by Jules Wake
Rummaging through her bag she pulled out her purse. Euros would have to do.
‘Thanks,’ she said thrusting a ten euro note into Jason’s hand. Without looking back she clattered up the stairs. She heard the front door slam with some force but she was too intent on her room to look back. She took the last four two at a time.
Perhaps it would feel different up here. In her room. The room her older sister had decorated for her. The room she’d slept in every night until she was six and ten-twelfths, before her mother took her to France, leaving Laurie and the father she didn’t remember behind.
Stopping at the closed door, she took a deep breath, grasped the handle and stepped into the warm glow cast by one of the bedside lights. Someone had left it on for her. The soft light made her feel welcome, as if she were expected, as did the bed, piled high with cushions with shadowed furrows in the deep feather duvet. It made her want to dive right in. The room looked perfect. She touched the little white painted chest at the foot of the bed as she took in every bit of the English cottage-styled loveliness, from the shiny spars of the brass bed, to the delicate lacy curtains at the window, through to the sanded floorboards and the pretty rug under her feet. The room looked exactly as it had in the photograph. But that was her only sense of recognition.
Panic clutched at her chest.
Once she’d seen a rescue team on the mountainside digging desperately for survivors. She felt like one of them, frantically shovelling through her memories, desperate to find one that confirmed she’d once played with toys, got dressed and slept in this room. But there was nothing. Bleakness settled on her. Had this been a stupid mistake?
She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. Crazy thinking. So she didn’t remember the house. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow, Laurie would be here and they’d be sisters together. They could have a proper sister sleepover with wine, chocolate, a chick flick like in real chick flicks and she could forget about Maman. And Yves. And engagements. And weddings. And letting the family down. And everything. She closed her eyes. Maman was bound to have found the note by now.
But she was an adult. She didn’t have to ask permission to go away. She’d told Maman she’d be back for Christmas. For Harry’s party.
With reluctance she pulled out her phone and looked at the series of missed calls. Ignoring the anxiety spiralling through her chest, she switched it off and buried it deep in her handbag.
The double bed looked so plump and inviting. As she turned back the covers, the feather duvet rustled and shifted with a siren call promising comfort.
Stripping off her clothes and scattering them on the floor, she pushed the pile of cushions aside and slipped between the sheets, immediately sinking into the mattress. Did it feel like coming home? She lay cocooned in the crisp white cotton and listened. Outside, a few cars rumbled past. They sounded very close and so loud. So different from the Chateau.
As her head sank into the pillow and she drifted in that half-awake, half-asleep dream world, she thought she heard footsteps on the stairs but it was too much effort to open her eyes again. Laurie was home. She fought sleep for a minute but it overcame her. They could have breakfast together.
Chapter 3
The bathroom, with its Victorian styled sink and bath, had a damp used-not-so-long-ago taint to it but there was no sign of Laurie.
Siena’s eager tour of the downstairs of the house had taken precisely eight minutes. She almost checked the walls to make sure she hadn’t missed a secret passageway or a door leading to another wing. Nope. The hallway of the Chateau had more furniture than this whole house.
Where was Laurie though? Siena figured she must have gone out to get some groceries as the fridge was almost bare apart from something called shepherd’s pie, although it didn’t look like any pie she’d ever come across, and a tiny bit of milk in the oddest glass bottle she’d ever seen.
Conscious of the dryness of her mouth, she squeezed past the pine table big enough to seat four, stopping to take a closer look at the cheerful place mats covered in jaunty chickens in reds, yellows and oranges before switching on the enamel red kettle. The cosy country kitchen made you want to stay awhile, sit at the table and chat. It was easy to picture evenings in here, sitting in the spindle-backed chairs, sipping wine at the table with her sister. She sighed. She couldn’t wait to see Laurie. They were going to have so much fun and hopefully she wouldn’t mind her staying a bit longer.
Reaching above into the distressed cream-painted wooden cupboard, she found an assortment of china mugs, each patterned with different flowers. Making herself a cup of tea, she leant against the counter and studied the eclectic collection of china egg cups and pottery jugs which lined the shelves of the wooden dresser on the other side of the room.
Taking her tea, and crossing the terracotta tiled floor which felt cold under her feet, she went through to the tiny, tiny lounge. The whole room was smaller than her dressing room in the Paris apartment but despite that, the cottage style sofa with its floral print purple wisteria trailing across the plump feather-cushioned sofa strewn with perfectly co-ordinated fat cushions in muted colours, was charming. The room even had a proper open cast-iron fireplace with a surround of flower painted ceramic tiles and a clutch of brass fire-tools in a stand beside it. Twists of newspaper piled with coal sat in the grate waiting to be lit. Feeling a little bit like Goldilocks but sure that Laurie wouldn’t mind, she picked up the box of matches from the crowded wooden mantle. There were several framed pictures including one of Laurie and her boyfriend Cam laughing their heads off at something out of the shot and a faded black and white photo of an older man. Siena studied it for a moment and put it back hurriedly.
The flames had caught. Nice going on the fire making front. With a happy sigh, she snuggled down and picked up her magazine, one of a collection she’d bought at Charles de Gaulle. It was hardly a taxing prospect, whiling away the time waiting for Laurie by flicking through the pages of party themed sequinned dresses, shimmering eye shadows and gorgeous clutch bags and listening to the snap and crackle of the fire. She turned another page. So, she’d miss Claude’s Christmas soirée at the Musée d’Orsay. Possibly the best event in Paris and the only thing she’d miss. With a moue of acceptance she shrugged. No matter. She’d have fun with Laurie.
And as if she conjured her up, her mobile phone vibrated into life.
‘Hi Sien … son texted me … picked you up OK.’ Laurie’s Dalek voice snapped in and out of range.
‘I can hardly hear you.’ Siena winced at the plaintive whine in her voice. It sounded so pathetic and needy, not the image she wanted to portray. ‘Are you still in Yorkshire?’
‘Yes. Sorry. Really bad line. At …pital. How’s the room? Do you … Can’t leave N … hospital at least … Don’t worry Jason will—’ The signal died leaving a long buzzing tone.
Her heart bumped a little uncomfortably and she worried at her lip. So who had used the bathroom this morning? And when was she going to get the chance to explain properly to Laurie how long she planned to stay? Laurie probably assumed Siena finally had a free weekend and had taken up the invitation originally extended over two years ago.
She winced. That sounded crap. It was crap. One hundred and four weekends that she’d failed to come and see her sister; she should have managed at least one. She glanced back at her phone, now registering all the missed calls and voicemails. She could go through and delete them but keeping them was like keeping a wasp in a jar. Safely contained and fine as long as it stayed in there.
Nestled in her hand the phone felt like a time bomb ticking.
‘Time to finish up, Ben.’
As if someone had pulled the plug on the power, Ben dropped the hose he was using to wash down the concrete floor and pulled off his beanie hat, stuffing it into his pocket. The hose flailed wildly for a second, hitting Jason’s trousers before Ben managed to get to the tap to switch it off. Jason stared down at the dark wet patch running from crotch to knee. Yu
p, looked exactly like he’d wet himself. He shook his head and rolled his eyes behind Ben’s back. No point bawling the boy out. He only had himself to blame. By now he should know full well that Ben took everything quite literally.
Jason sighed out loud. The plus point meant you could be incredibly direct, the downside was that you had to be extremely careful what you said.
‘If you wash out the pipes on the bottling line, then you can finish.’ He took a quick look around the small barn area, feeling that familiar sense of pride. The gleaming fermentation tanks, the bottling line and the stores of grain lined up in the old stable area. The high roof of the barn made it a cold, but light and airy environment to work in, one that he had never failed to want to arrive at every morning.
‘Good work today. Now that lot’s bottled, we can start again next week.’
They’d worked like stink today, so hard neither of them had felt the cold of the barn, until he’d got soaked. Now the cold stung and the chill seeped below his layers. They could wrap up for the day. Today’s backbreaking pace had paid off. Back on schedule, all ready to start brewing tomorrow. Ben had managed to fix the miller, so that they could grind down the malt barley and get it together with the water into the mash tun. Brewing was a magical process. It never ceased to amaze him that you could get so many infinite flavours from the simple combination of water and grain
He rolled his stiff neck. A satisfying day, which would be all the better for a long hot shower, an instant meal and bed. All he had to do was finish up in the office, nip over the courtyard to see Will, enjoy a quick post work pint and head home. It was handy having his business partner running the pub next door and of course owning a convenient barn that was perfect for a micro-brewery.
‘Jason, what you having? Busman’s holiday?’ Will slid off the bar stool, lifted the wooden flap and went round to the other side of the bar. Ben was already ensconced comfortably at the bar, halfway down a pint.
‘Corona, please.’
‘Seriously …’ Will rolled his eyes at Ben. ‘Young Ben here is loyal to the cause. Drinking a pint of Chiltern Glory. It’s your money. If you buy a pint of your own, it’s win win.’
Ben raised his glass. ‘Tastes good, boss.’
Jason laughed. ‘Go on then.’ He had just wanted to neck something cold. ‘I’ll have a half.’
‘Ironed out all the problems?’ Will was the perfect business partner, silent when he needed to be and hugely supportive and enthusiastic at all other times. They’d known each other since university when they’d played rugby together but they had more in common than their shared passion for beer. Both of them had lost their fathers in recent years which had strengthened their bond of friendship, although unlike his, Will’s relationship with his father had always been strained, which Will put down to the fact that he suspected they weren’t actually related by blood at all.
‘Yup. One of the tanks sprang a leak but Ben sorted it out.’
‘Pretty handy at welding, aren’t you Ben? You coming tonight?’
‘Yeah.’ His brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm. ‘You get posh totty in wine bars don’t you. They go in for all that malarkey, don’t they?’
Will nodded, veiled amusement in his eyes, like an elder statesmen with a young buck.
Jason rocked his head back. ‘Oh shit, I’d forgotten about that. I’m knackered. I had to go on bloody rescue mission last night for Laurie.’
‘I thought she had a boyfriend for that sort of stuff. Cam’s a lazy bastard’
They both laughed. Cam had been at university with them too and neither of them could quite get over the fact that he’d found his soul mate and settled down.
‘Laurie’s sister decided to pop over for the weekend from Paris. Like you do. No warning or anything. So I had to rush to the frigging airport to collect the spoilt brat.’
‘So where is she now?’
‘I bloody hope on a flight back to where she came from.’
‘That’s alright then. So what time will I see you?’
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. ‘When I get there.’
‘Might be a new customer for the brewery. And I want to check out the competition,’ Will grinned, ‘and Ben wants to check out the hot chicks.’
Leaning back against the front door, Jason kicked off his wet boots on the large square doormat he’d purposely bought to protect Laurie’s carpet and began to peel off his clothes, dropping them onto the floor. He dried out a bit in the pub but invariably he came home dirty and wet, an inescapable aspect of the job. It had become a habit to strip off his outer clothes at the door, less distance to carry them to the washing machine later.
He padded quickly up the stairs, already anticipating the first jet of hot water pouring over his aching shoulders. No doubt about it, showers had to the best invention of the modern world. Along with ice-cold beer drunk straight from the bottle. He’d missed a trick, he should have snagged a bottle before he’d come up.
Thoughts of condensation, dripping bottles and the shock of the cold on his throat were abruptly terminated by an outraged shriek as he took his third step into the room.
Bloody hell fire. Lying completely naked – why wouldn’t she be in a bath – was a vision of rosy tipped nipples, magnolia skin, long legs and a narrow strip of strawberry blonde that declared the owner was a natural blonde. He swallowed hard, unable to take his gaze from her pert high breasts, which she was doing her best to cover by crossing her arms.
‘Get out, get out!’ She flapped her hands at him.
‘Shit, what are you doing in here?’
‘Taking a bath, you espèce d’imbécile? What are you doing?’
Jason tried to avert his gaze to focus on her face. Even at the height of her embarrassment, the flush that outlined her high cheekbones was dainty pink.
‘I was hoping to take a shower.’
‘Turn around. Stop looking.’
He bit his lip and turned around. ‘I was trying.’ Not as hard as he was trying not to snigger now.
‘Try harder,’ she snapped.
He heard a slosh of water and the slide of skin on plastic and a thud as she manoeuvred out of the bath.
When he turned round, she had a towel firmly wrapped around her, toga style.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you still doing here? As Laurie’s not here I thought you’d be on the next plane back.’
There was a silence and all he could see was the crown of her head. It gave him a momentary feeling of victory. Then she tipped her head up, her chin thrust upwards.
‘I thought I’d stay until she comes back.’
She was in for a very long wait then. He sucked in his cheeks trying to bite back a smirk. ‘When did you last speak to her?’
‘This afternoon.’
Jason almost laughed out loud as he caught the reflection in the mirror of her quickly crossing her fingers and slipping them behind her back. With her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes watching him warily, she reminded him of a defiant teenager, except that there was nothing teenage about her body; she was all woman.
‘Funny that she didn’t mention she’d moved to Yorkshire permanently.’ There didn’t seem much point trying to hide it any more. Siena would realise soon enough that her sister now lived in the house in Yorkshire.
Her eyes clouded and he could see her weighing up what to say next. He wanted to laugh, but something in her face made him aware for the first time of a slight hint of vulnerability. Not as self-possessed as he’d assumed. It made him pause.
‘It was a really bad line,’ she tossed her chin in the air, ‘but it doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? You said she’d moved to Yorkshire. So, what? You thought you’d move in?’
She folded her arms, giving him a hard stare before realising it’s pretty difficult to hang on to a towel and fold your arms. The towel slipped, revealing one very erect and perky nipple. Desire
shot to his groin. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, trying to quash the unruly thought that he wanted to reach forwards and touch her naked breast. What the—? Where the hell had that come from? He was in danger of embarrassing himself in his boxers.
Flushed from her bath, her chest rising and falling with fast breaths of indignation, her pink, pink mouth pursed in imperious indignation, she looked very cute. The kind of cute he’d long since given up on. The kind of cute that needed a lot of looking after which, as he’d so disastrously proved, he was not capable of.
‘If you leave now, I won’t report you to the police. I took your registration number down last night, you know.’ The way she lifted her chin, trying to hold his gaze, told him she had a nice line in bravado but was making every word up.
‘The police will find you. I texted my mother. Go now and I won’t tell your company.’
Jason frowned as she carried on talking complete gibberish, taking perverse pleasure in her rising determination to appear in control, which he knew wasn’t very nice of him but he didn’t want to be nice to this girl. He wanted her out of his house.
Two spots of colour burned fiercely on her cheeks, giving her away.
‘Won’t tell them what exactly?’ He leaned his hip against the sink and folded his arms.
What was she on about? He was the company, Will was a silent partner, so there was him, and Ben, but most of the time Ben was away with the fairies. She obviously meant some other company, although he wasn’t sure where that came in.
‘That you’re,’ he could see her struggling to find the word, ‘squatting.’
‘Squatting?’ He spat the word out. No one accused him of not paying his way, especially not these days when money was tight. How many times had he tried to pay Laurie more in rent than the ridiculously low amount she charged? Every time she insisted he was doing her a favour keeping an eye on the house.
