That Certain Something Read online

  That Certain Something

  by

  Clare Ashton

  That Certain Something

  by Clare Ashton

  Published by Clare Ashton at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2014 Clare Ashton. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Credits

  Editor: Jayne Fereday

  Cover: Fereday Design

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For Diana

  who wasn’t far from my mind

  Chapter 1.

  Pia walked around the edge of the quiet London square while affecting an air of nonchalance. She kicked out her boots and hummed a song but, underneath her arm, she kept a tight grip on her camera and long zoom lens. She peered over her sunglasses. No-one walked outside the tall Georgian terraces. No-one sat underneath the trees of the large private garden in the centre of Kensington Square. She wriggled her shoulders underneath her rucksack and, with one last peek around, attempted a nimble jump over the black railings into the garden.

  She landed with a gentle thud on the grass and to a tearing sound from her rear.

  ‘Bugger.’

  Left behind on a railing spike was the frayed back pocket of her jeans. She twisted round trying to check her bottom. It remained stubbornly out of sight and she spun round on the spot, rather like a dog chasing its own tail. She patted the previous location of her pocket and her warm hand found a cool patch of naked bottom.

  ‘Damn it.’

  Two pigeons startled in the trees above and she cursed herself for shouting. They grappled with a swinging branch in their panic, flapping against leaves, and a small droplet of liquid green plummeted to the floor.

  Pia dodged the super-speed dropping and giggled as she squinted up. ‘Sorry for scaring the crap out of you, pigeons,’ she whispered.

  She was about to launch up the nearest tree when she caught sight of a woman entering the square. Pia squinted through the bushes and hoped she hadn’t been spied. The woman tilted her head to speak into her mobile. Long honey blonde hair fell around her face and she curled it away behind an ear with elegant fingers. Her dress was smart, but not in a corporate way. A tailored shape, cream, sleeveless to show slim arms and short enough to give a hint of long shapely legs. She carried a tablet in a case by her side and Pia was intrigued by the sophisticated lady.

  ‘Give me an hour sweetie,’ the woman said.

  The melodious, well-spoken voice reached Pia. She watched, entranced by the soothing low tones that flowed through her.

  ‘Sorry. I can’t make it any sooner, not in rush hour.’ The mellifluous sound made Pia tingle inside.

  ‘Of course I’m looking forward to it.’ The woman laughed, an alluring soft sound, and she stroked her fingers through her long hair. ‘No I must admit, it’s not my usual Friday night, but I’m hardly going to let you down.’

  The woman’s cheeks flushed in a smile that lit every inch of her face. It was a beautiful expression. She had high cheek bones and full lips. The curve of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck and the smooth rise of her chest were beguiling. Mesmerised, Pia was lost down her cleavage, when the woman turned on her heel and sauntered out of the square.

  ‘Come on. Concentrate Benitez-Smith,’ Pia said. She shook her head to break out of the hypnosis the woman had cast.

  After another glance around, Pia slung the camera over her shoulder and hopped onto the bench at the base of a large plane tree. She started to climb and, after a mouthful of leaves and the odd snag on a twig, she settled herself astride a large branch with a good view of the tallest house in the terrace.

  She leaned on her elbows and focussed her lens onto the four-storey town house. She zoomed in on the ground floor and scanned past the perfect white façade and glossy black door. She switched to manual focus to peer through the sash window into the house. A large kitchen and dining room swept back and generous gardens glowed green through the rear windows. No-one was in sight.

  Pia lifted her lens to the first floor and was surprised to find it a grey blurry mass. It also moved. And it also made a noise. Pia peeked over her camera to find a peeved squirrel chattering and squeaking at the end of the branch. It dashed towards her, made an irritated noise and scurried back to turn and stare. If she could speak squirrel she would have guessed that it said something along the lines of: ‘Get out of my damned tree. We don’t want your sort around here.’

  ‘Wow,’ Pia said. ‘Even the squirrels have a stuffy attitude in this part of town.’

  The animal sat sulking at the end of the branch. It gnawed at something Pia hoped was a nut, rather than the last Brixtonian to enter the square.

  She ignored her furry companion and zoomed into an expansive living room on the first floor. The white walls were splashed with colourful art and low modernist sofas reclined in the middle. The sole occupant was a short East Asian woman who wore an apron and polished a curved coffee table. The two floors above, generous bedrooms and en suite bathrooms, showed no further activity.

  Pia sat back and let the camera hang around her neck. ‘He’s not home yet’. She sighed and shrugged at the squirrel who emitted a dismissive squeak and turned his back on her.

  She sniggered and then glanced down, distracted by her phone vibrating in her jeans pocket. The screen flashed ‘Mama’ and her home phone number.

  ‘Hola Mama.’ Pia sighed with amusement. Her mother always had a sense of when Pia was up to something.

  ‘Mija.’ Her mother drew out the endearment. She’d lost none of her Spanish accent in the twenty-five years she’d spent in England, and Pia was always fond of that.

  ‘Is it urgent Mama? I’m…’ She peered around the square and garden beneath her feet. ‘I’m quite busy.’

  ‘What are you up to chica?’ Her mother sounded suspicious.

  ‘I’m working, Mama.’

  Pia could hear her mother tut. ‘It’s only work if you get paid.’

  ‘If I do this right I will get paid. I’m hoping quite a lot too.’ She was irritated and hoped her target would appear so that she had an excuse to end the recurring argument with her mother.

  ‘Make sure you do,’ her mama snapped. ‘Bueno. Will you be home for your dinner?’

  ‘I said I would Mama.’ Pia frowned wondering what her mother really wanted. ‘Is that the only reason you’re phoning?’

  ‘Well…I was shopping in the market today…’ Pia rolled her eyes. Here it comes. ‘I was buying some beautiful peppers from the stall and that young woman, how do you call her?’

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie. She’s still single you know, and she’s not busy tonight. I thought you could invite her round. I’ll cook your favourite paella, open some red wine, and leave you two to—’

  ‘Mama.’ Pia cut her off.

  ‘Mija. What is wrong with her? She is friendly. She has an honest job.’

  ‘She gives you cheap veg.’

  ‘You shouldn’t joke. She is generous with food. A good thing in a woman. She would feed you up.’

  ‘Mama. She’s very nice.’

  ‘P
retty too.’

  ‘Yes, and she’s pretty. But she just doesn’t...’ Pia stared into the middle distance thinking how to explain to her mother. Through the leaves she spotted the beautiful stranger again. The woman talked on her phone and wandered back towards the square. She held sun-streaked hair from her face, her arm soft and toned. Pia found herself admiring the attractive figure again: the sun-kissed skin, the generous breasts, the way she moved, elegant and at ease. That warm feeling tickled inside again and Pia sighed. ‘She just doesn’t have that magic. That something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Pia. You are waiting for a dream.’ Pia tutted and slumped, digging in for the familiar admonishment. ‘You want to be swept off your feet by a princess, but there are no princesses, and one day you’ll wake up and you’ll be an old woman and alone. You need someone to take care of you. To cook for you. To hold you tight at night.’

  ‘Mama, how can you say that when you have Dad?’

  ‘That’s different. Things were different for us. And look where he is now. What use is a shining knight in armour when—’

  Pia didn’t hear her mother finish. A black Mercedes drew up in the space beneath her feet. The driver, dressed in a dark grey suit, marched around the car to open the back door. Out stepped Her Majesty’s Member of Parliament for West Surrey. His full head of distinguished grey hair, which so captivated his female constituents, was in full view below.

  ‘Mama,’ Pia whispered. ‘I have to go. I’ll be home for dinner.’

  The government minister moved away from the car and ignored the driver. The front door of the house was opened by a person unseen and a person disregarded. The minister disappeared inside and the driver returned to the car, unsurprised by the lack of acknowledgment, and left the square.

  Pia’s insides curdled at the thought of the politician, the most hard-lined immigration minister for decades, who rejected asylum requests from the most desperate of individuals. He lived a cozy life being served by the very people he wanted to expel from the country.

  Pia zoomed in to the first floor where the maid was cleaning. She panned out to view the full width of the room and saw the minister step through the doorway. As soon as he entered, his face became stiff with irritation. The small woman bowed in apology and tried to leave the room clutching her duster and polish into her stomach. The minister sneered, his mouth ugly around a tirade of words inaudible to Pia but their intent clear.

  But what Pia could hear was insistent chattering. She tried to ignore it. She clicked some images of the confrontation and concentrated on the scene at the end of the lens. But it blurred and appeared to become hairy.

  ‘What the…?’

  Pia took the camera away to find the proprietorial squirrel blocking her view.

  ‘Oh no, not now. Shoo. Go away.’

  Pia stretched higher, trying to shoot over the irritable animal. Inside the house, the minister shouted and gesticulated at the maid who raised her arms to protect herself. Pia squeezed on the shutter hoping to capture an incriminating moment.

  Over the desperate snapping of the camera, the squirrel’s squeals became louder and more insistent. Pia edged the camera away. She tried to keep shooting but was too unnerved by the animal’s perseverance not to peek.

  The small beast sat rigid on the branch. If a squirrel could growl and taunt it surely would be now. The wretched animal crouched down, wiggled its bottom and leapt forward.

  ‘Shit!’

  Its claws scratched on the bark as it tore towards her. As Pia jumped, she saw the minister raise his arm to strike. She squeezed her finger on the shutter and aimed in the direction of the house. She heard her camera rattle off photo after photo and focussed all her energy on pressing that button. At the same time she was aware of being surrounded by little other than air.

  She felt light for a moment. Her stomach broke into butterflies. The ethereal sensation of spinning out of the tree was almost pleasant until she was brought back to almost earth.

  Her belt snagged on a branch and snapped around her stomach. Her full weight plunged around the loop and it ripped the air out of her lungs. She hung upside down, winded, with her feet tangled and rattling in the twigs above.

  Despite hanging in mid-air, she felt claustrophobic. As she breathed in her short painful breaths, soft fabric sucked and sealed around her mouth and nostrils. She opened her eyes to find the world glowed white with her T-shirt surrounding her face. She also registered a light breeze on her naked belly and partially naked breasts.

  ‘Christ, are you all right?’

  Although winded and feeling as if she were about to puke upside down into her own eyes, her tummy fluttered and heart beat a little faster. It was the unmistakable sound of the beautiful woman’s voice.

  Chapter 2.

  Cate ambled along the route from the Tube station to Kensington Square for the last time. She gazed at the tall ornate buildings of Kensington High Street. She admired the formidable grey block of the art deco department store and took in the red flashes of double-decker buses that rumbled by. As she turned from the busy high street into the cool serenity of the garden square, she let its peace wash over her.

  She sighed. She had loved living here. On the other side of the square she had a small studio flat above the art gallery. It had always been beyond her salary, but she had spent the most pleasant hours watching over the private gardens. She knew every tree and, through the leaves, every resident beyond the windows of the Georgian terraces.

  A tight grip of panic and longing squeezed her chest. It grabbed her every time she realised what she was giving up. She tried to breathe it away in deep long exhalations. She was going to miss it. She took one last glance around the square, to bid farewell to her neighbours.

  And it was only because of this procrastination that she spotted a shifty-looking young woman with short dark hair. She was attempting to appear nonchalant on the opposite side of the garden. What was she doing? The petite Mediterranean woman checked up and down the road and then hopped over the railings in an agile bound. Cate was too far away to hear what the woman said, but she appeared to be cursing. She lifted away a fragment of material from a railing and twirled around, chasing and patting her bum. Cate smiled when the woman removed her hand to reveal a pale patch of bottom shining through.

  Cate’s lift in mood was interrupted by her mobile.

  ‘Hi Libby. I was about to call you.’ At the same time she peeked through the trees and bushes to watch the cursing woman beyond.

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’ Cate said. ‘Give me an hour sweetie.’ She turned and sauntered back along the side road, attempting to hide her observation of the young woman. She peeked over her shoulder in time to see a pair of slim legs disappear into a tree.

  The woman flailed around in the branches for a moment, spitting out a mouthful of leaves, and brought a camera with a large sports lens to her face.

  ‘What the hell?’ Cate said. ‘No, sorry, not you darling.’ The tinny sound of her best friend resumed from her phone and Cate crept back towards the gardens.

  What was the petite woman up to? One of the cabinet ministers lived in that building. Was the woman paparazzi? Cate opened her mouth to shout, but the woman in the tree started waving her arms. Cate still couldn’t hear. She could see her mouth moving, but who was she talking to?

  A squirrel? She was talking to a squirrel. What on earth?

  ‘Are you listening, Cate?’ sounded louder in her ear.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say? No really, I can’t make sooner.’ Cate allowed her friend to issue a tirade of warnings, all the while spying on the photographer. The squirrel had moved away. But the woman was still talking, gesturing with one arm with even more emphasis, and holding a phone with the other.

  Cate wandered closer to the railings and began to pick out the odd word from the rapid fire in the tree above. Spanish. She was definitely speaking Spanish, but too quickly for Cate to understand.

  This Spanish- and squirrel-spe
aking woman was quite the oddest member of the press that she’d encountered. Not wishing to be caught, Cate turned back up the street. A few moments later she recognised her neighbour’s chauffeur turning into the square.

  ‘This should be interesting… No, not you,’ Cate said, as her friend squawked in her ear. ‘I mean not that you’re not interesting. Yes. I am listening. I will be there. I’ll see you later,’ and she tapped the phone dead.

  Cate stood back and watched the scene unfold. The minister, one of the most unpleasant as far as she was concerned, entered the house and his car was driven away. Cate opened the gate with her resident’s key and entered the garden. The young woman, unaware of Cate’s presence, continued to take multiple pictures of the minister’s house, and Cate tread closer.

  In a blurred second, the woman cursed, a squirrel shrieked and branches and twigs cracked with the falling weight of photographer.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Cate leapt forward without thinking. If she had thought, attempting to break the woman’s fall would have been a ludicrous thing to do, but her outstretched arms encountered only a falling camera.

  The woman swung above her head, hooked over a branch. Her arms hung down towards the ground and her white T-shirt covered her face.

  ‘Christ, are you all right?’ Cate said.

  The muffled reply from behind the T-shirt sounded strained. ‘I feel a bit sick.’

  ‘But are you hurt?’

  ‘I feel a bit sick,’ came the pathetic voice.

  Cate grinned. The young woman hadn’t come to much harm. Cate peered up at the petite figure that swayed upside down. She had slim legs, hugged tight by her black jeans. Her toned stomach was exposed and Cate noticed her inviting and flawless skin. She peeped down at the bra, which glowed white against a dark Mediterranean complexion, and allowed herself to notice what a very poor job it was doing of supporting the ample breasts now it was the wrong way up.