Joely looked up from her laptop, blinking to draw focus on the real world that surrounded her, consisting of winter-torn sea, cliffs, and tors, not a sunny back garden with magnolia trees and picnic rugs. She’d been so engrossed in the latest part of Freda’s story that she hardly knew how long she’d been here in the writing room, perched like a ghost in a lonely observatory. Long enough for her limbs to feel stiff and her stomach to cramp with hunger.
Sitting back in the chair she stretched her arms overhead and noticed there was rain on the windows and a small flock of cormorants was gliding on invisible thermals over the cove. Although in many ways this was a perfect place to write, isolated, calming, and nourishing, she’d become so captivated by the story and how best to tell it that she’d actually lost the sense of where she was some time ago. Even now, in her mind, she still couldn’t quite shake free of the teacher and student who were sparing no thought for the future, or for anything beyond the new intimacy of that early summer day.
Even before starting to write she’d known she would find it hard to get beyond this point. The notes were there in front of her, Freda had told her everything, how Sir had unzipped the psychedelic dress and helped to remove it; how he’d undone her lacy bra and slipped off her panties and while she’d lain naked on the grass his eyes had drunk her in as he’d removed his own clothes, but Joely couldn’t find the right words to tell the story as Freda wanted it told.
Freda had gone into some detail about the tender exploration of unfamiliar bodies, hot, breathy kisses and the breaking of the final barrier that had allowed him to take her completely. She’d even talked about the tears of happiness and the music he’d chosen to celebrate the momentous event. Nothing triumphant or rousing, as Joely might have expected, but the Allegretto scherzando from Saint-Saëns Piano Concerto No. 2 in G Minor—a gentle, playful piece, Freda had told her, that he’d performed himself, seated, still naked, at his uncle’s piano. At the same time his young student, also still naked, had stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders as she swayed and listened and adored him.
Joely didn’t normally consider herself a prude, but she simply didn’t want to write sex that left nothing to the imagination, which was what Freda had requested. All she felt comfortable with was capturing the essence of it, laying down the structure, and if graphic was what Freda wanted she must fill in the bold detail herself, or the innuendo, or the artful metaphors. It would be her choice.
Sighing, Joely pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes as though to push out the tiredness. It was the weekend and she needed a break, although she had no idea what she was going to do, given that Andee wasn’t free and Freda hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to be social.
She glanced at her phone in the vain hope it might have a suggestion, but as usual there was no signal.
So, Callum and Martha had no doubt already taken off for their romantic break while she was here in this ivory tower feeling unsettled by the shenanigans of a precocious fifteen-year-old girl and the older man who’d submitted himself to her so readily.
“Submitted” wasn’t the right word, she knew that as surely as she knew that he’d orchestrated the entire seduction. And yet it wasn’t him she was feeling so bothered by, she realized, it was the older Freda who seemed to want her to feel more tenderness and understanding for Sir than he surely deserved. Her client’s manipulation hadn’t succeeded, exactly, but there was no doubt that Freda’s dislike of her younger self struck an odd contrast to the affection, even love that she still seemed to feel for her old music teacher. And wasn’t it interesting that she’d gone on to marry someone who shared Sir’s passion for music—unless, of course, Sir and Mr. D were one and the same person.
Now that was a twist to the tale she wouldn’t have predicted, nor would she dare to suggest it, given her client’s aversion to second-guessing.
“I’d rather not talk this evening,” Freda announced as Joely emerged from the tower staircase into the kitchen. “You probably consider that rude, but there it is. If you wish to go out to find more entertaining company, be assured I shall not feel offended.”
Since Joely had no one to go out with, and certainly didn’t want to sit in a bar or restaurant alone thinking of Callum and Martha somewhere together, she accepted the silent rule as they ate the spicy pasta dish prepared by Brenda and cooked by Freda.
“Why don’t you join me in the den to watch a film?” Freda offered when it came time to clear away their plates.
So Joely did, and was neither surprised nor put out to discover that Freda had already decided on their viewing. It was only when she realized what the film was that she wished she’d said she’d go to her room and read.
And God Created Woman, the erotic story of a young girl with abundant sexual energy who causes havoc in three men’s lives. An old favorite of the parents’ if Joely remembered correctly.
So were there more men to come after Sir? Or was this Freda’s attempt to get her ghostwriter to visualize her young self as a nymphet not unlike Brigitte Bardot?
Who knew what went on in that woman’s head?
The film wasn’t particularly engaging; really nothing more than a vehicle for Vadim to show off his sex-kitten wife, Joely thought, and by the end, though she’d enjoyed the cinematography, she was struggling to stay awake.
Clicking off the TV, Freda got up to pour herself a whisky from the decanters arranged in front of the shuttered windows.
“Would you like one?” she offered.
Stifling a yawn Joely shook her head. She’d never liked whisky and besides she really wasn’t up for some sort of head-spinning discussion about the film’s morals and purpose, which was what she feared Freda might be about to embark on.
“Good night then,” Freda said abruptly, and turning her back she downed the single measure in one and poured another.
Almost laughing at the summary dismissal, Joely picked up her phone and shoes and started for the door.
“How far have you got with it?” Freda suddenly asked.
Knowing she meant the memoir, Joely tensed slightly as she said, “To the picnic in his uncle’s garden.” She’s now going to ask how much detail I’ve gone into and I will have to tell her that I’m finding it difficult to write about the private parts and orgasmic achievements of my employer even if it did happen over fifty years ago. They’re still her private parts and her molto orgasmic stringendos.
Freda’s pale eyes drifted to the dying fire as she presumably recalled, maybe even relived the occasion that she’d described so vividly during their talk. In the end she said, “You’re going to think this slightly mad, but while you’ve been writing about him I’ve been feeling jealous that you’re in his company.”
She was right, Joely did think that was mad, but also sad that Freda was so deeply affected by revisiting her past. She apparently did still love him, and missed him, or that was Joely’s reading of it so far, but she wasn’t going to ask who he really was.
“Do you like him?” Freda asked.
Joely admitted that she did, “But I think,” she continued, “it’s what you want, and I can’t help wondering if you’re setting me—or the reader—up for a twist in the tale that might change . . .”
Freda’s smile was thin. “This isn’t a novel,” she interrupted sharply, “and you’re aware of how I feel about jumping to conclusions,” and with a dismissive wave of her hand she helped herself to a third small measure of Scotch.
“God, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
It was the following day and Joely was at the Rising Sun greeting Andee after receiving a text during a short burst of connection first thing to let her know that her old friend was free today if that was of any interest. “I feel I’m going off my head for so many reasons that I don’t even know where to start.”
Laughing, Andee asked the waiter for a glass of whatever Joely already had—a chilled Chenin Blanc—and shrugging off her coat she sat down at the window table. “If I’d known you were so desperate to see someone,” she remarked drolly, “I’d have made sure to come sooner. So what’s been happening?”
“No, no, tell me about you first . . .”
“Really not interesting, so?”
Joely threw out her hands. “I’ve signed an NDA so I can’t tell you anything, but I swear it’s not that big a deal. So many years later? I mean, really? Unless ‘Sir’ turns out to be someone famous.”
“The music teacher? You don’t know his name yet?”
“David Michaels, but she doesn’t use it much and I’m pretty sure it’s made up anyway, which could support the possibility of him being recognizable.” She twinkled mischievously and drew in a little closer. “So, here I go breaking my agreement,” she whispered, “but I know I can trust you.”
Andee glanced up as her wine arrived, thanked the waiter, and turned back to hear more.
“Last night,” Joely continued, “she got me to sit through the movie And God Created Woman. Have you seen it?”
“With Brigitte Bardot? No. Is it any good?”
“Not unless you’re a Bardot fan, or into gorgeous shots of the French Riviera. The point is, I think she wants me to portray the young her in the same way as Vadim portrayed Juliette, the film’s main character. High-octane sex appeal, no inhibitions, too beautiful for her own good, basically someone who doesn’t have much of a relationship with everyday morals.”
Andee looked impressed and intrigued. “Is that how she talks about herself during your discussions?” she asked.
“Kind of, but not always. To be honest, I never really know what she’s thinking, apart from the fact that these many years on she’s pretty disdainful of herself. Anyway, from the way she tells it she was definitely in love with him, insofar as any girl that age can be in love, but here’s the thing: I reckon she still is. In fact, I think it’s very possible she married him.”
Andee blinked in surprise.
Joely threw out her hands, indicating her own surprise. “I know it might sound crazy, but her husband had a serious passion for music; there’s a room in the house where his piano and other instruments are still in the positions they were in the day he died, three years ago. It’s like a shrine, I suppose. I don’t know how often she goes in there, the housekeeper does to clean, but the shutters are always closed and I think the doors are kept locked.”
“But if she married him, where’s the scandal, or drama—or tragedy? Aren’t we looking for a tragedy?”
“Listen, I’ve no idea if I’m right. It’s just a guess. I mean, I get that her first love and her husband both having an affinity for music doesn’t make them one and the same person, I’m only saying that they could be.”
“So you’ve got no idea yet what happens next?”
“I dare not ask. She’s made it abundantly clear that she detests second-guessing in readers—in ghostwriters it could be a capital offense. Now here’s the other thing, this story is starting to get to me in a way it probably shouldn’t, and I think that’s for two reasons: one is being shut up in that house, gorgeous as it is, with no one to talk to apart from the chess master of mind games, namely my host. The other is, she has a way of telling her story, when we’re talking, that makes me feel as though I’m involved, it could even be me she’s talking about.”
Andee pulled a face. “You really are starting to sound crazy now,” she commented drily.
Joely laughed. “OK, we know the power good storytellers can exert over readers, they toss us around, get us onside only to throw us onto the horns of dilemmas before snatching us back because they’ve introduced someone or something new. They can totally wring us out. Of course, generally we’re reading a book that we can put aside and forget about for a few hours while we think about something else. That’s what I keep trying to do with this, but the problem is, my something else is always Callum and Martha, who I’m also starting to see in scenes she’s described—which is really horrible, let me tell you. And now let me show you this. It’s a text that managed to get through to me last night from Holly.”
As she passed over her phone she took a large sip of wine and felt grateful all over again that Andee had been able to make it today.
Andee read aloud, “Turns out they haven’t gone away for weekend. Went to pick up some stuff and they were there, so obvs trying to get rid of me.” Andee’s eyes showed both confusion and concern as she looked up.
“I tried calling her,” Joely said, “but the signal wasn’t good enough, so I ended up speaking to Mum from the Valley of Rocks.”
“Are you serious?”
“That’s how far I had to go before I could make a decent connection. OK, the very last place you’d expect to get one, but it happened, and take it from me, that geological wonder is not a soothing place to be after dark. However, after receiving that text I needed to talk to someone; Holly was unavailable by the time I got a signal, probably because she’s tripping out on acid somewhere—that’s Freda’s influence, so forget that.” She clasped her hands to her head. “See, I’m starting to think my own daughter is taking drugs and probably getting off with her piano teacher, that’s how much this story is getting to me—and she’s not even learning piano. Anyway, Holly wasn’t answering her phone, but Mum did. Apparently Holly went to Martha’s row house . . .”
“Row house?”
“It’s a derogatory term for terraced house. When she got there, she saw straightaway that both Callum’s and Martha’s cars were outside and the lights were on downstairs. So she peeked through the window and saw them sitting on the sofa sharing a bottle of wine—and we can only feel thankful that’s all they were doing, given his daughter was the peeping Tom.”
Andee pulled an expression of wry distaste.
“Precisely,” Joely responded, hurting far more deeply than she was showing. “So they lied to get rid of her; she knows it; she’s furious, devastated, Mum says, and swearing she’ll never go back there again in her life. My dilemma now is should I go home to sort her out or let Callum deal with it?”
Andee took the menu a waiter was passing her. “I’m guessing,” she said, “that you already have an answer.”
Joely had to smile. “Not me, my amazing mum. She says she can deal with Holly even though she knows there’s probably a scene brewing between her and Callum. She thinks I should let him make a mess of it, because we’re sure he will, and when the time is right I can sweep in to sort it all out.”
“And take Holly home with you?”
“That’s my second-best outcome. My best is that he comes too and we go back to being a family.”
Clearly hearing the catch in her voice, Andee reached out to squeeze her hand.
Joely put on a laugh, and knowing she ought to get off the subject now, she said, “Have you tried the mussels in this place? They’re the best I’ve ever had.”
Andee studied the menu and after deciding to have the same as Joely she said, “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Joely feigned confusion. “You mean about Freda?”
“No, about you. I’m not sure . . .”
“Honestly, there’s nothing.” Joely insisted. “Stop looking so worried, everything’s fine with me, apart from my marriage breaking up, obviously, and this bonkers assignment I’m trying to work my way through.”
Though appearing reluctant to let it go, Andee finally said, “OK, going back to the husband and whether or not it’s Sir. Have you googled him? Do you even know his name?”
“I didn’t, but I tried a different search this time, remember I’ve already googled her a few times, and before the connection dropped on me I discovered he is called David—not Michaels, but Donahoe—and he was a renowned copyist, particularly of the Impressionists. That chimes with what I already know about Mr. D. She hasn’t mentioned anything yet about Sir being into art, but it might come.”
“So if Michaels is a pseudonym, perhaps she did marry him. That’s definitely not where I was expecting the story to go.”
“Me neither.”
“Did it say how David Donahoe died?”
“It seems there was an accident at sea in which another man also died. Nothing suspicious that I could find, just an accident in which two old friends out for a sail ran into trouble.”
Andee was looking pensive.
“Are you putting your detective hat on?” Joely asked hopefully.
Andee smiled. “Go on,” she prompted. “Who else have you googled?”
“No one, because the WiFi is rubbish, but on my list are Sir’s parents and uncle. The trouble is, if she’s using a pseudonym I don’t have anywhere to start.”
“Is his family relevant?”
“I don’t know yet, but the fact that she’s talked about them . . . The uncle was/is a conductor, the father a concert violinist, and the mother an opera singer. There’s also a brother who was in the American deep south during the late sixties, and a sister traveling the world.”
Andee said, “Would you like me to see what I can find out?”
Joely was about to leap at the offer, but then wasn’t sure. “She’s presumably going to tell me everything sooner or later,” she said, “and if we dig around too much now it’ll be like turning to the back of the book when we’ve only just gotten started. God, I’m beginning to sound like her now, and I can only imagine what she’d think if she knew I was conducting an electronic delve into her past. Actually, I’d rather not imagine it.”
Andee smiled. “Well, if there is anything you want me to find out, let me know. If nothing else I have a way better Internet connection.”
Joely laughed and checked the text that had arrived as they were speaking.
Dad’s acting really strange. Hx
Nothing like a bump back to reality—and worry. After showing it to Andee, Joely messaged back saying, In what way?
He keeps on about wanting to know where you are.
That shouldn’t be strange; nevertheless Joely’s heart skipped a beat simply to know that he was asking. What did you tell him?
That I don’t know, because I DON’T. So that’s both of you acting weird. Def staying with Grandma forever.
Have you seen Dad this weekend?
You mean apart from through the window drinking wine with Martha when he was supposed to have gone away for the weekend? No. He texted me just now to ask about you AGAIN. I’ve told him that he needs to contact you himself because I’m too busy for all this crap.
“She has attitude,” Joely murmured as Andee read the last text.
“So why is Callum so interested to know where you are?” Andee wondered. “And why is he dragging Holly into it?”
Joely’s heart twisted as she guessed at least part of the answer. “He’s probably checking the coast is clear to go and pick up some more stuff,” she said, not even wanting to imagine it. “It makes me doubly glad I’m not there.” She looked at her phone again, expecting the latest text to be yet another from Holly, but it turned out to be from Freda.
When he was asked about it later he said we experienced a coup de foudre. Did I tell you that? FMD
Joely showed the message to Andee and said, “A coup de foudre. Love at first sight.”
“Or literally translated, a lightning strike.”
Joely sat staring at the message thinking how odd it was that Freda should fire off a text as though they were in the middle of a chat. “She’s at home thinking about him, reliving it all . . .” She lifted her gaze to Andee’s. “Did I tell you what she said last night? She said she feels jealous of the time I’m spending with him, just by writing about him.”
Andee frowned.
“I know, weird to say the least.” Joely checked her phone again as another text came through,
I believe you’re having lunch with a friend. I hope you’re not discussing the memoir. If you are you’ll be in breach of our contract. FMD