of the villa, chased by angry giants, walking through endless corridors, sat opposite Rafael, eating, candles glowing and flickering. The trail of ghosts had no end.
The following morning she checked out and went home.
Home remained blissfully normal. She busied herself washing clothes and tidying the house. The garden needed weeding and the lawn mowing, a dozen things to keep her mind occupied and her hands busy. At any moment she expected to see the familiar figure of Francine. She dreaded seeing her, yet wanted to. How mixed up could she be? Things needed sorting.
***
Kat wiped flour from her hands, flipped open the cell-phone, and deposited a streak of flour on her nose. The kitchen was a mess, pans strewn over work surfaces, dirty plates in the washing bowl. A man’s at the other end said, “Is that Miss Bligh.”
“Yes. Can I help?”
“Nathan Ashleigh, lawyer. I wonder whether you have any thoughts about the offer from my client.”
Kat closed her eyes. Suddenly the offer seemed tempting. She said, “Well… it sounds interesting… But I haven’t given a lot of thought, I’m afraid.”
“Oh!” He sounded disappointed. “I rather hoped you would have done. My client is busy, and the offer won’t be about for much longer.”
Kat’s fingers trembled. The fabric, finally perfected, flowed like liquid over the skin, almost transparent. It would complement Italian Concept perfectly. The collection could be among the most sensuous on the market.
She had already run up an outfit from the fabric and been stunned with the result. Cut on the bias, the dress caressed the curves of her body. For moments, it was as if she wore nothing. It became a shimmering ethereal mist, diaphanous material sluicing over her like opulent liquid. It shimmered. She had never seen anything cling like it, yet the fabric flowed and modesty was preserved.
All she needed now was a manufacturer to weave commercial quantities. A cash injection now would work wonders.
He said, “We understand there’s been a disagreement between your and Las Modas Ibéricas. This might be an opportune moment to consider a change.”
“I don’t know… I’m interested, but...”
“Well, capture my number and text me.”
“Yes I’ll do that.”
“Make it soon, Miss Bligh. We need an answer.”
***
Filled with tension, Rafael paused at the open gates, and wondered whether people were visiting. It seemed a good idea an hour ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. If there were visitors, could he go through with it? He stared at the house, debating whether to say it this way, or that.
He had never been there. The place looked…comfortable… smart without being contrived. A gravel drive, curved, flanked on one side by shrubs, by a lawn on the other. The house looked solid, middleclass, dependable. He expected something like a penthouse apartment, with open plan living, infinite stretches of glass, and all manner of arty things. He was wrong.
Was he putting it off? He never used to be like this, but he suffered a dollop of uncertainty after Kat left.
He forced himself to walk steadily up the drive. Anything he said would need not only the shield of reality, but a suppressing of emotion, which would be difficult because his emotions were running damn high.
It took him thirty slow strides to traverse the drive. Each step crunched in the gravel and he thought it would make it difficult for intruders to be quiet. He counted fourteen types of shrubs and could not name any. Gardening was to be admired from a distance. He liked results, liked to bathe in colour and silence, but had never planted a single flower. Others were employed to do that.
He saw her through the kitchen window, stopped for a moment and allowed himself to watch. She talked on a phone, face screwed in concentration, body angled over, and a splash of white flour on her nose. His eyes rested on her hair, on the way it fell over her face, the way she brushed it off, on the arch of her neck, which had been so good to kiss.
Watching Kat engendered powerful feelings, animal cravings, which would engulf him if allowed. His yearning was a million miles outside reason. Kat, and no one else, could bring out such emotion.
He moved forward toward the door and she must have heard his footsteps because she suddenly looked up. Light from the kitchen flooded him as she opened the door. Her body language changed as she recognized him, immediately rigid. He filled with sentiment. Why had things changed so much?
He said, “You should