Rachel cursed her folly as she stood bent double, wine glass in hand, sweat gathering in her armpits and behind her knees, in a tiny cupboard in her best friend’s fiancé’s apartment. It was too small to risk shifting position without making a noise. If Stella discovered her, she’d never forgive her. She wouldn’t wait for explanations. She’d imagine the worst and that would be it. The friendship over in spite of the many years of shared secrets that should have fused them together in an unbreakable bond. She felt a trickle of fear run down the side of her breast - God, she wasn’t even wearing a bra, and she always wore a bra. No, Stella definitely wouldn’t understand. She didn’t even dare to sigh, but she longed to, at her own stupidity. How had she arrived in this compromising position, in Harry’s apartment, without a bra? And of all the shoes she could have chosen, she had picked her black silk Jimmy Choo’s!
It had all started with a row. Stella was not only volatile, but as fragile as a butterfly. It took very little to unsettle her and once unsettled, it took an enormous amount to settle her back again. For someone so attracted to the bright lights, she was, being so fragile, the least equipped to handle them. What she needed was a solid, reliable, gentle sort of man. The sort of man who called when he said he would, who was full of praise and indulgence, and rich. Of course, he must be rich. But Stella fell in love with Harry. Harry was the least solid man in London. Harry was positively elastic. He twisted and turned, made promises that he broke and had an untameable eye that not even Stella, with all her beauty and sensuality, could restrain. But Harry had charm and Stella forgave him everything. Rachel worried for her friend, but Stella always knew best, such was the nature of their friendship. Rachel was lovely to look at, but even the loveliest creature paled in the glare of Stella’s radiance.
Harry and Stella had been together for six months when he asked her to marry him. She had discovered a discarded rail ticket to Paris when he had told her he had gone to Glasgow on business. Stella began to rock like a pretty boat in rough waters, suddenly greatly unsettled. Harry, foreseeing another argument, fell to his knees and shook his head in despair. “It was going to be a surprise,” he explained.
“What surprise?” she asked incredulously, though settling a little for she liked surprises.
“I went to Paris to buy you a ring.”
“A ring?” she gasped.
“I wanted to ask you to marry me, but I was waiting the right moment.
“Oh, Harry!” she breathed, dropping to her knees so that she was level with him. “You’ve just made me the happiest woman in the world!”
“So you’ll say yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” She pressed her lips to his. Relieved, his fingers began to unbutton her shirt. “Where’s the ring?” she murmured.
“What?”
“The ring?”
Lesser men would have been stumped at this moment, but Harry, elastic Harry, twisted and turned with such effectiveness that Stella believed it to be in the Cartier workshop in the heart of Paris, for only the best setting would do for so exquisite a diamond.
Then Harry’s eye roved once too many and Stella walked out.
“He’s desperate for me to come back,” she told Rachel over coffee in the little café in Nottinghill, near Rachel’s small flat. “He says he’ll do anything.” She flicked her manicured fingers and gazed absentmindedly at the trio of large diamonds that caught the pale morning light and glittered. “He said he bought this in Paris, but now, of course, I don’t believe him. I’ve given him too many chances, Rachel. This is it. I love him. God!” she closed her eyes and uttered the exclamation in a deep, painful groan, “I’ll always love Harry.” Rachel sipped her hot chocolate and gave her friend her most sympathetic look so that her whole forehead wrinkled like a Labrador puppy. Secretly she was relieved the relationship was over. Harry was no good. Certainly not good enough for Stella.
It wasn’t long before Stella began to weaken, after all, it didn’t take much to unsettle her and the prospect of life without Harry unsettled her greatly. The first bunch of flowers were immediately tossed into the bin. The second, tall-stemmed lilies, her favourites, grudgingly placed in the sitting room, but the telephone calls went unanswered. “I want him to sweat,” she declared to Rachel. “I want him to see the error of his ways and then, when I finally go back, never to look at another woman again.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
Stella looked affronted. “You don’t think I can hold a man like Harry?”
“Yes, but…”
“He just needs to be taught a lesson.” Then her eyes dimmed, and her lips trembled. “I love him Rachel,” she said. “He’s the only man for me.”
So when Rachel received a telephone call from Harry, she resisted her instincts, which were to hang up, and listened to what he had to say. Because Stella loved him. Because in spite of her own feelings, she would do anything for Stella. Anything. Even have dinner with Harry. “I beg you,” he had said. “Please. I need to talk to you about Stella. I need to win her back and I can’t do it without your help. Surely you love Stella enough to want her happiness.” She didn’t tell Stella.
It had been a long time since Rachel had been out on a date. Not that dinner with Harry was anything close to a date. But the dress and shoes Stella had made her buy had languished in her cupboard for months, taken out only to check for moths and to stroke longingly before being put away again for that special moment. Harry wasn’t that special moment, but perhaps that special moment wasn’t ever going to come. It would be a shame to waste such a pretty dress, such elegant shoes. She sprayed her body with perfume, took trouble with her hair and make-up, and slipped into the little black dress that clung to her limbs, revealing a lot of thigh when she was seated, and plunged between her breasts so that a bra was simply not an option. She always wore a bra. Rachel’s breasts demanded a bra. But tonight, she wouldn’t wear one. She’d be someone else. After all, she reasoned, Rachel wouldn’t have dinner with Harry; she’d have to be someone else.
She insisted on driving to his flat, after all, this wasn’t a date, and she parked her car right outside his building. She rang the bell and Harry bounded down. When he saw her, no longer in the glare of Stella’s radiant beauty, he was clearly impressed. He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand. “I’m so grateful,” he said, tracing her womanly curves with greedy eyes. He was far more grateful than he had ever imagined he could be; Rachel glowed. He had never noticed her glow before.
They walked up the road to a small Italian restaurant that Stella would never have patronized. Harry asked her about herself - he had never asked her about herself before. Rachel was so amazed, she told him. To Harry’s surprise, he listened.
“You disapprove of me,” he said finally, chewing on a piece of calamari. Rachel found his sad eyes hard to resist. They were large and brown, like honey.
“I don’t disapprove of you,” she began, embarrassed, but he interrupted.
“You don’t think I’m good enough for Stella. You think I’m a shameless womaniser. You’re right, I am. I can’t resist beautiful women. Look at you.”
“Me?” Rachel nearly choked on a tomato.
“You’re gorgeous. Don’t blush.” Too late, she thought as the blood throbbed in her cheeks. “I love women like some men love cars, art, watches. I like to look at them, imagine making love to them, flirt with them. But my heart was made for Stella.” Rachel put down her fork and, seduced by his charm, began to wonder what it was that she hadn’t liked about Harry. “Stella will listen to you. You have to make her understand.”
After dinner they walked back to his flat. It was a starry night, the air balmy, jasmine scented. It was summertime and the champagne had made them both lightheaded. “Come up for a while,” he said as she delved into her bag for her keys. “It’s early. I’m enjoying your company.” It was, indeed, early. She was enjoying his company too.
“Just a quick one,” she said, and followed him inside. Once in the flat he closed the door behind them and put the chain on.
“Habit,” he said when she raised an eyebrow. “White or red?”
Rachel admired his flat. It was large with tall ceilings, decorated in neutral colours. There was a mini grand piano in the corner upon which rested a black and white photograph of Stella. Rachel suddenly felt guilty. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, her face creasing into a frown. “If Stella found out, I’d be dead.”
“She’s not going to find out,” he said, throwing himself onto the sofa. “Sit down. Relax.” He patted the cushion beside him.
“This is her home.”
“No, it isn’t. She moved in with me. Then she moved out. It’s my home.” He grinned at her and Rachel noticed, to her shame, a lascivious glint in his eye. He had clearly enjoyed the evening more than he should have. It was time to leave.
The sound of the door rattling in the hall caused them both to jump. They froze. The only other person who had a key was Stella. “Harry! Harry! What the hell is Rachel’s car doing outside your house?” She was greatly unsettled, in danger of capsizing altogether.
Rachel felt sick. She wanted to die. Harry leapt to his feet. “The cupboard in the corridor,” he hissed. She grabbed her handbag and allowed him to push her through the tiny door into a space not even high enough for her to stand in. Her feet found two places free of detergent and empty suitcases, although her legs trembled so much she feared she might not hold herself up for long. She clutched her bag and her glass of wine and listened as Harry, as cool as a spring breeze, opened the door to let her in.
“Why did you put the chain on?” she demanded. Her voice was an octave higher than normal and trembling with fury.
“One can never be too careful,” he replied casually. Rachel heard Stella’s footsteps as she went through to the sitting room.
“Why are you drinking wine on your own?”
“Stella, relax.”
“I know she’s here. Why would her car be parked right outside your flat? Where is she?”
“She isn’t here. Why on earth would she be here? She doesn’t even like me.”
Rachel hoped that would appease her. Stella’s voice fell in tone and began to quiver.
“Then where is she?” she sobbed.
“Darling, what does it matter? Hundreds of people live in Chelsea. Come here.” Rachel listened to her friend’s gentle sobbing and the murmuring that followed as they kissed. Oh please, she thought, not that! She knew she couldn’t stand for long.
“I love you, Stella. Only you,” he whispered. But Stella was still unsettled.
“I know,” she said after a while. “I’ll call her.”
“Fine, call her,” he replied. The silence that followed was as loud as cymbals.
Rachel’s heart began to thud. Her whole body prickled with fear. Then the shrill, insistent tone of her mobile rung out from her handbag.
SHADOWS IN THE MOONLIGHT, the first in a trilogy, is out now in hardback, will be published in paperback in February 2025.
When Pixie Tate is summoned to the wild Cornish coast to unravel a curious mystery at the stately St Sidwell Manor, she knows that something quite extraordinary must be hiding in its shadows.
Over one hundred years ago, in the dark of night, a child vanished from his bed never to be seen again - and Pixie must now discover the truth of those final moonlit hours. But Pixie has a secret, she can travel through time, something she calls “timesliding”. This gives her the unique ability to visit the past and uncover the mysteries that lie there.
As she loses herself in the hot summer of 1895, secrets are revealed, love affairs exposed and, ultimately, Pixie will be forced to make a devastating choice that will change her life forever...
Another great wee gem. Thank you.
Really can't wait for Pixies next adventure! Really enjoying your short stories too. Thank you xxx