The Rarest Rose

by I Beacham

  Would Dorothy Harding know anything? Ele hoped she would. She didn’t like being alone at her home now and loathed the sense of dread that was quickly becoming her companion. Everywhere she went, inside or out, she was hyper-aware that something unearthly and non-corporeal was trying to communicate with her, and her alone. She felt a hand on her shoulder and a gentle, but firm tweak. Kiernan was looking at her, her eyes full of understanding and unspoken support. She smiled back, her spirits lifted.

  As they left Riser’s home, Ele apologized to Kiernan. “That was rude of me. I never asked what you wanted to do.” She referred to the afternoon’s arrangements. She was so preoccupied in her thoughts, she failed to consult Kiernan. But Kiernan seemed to understand her sense of urgency.

  “I’ll do whatever you need me to. I’m here for you.”

  I’m here for you. The words echoed in her head. They sounded personal, and she thought of the hand on her shoulder, and how it made her feel. She wasn’t imagining it. There was a connection building between them. She sensed its potential. That strange sensation in her stomach rose again, and she found herself thinking of Beth. They had shared an incredible, “once in a lifetime” love. She experienced guilt, thinking these thoughts about Kiernan. She’d had something so singular with Beth. Was she degrading that? Was she betraying her by even thinking of moving on? She was confused and pulled—the past laying claim to the future. It also plagued her why it was around Kiernan that she felt like this. She had dated others since Beth’s death. This had never been an issue before. Was it because none of the other women had mattered to her? That was it, she was sure. Kiernan was the first real contender since Beth.

  “I’ve a suggestion,” Kiernan said, interrupting Ele’s thoughts. “Since Chadlington is a stone’s throw from where I live in Enstone, why don’t we drive to my place and have lunch and then go see Mrs. Harding?”

  Ele agreed. Despite her personal censure, she was keen to learn more of Kiernan. This would be like food for her soul. She’d have an opportunity to see her home. Silly though it sounded, she thought you could learn a lot about a person from how they furnished a place. How they treated their sanctuary gave much away.

  She heard herself volunteering to drive. “It’s pointless taking two cars.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kiernan’s home was the top floor of a two-storied converted mill on the edge of Enstone village. It sat past the old post office on the main road and down a lengthy, narrow, twisting country lane. Its old red and brown brick appearance lent it to a time long gone, and Ele was reminded of something found comfortably in an old classic novel. The place had an air of money to it, and Ele wondered how a freelance photographer could afford a place like this.

  As they entered a small lobby, the entrance to Kiernan’s floor was up a wide, but impressive steep stone staircase. Ele gazed up at it, taken aback. Kiernan caught the look and gave a half grin. Ele gathered her surprise wasn’t unique.

  “If you’re hoping there’s an elevator, you’re going to be disappointed. You soon get used to these, and they keep you fit.”

  She noted the almost perverse delight in Kiernan’s statement. “If you say so,” she said as she trailed Kiernan up them. The climb was worth it. As Ele followed her through a large rustic oak front door, she was met with bright, natural light.

  Before her lay a huge open plan sitting room that ran the entire length of the building. Nestled next to it, almost like an afterthought, was a small galley kitchen immediately to the right. Kiernan’s home was the complete antithesis of hers; everything was modern and vivid, from the whitewashed timber floorboards, to the creamy covered chairs, and the pale, painted surfaces of texture in a monochrome scheme.

  What took her breath away was the stunning vista at the far end of the room. It was the wow factor of Kiernan’s home, its fait accompli. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling glass revealed a panoramic view. She was looking over the top of the small village’s modern and medieval roofing that pulled her eyes to the distance, to reveal a horizon of stunning Oxfordshire countryside.

  “This is wonderful,” she said, walking forward toward the glass. “What a stunning view.”

  “I had those windows put in. There were smaller ones when I moved here, and it seemed such a waste not to capture that scene in all its majesty. Cost me a tidy sum.” She swept unruly hair off her face. “And it took ages to get the council to approve the planning, but it came, eventually.”

  Kiernan quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side. It was something she often did and Ele found the habit attractive.

  “I love the simplicity of white as a backdrop.” Kiernan referred to the color of the walls. “The way it bounces light back into the room even on the dullest of days. Some of my friends say the place is too utilitarian and doesn’t feel as if it’s lived in. I suppose it is a bit sparse and could do with more color.”

  Ele saw the truth in that. Her place had the classic touch and was full of rich, warm colors and old furniture. She was a hoarder of knickknacks, all of which she and Beth had gathered over the years, and each with its own cherished memory. Kiernan’s home was modern and functional and seemed bereft of any treasured belongings. It was minimalist. Yet, different though it was, it felt a home. It didn’t stop Ele’s traditional roots itching to throw vibrancy into it.

  She looked around, this time concentrating on the decorative accessories; the brown-black wrought iron lighting fixtures, the plain gold trimmed mirrors, and the artwork on the walls. The latter were a mixture of black and white, with a scattering of large colored photographs of heavy metal album covers. She could see Severed Head, The Rum Mixers, Bad Behavior―all albums she had at home. So she and Kiernan had something else in common―they were closet rockers.

  “We like the same music,” she said as she stepped closer to The Rum Mixers photograph, realizing the photo was an original, not a copy. She started to frown as she realized all the photos were originals. Kiernan had a quiet fortune on her walls.

  “They’re all signed by the band members on the back,” Kiernan said with pride as she walked up to the Severed Head cover and turned it over to reveal the signatures.

  Ele stared in awe. “That’s Billy Mantoff’s signature! It’ll be worth a ton.” Mantoff had been Severed Head’s lead singer until two years ago when he’d overdosed on drugs and died. She looked closer and could see Mantoff had written, “Foyle, Fab Phot.” The penny dropped. “You took these?”

  “I did.” Ele noticed the way Kiernan fought to conceal her pride. She found the act attractive.

  “Ye gods, I’ve most of these albums at home. I love the Rum Mixers, and I’ve always loved this album cover.” Ele couldn’t hide how impressed she was. Now she was beginning to understand how a freelance photographer could afford a home like this.

  “This is my other life,” Kiernan said. “You get in with one band and it leads to others. My first album cover was with Severed Head, and it turned out to be a bit successful. I won some awards. From then on, the Heads wanted me to do all their successive covers. Other groups seemed to like my work, and one thing led to another.”

  “Do you still do this?”

  “I don’t do so much now, mainly because I’ve moved out of London and turned mellower in my old age,” she said wryly. “But I still keep my hand in. I’ve just done some work for a new group called Regurgitate.”

  “I don’t know them,” Ele said.

  “I don’t think anyone does yet, but they will do. They’re good, and quality always shows through eventually. We’ll see.” Kiernan seemed done with talking about rock. She turned domestic. “Do you mind if I go and change? I feel as if I’ve slept in my clothes all night. I need a shower, and you’re welcome to do the same if you want. I’ll show you the guest en suite. Then I’ll rustle up something to eat.”

  Ele followed Kiernan as she showed her to the guest room. She did need a shower. Still spooked, she hadn’t ventured upstairs that morning.

  �
��Just make yourself at home and use whatever you want. There are some spare T-shirts and sweaters in the drawer if you need them.”

  It crossed Ele’s mind that Kiernan’s petite size did not lend itself to her tall, lean frame. Any sweatshirt Kiernan owned wouldn’t cover her midriff.

  “I ought to mention I’m a lousy cook.” Kiernan leaned through the room doorway, her face mock serious. “People have died of my cooking. The only safe food I can give you comes in packs you heat up in a microwave. Do you like chicken korma and rice?”

  “One of my favorites,” Ele lied as Kiernan disappeared.

  She showered and found some clothes to fit her. They didn’t belong to Kiernan—the T-shirt would have touched her toes. She wondered if they were the mysterious Chrissie’s.

  As she returned to the sitting room to wait for Kiernan, she surveyed her surroundings once more, hoping to discover other stunning revelations about her. She found something, but nothing as dazzling as the music covers. There were two quite specific and very different collections of CDs. On one side of the room was a large compilation of heavy rock music with a smattering of classical. On the other side were several piles of CDs that just didn’t gel with the others. As she crouched down, she viewed them with suspicion. They were almost all a mixture of boy and girl band music. None appealed to Ele.

  “Not mine,” Kiernan said.

  Ele turned to find Kiernan in fresh blue jeans and a crisp pink cotton blouse that showed off her trim, athletic figure. Her hair was still damp and sat close to her head, swept back off her face. A warmth grew inside her, but her feelings were mixed. In the same moment of physical awareness, something else competed for her attention—an inner voice—telling her this was wrong. She was betraying Beth. “Chrissie’s?” she asked.

  Kiernan grimaced. “They are. I’ve been meaning to get rid of them, but I haven’t got around to it.”

  “Why haven’t you?” she probed.

  Ele watched Kiernan pause to think, as though for the first time. She watched as she puckered her lips before answering.

  “My mother kept Dad’s best suit for years after he died. It wasn’t as if he was ever going to wear it again. But I suppose it was not wanting to let go of a memory, one that had been special.”

  “And is that what you feel?” Ele thought of Beth’s hairbrush and perfume, still on the dressing table. She’d never been able to part with them even after all these years.

  “I suppose it is. Chrissie and I were good together. It just fell apart because she wouldn’t make the commitment.”

  “But it is over.” It was something important Ele needed to know.

  “Oh, yes. Nearly two years now. I should return her CDs, but it means contacting her and I don’t want to do that. I don’t think she really wants them anyway. She took many others, but left these.”

  Ele was learning about Kiernan. She had a hunger for any and all information. “I really would like to hear more about her, if you’d share it.” She’d asked earlier and been fielded away. She received a similar response.

  “Maybe later. But right now I think we should eat.” Kiernan moved off toward the kitchen and Ele followed her, planting herself against the doorframe. She watched Kiernan read the cooking instructions on the package of the chicken korma. The scene was so pathetic, it was amusing. There was something rather nice about Kiernan’s lack of culinary expertise.

  “Here, let me.” She took the package out of Kiernan’s hands. “At least if I die of food poisoning, it’ll be my fault.” She brushed against Kiernan as they swapped places in the small space. The brief contact surprised her, and she felt her already sensitive body respond to the unintentional touch. It was a calling she had not felt for a long time. She pushed the lingering thought of Beth to one side and enjoyed savoring the unexpected reaction.

  “I won’t argue. I know my limitations.”

  “We’ll cook this in the oven,” Ele said. “It’ll take longer, but we’ve time, and I always think it tastes better than microwaved.”

  Kiernan offered no resistance. “Whatever. You’re the cook.”

  Ele placed the food in the oven and then carefully pushed past Kiernan with the intent of returning to the large window. She loved the view and wanted more of it, but her journey was cut short as she moved past a huge houseplant that robbed an already tight corner of too much space. It had grown to gigantic proportions. The tip of it was touching the high ceiling, and bending. She could stand beneath its warped thick branches.

  “What do you think of my tree?” Kiernan asked as she stepped under to join her.

  “Big leaves,” Ele answered matter-of-factly. Kiernan grinned. “What is it?”

  Kiernan fiddled with a leaf that was touching her face. “Damned if I know. I’ve never worked out whether it’s an overgrown plant or an undeveloped tree. I had it at my last home. It started out very small, but as the years have passed, it’s grown bigger. I tried to leave it when I sold my house, but the buyers didn’t want it.” Kiernan’s disappointment showed.

  “No kidding.” Ele pursed her lips. It was an unattractive product of nature that didn’t have much going for it. Its green leaves were like frying pans, and they were curled and brown at the ends. She thought it was the most hideous plant―tree―she’d ever seen.

  “I know what you’re thinking. It’s an ugly brute, but it’s my ugly brute, and we’re an item now.”

  Ele heard a mother’s defensive protection of a child as Kiernan caressed distorted branches and gently kissed a leaf. Kiernan then scrutinized that same leaf as if inspecting it for imperfection. “Everything deserves to be loved regardless of whether it’s beautiful or not.”

  Ele leaned in closer to study what Kiernan was looking at with such attention. Kiernan turned unexpectedly, and as she did, their faces drew close, almost colliding. For a moment, neither moved, and Ele thought she recognized a flash of desire in Kiernan’s eyes. She experienced a corresponding want and for a split second felt her body move forward, inviting a kiss. Something made her stop, and she deliberately walked out from under the plant. Flustered, she looked back to see if Kiernan had experienced what she had, or if the temptation of a kiss had been only in her mind. She could see that she was not alone. Kiernan looked confused.

  Ele broke the awkward silence. “I think this is a plant that would like a move down by the window. There’s more room, and it could spread itself. It would like it.”

  “You may be right.” Kiernan joined her at the window. She stared at the panoramic view. Ele continued her forced conversation. “I like Edmond Riser. He reminds me a lot of Dad.”

  “How so?”

  “All that cricket memorabilia. Dad used to have that stuff―signed bats on the wall and magazines all over the place. He was crazy about the sport. Poor Mum. She attended all his local matches. He used to say she was his lucky talisman. He never won.” Ele knew she was talking total rubbish.

  “It was rugby with mine, and he was a lousy player, too.”

  They looked at each other and smiled. Ele drew the chat back to the haunting. “It looks like the ghost isn’t one of the Wintermans. I wonder if he is J. Stafford, Esquire? I do hope Dorothy Harding knows something.”

  The room grew dark, and Ele saw black clouds building, robbing the sky of its earlier patchy blue. Where had they come from so quickly? Over the roofs of the houses she saw a panoply of fields, trees, cattle, and sheep. She watched as a farmer cut across a field in a small tractor. The view was mesmerizing, and it affected her. She was still trying to understand what had happened under the leaves.

  “It’s going to rain,” she whispered, more to herself than Kiernan who was now at her side. “Beth loved the countryside.”

  Ele didn’t know why she said that. Maybe it was because Beth was on her mind, and because she had spoken of her to Kiernan. It seemed the lid was off the proverbial pot and things were bubbling to the top. Perhaps it was also the perceived sadness of the picture that lay before her. Here was
a land about to close on the seasons of growth and nurture. It would yield and give itself over to a cold, relentless winter that would rob it of its color, its life, and its vibrant green. All would be barren and bare, like her heart had become when Beth died. There was a similarity. Except Beth would never return with the spring. She kicked herself. How morbid she had become.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, but Kiernan seemed to understand.

  “Go on. Sometimes there’s a time for things to be spoken. Maybe it’s now.”

  Ele accepted the quiet permission and continued. “It was why we chose to live where I am now. Beth always said you needed a home where you could run out into the garden stark naked if you wanted, and no one would ever know.” She glanced at Kiernan and saw the look of surprise on her face.

  “Not that she―or I―ever did, but it was the privacy thing, especially as I became better known. Our time alone seemed in jeopardy. We both wanted to be able to retreat to our own little golden nest, just us. The house gave us that. I thought it was our forever home, that we would have more years together than we did.”

  “You’ve been lucky.” Kiernan spoke quietly. “Terrible though it’s been to lose someone like Beth, what you’ve had with her has been wonderful. Two people in love and so right—able to commit to each another.”

  Ele hadn’t expected a response, and not this. Kiernan gazed down at her hands, very un-Kiernan like, and then rubbed them together, tracing the shapes of her fingers.

  “What you had was perfect,” Kiernan said. “I see it in your face when you speak of Beth. You and she found the holy grail of love, something we all search for, but very few of us find.”

  “I was lucky.” Ele had always known this. She had won the lottery in love. “I met the right one at the beginning and didn’t need to search further.”

  She looked again at Kiernan and saw such sadness. Whatever had happened between her and Chrissie, it had left an indelible mark. She had no right to ask again, but she needed to know what had happened. Something intuitive suggested Kiernan wanted to talk. She would ask a third time. Third time lucky?