ROSE GAVE EMMA a lingering kiss, then fitted the key into the ornate front door. ‘See you in the morning then?’ she said, hoping that Emma would change her mind and stay in the house with her. Emma shuddered and pulled up the collar of her black leather jacket. She looked up at the pointed-arch windows that seemed to stare down atthe twowomen. - ‘It’s a bloody mausoleum. I’ve always hated this house.’ Her voice softened, became wheedling. She reached up to stroke Rose’s cheek. 'You don’t have to do this, you know. Come back to the flat with me.’ Rose grinned, enlivening her elfin face. ‘I never go back on a dare. You should know that by now.’ ‘I won't hold you to it. We were both drunk. What is it with you and this house, anyway?’ Rose shrugged, the mass ‘of striking red dreadlocks dancing around her shoulders. She opened the front door. “You keeping me company or what?’ Emma’s straight brows dipped in a frown. ‘Sod you then, if you won’t listen to sense. I’m off.’ She turned
‘SO, WHAT DO you do to combat executive stress? I love to go shopping myself. Nothing like anew outfit to give me a lift.’ The nasal voice of Linda the fashion editor floated into Anna’s office as she sat staring at the screen of her Apple Mac battling with a feature which would not come right. She pushed back her chair in frustration and began paying attention to the conversation outside. ‘I play squash. Sometimes treat myself to a facial or a leg wax.’ That was Corrina, deputy fashion editor. Both women in the corridor had recently joined the editing team of ‘Pzazz’ magazine, gaining the coveted jobs by calling in favours from high-ups in the trade. Squash? A leg wax? Shopping? God help us! Anna thought. Is that the best. they can come up with to fill their spare time? She had an impulse, quickly squashed, to go and tell them what she had planned for relaxation later in the day. How their perfectly made-up faces would go blank with disbelief. Cheered by the thought, Anna opened
AS I MOUNT the stairs the feeling begins, low in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of dread and anticipation. The porter carries my cello case into the room and places it by the window. I tell him to collect me in one hour. The room is empty — more than empty: bereft without you in it. I walk across it, my buttoned boots clicking on the bleached oak boards, and sit on the window seat, waiting. The afternoon light streams in through billowing muslin curtains. Outside in the street a breeze rustles the leaves of the plane trees. I stare at the buildings opposite, their wrought-iron balconies crowded with tubs of flowers - lilies, mimosa, roses. The white stucco is dazzling in the summer light. When the door to the studio opens, I do not look around immediately, wanting to suspend the moment until I see your face. When I turn, I see that you are not very remarkable. I know how you must seem to others, but you are large in my thoughts. Hair of mid-brown, a longish serious face, your fin
AS THE SMALL chartered plane began losing altitude, curving around in a graceful arc, Ruth Shepard leaned forward in her executive-class seat. Through breaks in the clouds she could see the ocean far below, a vast gleaming expanse of aquamarine. Ruth smoothed the skirt of her designer suit then glanced at the woman who sat next to her, an eye-mask covering the upper part of her face. Nancy Brogan, a high-up in a prestigious American design company, was snoring softly. She had been asleep since their conversation at the start of the journey. Ruth wished she was calm enough to doze, but her mind kept dwelling on what Nancy had said. When Ruth asked her if she had received a letter, Nancy had replied, ‘Sure. Mine came in the mail at my company office. I expect this is going to be another of those hare-brained schemes to hone my management skills. You would not believe the seminars and courses I’ve attended.’ She rolled her eyes and shrugged. ‘I just do as I’m told. He-who-must-beobeyed
‘But I’m supposed to find you! You made no mention of taking some kind of forfeit if you should find one of us first.’ ‘Didn’t I? I must have forgotten to mention it. But you didn’t seem exactly unwilling just now.’ Ruth prickled with mortification. Despite his arrogance she could not deny that she wanted him. She could feel the wetness on her inner thighs. An insistent throbbing was spreading from her clitoris up into her lower belly. How was it possible to desire a man so much when you disliked him intensely? “Oh, I get it now,’ she said. ‘This whole set-up is just for you. You get to seduce all of us in turn. We’re the quarry! The rite you mentioned is a load of rubbish!’ ‘Oh, the rite existed as I explained and I intend to honour my promise — if one of you runs me to ground. But you see, I just don’t think any of you are capable of doing so. The primal female energy no longer exists in the modern woman.’ ‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ Ruth said, drawing back as he bent over her
JEHANNE SAT BY the side of the road, waiting for the stage coach. It was almost noon and the sun beat down on top of her straw bonnet. She was tired already, but there was still far to go. Her head drooped with dejection. She could do nothing but wait. At least the farmer had promised to meet her with his cart when she alighted at the coaching inn. Jehanne knew that she ought to think herself lucky. Positions for wet nurses were getting fewer these days. Untying her pack, she took out the hunk of bread and piece of cheese she had saved for the journey. It did not take her long to finish eating. She opened the stopper on a leather bottle, but there was no water left. Sighing, Jehanne chewed on a stalk of grass. The green taste of it made her feel less thirsty. It was another half hour before she felt the faint vibration of iron-shod wheels on the road. The plume of dust was visible before the coach itself came into view. Wearily Jehanne pushed herself to her feet and picked up her p
‘THE BAND DOWN at the Palais is supposed to be ever so good,’ Monica said, shouting over the noise of the munitions factory. ‘You should come out with me tonight instead of sitting at home brooding night after night. Your Ken shouldn't expect that of you.’ Hazel Price smiled and tucked a few stray fair hairs back into her headscarf. ‘He doesn’t. He’s not dull really, not when you get to know him. It’s just that it wouldn't be right. We only got engaged on his last leave.’ ‘Where’s the harm in a few dances, a few drinks? Most of the girls have sweethearts in the forces, but they go out. Oh, say you'll come, do.’ Hazel glanced across at Monica, whose big bosoms pushed against the buttoned front of her overalls. There was a smear of grease on her good-natured face. Monica was considered to be brassy by some of the other girls, but Hazel found her lively and amusing. Before she knew it she had agreed to go out dancing. ‘l'll call for you at seven,’ Monica said. ‘It'll be a lark, you'l
THE CARD FABIENNE found in Howard's pocket bore one word. Domia. The print was gold and the embossed card of good quality. She turned it over. On the reverse side was the address — 14 rue St Honoré. So Howard did have someone. She had expected as much. His excuses for being late for their dates had been growing more feeble. Fabienne’s chin came up. The eyes which stared back at her from the mirror were cold with fury. She knew that she looked good. Damned good. Her face was pale under the stylishly cut black hair. The subtle make-up suited her — understated eyes, full lips outlined with pinkish-brown pencil. No lines yet on her face, breasts still high and firm, legs long and slim. Men stared after her in the street all the time. Howard saw how they looked at her, their eyes avid but regretful. He liked men to look at her. She was not for them. It was all for Howard. So why this? He had phoned earlier that evening to cancel their dinner date. His voice on the answerphone, explai