by Grace Lowrie
‘Do you have any idea what was bothering Celeste tonight?’ I asked.
‘No clue, sorry. Sometimes she just gets like that; I doubt it’s anything serious.’
‘OK.’
‘I wish she wouldn’t drink so much though.’
I nodded but didn’t comment.
‘I know she’s a grown woman and everything but … will you do me a favour?’ He held my gaze for a moment. ‘Just let me know if you think she’s getting out of hand?’
‘OK,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ Sebastian returned his eyes to the screen. ‘Obviously she’d kill me for saying that, but what are older brothers for?’
‘Older?’ I asked, amused.
‘Twelve whole minutes, baby,’ Sebastian said with a wink, making me smile.
‘Affords you special privileges, does it?’
‘It should do, but all the evidence indicates otherwise.’
‘Evidence?’ I asked innocently.
‘Have you seen the size of Celeste’s rooms compared to mine?’
I laughed. ‘Actually, no, but her rooms are pretty enormous.’ Sebastian rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. ‘Celeste says you have a dark room though?’ I offered.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty cool. It’s not big but it has everything I need. I converted one of the bathrooms, you want to see it?’
‘Um, yeah, OK.’ A warning sounded somewhere in my mind but I ignored it. Sebastian had made it clear we would not be crossing that line and I was enjoying chatting to him just like old times.
‘I’m surprised Celeste hasn’t given you the full tour yet.’ Sebastian turned off the TV and we headed towards the door.
‘Maybe she’s respecting your privacy.’
‘Yeah, actually she’s pretty good like that,’ Sebastian admitted.
On the second floor Sebastian showed me the three huge guest rooms, all with en-suite bathrooms and walk-in wardrobes. All three were decorated to five star hotel standard; period features, silky wallpaper, plush soft furnishings, and voluptuous beds. The first room we came to was at the back of the house with a great view of the garden and a fresh springtime feel. The room next door was all soft earthy tones; creams, beiges, and ochres mixed with rich mahogany furniture and warm russet details. It had twin beds and was situated at the front of the house above Celeste’s bedroom. There were no bay windows on this floor, but the large sash windows stretched from floor to ceiling and looked out onto elegant stone balustrades.
‘These rooms are just beautiful,’ I commented.
‘Yeah, Celeste sought advice from an interior designer friend at first but she stuck with her own ideas in the end.’
‘With Celeste’s experience in fashion and fabrics I’m not surprised.’
‘Yeah, it seems obvious to me too, but sometimes she underestimates her own talents.’
‘I guess we all do that sometimes,’ I murmured stroking the soft cushion nearest to me.
The third guest bedroom was larger than the others, with the main room facing east and the bathroom overlooking Celeste’s terrace and the garden beyond. It took my breath away. The rich and sumptuous accent colours – teal, fuchsia, turquoise, and gold – where combined in a variety of delicate Chinoiserie patterns and balanced with warm expanses of cream so that the room felt light and cosy despite the storm outside. A medieval-looking, oak framed four-poster bed, swathed in embroidered curtains and cushions, held the centre of the room, whilst elegant, matching pieces of furniture – a dressing table, rocking chair, and writing desk – completed the look. Against the chimney breast there was a modestly sized, original Victorian fireplace, decoratively tiled and seemingly in complete working order with screen, coal scuttle, and poker. A selection of Pre-Raphaelite style oil paintings lined the walls, lending a romantic touch. This was a bedchamber fit for a princess and my favourite room of the three.
Back on the landing I admired yet more artwork mounted on the walls as Sebastian closed the bedroom door behind us. The pictures ranged from cheerful pastel landscapes to vibrant mixed-media portraits and still life collages.
‘Did you do any of these?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m not much of a painter.’
‘Celeste?’
‘No, she can paint but she doesn’t, I’m not sure why.’ A frown briefly darkened his brow. ‘These are the work of artists with physical or mental disabilities.’
‘Wow. Really? They’re amazing,’ I said, taking a closer look. I recalled a younger Sebastian quietly supporting performers and down-and-outs on the streets of Brighton; I loved that he still wanted to help people.
Sebastian opened another door and flicked a light switch to reveal a hidden staircase leading to the top floor.
‘After you,’ he gestured.
The air was warmer up here and the wind and rain louder against the roof, lending a cosy, cocooned feeling to the space.
‘Check out this view.’
I followed Sebastian into a shadowy room, negotiating the filing cabinets, plan chest, and drawing board of Sebastian’s office by the flickering light of the storm. The computer screen on the desk in the centre of the room was the largest I’d ever seen. Through an adjoining door I glimpsed his photographic studio, an almost empty white room with skeleton-like lighting rigs and a few un-framed images tacked to the far wall. As I joined Sebastian at the window I gaped at the view before me, captivated. We were looking east, over the wide, dark expanse of the park itself and across a sea of rooftops and twinkling lights beyond. Raindrops captured the lights and glittered like diamonds as they trickled down the pane. ‘You should see it on a clear night, or on a clear day – you can see Kensington Palace, Hyde Park … all the way across to the London Eye and even Westminster on a good day.’
‘Amazing,’ I whispered, resting my head against the cool glass. Sebastian Walker was quite a catch. ‘I bet you impress all the ladies with this view,’ I said. I’d been aiming for jocular, but as my words hung in the air I realised I just sounded jealous and immature and I cringed, wishing I could take them back.
‘You’re the only person I’ve brought up here,’ Sebastian said quietly without looking at me. ‘Unless you count Celeste and Mrs McBride the housekeeper,’ he added.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’
‘That’s OK – fair assumption I suppose – but I like my privacy.’
The longer we gazed at night-time London through the wind and rain, the more I grew physically aware of Sebastian standing beside me in the dusky light, our legs bare, our breath misting the glass.
‘Anyway,’ Sebastian said abruptly. ‘This is the darkroom.’ He strode across the open space, unbolted another door, drew back a black curtain, and switched on a red light inside. ‘Have you ever developed photographs from film before?’
‘No, never.’ I followed him into the small room and he shut the door, drawing the curtain closed behind us.
The temperature was more ambient; the linoleum cool under my feet and a not unpleasant chemical smell tickled my nose. Stainless steel units wrapped around the edges of the room, the surfaces spread with various pieces of equipment and a series of shallow rectangular trays. Long ribbons of film hung drying in a corner and pegged drying lines zigzagged across one wall. It was a neat, ordered, functional room and yet, in the confined space, with the infra-red light casting a mysterious, murky glow I felt strangely keyed up.
‘I heard somewhere that digital photography is the latest craze,’ I said.
‘Yes, I have a digital camera as well, but there’s something about the process of developing prints from film that sort of … gets under your skin.’
‘Show me,’ I said, my voice huskier than I intended. We exchanged a look and Sebastian’s eyes were completely black in the strange light.
‘OK. Turn around,’ he instructed. I did as he said. ‘This is an enlarger,’ Sebastian stepped to my side and indicated the equipment before me. ‘The negative goes in the carrier here, the photographic paper
goes here, and when you’re ready you simply expose the paper to the light for a set number of seconds, with this timer switch here.’
‘OK,’ I said, taking a deep breath and trying to concentrate.
Sebastian patiently coaxed me through the process – all the focusing and adjusting – letting me do all the work. Through the view-finder I recognised the negative image that Sebastian had selected, despite its reversed, upside down quality – I’d seen a copy just that morning. I glanced at Sebastian, touched by his thoughtfulness, but he didn’t return my smile – he just continued his instructions. Soon I had an exposed piece of white paper in my hand.
Sebastian showed me the chemical baths and guided me through the various washes stage by stage. Though we weren’t touching, I was acutely conscious of his body so close to mine – the delicious smell of his skin, the deep timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath on my shoulder through my thin gown. I slipped my sheet of paper into the developer.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Sebastian suddenly leaned over me and guided my hands with his own, his touch scorching my skin. ‘You have to agitate the solution by rocking it back and forth gently like this …’ he muttered, ‘… to get an even covering.’
The image, a black and white version of Celeste and I in Brighton, slowly appeared from the paper like magic as I watched, hypnotised. He released my hands and as instructed, I rinsed the image thoroughly before sliding it into a stop bath and rocking once more. By the time we got to the bath of fixing solution my breathing had quickened and I was distracted by the dampness between my legs. It was as if a chemical reaction of a different kind was developing in the air between us.
Some liquid slopped from the bath onto the counter and I involuntarily stepped backwards, my body pressing into his, which to my delight was rigid with arousal at my behind. Without thinking I flexed my hips, pushing my sex closer against him.
‘Natasha,’ he groaned quietly in my ear. ‘Why can’t I resist you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.
Sebastian placed his hands firmly on my hips, sending delicious quivers of anticipation right through me.
‘Tell me to stop.’ His breath at my ear was making me light-headed.
Stop. I mouthed the word but no sound came out. I wanted this, I wanted him. I was still clasping the fixer bath tightly. I tried to focus on the blurry image of Celeste through the liquid, tried to remember why I mustn’t do this, but I’d never felt this way before – so overwhelmed with physical longing that I barely recognised myself.
At my silence Sebastian reached into his back pocket with one hand and removed his wallet. I watched as he flipped it open, pulled out a foil packet with his fingertips and set it down on the counter. The physical proof of his intent only made me want him more. He moved his hands upwards, firmly cupping my breasts, and my knees weakened.
‘Natasha,’ he whispered again, his teeth grazing my earlobe as he dragged his right hand up my thigh and underneath my robe. I released the tray I was holding and gripped the counter top to steady myself as I parted my legs. With numbing intensity Sebastian pinched my nipple between his left index finger and thumb while his right hand discovered the slick moisture between my thighs and began to massage back and forth, making me moan.
Just when I was beginning to think I couldn’t take any more Sebastian snatched up the condom, unbuttoned his shorts and sheathed himself. I instinctively bent further forwards over the counter, angling my aching sex up to meet him. He yanked my knickers aside and eased his length inside me with barely contained urgency; filling me entirely. The sensation was exquisite. Sebastian groaned as I clenched tightly, deliciously around him and he began to thrust with long, sure strokes. He gripped my hips as his rhythm started to increase but it was too much and with a cry, my whole body convulsed around him, my legs giving way. Sebastian supported my weight easily and came quickly, forcefully as the spasms of my orgasm started to subside.
We sank to the floor, Sebastian cradling me in his lap as our breathing slowed and thoughts crowded back into my head. I was in shock; shocked at myself and shocked that rushed sex could be so utterly mind-blowing; I’d always assumed it was a myth. But then this was Sebastian Walker; the man I’d fantasised about since I was thirteen years old …
‘Are you OK?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Yes,’ I breathed.
‘Are you sure? ’
‘I’m good.’
Sebastian nodded in relief.
‘Who knew that photography could be so stimulating?
Sebastian smiled in response but it didn’t last. ‘This shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry,’ he said, turning away.
I felt my skin rapidly cool. ‘Why?’
‘It was wrong. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s got into me, It’s not like me to be so reckless,’ he said, angry at himself.
‘But we used protection and I’m on the pill …’
‘Thank God for small mercies,’ he muttered under his breath.
I was too dazed, confused, and disappointed to frame a sentence.
‘C’mon it’s late; let’s get out of here.’ Sebastian pulled me to my feet, disposed of the condom and dragged his shorts back on while I re-tied my robe.
‘What about my photograph?’ I said, in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. Sebastian’s expression softened almost imperceptibly and I watched as he deftly rescued my photograph from the tray I’d discarded. I loved watching him move, his muscles long, lean, solid, and graceful. He efficiently completed the last few stages of the developing process, before hanging the image up to dry.
‘You can have it tomorrow.’
‘Thank you,’ I said softly.
‘No problem.’ Sebastian walked me down to the first floor before heading back up to his room without a word.
Celeste looked angelic and vulnerable in her deep slumber, as I quietly crawled into bed beside her just after midnight. I knew I had to go to work in a few hours’ time so I tried to rationalise what had just happened without dwelling too much: it had been a mistake, no matter how much I’d wanted it and enjoyed it, Sebastian was clear that we would only ever be friends – and that was probably for the best.
I drifted to sleep, traitorous tears rolling silently into my pillow.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Wow! I love your dress, Tash!’ Freya exclaimed, making me jump. ‘You on your lunch break? Mind if I tag along?’ Freya had a tendency to talk quickly, making me feel slow in comparison.
‘Yes, no, of course not.’
‘Is it vintage?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your dress, is it vintage?’
‘Oh, yes – a friend gave it to me.’ The summery seventies smock Celeste had picked out for me was undeniably pretty and I felt surprisingly comfortable in it.
‘Lucky you!’ Freya enthused with a grin.
In the cafe we smiled and waved at Clive before collecting a tray and joining a queue. Freya told me about the group of American tourists she had just given a guided tour to – one of the guys had caught her eye.
‘He had a real swagger, y’know? And his jeans hung from his hips in such a yummy way … he looked like a rapper or something.’
‘Did you get his number?’ I asked.
‘Are you kidding?! I’m like flaming Harry Potter in this thing!’ she said tugging at her uniform.
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘Y’know – invisibility cloak …’
‘Oh.’ I laughed again and Freya shook her head grimly.
‘You’re so lucky you don’t have to wear a uniform.’ I smiled sympathetically as I picked out a sandwich for Evelyn – smoked salmon and cream cheese, her favourite – and a duck wrap for me. Freya opted for a pasta salad and a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps.
‘Hi, Tasha,’ Behind the drinks counter Chris smiled brightly at me.
‘Hi, Chris, how are you?’ Chris reminded me of a golden retriever with his slightly gangly physique, guileles
s eyes, and tufty, bleach-blond hair escaping from beneath his catering cap. Despite his size and cheeky charm I guessed he was only about the same age as Freya.
‘Can’t complain,’ he winked. ‘The usual?’
‘Yes please.’
‘God, he’s cute!’ Freya whispered loudly in my ear while Chris was busy at the coffee machine, his back to us. ‘How have I not noticed him before?’
‘Maybe it’s the uniform,’ I offered, ‘maybe he’s Harry Potter too.’
‘Probably!’ Freya snorted. ‘Bloody hell, I’m an idiot sometimes.’
‘There y’go, Tasha – one cappuccino and one iced mocha.’ Chris set the drinks down on my tray.
‘Hi, I’m Freya,’ Freya interjected perkily.
‘Hello, Freya,’ Chris replied, before leaning conspiratorially towards me across the counter. ‘I put an extra bit of chocolate in there for you, Tasha.’ He winked at me again, pleased with himself and I thanked him, embarrassed. I wished he would flirt with Freya instead.
As we headed for the stairs Freya seemed a little put out.
‘Have you got anything exciting planned this week?’ I asked.
‘Ooh yes!’ She said, bouncing back. ‘There’s a newly refurbished pub just opened in Camden near where my best friend’s brother-in-law lives – they have different bands playing there each night so I’m gonna go check it out – you should come!’ she added, hardly pausing for breath.
‘Thanks, it sounds great, but I’m pretty busy this week, maybe some other time?’
‘OK sure, just lemme know.’
I nipped into Evelyn’s office with her lunch. She was busy talking on the phone but she mouthed a thank you to me as I left it on her desk and retreated back to the shared, open-plan office next door. Freya didn’t have a desk of her own but I pulled an extra chair up to mine and we settled down to eat.
‘So, what’s going on with you?’ Freya asked curiously.
‘How’d you mean?’
‘You got a new boyfriend?’
‘No,’ I laughed. A brief moment in Sebastian’s dark room flared up in my mind unbidden. I judiciously ignored it – the memory was already a month old and definitely not relevant. ‘Why?’