Moonlight by Felicity Heaton Page B

bedroom. She didn’t stop
singing the whole time that she was unpacking and getting changed
out of her wet clothes and into a dry pair of loose jeans and a
thick dark red jumper. She tied her long brown hair up into a knot
at the back of her head. It didn’t matter that she kept getting the
lyrics wrong, as long as she kept singing. The more she sang, the
less she imagined monsters and murderers.
    Heading
downstairs, she followed a path through the house that made it all
more familiar and less frightening. Happy memories filled her mind,
chasing away the pointed black shadows of her fear. She’d passed
several summers here with her parents when she’d been a child. Each
one had been blissfully happy and full of fun and laughter that
still warmed her heart. Her last visit had been without her
parents. She’d come to see her aunt, wanting to keep the close bond
they had. She’d passed most of the holiday painting and drawing in
the garden with her aunt, or sometimes alone. At home, she had
several sketchbooks that she’d filled while here.
    She found
the main reception room and was relieved to see that her aunt had
left wood beside the empty fire grate. Two worn and comfy brown
armchairs flanked the fireplace. Between them was a low table. She
remembered playing chess against her father there when she’d been
small. He’d always let her win, even though he was far better than
her at the game. A smile touched her lips. She bent down in front
of the fire and stacked several logs up on the grate. Some kindling
and a little miracle work with the matches, and she had the start
of a blaze. It instantly warmed the room, making the raging storm
feel even more distant as the heat of it caressed her thigh and
arm.
    Her gaze
roamed around the room, refreshing her memory of the huge family
portraits that hung on the walls in gilt decorative frames and the
expansive mirror on the far wall opposite the fireplace. It
reflected the light from the fire back at her, brightening the dark
green walls of the room and bringing out their colour. The doors
either side of it led through to the ballroom where she’d spent
hours in the past pretending to dance with princes and dashing
young men.
    Something
on the table beside her caught her eye when she went to stand. It
was a note. She picked it up with a frown and turned it over when
she saw her name written on the front in her aunt’s neat
script.
    She
smiled.
    Her aunt
had left her with a full refrigerator and told her to use the art
materials in the studio if she felt inclined to draw. It had been a
long time since she’d drawn anything. Perhaps she would.
    She
settled down in one of the armchairs and leaned her head back. The
fire roared and danced in the breeze coming down the chimney. It
warmed her from her toes up, chasing away the chill of the
rain.
    Her
fingers idly traced the rows of books beside her in the bookshelf
that filled the wall at this end of the room, intersected by the
fireplace. Her eyes casually followed them. Her aunt loved poetry,
all romantic and flowery. She couldn’t stand it herself. Love
wasn’t all hearts and roses. It needed to be challenging and
exciting, not something easy.
    The
lightning struck close by and the rain fell heavier. She could hear
it pummelling the patio outside the French doors on the wall
opposite her. Another flash illuminated the curtains that covered
the glass doors, silhouetting the criss-cross of wood that held the
panes in. The fragrance of wet earth and ozone joined that of the
blazing fire. She curled up on the armchair and snuggled into her
jumper. The grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed out the
hour. Ten. It was getting late.
    She
closed her eyes and stifled a yawn. The warmth of the fire made her
sleepy and it wasn’t long before she’d drifted off.
    Ashlyn’s
eyes slowly opened. She blinked to clear the haze of sleep from
them and then stretched in the armchair, a contented moan escaping
her. The fire was dying.