Clare Chambers Author Small Pleasures Novels & Stories

I’m also grateful and dizzy with love for him and swept off my feet at how wholeheartedly he means it. The fog keeps rolling. A container ship crawls under the bridge. Somewhere below, a cable car bell dings for tourists. Nothing clicks. What comes instead, sitting in the biggest chair of my life, is a list. Elijah taking Lily at the door without thinking about it. Julian answering on the fifth ring and slowly starting to call everyone darling again. Chloe's bar with the mushroom cocktails. Mason's couch and annoying brand of honesty. Sunday lunches that will come back as soon as everyone has gathered the pieces of themselves again.

’ Graham was only too pleased, and immensely flattered. It was half past ten. Steve still hadn’t turned up. As Clare sipped a third glass of champagne punch — she’d been taking it slowly, because if Steve wasn’t going to turn up, she certainly didn’t want to be at the mercy of Graham — she wondered how she could make her escape. Graham was showing a couple of insipid prints to the wife of a local councillor. While he was so engrossed, Clare could just slip out of the door. It would be a little rude not to say goodbye but every time she had tried to say goodbye so far that evening, he had introduced her to another local art world bigwig and she’d been forced to prolong her stay. What a great

Arthur’s implied meaning was clear. “I’m sorry for putting that image in your head,” Arthur said quickly. “I think we can proceed with the next stage another day. Did you want to go and eat a proper lunch somewhere? We only had a starter at the Savoy Hotel.” Clara was in a good mood and agreed with the idea of finding somewhere to eat. “Can we go somewhere not fancy this time?” she requested. *** Clara walked through the door of the St. Clair mansion with a bounce in her step. She had obtained the evidence she needed and she had eaten well. Arthur had taken her to a small pizza place that cooked pizza in a stone oven and it had tasted divine.

Turning, they saw Clara approaching, bundled up in her favorite wool coat and carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. “Good morning, you two,” Clara called, her eyes twinkling as she reached them. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” Lillian laughed, reaching out to give Clara a hug. “You could never interrupt. What brings you over so early?” Clara handed them the parcel, her smile soft. “I was cleaning out some old things and found this. I thought it might belong here, with you.” Lillian carefully unwrapped the parcel, revealing a beautifully bound leather book, its cover worn with age. She opened it to find pages filled with notes, sketches, and pressed flowers, each entry dated in neat

I give her a warm hug. "Have you had lunch? I asked my private chef to make a special dish for us," Clara said. “Oh you shouldn’t have bothered, I came here to find someone to talk to because I was bored,” “It’s okay, we can talk after eating, come on,” Clara said and took my hand, leading me back into her house. Everything looked elegant and clean, I could also smell the scent of tea all over the room, it seemed like this woman liked scents. Although the house looked big, I was sure Clara was never lonely because she had many maids and guards.

A sick bastard who needs his dick chopped off and shoved up his ass. I walk through the back entrance to the club, ignoring the commotion going on down the hall. I enter my room and sit back in my armchair. I let my eyes browse the room, the suns peeking through the curtains, making the dust particles visible as they dance through the air. The room smells like it's just been through a deep clean service, leaving the smell of cleaning products wavering about, tainting the atmosphere of the room. I open my bag and pull out my phone. Scrolling through my contacts I swipe right when that son of a bitches name appears on the screen. Layla: My kitty is hungry, bring her a large sausage with your s

she replied smiling "It's my pleasure," I told her as we made our way back to where I had left Patience, the moment we got outside we were greeted with a full house, and Patsy immediately went back to her conservative self making me frown slightly. I moved my other hand behind me concealing the title of the book, knowing this form of writing was frowned upon especially in these parts. I moved closer placing the jug of lemonade on the table not missing the stares. "What are you doing carrying the jug, that's Patsy's job," Claude announced

The office door opened again with a gentle click, the brass bells above it chiming softly. Clara stepped inside, carrying a thermos and three ceramic mugs. She wore a soft grey sweater, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She smiled warmly at Adonis, entirely comfortable in her own skin, the old defensive posture of the high-end escort completely replaced by the grounded grace of a woman who had reclaimed her own narrative. "I saw the lights from the cottage," Clara said, setting the thermos down on the desk and pouring the steaming tea. "I figured the legal vanguard of the city must have made landfall."

I was going to watch a film. The sitting room on the ground floor had a television that I had been walking past for two weeks without turning on. I found the remote, pulled the throw blanket from the arm of the couch, tucked my feet underneath me and scrolled through options until I found something that required nothing from me intellectually or emotionally. Exactly what I needed. I was twenty minutes in when Clara The chef appeared at the doorway. “Ma’am.” She came in quietly with her hands folded. “Can I get you anything? Some juice perhaps. Popcorn.”

The food was excellent and most of it went uneaten and the table talked about other things and the evening ended with the specific satisfaction of people who had looked at a problem and decided it was still manageable. In the basement of the building three streets east, a thrall who had been there for four months and whose name had been Clara before the venom took that from her was crying in the way she cried most nights, which was quietly enough that the staff above could maintain the comfortable fiction of not hearing it.