
Celeste didn’t reply. She swiped an open bottle of champagne from an ice bucket on our way up the stairs, droplets of condensation leaving a trail behind us. We travelled up two flights to find the first floor dark and deserted. We stopped outside a large white panelled door and Celeste reached up on tiptoe to retrieve a key from the top of the frame. Unlocking the door she pulled me inside and shut it behind us. It was much quieter, the music was muffled and I was conscious of my own shallow breathing. Moonlight shone in through a large bay window revealing pale, elegantly curvaceous Louis XV furniture with gilt detailing and luxurious pleated silk furnishings. Celeste leaned against the door, watching me.
‘Is this your bedroom?’ I asked, my voice breaking the silence as if it were a spell.
A smile flickered across her face in confirmation as she took my hand once more and led me over to the opulent bed.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmured, feeling foolish.
Celeste picked up a small remote control and soft music filled the room. Above the bed was a pretty watercolour of two small children playing on a beach. It struck me as a strange choice for Celeste and there were no other framed pictures or photographs visible in the room.
Celeste took a swig of champagne and flopped down onto the bed, before offering the bottle to me with a mischievous grin. I immediately relaxed. Whatever was I worried about? This was Celeste. I took a drink, slipped off my sandals, and climbed onto the vast bed facing her. We lounged there, just the two of us, chatting and gig
gling just like old times. Celeste wanted to catch up on everything she had missed – my job, my friends, my colleagues, my shoebox of a flat, my ex-boyfriends …
Eventually alcohol elongated the pauses between Celeste’s questions and she began to snore softly beside me, so peaceful, so content. I still felt wide awake, my mind buzzing with activity and a headache coming on. I gently slid off the bed, picked up my handbag and sandals, and tiptoed over to the door, letting myself out quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping princess within.
Chapter Eleven
It was 4 a.m. and most of the guests had gone. I found a bathroom to freshen up in before wandering back down to the kitchen in search of a drink. The music was on low and the bartenders had disappeared along with their colourful array of beverages. Out on the terrace by the pool a group of people were sitting, chatting in low voices, a selection of bottles on the table between them. I sauntered over to them; the fresh air felt good on my skin but I was self-conscious once more, without Celeste at my side.
‘Hey pretty lady, come join us; pull up a chair.’ A guy with a ponytail and glasses beckoned me over with a lazy smile.
‘No thanks, I’m OK.’
‘No worries,’ he shrugged.
‘You wanna spliff?’ Another guy waved a lit joint in my direction as the girl next to him giggled.
‘No thanks. I’ll have a drink though,’ I added, indicating a bottle of lemonade on the table.
‘Sure, help yourself.’
I filled an empty wine glass and took a long drink. It was cool and refreshing, sating my thirst.
‘You want vodka in that?’ The pretty brunette next to me pointed a long manicured finger at a bottle and I shook my head.
‘I think I’ve had enough, thanks.’
‘You do look a bit flushed,’ she said kindly.
‘Yeah, I feel a bit dizzy, I might walk about a bit,’ I said, downing the rest of my drink. I knew if I stayed I’d have to make polite conversation and I just wasn’t in the mood.
‘You want some company?’ The guy with the ponytail asked casually.
‘No thanks,’ I said stepping away.
I slowly wandered away across the terrace, the voices at the table fading as I ventured into the quiet, waiting darkness.
‘Natasha,’ a deep voice uttered.
Electricity tingled up my spine and my scalp prickled. I turned and scanned the shadows against the house wall. Sebastian was sitting just a few feet away on the backrest of a bench, his feet on the seat, his elbows resting on his knees. He was wearing a pale shirt, and dark trousers but I couldn’t see his face.
‘Hey,’ I said flushing and grateful for the darkness.
‘I wondered where you’d got to … I couldn’t believe it when I saw you at the museum the other day,’ he added softly.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That was a surprise …’ There was a lingering silence, where neither of us moved or spoke. I remembered that Sebastian had always been able to sit with an almost unnatural stillness and yet appear utterly relaxed at the same time.
The people back at the table erupted into laughter over something or other and Sebastian rose to stand in front of me – strikingly tall and solid and masculine – but his musky scent was warmly familiar, making my body tingle.
‘Shall we walk?’ Sebastian murmured, his low voice vibrating close in the darkness.
We started to wander side by side through the garden, in the intermittent shadows of the trees, away from the house. We didn’t touch or speak, I couldn’t decide what to say – couldn’t even think coherently. Eventually we came to a narrow covered walkway, a pergola clothed in jasmine. He gestured for me to lead the way, his dark eyes glinting, quickening my breath. I walked through slowly, listening to Sebastian’s footsteps and sensing the heat of his body close behind me. The fragrant jasmine was cloying, almost overwhelming. We emerged into a small, formal clearing beside a timber summerhouse and I could sense we were completely alone. I looked up and despite the polluting effect of London’s lights, the moon was bright in the sky above and I could make out a few stars.
‘Beautiful,’ I whispered.
Sebastian was still stood behind me, not saying anything and causing all my nerve endings to stay on high alert at his proximity. To break the mounting tension I turned to face him. My vision had adjusted to the low light enough that I could now see him properly for the first time in six years. He had grown into his looks – the dark stubble at his jaw now balanced the hard line of his eyebrows and cheekbones, and made the soft swell of his mouth that much more arresting. But the real surprise was the neat, semi-circular line of a scar, between the corner of his left eye and his temple, marring the otherwise flawless skin of that side of his face. I was itching to know how he had come so close to being blinded, but I didn’t dare ask.
‘Thank you for the photo you sent …’ I said. ‘Of me and Celeste in Brighton,’ I clarified.
Sebastian stared impassively at me for a moment and I wondered what he was thinking. ‘I’m glad it found you,’ he said finally.
The quiet was giving me a childish urge to giggle and as a smile started to spread across my face, I turned and stepped away. But Sebastian reached out as if to stop me. My pulse leapt at his touch, heat swept through my body, and Sebastian’s breath caught, as if he felt something too. He tugged me against his chest, lifted my head, and kissed me so hard that our teeth clashed. As his stubble rasped against my skin and his tongue ravaged my mouth, my body, no longer my own, strained to be closer to him. He growled somewhere deep in his throat and my inner muscles clenched in response. I can’t believe it, a voice in my head screamed, Sebastian Walker is kissing me! But as I paused for air he pulled away and released me.
‘Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,’ Sebastian muttered.
‘Wha … Why not?’ I stuttered.
‘I don’t even know if you’re single …’
‘I am single, don’t worry.’
Sebastian reached up and brushed a strand of hair back from my face before dropping his hand and looking away. ‘You’re too beautiful to be single,’ he said quietly.
I was too stunned to reply.
‘Celeste would kill me if she knew I’d kissed you, I’m sorry,’ he said again.
‘Why? Don’t apologise, please.’
‘Where is Celeste, is she OK?’
‘Yes, she’s sleeping, she’s fine.’
He nodded. ‘We should get back to the house.’ Sebastian radiated tension, seemed almost angry, and as we started retracing our steps I desperately tried to work out what had just happened; what had gone wrong.
‘Don’t tell Celeste about this, please,’ Sebastian said abruptly.
‘OK,’ I said, confused.
We were both quiet the whole walk back and I suddenly felt tired and embarrassed. As we reached the pool area a couple of guys approached Sebastian in mid-conversation and I took the opportunity to slip away into the house with as much dignity as I could muster. I wanted to go home but I knew that Celeste would be disappointed if she woke and found me gone, so I tiptoed back into her room and quietly collapsed onto the bed beside her. Outside the birds were singing and the sun was starting to rise. I felt as though tonight had been a crazy dream. The euphoria of being kissed by Sebastian had been so swiftly followed by his rejection that it barely felt real.
What had I done to put him off? I wondered as I fell away into a troubled sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Taaaasha,’ a soft voice cooed. Warm fingers gently caressed my arm. ‘Tasha, are you awake?’ the voice whispered.
I opened one sleepy eye to see Celeste’s head on the pillow beside me. She was smiling broadly, fresh-faced, sunshine dancing in her clear blue eyes, her blonde curls glossy. ‘Uuugh,’ I groaned, closing my eye again and Celeste giggled, a pretty, musical sound. How could she look so good when I felt so awful? My head was thumping and my mouth felt like something had crawled in and died. I was bombarded with assorted fla
shbacks from the night before and buried my face in my pillow, groaning again for good measure.
‘The bathroom’s just through the wardrobe if you want a shower. There are fresh towels on the rail, Paracetamol in the cabinet, and I’ve put out some clothes for you to change into if you want to …’
‘Thank you,’ I mumbled sheepishly.
‘I’m just going to go downstairs and get us some breakfast.’
‘OK.’
‘Are you alright, darling?’ Celeste sounded worried.
I turned and smiled at her. ‘Yes, I’ll live, my head hurts that’s all.’
‘Aw, poor baby,’ she grinned semi-sympathetically. ‘Take your time, there’s no rush, I’ll be right back.’ I listened to her skip out the door and down the corridor before I rolled over onto my back, blinking in the sunshine that streamed through the windows. My watch told me it was just 10.30 a.m.
As I staggered through Celeste’s ridiculously over-sized closet and into her en suite bathroom, I shook my head in disbelief. It was enormous, of course, with a roll-top, claw-footed bath positioned on a platform in the bay window over-looking the garden, exquisite decorative French tiles and a shower, spacious enough for a rugby team. The hot water chased away any lingering lethargy, revitalising my senses. The safe, predictable nature of my everyday, boring life had been completely turned upside down by the Walker twins (again) and I felt alive with nervous excitement. Had the twins really settled in London for good? I hardly dared to believe it.
I cleansed my hair and body with Celeste’s deliciously scented French toilette products and by the time I was dressed in her pretty clothes, I felt human again, if not entirely myself. I re-entered the bedroom to find Celeste cross-legged on the bed waiting for me, a lavish continental breakfast spread out before her.
‘Wow,’ I said.
‘You look much better!’ Celeste said, smiling.
‘I feel much better,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you for the clothes.’