“But we can take lots of warm clothes, and light the fire. Besides, if it’s too cold we can just stay in bed.”
“Shall I see if it is free over Christmas?”
So Isabel made the enquiry and came back waving the print out of her booking receipt. They were going back to Ty Bach.
“We can travel first class if you want a bit of luxury, and hire an electric car when we get there.”
“When we get there I simply want to wrap you up in silk sheets and kiss every inch of your beautiful skin.”
“Well first we have to arrange the wedding, and work out what we wear.”
In the end it was all so simple. Bryony wore a dress, looking like a cat-walk model in an ivory satin shift which scooped round her shoulders and emphasized her breasts. Isabel felt more comfortable in a tailored pant suit which hid all the faint but still present scars on her arms and legs.
The civil ceremony was short, sweet and completely in tune with their desire for a no fuss event. The reception for fifty of Isabel’s friends and Bryony’s fellow students was in a restaurant where the owners knew Isabel from old days, and really provided them with a wonderful vegetarian banquet, and by the next morning they were away on the train heading north-west.
In Aberystwyth the hire car was waiting, and Isabel took the wheel, all her old confidence regained. Bryony sat beside her and enjoyed the view of her lovely profile. When they climbed the last hill up to the cottage, she surveyed the little house with complete happiness. It was winter, and the deciduous trees had all lost their leaves, but the great pine and larch plantations around them were still in full leaf. A clear sky above was already studded with stars, even though it was barely tea-time, and a frost made the ground crunch under their feet.
Isabel found the key in its usual place and turned the lock. Then they stepped into a lovely warm room. The owners, or their agent, had lit the big fire and the Aga was already sending warmth through the entire cottage. A Christmas hamper had been set up on the kitchen table, full of lovely vegan food. And there was a seasonal scent of cinnamon, ginger and pine cones from a large wreath hanging on the wall.
Isabel gathered Bryony to her and hugged her as tightly as she could. The younger woman could feel a surprising shaking of her shoulders, and lifted up her face to see tears on her eyelashes.
“Hey, what’s up sweetheart?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. I just can’t cope with how happy I am right now, compared to last time, when I came here on the first of July.”
“I love you Isabel. I will always love you.”
“Me too.”
“Now let’s eat some of this lovely food we’ve been left. I’m starving.”
And so they did. The winter woods embraced the little cottage like a green blanket. The owls ruffled their feathers against the cold, and the deer in the forests sniffed the frost in the night sky.
But later, after the feast was consumed, some warm mulled wine drunk, no-one within a hundred miles, neither human nor animal, bird or beetle, slept as well or as contentedly as Isabel and Bryony, wrapped up together in each other’s arms. They were in love, partners for life, and Isabel was completely and utterly healed.
THE END
About the Author
This is Maggie McIntyre’s first novel in her own name. She has been happily writing for most of her life, and especially enjoys writing about women in love with women. Dividing her time between the USA, the UK, and Spain, and between mainstream writing and fanfiction, she invites you to travel with her and enjoy the ride. She believes a good story can inspire, entertain and also console in times of trouble. It also has the power to break down barriers of hatred and fear between people, and help people live their lives to the full.
You can find Maggie on her Facebook page, Maggie McIntyre Author, and at her website:
www.maggiemcintyreauthor.com.
COMING SOON BY MAGGIE MCINTYRE
website: www.maggiemcintyreauthor.com
email: [email protected]
Trafficked
If you enjoyed this book, why not meet Isabel’s colleague, Steph, who has romantic challenges of her own...a mystery to solve and a huge decision to make. Set in London in the winter of 2019, the novel takes us through the swinging doors of a radical women-led international aid agency. It also explores the dilemma all working women face when caught between glass ceilings and the calls of parenthood. But many women have it so much worse, as Steph and her lover Celia discover to their cost when they try to answer a call for help. A lesbian love story in the real, often scary, world of trafficked girls and hidden networks of power.
- Contemporary Romance
- Tentative release, 2H-2020
Trafficked
by
Maggie McIntyre
Chapter 1
“Kittens.”
“Kittens?”
“Kittens. The most sought after images on Facebook apparently.”
“You don’t say. Well I know not to find any kittens on your pages anyway. You’re allergic to cats.”
“And too cute. Don’t forget, cute. You know how that sends me up the wall.”
“Hmm. Definitely allergic to cute.”
As she spoke, Steph Miller flung her I-Pad across the sofa and stretched out her arms and legs in a move which did make her resemble a cat languidly pulling itself from sleep. She looked and felt exhausted, having just returned from three grueling months in the DRC. Her clothes were creased and covered in dust.
Her travel bag was dumped by the sofa, and her rucksack had fallen by the door as she’d come in. She had merely collapsed for a few minutes, giving in to the urge to check the internet for any urgent messages, and spend a few minutes on trivia, before picking up the pieces of a very hectic life, and emailing her perpetually anxious mother.
Celia Forrester, the opposite to whom she was seriously attracted, had just walked through the door of their South London flat, but in her case, after only a short train ride from an accountancy firm in the City of London. The enforced separation had been a long twelve weeks this time, and she had grown used to her own immaculately tidy ways.
Their laconic exchange about kittens was typical of the way they often slid cautiously back into their relationship after months apart. Neither of them seemed good at spontaneously showing their emotions without an ice-breaker.
Celia was overjoyed to see Steph had returned from Kinshasa in one piece, but couldn’t deny she was slightly irritated by the way her beloved spread herself and her luggage across their main room in total ownership. Stephanie was a woman whose whole lifestyle never seemed to know its rightful boundaries.
She liked to live rough even when the way promised to be smooth. She travelled constantly, and she invaded Celia’s heart, dreams, bed and wardrobe with casual disregard for the mess she left behind whenever she departed again. As she did all the time.
Celia swallowed her pain. Now wasn’t the time for nagging. She put out her arms and Steph stood up and went quickly over to her. She helped her pull off her coat, and then gave her a big bear hug.
“I have missed you so much. God, I think I’m getting too old for these trips. And the Internet connection was terrible. Sorry I couldn’t Skype you more often. If we weren’t having a power cut, it was the water which stopped running in the taps, and we were carrying buckets round the compound. The nights were hotter than hell.”
“I know. I understand.” Celia kissed her warmly, half on the mouth, half on the cheek. They had been together three years. They were almost family. ”Go and jump in the shower, and I’ll fix a meal. You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”
“Yes, that stale croissant in Brussels airport seems a long time ago.”
Then she remembered, “Oh, and something really weird happened on the flight home. I want to run it past you and see what you think.”
“OK. Over supper. I’ll put some pasta on.”
“Great, anything but rice.” And she drag
ged her smelly, weary bones into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Ah, the bliss of hot water!
They sat together an hour later on the small terrace behind the flat, enjoying a glass of Tesco’s best red together despite the cold night air. Steph who loved to sit out and listen to the night sounds of London had grabbed the duvet off the bed and wrapped them both up in it against the December frost. A scented candle made by a Ukrainian women’s collective gave them a little pool of reflected light.
“So what was the problem on the airplane from Kinshasa?”
“Not so much a problem for me, but something troubling. At the gate, as we went through to board, there was a large, Nigerian family in front of me, with several children, and a young Congolese woman in tow, who seemed to be their nanny or maid.”
“And you knew this, how?”
“By the general way they treated her, with the haughty disdain with which wealthy treat their minions. She was carrying most of their hand luggage, and seemed to have responsibility for the younger children. I know she wasn’t Nigerian like the others, because, when she stepped backwards and accidentally fell over me, she apologized in Liguana. I answered in French, and we knew we were at least on the same wavelength, language wise.”
“So? Sadly that’s a scenario you see everywhere, especially in airports.”
“Yes, but when we were flying and I stood up to use the toilet, this young woman suddenly arrived behind me in the queue, and thrust a small scrap of paper into my hand with a phone number. She whispered in French, “Please, phone my sister. Tell her you met me on a flight to Brussels. Tell her…”
“Then we were thrown apart by the toilet door opening, and I was pushed inside before I could reply. When I emerged, I saw that she had returned to her seat in the centre of a row of five, towards the back of the plane. Her employers were all in business class, naturally. I walked back and looked at her with raised eyebrows. I mouthed, “Are you all right?”
“She looked very scared, and I saw the man next to her, maybe another employee of the family, was scowling at her. She just gave a tiny shake of the head and looked away from me, so I took the hint and retreated.
“When we landed in Brussels, there was no sign of her. She may have gone forward to be with the family when they left abruptly from business class. Perhaps they had a quick connection, but I couldn’t see them anywhere as we went through to the transit area. So now I really don’t know what to do.”
Celia was surprised. “Call the number, obviously.”
“Well, obviously, duh. But there’s no country code. Is it the UK, the Congo, somewhere on the continent? I tried the basic number at once, but they said, “This number does not exist. Please check and dial again.”
“Give it to me. Let me look at it.”
Steph pulled it out of her I-Phone wallet and passed it across. It was on the squared paper, universally used in francophone countries, in ballpoint pen, and had nine numbers.
“It’s a puzzle, and it worries me. I can’t get her face out of my mind. She looked both exhausted and terrified, and I am sure she was much younger than I had first thought.”
“Have you tried Googling it?”
“Yes. It’s not a postcode. It’s just a seemingly random set of numbers. But it may mean a lifeline to this girl. “
“Let me ask at work tomorrow. Some of the tech team might crack this. I expect it’s quite simple. We should try the DRC first anyway, don’t you think? Oh, and why don’t you ask your boss tomorrow? Isabel will know. She knows everything. ”
“Isabel won’t even be back at work yet. She’s still on her honeymoon until after Christmas, I expect.”
“Perhaps, but maybe you could text her. You know what a workaholic she is. I went to her wedding on your behalf by the way. Everyone was there, and they all asked why you weren’t and where you were. I told them you had to stay on in DRC to wind everything up.”
“Yes, I was so sorry to miss the wedding. I adore Isabel, and want to get to know Bryony. We should have them round for a meal in the New Year.”
Celia nodded. It would be a positive new start if Stephanie could stay in the UK long enough to issue invitations and still be there to honor them.
“Anyway, this mystery phone number, I’ll help you sort it out, don’t worry.”
Steph was grateful Celia was taking it seriously, but the hour was late, and she was exhausted. They retreated back into the warmth, left the paper on the kitchen table, turned their wine glasses upside down in the sink, next to the unwashed supper dishes, and fell into bed.
Celia curled around Steph like a spoon behind her back, slowly rubbing her shoulder with one hand and cupping her left breast with the other, but Steph was just too tired to respond in any sexual way. She mumbled an apologetic, ‘love you, Night…’ and promptly fell asleep.
“Story of my life,” muttered Celia. “In bed with a sleeping beauty,” and turned over, hugged her pillow and followed her into la-la land.
There was so much she needed to talk to Steph about, serious stuff, but it would just have to wait now until the following evening. Stephanie Miller, West African Project Officer for the “Righteous Anger” charity, was never good in the morning, and Celia needed her full attention and most positive mood if she was to respond well to what she had to say. It was perhaps the most important decision they needed to take in their lives, and she desperately wanted Steph to say “Yes.”
Celia was going through inner turmoil here, and what really scared her, was that she suspected Steph hadn’t even noticed.
New Releases from Fellow Authors
Sliding Doors
Author: Karen Klyne
ISBN: 978-1-9164443-8-6
Release date: 15 June 2020
https://bit.ly/S_Doors
Gemma Tennant’s life is in a downward spiral, and she doesn’t know where to turn. She longs for something different, something new. When she finds a strange flyer suggesting she could start over, all she has to do is find the courage to go through a sliding door to switch lives with a woman on the other side…
Alex Gambol is content but a little lonely. She runs her own business, looks after her ill mother, and goes for long walks with her dog. She’s got no time for love, and that’s okay. But when a strange woman on the beach shoves a bag at her and insists it’s hers, she has no idea how drastically her life is about to change.
Gemma knows the risks she’s taken and embraces her new life with enthusiasm and delight. But Alex is bemused, thrown into a life completely alien to her, and she has to learn to live with a wife and kids she never knew she wanted…until now.
About the Author:
KAREN KLYNE lives in England and is a passionate globetrotter. When she’s not travelling, she likes walking, cycling, and chasing a little white ball around lush green fairways.
Call To Me
Author: Helena Harte
ISBN: 978-1-8380668-0-2
Release date: 1 August 2020 (via Amazon)
Ash Smith has plans. Sort of, anyway. Still a kid at heart, she loves working with young people, especially the ones who need a bit of extra attention. She’s determined to make something of herself but knows enough about love to know it’s not what she wants right now. Life is too full, too wild, to get tied down. That is, until she finds Java, a beautiful, abandoned dog who steals her heart.
Evie Jackson is all about stability. She and her son live a calm, happy life, and although Evie misses companionship, a recent relationship taught her not to trust her instincts when it comes to women. Passing dalliances are all she’ll allow so she keeps her heart, and her son, safe.
When Ash and Evie meet at the Hound Hotel, sparks fly. Ash is a free spirit, something that calls to Evie despite her knowing better, and Ash can’t get enough of Evie’s strong, sexy fire. But will they hear love’s call, or will they let it pass them by?
About the Author:
HELENA HARTE is an incurable romantic with a marshmallow heart, whose favor
ite pastime is finding love and romance in the strangest of places. Call to Me is her debut romance novel.
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