by Grace Lowrie
‘You’re welcome, that dress suits you. I knew it would – I designed it myself.’
‘Really? It’s wonderful, Celeste, just beautiful – and just my colour!’
‘Thank you, darling. Come, sit down,’ she patted the bed. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Starving,’ I admitted and as if on cue my stomach rumbled, making Celeste laugh.
As we ate we talked about the years that had passed, about our respective lives and how much we’d missed each other. I told her about my dad’s passing, about the small, moving church ceremony and the bungalow that Mum now lived in by herself. Celeste hugged me tightly, her eyes full of tears, but I held it together, I’d had plenty of practice. I didn’t ask her about when her parents died; we’d never spoken of it but I hoped that she would tell me one day, when she was ready.
Celeste told me about her new job – working as Senior Assistant Designer in the internationally renowned fashion house Fable Grace, travelling all over the world attending fashion shows, searching for inspiration, developing individual patterns and collections, and sampling great food. She related the saga of finding their dream house – of flying in and out of London for viewings and not finding anything they’d liked. It had taken months to get their home renovated and decorated, but she was keen to show it off now that it was done. I told her it was amazing and she clasped her hands together in glee.
‘And you haven’t even seen half of it!’ she gushed.
‘There’s more?’
‘Well I didn’t get to show you the gym and the sauna last night, or the TV room …’
I gaped at her appalled. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘And this whole floor, the first floor, is all mine – across the hall is my studio, my office is behind that, and a balcony terrace overlooks the garden,’ she finished with a smug little smile.
‘Celeste! You have more money than sense,’ I admonished.
‘I know.’ She had the grace to cringe slightly. ‘But the house is an investment, really, and I work from home some of the time and Sebastian likes to know I’m safe and comfortable …’ she shrugged.
‘So where’s Sebastian’s room? At the bottom of the garden?’ I teased.
‘No, no. The floor above, the second floor, is all guest bedrooms and Sebastian has the whole of the third floor right at the top of the house – a bedroom, an office a photographic studio … I don’t go up there much but the light and the views are fabulous.’
I shook my head in mock resignation and took another bite of croissant. ‘This is wonderful,’ I said with my mouthful. ‘Did you make it, or do you have staff now as well?’ I mocked.
Celeste stuck her tongue out at me with a playful scowl and then wiped a blob of strawberry jam from my lip with her fingertip before popping it into her mouth. It was strangely intimate and we stared at each other for a moment.
‘Answer the question, Miss Walker,’ I said, arching my eyebrow.
Celeste smiled. ‘We have a housekeeper during the week but not at weekends, and a gardener once a fortnight, but that’s it. Actually, Sebastian made this breakfast for us, most of it was done by the time I got downstairs. He’s good like that.’
I finished my freshly squeezed orange juice. ‘How is Sebastian?’ I asked casually.
‘He’s good!’ Celeste smiled. ‘He’s glad to be back in London, I think, glad to be settled. His firm’s offices are not far from here and he loves his job – they made him partner.’
‘Wow! That’s great.’ I smiled as I recalled hearing about Sebastian’s professional prowess from a stranger the night before.
‘So, what do you want to do today?’ Celeste asked me.
‘I have no idea. Have all your other guests left?’
‘Nearly, there are a couple of Sebastian’s work mates downstairs having breakfast, but I don’t think they’ll be here much longer. We could just hang out by the pool, if you like? I can lend you a bikini. The water will have cooled down by now, we only heated it for the party, and we’ve got loads of food and drink left …’
‘Sounds great,’ I grinned.
The house looked different in the daylight, bigger and airier but also softer and more comfortable – less like a venue and more like a home. Albeit a high-end luxury show-home from the glossy pages of a magazine. I was amazed that all the party lights, candles, empty bottles and glasses had already been cleared away, but Celeste informed me with a shrug that it was the caterers. On our way down the hand-carved staircase I admired more of the framed artwork and prints, each one beautiful and unique. It was apparent that the interior walls of the house, particularly on the ground and lower-ground floors doubled as gallery space – showcasing the twins’ various exceptional talents in a modest, informal way. I was trying hard to ignore the fact I was anxious about seeing Sebastian.
Next to the kitchen was the den or TV room, which was more like a cinema with a rich, dark colour scheme of ruby, plum, and gold, an enormous wall-mounted flat screen, plush sofas, and reclining armchairs. A collection of vintage Hollywood movie posters lined the walls and blackout blinds and shutters framed the bay window. Across the hall we entered a large room that had direct access out onto the garden terrace. It was divided into smaller areas whilst leaving the high ceiling and period features intact. Celeste pointed out the sauna, a comprehensively stocked gym and a slate-tiled wet room, every room immaculately styled and conspicuously clutter-free.
‘You can use these facilities whenever you want, Tasha, just treat the place as your own,’ Celeste said. I nodded and murmured a thank you, but I struggled to imagine myself doing so – I had never been in a house like this one, let alone stayed in one.
At the back was a pale blue changing room lined with comfortable-looking benches, wall-mounted pegs, and a huge stack of fluffy white towels. Celeste held up a selection of different bikinis on plastic hangers.
‘Pick one,’ she said brightly, while I looked at her bemused.
Successfully dressed in bikinis, beach dresses, flip-flops, and sunglasses, and armed with towels and sun cream, we headed into the breakfast room. Sebastian was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, reading a paper and sipping coffee. He was clean-shaven and casually dressed in loose swimming shorts and a T-shirt, his long, tanned, hairy legs casually crossed, his feet bare. His dark, wet hair was ruffled and his eyes sparkled. Just looking at him turned me on. He calmly offered us coffee, as if nothing had happened, and I tried to relax.
The previous night’s dancefloor had been restored to a luxurious but comfortable kitchen-breakfast room. There was a modest farmhouse style breakfast table for six, a large worn, leather sofa, two matching armchairs, and a coffee table. With so many different reception rooms how did they ever decide where to sit?
Mounted on one wall, at head height, was a glass cabinet displaying a colourful array of objects. While Celeste set about mixing drinks I browsed the contents, starting at one end and slowly working my way along. The process was soothingly familiar, simulating the orderly nature of my working life and distracting me from tumultuous thoughts of the night before. There was a seventies-style table lamp, a vintage crockery set, a small wind-up clock, a silver ink blotter, a hand-blown vase, a framed set of stamps, and a transparent dandelion paperweight. I was struck by the cleverness of the composition – to an outsider the collection read as a parody of a museum display or an ironic work of modern installation art. However, I recognised several of the items from their childhood home – the feel of that large, happy suburban home, had been distilled down to just these few relics. The care with which each piece has been selected and displayed felt intensely personal and I guessed it was a joint collaboration. But was this really all that was left? What about the rest of their parents’ possessions? What happened to all their lovely furniture? It was only when I reached the end of the cabinet that I realised the twins were already outside. The terrace and pool area were partly shaded by the house, but the garden beyond glowed a lush, inviting emerald green in
the sunshine. The twins were lying on the grass, an idyllic-looking picnic spread between them. Celeste caught my eye and beckoned me outside with a grin.
The three of us spent the whole afternoon in and around the pool, chilling in each other’s company. We lay on sun loungers in a row, with Celeste in the middle and her brother and I on either side. Celeste sunbathed, Sebastian read the Sunday paper from cover to cover, and I idly flicked through the colour supplement in the shade of a canvas sail. We grazed on party food and cocktails – Sebastian and I stuck to virgin ones but Celeste, party animal that she was, drank endless Cosmopolitans. Whenever we got too hot we would swim a few lengths of the pool, or Celeste and I splashed about like kids on holiday. Sebastian said very little, but appeared to be perfectly at ease. I sometimes sensed he was watching me, though his dark glasses made it impossible for me to be sure. I certainly watched him, surreptitiously, when I could, especially when he was swimming or climbing out of the pool all glistening muscle and tanned skin, his trunks hanging attractively from his hips.
But then I eyed Celeste too – her delicately painted toenails, the small heart-shaped tattoo on her right hip, the subtle tan lines on her back, the way the water eddied around her curves as she did the backstroke. I wondered if my feelings for her had changed. There had been a moment on the dance floor the night before, when I wasn’t sure … I had always admired her and I used to want to be her – I probably still did on some level. But was it more than that? I quickly dismissed the thought.
Despite our years apart, the three of us seemed very comfortable around each other, as if there was an inherent, unspoken trust between us – maybe because we’d known each other as children. I was reminded of our blissful weekend in Brighton – for the first time since then, I felt happy, I felt like I belonged and I was tempted to pinch myself.
We ate takeaway Chinese for dinner on the terrace. Sebastian didn’t feel like cooking and apparently Celeste’s cooking was diabolical. This was something I’d yet to experience but going by the grimace on Sebastian’s face I was in no hurry. I offered to make something, but the twins wouldn’t hear of it and I was secretly relieved; a lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me. As the sun set and the air cooled I reluctantly rose to leave.
‘Please stay,’ Celeste said, clutching my hand. ‘You can have one of the guest rooms if you want?’
‘No really, thank you, but I can’t, I have work in the morning and all my stuff is at home.’
Celeste pouted prettily.
‘I’ll drive you back,’ Sebastian said, standing.
‘No it’s fine, I can get a cab.’
‘No! No way, either stay or let Seb drive you,’ Celeste insisted.
‘It’s no trouble,’ Sebastian reassured me.
‘OK, thank you,’ I relented.
Sebastian nodded and went to find some shoes while Celeste wrapped me in a hug. She smelled so good.
‘When will I see you again?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know … I’m pretty busy tomorrow and I’m going to see my mum in the evening. I can’t remember what the rest of my week looks like.’
Celeste pulled back and looked at me. Her pale eyes were sad and slightly unfocused with alcohol. ‘I could come meet you for lunch on Wednesday?’ she suggested shyly.
‘That would be great, but I only get an hour from one till two …’
‘Perfect!’ she grinned. ‘I’ll meet you at the main entrance?’
‘OK.’
Sebastian returned, his keys in hand. I gathered up my things and Celeste hugged me again as we left.
Outside in the street I climbed into the passenger seat of a very new-looking black BMW. It wasn’t particularly ostentatious or sporty, but it was smart and powerful and fitted with all the latest gadgets. I tried to ignore the electric humming sensation in my body at Sebastian’s proximity in the confined space and smiled to myself as I strapped myself in.
‘What?’ Sebastian asked, his eyebrow cocked.
‘Nothing.’ I tried to straighten my face.
‘Natasha?’ he growled. Why did my stomach flip every time he said my name?
‘Sorry, it’s just – all those big rooms, over five whole floors, and you don’t have a garage for your car?’
Sebastian cracked a rare and beautiful smile and started the car. ‘Yeah, I know. That’s London for you. We had to compromise on something and Celeste doesn’t drive so …’ He shrugged as he checked his mirrors and eased the car out into the road and I admired his chiselled profile. I wondered again about the scar beside his eye – the looping white streak almost disappeared when he was happy, it was drawn into his laughter lines, temporarily turning back the clock, but it must have been a deep wound at the time and I was curious to know how it had happened. ‘Turnham Green, right?’
‘Yes, above the florist near the station.’
Sebastian nodded, he obviously knew his way around.
‘Celeste doesn’t drive?’
‘No. She’s not very confident on the road – she never passed her test.’
This news surprised me – Celeste had always seemed so confident in everything. As I watched the road I became aware of a subtle but deliciously familiar scent. I wondered with an ache, whether it was Sebastian, he certainly looked delicious and from what I remembered he tasted good too.
‘Do you?’ Sebastian suddenly asked, interrupting my thoughts. I turned to him and he glanced directly into my eyes, taking my breath away. ‘Drive, I mean.’ His voice was low as he returned his eyes to the road.
I swallowed. ‘Oh, yes, I mean I can drive but I don’t have a car at the moment – I can’t really afford one and I don’t need one while I’m living and working in town.’
Sebastian nodded, calmly in control as he drove, deep in thought. ‘Thank you for not telling Celeste about last night,’ he said quietly.
‘That’s OK,’ I said, my face heating.
‘She’s very protective of you … and I don’t want to hurt her. Or you,’ he added.
‘OK.’ I looked out the window again, confused. Part of me was relieved that things wouldn’t be awkward between us and that I hadn’t hurt my best friend. And part of me was devastated that something special with Sebastian was already over before it had begun. I’d always known a relationship with him was unlikely, but getting a tantalising taste of it and then being told it wouldn’t ever happen, was simply crushing.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I smiled brightly, reassuringly at him.
‘It’s good having you around again,’ he said.
I didn’t respond. I was tired and faintly relieved that I wouldn’t be seeing the twins for a couple of days, I needed to get my head straight.
Sebastian pulled up outside my flat and I avoided making eye contact as I thanked him again. He didn’t switch off the engine and I didn’t invite him inside. Sebastian waited in the car until I had shut my front door behind me, before driving away. At the top of the stairs I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed into bed, falling asleep fully dressed in Celeste’s clothes, the smell of chlorine in my hair.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Wednesday lunchtime came around my mind was much clearer. My friendship with the twins was more important to me than any other. I wasn’t quite sure why Sebastian and Celeste liked me – I never had been, but whatever the reason, they made me feel special – including me in their world as if I was one of them, part of the family. There was no better feeling than that. Losing them, each time they had disappeared off to France, had been devastating. The fear of losing them again, permanently, was bigger than any other fear I could imagine.
Celeste was ten minutes late for our lunch date, but then Celeste had always been late for everything. We ate salads and sticky pastries in the cafe in the John Madejski Garden, right in the centre of the museum. It was cloudy but still warm enough to sit outside and the open green space was a welcome contrast to the stuffy communal office I worke
d in. In my peripheral vision I spotted a couple of my colleagues eyeing us curiously but I pretended I hadn’t noticed. We must have looked mismatched – me in my jeans and shirt and Celeste wrapped in a self-designed asymmetric dress and heels, looking sexy and sophisticated, her hair piled neatly on her head. Her designer handbag and sunglasses exuded wealth and her sweet smile stopped traffic; pedestrian traffic anyway. But I didn’t feel as envious as I could have; I was proud that she was my friend and that she was here to see me.
The passion and excitement that Celeste radiated as she talked about beautiful bias-cut fabrics and belts, was infectious. The fashion industry sounded glamorous but stressful – keeping abreast of the newest trends, networking in the right circles, and courting the media was crucial to success; not an environment that I would survive in for long. Luckily I was able to work with lots of beautiful things at the museum, but the people I interacted with – academics, collectors, and enthusiasts – were more predictable than the characters Celeste had to deal with on a regular basis. When I asked her about Sebastian’s facial scar she was dismissive.
‘Oh, he got that on a building site,’ she said with a flick of her wrist. ‘He worked as a labourer for a year and piece of scaffolding slipped and bashed him, but he had stitches and he was fine.’ The way Celeste was avoiding eye contact made me think she wasn’t being entirely truthful, but I let her change the subject.
‘Tasha, a guy over there has been staring at you the whole time we’ve been sat here,’ Celeste said in a low, concerned voice. I casually glanced over to my left while Celeste discreetly looked the other way but I already knew who she meant. Clive was middle-aged with tufty receding hair and square-rimmed glasses. He wore a waxy grey anorak no matter what the weather, with a curling notebook and a pencil stub jammed into the pocket. At the slightest attention he blushed and shifted his feet uncomfortably, but he was always polite to staff and visitors alike. I smiled at him before turning back to Celeste.
‘That’s just Clive, he loves it here. I think he must live locally; he’s here every day.’