Kindred Hearts

by Grace Lowrie

  Celeste turned away from me to remove her pyjama shirt, the silk sliding to the floor as she lay down. There was a subtle uneasiness about her that had become more and more apparent in recent days and I had no idea what was causing it.

  ‘Just relax,’ I murmured as I straddled her legs, decanted some oil into my hands, and rubbed them together.

  ‘Mmm, that smells lovely,’ she mumbled into the pillow.

  ‘It’s rosewood.’ I slowly massaged the oil into Celeste’s soft, flawless skin, gently kneading her muscles from her neck down to the small of her back. I could feel her loosen up beneath my fingers, the tension falling from her limbs and her breathing deepening.

  ‘Celeste,’ I whispered in her ear after a while, ‘roll over on to your back, sweetheart.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘No, it’s OK, darling – I’m too relaxed to move.’

  I was surprised at her response; it wasn’t like Celeste to be coy and pass up an opportunity to be intimate when we were alone like this. Immediately my old familiar insecurities reared up in my mind – Celeste doesn’t want me anymore – but I tried to ignore them.

  ‘What’s wrong, Celeste?’ I asked, the concern in my voice obvious, even to my own ears.

  ‘Nothing, darling.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I asserted.

  Celeste sighed and turned her head to one side. ‘I just don’t feel like flaunting my body right now.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why? Are you in pain?’ Celeste buried her face back in the pillow without replying. ‘Look at me, Celeste!’ I tickled her ribs until she wriggled reluctantly onto her back but she folded her arms protectively across her chest and petulantly kept her eyes shut. Firelight bathed her delicate feminine curves in a warm glow as I ran my eyes adoringly over her. ‘Celeste, you have the most beautiful body in the world,’ I breathed.

  Celeste snorted derisively.

  ‘What’s brought this on? I don’t understand. You’ve always been so comfortable in your own skin.’

  Celeste shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Please look at me,’ I pleaded. ‘You know I love you, Celeste.’

  ‘Do you?’ Her eyes sprang open, bright with pain.

  ‘You know I do!’

  ‘It’s not enough though, is it? I’m not a man …’ her voice cracked.

  I was momentarily lost for words, as if punched in the stomach. This was the real problem – having to share me with her brother. ‘I can’t help loving Sebastian any more than I can help loving you,’ I whispered apologetically.

  Celeste swallowed hard. ‘I know.’

  ‘I love you both equally. Yes, I love that Sebastian is a man, but I love you because you are a woman – because you are beautiful and sexy and gentle and feminine, because you are my best friend and because you understand me so well …’

  Tears sprang to Celeste’s eyes and she sat up, kissing me softly on the mouth.

  ‘I know it’s selfish,’ I confessed. ‘I want you both and I know that’s not fair on either of you. What should I do, Celeste, tell me?’

  Celeste shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t know.’ She kissed me again. ‘Ignore me, I’m just being silly – I love Sebastian too. He’s my twin, I want him to be happy. Maybe I just need more time?’ she suggested with an optimistic smile.

  I so badly wanted to believe her.

  ‘Tell me again what you love about me,’ Celeste whispered seductively as she gently skimmed my breast through the thin fabric of my blouse with her finger tip.

  ‘Oh, Celeste,’ I sighed. ‘I love your beautiful eyes, your soft skin, the sweet taste of your lips …’

  Celeste and I made love; slowly, breathlessly, caressing and consoling each other with our bodies and our whispered words until we found a shared release, relinquishing ourselves to each other and to delicious all-consuming sensation.

  A little after ten o’clock, long after Celeste had fallen asleep, I heard Sebastian return. I pulled on my dressing gown, positioned the fire screen securely around the hearth, and followed the distant sounds of movement to the kitchen. He looked tired and dishevelled – his tie loose, hair awry, and jaw shadowed.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry I’m so late – I just couldn’t get away and then my train was delayed …’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I smiled as he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

  ‘Is Celeste asleep?’

  ‘Yes. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Actually yes – ravenous. Did you manage to save me anything?’

  ‘Yes. Sit down and tell me about your meeting,’ I said as I moved a frying pan from the draining board to the hob and turned up the heat.

  Sebastian talked as I prepared a tender sirloin steak with all the trimmings and watched as he proceeded to devoured it.

  ‘This is delicious, thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ’I’m sorry I missed Celeste, we’ll have to do this again sometime.’

  ‘Do you still want to?’ I asked.

  Sebastian cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know … I …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wondered if you were deliberately avoiding us.’

  Sebastian’s face was a picture of astonishment and confusion. ‘Why on earth would I do that?’

  I sighed with relief. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just worried about Celeste.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think she’s struggling with our relationship … since we got back from Antigua. She doesn’t like sharing me.’

  Sebastian sighed and rested his head thoughtfully in his hand. ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said quietly. ‘I told you before she’s very possessive of you. To be honest I’m amazed she lets me anywhere near you,’ he smiled wryly. ‘And I understand how she feels because I feel the same way,’ he admitted.

  ‘What? I didn’t think you minded; you said you didn’t need love, romance, all that shit.’

  ‘I need you,’ he said, his eyes glowing. ‘I’ll take what I can get, Natasha – I’d rather share you with my sister than lose you completely, but in an ideal world –’

  ‘OK, I get it.’ I closed my eyes, reluctant to hear any more, but Sebastian continued.

  ‘Do you, though? In an ideal world you’d be mine – I’d romance you in public, whisk you away to Venice, and make sure everyone knew just how much I love you.’

  I shook my head but Sebastian took my hand and forced me to look at him.

  ‘I would ask you to marry me, Natasha,’ he said matter-of-factly, piercing me with his deep blue gaze.

  I gaped at him startled, his words hanging in the air. Marriage? This wonderful man, whom I loved so much, whom I’d loved for so long, would marry me … and yet … it was impossible. I couldn’t marry him. In my heart I knew that it would simply destroy Celeste.

  ‘It’s not an ideal world,’ I said eventually.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We all try to get along, I guess,’ Sebastian said pragmatically. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier on Celeste – I want her to be happy.’

  ‘She said the same thing about you.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ll take my lead from you – if you two need more space or more time alone together, just let me know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said miserably, tears pooling in my eyes.

  ‘Hey, angel, don’t look so sad.’ Sebastian caressed my cheek with his fingers and I leaned into the warm comfort of his palm.

  ‘You’re so kind and generous and I’m so selfish and greedy,’ I muttered self-pityingly.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Sebastian laughed, drawing me close and wrapping his strong arms around me. ‘It’s not your fault you’re so loveable.’

  Chapter Forty-six

  As Paris Fashion Week loomed Celeste became increasingly agitated. I began to suspect that she was drinking before breakfast. Whenever we were a
part, when we were at work or she was at a function, she texted or called me almost hourly to maintain contact. Her anxious devotion was starting to make me feel edgy and suffocated. Celeste wanted me to go with her, to take the whole week off work, travel to Paris and attend all the catwalk shows and parties with her. I’d explained to her gently, firmly, and at great length that I couldn’t just take a week off at such short notice, it wasn’t fair to my team. I’d only just recovered from a nasty two-day stomach bug, so I was already behind. Celeste was smart and sensible; she was a professional woman herself and by her own admission she completely understood, but she wasn’t happy about it. Paris Fashion Week was the highlight of her working year – many of her friends, colleagues, contemporaries, and idols flocked there each year and the potential for making various prudent connections was monumental. And yet I could tell that a part of Celeste was tempted not to go – she didn’t want to leave me alone with Sebastian.

  On Wednesday evening we arranged to meet in a trendy cocktail bar after work, but when I queried Sebastian’s absence, she claimed she had forgotten to text him, as if it had simply slipped her mind. I knew in my gut that she had deliberately omitted to tell him, but I was reluctant to confront her, knowing how defensive she would be. Lately, whenever the three of us were together, Celeste was tetchy with Sebastian, finding fault with him, instigating arguments over nothing, and dismissing his well-meant suggestions out of hand. Sebastian, despite his calm, considerate resolve and steady patience, had started to withdraw – choosing to spend more of his weekends and evenings working alone in his office.

  The night before Celeste was due to leave for Paris she packed her suitcases with an excited energy and then reorganised my wardrobe into an entire week’s worth of outfits (complete with accessories) arranged in chronological order, for each and every day that she would be away.

  ‘Celeste, sweetheart, I am able to dress myself …’ I reminded her gently.

  ‘Oh, I know, darling!’ she laughed. ‘But you know how much I’ll miss you and this way, every time I think of you, I’ll be able to picture you perfectly!’ she smiled, her eyes bright.

  ‘Is that really the reason?’ I asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she shrugged dismissively. ‘Of course if you came with me, I wouldn’t have to picture you …’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said, backing off. I couldn’t help worrying that Celeste’s overzealous behaviour was bordering on the unhealthy. I wondered how she was going to survive a week without me and whether she would need some sort of help. As I gazed at my clothes a rebellious part of me was tempted to mix up the outfits she had chosen, or to wear them all in the wrong order. But I mentally chided myself. I loved Celeste as intensely as she loved me and I was going to miss her terribly.

  The days passed quickly at first, interspersed with Celeste’s ardent phone calls and texts. I worked long hours at the museum, visited my mother, telephoned my old friends … and each night I crawled into bed with Sebastian and tried not to feel guilty about it. But as the week progressed, Celeste’s communications become less frequent, less passionate and shorter in duration, and a sense of uneasiness developed in my belly. The time Sebastian and I spent together started to feel subdued and incomplete as Celeste’s absence started to weigh on us – proof, as if any was needed, of the intense closeness the three of us shared.

  By ten o’clock on Friday night (local French time) I’d packed my weekend suitcase and journeyed to Paris by Eurostar. I wanted to see Celeste. I wanted to surprise her and I wanted her to know how much I loved her. As the taxi pulled up outside an exceptionally old and beautiful hotel right in the heart of the city I was glad that I’d chosen to travel in designer evening wear – underneath my coat I was wearing the blood red dress Celeste had created for me – and grateful for the purse full of Euros that Sebastian had given me. The grandiose building facade was dramatically lit up against the inky night sky, dance music emanated from deep within its walls, and a veritable catwalk of expensively dressed revellers were queuing up around the block in hope of gaining entry to the exclusive after show party that was currently in full swing.

  I knew that Celeste would be inside – it was the party she’d been most looking forward to and she’d had my name added to the guest list on the off chance she would be able to convince me to attend. In theory I should’ve been able to walk straight up to the immaculately dressed, heavy-set doormen at the entrance and be admitted, but suddenly I felt unsure of myself. Celeste wasn’t exaggerating when she said that fashion was a whole different world. Of course I’d had some practice at attending these sorts of functions over the past few months – mingling with the wealthy, the influential, the vain, the eccentric, the glamorous, the artistic, and the shallow. But I’d always had Celeste to hold my hand. I was already intimidated by the size and grandeur of the building alone. I decided to ring her. My phone revealed that I’d missed two calls from Sebastian and I made a mental note to call him back once I’d seen Celeste. Her mobile rang five times before automatically diverting to voicemail. I hung up and redialled but the same thing happened. On the third attempt, just as I was considering leaving a message, someone suddenly answered, but it wasn’t Celeste.

  ‘Allô!’ a clipped female voice said.

  ‘Hello?’ I said in surprise.

  ‘Qui est à l’appareil?’

  Caught off guard my basic French deserted me. ‘Is Celeste there, please?’ I stuttered.

  ‘Je suis désolé, she cannot speak at the moment, may I pass on a message?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, grateful that the stranger on the other end had switched to English. The music was loud in the background, ‘Can you tell her that I – that Tasha – is here, outside the hotel?’

  ‘You are ’ere? Now?’

  ‘Yes. Oui.’

  ‘Un moment, s’il vous plait.’ An animated conversation played out in the background but it was too muffled for me to make out what was being said. Suddenly the stranger re-addressed me loudly, making me jump: ‘Wait please, I will come and get you.’

  ‘Oh, OK, thank you,’ I said surprised and relieved. This was not the reunion with Celeste I’d imagined. What was she doing? Was she just busy networking or was there something wrong? Anxiety twisted inside me as I walked purposefully up to the ostentatious entrance.

  An imperious looking blonde girl with a clipboard smiled artificially at me as she took my name, perused the guest list, and checked my identification thoroughly. To my immense relief she ushered me inside past the waiting queue and I quickly checked my coat and suitcase in at the cloakroom. As I turned back to the vast lobby I found a tall, raven-haired woman in an angular silver dress striding towards me, her heels loud on the marble floor. She might have been about my age but her heavy makeup made it difficult to tell.

  ‘Tasha?’ she demanded in a now familiar French accent, her face pinched.

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Denise. Follow me please,’ she instructed, turning and striding off before I could reply. I accelerated after Denise through expansive, lavishly decorated rooms crowded with people, music, and freely flowing champagne.

  ‘Is Celeste working?’ I shouted after her.

  ‘Non, she is not well,’ Denise replied matter-of-factly.

  Fear and worry crawled through me. ‘Not well? What do you mean?’

  Denise didn’t reply and before I could press any further we entered a plush ladies washroom. I disregarded all the other women in there as Denise led me straight up to the last cubicle and knocked on the door. A girl with an extravagant orange fascinator on her head unlocked the door from inside, but I ignored her because as the door swung open behind her, I saw a girl slumped on the toilet in a beautiful turquoise gown, her head in her hands.

  ‘Celeste!’

  I rushed over to her, dropped to my knees, and carefully lifted her head. Her makeup was streaky, her skin clammy beneath my fingers, and I could smell vomit on her breath. She opened her eyes and squinted at me despite t
he subdued lighting.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she grumbled irritably trying to shrug me off.

  ‘What have you taken?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing, just leave me …’

  ‘What has she taken?’ I said, whirling around to face Denise and orange fascinator girl. They shrugged non-committally and anger swept through me. ‘Tell me what happened,’ I said slowly through gritted teeth.

  ‘Je ne sais pas,’ Denise said. ‘She was being very sick but I think she is OK now.’

  ‘Have you called an ambulance?’

  Alarm flashed in the two women’s eyes and they exchanged a look.

  ‘No!’ Celeste moaned. ‘No ambulance.’

  ‘That would not be a good idea,’ Denise said nervously. ‘So many people ’ere …’ she added by way of explanation.

  I was instinctively appalled by their lack of common sense but then I remembered Celeste’s assertion that reputation was everything and I faltered, suddenly unsure what to do. I crouched down in front of Celeste again and she looked at me, eyes round and dilated.

  ‘Please, no ambulance,’ she croaked miserably.

  I soothingly stroked her shoulders with my hands. ‘I need to know if it was coke,’ I said gently. ‘Please, Celeste, yes or no?’

  Celeste closed her eyes to block me out. ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘Anything else?’ I asked as softly as I could manage.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Celeste nodded, adamant.

  Denise interrupted. ‘You are Celeste’s friend, yes?’ She handed me Celeste’s mobile phone as she and orange fascinator girl started to back out of the cubicle. ‘You can look after her now, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I snapped, irritated. ‘But get me some water before you go.’ The door banged shut as they left.

  Celeste’s phone was ringing silently on vibrate. I saw Sebastian’s name and number flashing on the screen just as it stopped. It looked like he had called her repeatedly. He obviously sensed something was wrong but I didn’t want to call him now and confirm his fears. Celeste stared vacantly at me as I brushed the hair back from her face and wiped her skin clean with a tissue.