by Grace Lowrie
‘You’re different – you used to be as quiet as a mouse, your head down, hiding in jeans and T-shirts, hoping no-one would see you … but recently, the last few weeks … you’re like another person.’
‘Um …’ I chewed and swallowed self-consciously, floored by Freya’s frank assessment. ‘A friend of mine kind of gave me a makeover, helped me sort out my wardrobe and –’
Freya shook her head. ‘It’s more than that – you walk around with a smile on your face and a spring in your step even though you’re working your arse off!’
‘I enjoy my work,’ I shrugged.
‘Bollocks! It’s gotta be a man!’ I laughed and shook my head as images of Sebastian and Celeste flitted through my mind’s eye. It had been six weeks since they’d swept back into my life and now every day was full of laughter and happiness, as if they’d lifted the lid on my life and let the sunshine in.
‘I … I’m just happy …’ Freya pursed her lips unconvinced and I tucked into my duck wrap with gusto.
‘OK,’ Freya said, her mouth half-full of pasta. ‘What do you think of Scott?’
‘Scott?’ Freya nodded. ‘Scott from Tech Services?’
‘God, no!’ Freya spluttered. ‘Scott from Marketing!’
‘Oh. I don’t really know him, but he seems like a nice guy, why?’
‘’Cos he was asking about you yesterday,’ she crowed, watching my face for some kind of reaction.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I was only in the Marketing department because Bill wanted help carrying a load of boxes back and forth – they weren’t heavy or anything but they were big and it’s awkward y’know with all the security doors and everything, anyway Scott was there and he came over to chat – he’s really good looking, as you know, but he’s always pretty chatty with everyone so I didn’t really think anything of it – but anyway he was asking me how well I knew you and whether you were single and everything!’ Freya paused for breath and looked at me expectantly, her eyebrows raised.
‘So what did you say?’ I asked, bemused.
‘Well I told him I thought you were single, obviously, and I asked him if he wanted me to sound you out or anything and he said “yeah, OK, if you wouldn’t mind”, so here I am – sounding you out!’ Freya looked pleased with her story and took another large mouthful of pasta but I was unsure what to say. ‘So?’ she mumbled.
‘So?’ I echoed.
Freya rolled her eyes. ‘So, do you want to go out with him? Get to know him better? I could set you up on a date? Or I can get him to ask you out himself if you’d prefer?’
‘Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it,’ I admitted.
‘Well that much is obvious,’ Freya smiled wryly.
‘I don’t think I really want to date right now,’ I said diplomatically. ‘But thank you.’
Freya sighed. ‘OK. But let me know if you change your mind – he’s quite a catch!’
Chapter Eighteen
‘God, I love it when you do that!’ Celeste groaned as I gently massaged the ball of her left foot. It was a Friday night at the end of a busy week and outside it was overcast and drizzly, making it feel like summer was over. But Celeste and I were in bikinis, drinking margaritas in her roll-top bathtub, up to our necks in hot water and sweet-scented bubbles. Life was good.
‘What’s the plan this weekend?’ I asked.
Celeste opened her eyes slightly and smiled lazily. ‘Sleep,’ she said.
I rolled my eyes. ‘And after that?’
‘Sleep some more.’
‘You party animal, you.’
‘Actually, we have got a party this weekend, didn’t I tell you?’ Celeste sipped her cocktail and I watched as soap suds slid lazily down the stem of the glass and dripped back into the water.
‘What sort of party?’ I asked, releasing her foot and starting on the other.
‘A works do of Sebastian’s. One of the partners is retiring and they’re having a big bash tomorrow night at the Mermaid Rooms.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Oh, Tasha it’s fabulous – it’s on the Thames! It’ll probably mostly be full of boring architects, but there’ll be food and drink and dancing …’
‘Are you sure I’m invited?’
‘Of course you’re invited, darling – Sebastian got you an extra ticket.’
‘Oh. Doesn’t he want to take his girlfriend?’
‘He doesn’t have a girlfriend.’
‘But you said … wasn’t her name Mariella?’
‘Oh, no. He might be sleeping with her but she’s not his girlfriend. Sebastian doesn’t do the whole girlfriend thing.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, so, no excuses – that ticket is yours.’
‘Where is Sebastian?’
‘New York, I think – they have an office there. But he’ll be back in time for the party. Now,’ Celeste leaned forward, gently gliding her fingers up my calf as she did so, my body tingling with pleasure. ‘What are you going to wear?’
I couldn’t help smiling at her mischievous expression. ‘I have no idea Celeste.’
‘OK, will you let me help?’
‘Sure.’
‘No, I mean, no offence, Tasha, darling, but I don’t think you own anything suitable.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s just that it’s black tie and I want you to feel comfortable.’
‘What did you have in mind?’ I sighed.
‘Let me buy you something please, just this once …’
‘Can’t I just borrow something of yours?’
‘Yes but I don’t think any of my gowns will be long enough for you.’
‘Oh.’ Gowns? Blimey. ‘OK, I guess.’
‘Yay! Thank you!’ Celeste grinned, squeezing my leg and slopping water over the side.
‘No, thank you, you’re extremely generous, Celeste,’ I squeezed her big toe and she sighed, closed her eyes, and sank back again.
‘Any time, darling.’
Later, as I was about to climb into Celeste’s bed, the painting above the headboard caught my eye and I studied it more closely. It was skilfully composed with an attractive, amateurish charm and no obvious signature. The beach, with its long stretch of sand and turquoise sea, was fairly anonymous, but the two smiling children, a boy and a girl, seemed to be of a similar age and it occurred to me they might be twins. As Celeste wandered back into the bedroom in a powder-blue satin slip, her hair untamed, I asked her about it. She looked at me for a moment before answering, as if weighing something in her mind.
‘My mother painted it when we were four.’
At the sad tone in her voice I instantly regretted asking. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, ‘I didn’t realise she painted.’
‘She didn’t often – only on holiday.’
‘She was very talented.’ We were standing on opposite sides of the bed facing each other and I wondered if I should take the opportunity to pry further.
‘What?’ Celeste said, as if reading my mind.
‘I was just wondering … where are the rest of your parents’ things? Furniture, photographs, albums …? Are they packed away because they upset you?’
‘We lost them,’ Celeste said, a tremor in her voice. ‘The whole lot was in storage – in a warehouse in Slough, and there was a fire … the whole lot went up in smoke.’
‘Are you joking?’ I said, shocked and appalled.
Celeste shrugged as if feigning nonchalance. ‘It happened while I was in the hospital – I only found out afterwards. We got financial compensation but most of it we couldn’t replace, or rather we never really tried. I’m not sure if Sebastian wanted to.’
‘But the things in the cabinet downstairs …?’
‘They’re things we’ve found in junk shops over the years, familiar things, pieces we remembered … and my uncle gave me this painting – my mother had given it to him.’ I gazed at the painting as I tried to comprehend the true extent of the twins’
loss. ‘Can I show you something?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
I followed Celeste out of her bedroom and up to the third floor. Rain pattered almost imperceptibly on the roof and my skin prickled with anticipation even though I knew her brother was away. Celeste switched on a light and gestured for me to enter a room I’d not been in before – Sebastian’s bedroom. Celeste hovered in the doorway, watching me as I quickly took in the plain bleached furniture, the timber-clad, white-washed walls, and the light, fresh, colour scheme all blue, white, and sand. The bed was tucked in one corner while a couple of guitars, one acoustic and one electric, sat mounted on stands in another. A large free-standing bookcase was crammed with books, CDs, and DVDs all jostling for space. Otherwise the room was fairly sparse. I could just make out the damp orange glow of London’s lights beyond my reflection in the window. It felt very different to the other rooms in the house; there was none of Celeste’s signature styling and I realised it was pure Sebastian. But none of this could distract me for long, from the small collection of framed images mounted on one white panelled wall. It was these that Celeste had brought me here to see.
They were photographs, five in total, all taken by Sebastian, and all of people I recognised. I moved closer for a better look and as my eyes progressed from one to the other, I had to blink to keep the tears from my eyes – it was like looking through a window and glimpsing the twins’ past. They were intimate, candid shots of a fourteen-year-old Celeste and their parents, Philip and Lucille, on holiday in Corsica. In the group shots the three of them were resting mid-walk in the rugged countryside or playing together on a beach, laughing happily. At a picnic Philip and Celeste were fast asleep on a travel rug while Lucille sat painting at an easel, a look of concentration on her face – photographic evidence to support Celeste’s cherished watercolour.
In one of the two close-ups Celeste was pulling a familiar pouty face while her father tried and failed to keep from smiling. In another Philip and Lucille stood on a cliff top, the wind buffeting their hair and clothes as they laughed together with undisguised affection. It dawned on me that these were all taken in August 1993 – the Walkers’ last holiday together as a family. Sebastian must have had the negatives on him, in his camera, when he was whisked away to France.
I sensed Celeste shift in the doorway behind me and realised I’d been quiet too long. I swallowed the lump in my throat and attempted to subdue my own sentimentality by viewing them with a more critical eye. These photographs had a raw grainy quality, presumably because Sebastian had inferior equipment at the time. But the considered choice of subjects, the perfectly balanced composition, the masterful use of light, the inherent beauty of these images – undoubtedly exposed Sebastian’s raw talent as a true artist. At the same time I could appreciate why he was reluctant to photograph people anymore. There was something in the way he captured his subjects which was intensely personal and laid his love bare for all to see.
I dragged my eyes away and looked at Celeste. She saw the emotion in my face and stepped closer, concerned. ‘They’re wonderful,’ I croaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Truly beautiful.’
‘I know.’ A sad smile formed on her lips. She sighed as I reached out and hugged her.
It was late by the time Celeste had fallen asleep and I’d retired to my four-poster bed. The romantically themed guest room on the second floor was effectively mine whenever I stayed over – a space of my own to retreat to whenever I started to feel overwhelmed. Tonight Sebastian’s beautifully poignant photographs had certainly had that effect on me. As I shrugged off my robe and slipped in between the cool sheets I endeavoured to clear the love-filled images from my mind. Instead I turned Celeste’s latest proposal over in my head – she wanted me to move in to the house officially, on a permanent basis, and I had to admit I was sorely tempted.
Aside from being flattered and delighted by Celeste’s invitation, being in this beautiful big house with all its luxury and comfort was like being on holiday – like staying in a plush, well-run hotel. Twice a week groceries were delivered directly to the front door, arriving as if by magic. The order included all the usual staples but the five-star quality of the produce was superb – organic, locally sourced fruit and vegetables, home-baked bread and pastries, gourmet cheeses, freshly ethically caught fish, free-range meat and eggs, and a generous quantity of alcoholic beverages. Each week the housekeeper organised the kitchen, prepared meals, and cleaned the whole house from top to bottom. She even washed and ironed any laundry she could lay her hands on. The idea of having hired help was weird for me, especially since my mum had spent most of her life cleaning for other people. Mrs McBride was lovely – jocular and down-to-earth with a rich Scottish accent and a business-like attitude, but I still felt embarrassed that she washed my knickers!
From a practical point of view, the house in Holland Park was very conveniently located for work – a good proportion of my job was spent researching pieces in the V&A’s archives and Blythe House was a mere ten minute walk away. It was also true that I could make good money by renting out my flat in Turnham Green; the pros definitely outweighed any cons. But I was reluctant to rush things. My life had changed so suddenly, so dramatically and so fantastically, that I was still having trouble believing it was all real. More importantly, I wasn’t sure if Sebastian really wanted me living under his roof – he had said he was “fine with it”, but I wasn’t sure if he had said that purely for Celeste’s benefit. Perhaps he was too polite to say no.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke with a start, but unsure why. It was dark and the bedside clock read 1:48 a.m. Then I saw him, just inside the door in a shadowy corner of the room.
‘Sebastian?’ I squeaked my heart thumping in my chest.
‘Yes, sorry,’ he breathed. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
I sagged with relief. ‘It’s OK; you scared me, that’s all.’
‘God, sorry …’
‘Don’t worry, what’s wrong? Are you OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said, stepping forwards. ‘I’ll let you sleep, sorry.’ He was dressed in a dark suit, his tie loosened at the collar, and his hair ruffled. He looked uncharacteristically tense as he turned to leave.
‘No, wait,’ I sat up cross-legged, modestly wrapping the sheet around me. ‘I’m awake now, talk to me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sit,’ I said, patting the bed beside me, but he took a chair, drew it closer to the bed, and sat down in that instead. Sebastian didn’t speak and his face was in shadow. I couldn’t believe he was here in my room. My veins pulsed with adrenaline and desire while my mind raced with questions. What was he doing here? Why did he want to see me? Was I dreaming?
‘How was your trip?’
‘Stressful. I’m overseeing a project there but if it goes well it could be great for our firm.’
‘What’s the project?’
As I listened, quietly thrilled that he was talking to me, Sebastian told me about the International Business Enterprise Centre he had helped design, which employed a whole variety of ground-breaking concepts, green materials, and sustainable, cutting-edge technologies. Several different individuals, companies, and organisations were invested in the scheme, alongside a plethora of concerned neighbours, so it was proving to be a diplomatic minefield, keeping everybody happy whilst ensuring everything went to plan and budget. Despite all this I got the distinct impression that Sebastian was extremely organised, firmly in control and fully capable of dealing with problems as and when they arose. As we talked I sensed Sebastian relaxing and eventually he undid his top button and removed his tie, shoving it into his jacket pocket.
‘How are things with you?’ Sebastian asked. ‘You still curating the Arts and Crafts exhibition?’
‘Assisting, yes. It opens in just six weeks’ time so things are getting really busy – it’s vital that the set up goes smoothly to minimise any disruption to the rest of the museum. Plus we want e
verything to be perfect for opening day.’
‘I’m sure it will be. I’m looking forward to seeing it.’
I laughed. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to. I’m a fan of Morris and Co, I always have been.’
‘OK,’ I conceded. ‘Maybe I can give you a tour.’
‘Sounds good.’
Even sitting apart, just talking as we were, I was physically aware of Sebastian in a way I’d never experienced with anyone else. There was something intangible in the air between us that resonated inside me, tantalizing my nerve endings. I didn’t want to jeopardise our carefully constructed friendship, but there was no denying the physical attraction between us, whether we chose to acknowledge it or not.
‘How’s the photography going?’ I asked. I didn’t mention the pictures Celeste had shown me in his bedroom.
‘Fine. I haven’t had time to take any new ones recently, but I’ve got plenty of material to play around with.’
‘Have you sold any?’
‘A few, mostly to friends though, I don’t really show them.’
‘Why not?’
He paused. ‘I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘Maybe you should. At your house warming party lots of people were admiring your work – browsing the walls as if it was a gallery.’
‘It was Celeste’s idea to display them.’
‘I realise you don’t need the money but they are beautiful images – they should be seen.’ Sebastian didn’t say anything and I wished I could see his face to better read his mood. ‘You should exhibit them in public,’ I clarified.
‘If I did … would you curate it?’
‘What!’ I laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m not qualified – you haven’t even seen my work.’
‘You’re more than qualified, but OK; I’ll inspect your exhibition first before drawing up a contract.’ I thought he might be smiling in the darkness.
I giggled and shook my head in disbelief.