Underground Rivers by Mike French

darling.”
    Oh great! Sorry for the interruption but an introduction is in order. Here we have Scarlet Brown, Sylvia’s aunt and part CEO of Sylvia Coal Architects. Along with many sceptical, narcissistic and materialistic attributes, Scarlet was known for her prim and proper image all because she went to finishing school. She is splashed with ‘SJP Darling’ perfume, a chocolate fur coat is draped elegantly over her square shoulders and she is splodged with makeup a monkey might have done in animal slavery.
    Scarlet Brown sauntered gracefully towards Sylvia, arms outreached with red lips pouted to give the French greeting kiss on the cheek.
    Sylvia turned to see her aunt just a footstep away. Oh man, she thought and gave a big sigh of pretence relief.
    â€œAunt Scarlet!” she exclaimed embracing her aunt and holding her fake smile. Sylvia held her breath so she did not suffocate from the overloaded perfume. “It’s so good to see you.” She rolled her eyes at this point because it was an absolute lie.
    Scarlet Brown gave her niece a kiss on each cheek in mid-air. Turning, she examined her, “My dear look at what you have done to yourself.” She placed her hand on Sylvia’s arms. “You’re as thin as a twig. What do you get to eat around here?”
    Sylvia giggled nervously as her aunt dragged her towards the lifts. “Well you know how work is, Aunt. I’m all busy to my elbows getting the new shopping mall designed for next year comer-”
    Scarlet shook her head and her index finger in mid-air, suggesting Sylvia shut up. “Darling, that is no excuse. What do I always say, hea-”
    â€œHealth comes before work,” chanted Sylvia as they stood in the lift. “But, Aunt-”
    â€œOh, darling, you do not start a sentence with BUT because it sounds rude. Say ‘however’ or ‘nonetheless’... never BUT.” She linked arms with her niece, in prospect to change the subject. “Come, darling. We’re going to eat at La Petite Maison. It’s about time I gave you a treat, because let’s face it, darling, you’re a bag of bones. No man will fall at your feet with skin as dead as a corpse.”
    Sylvia pursed her lips to her aunt’s appalling remark and examined her reflection in the grand mirror. It showed her true form: a person who had loved and lost her heart, filled with resentment. She hid her anguished electric blue eyes behind her Karen Miller framed glasses. She belonged on the front cover of Vogue; her coal black hair swept in a high pony stretching her tough yet bony pale face.Sheglanced at her starved figure hugging her chic Alexander McQueen black suit complemented by thin heeled Yves Saint Laurent shoes.
    Sylvia tried to remember the last time she was happy. The lift opened and she grudgingly walked beside her aunt.
    She moaned, shaking her head. “Oh man! Why do I-”
    â€œDo I look like a man to you?” Scarlet took a step back in a melodramatic fashion. “I do not wear cosmetics just to make people think I am a woman. I look beautiful for my age. Eight hours of yoga and eight glasses of water is the neat trick to take ten years off.”
    â€œNot to mention Botox, skin peel, face lifts, anti-wrinkle creams,” Sylvia listed with her fingers and glanced at her Aunt. “Do I need to go on?”
    Scarlet huffed. “No, dear. Is it really that obvious?”
    They both left the building and Sylvia sniggered. “You might need to tone it down a little, nonetheless it is fine.”
    The aunt and niece took their place at the grandeur of the La Petite Maison restaurant on Brooks Mew. The French restaurant emulated the Nice city ambience; the white painted panel walls and the fresh breath of life seemed out of place in the busy city of London Mayfair. It felt as the sea Côte d’Azur was right outside the door; the customers with their flourishing tans, casual dress