Moonlight (The Moon Trilogy #1)

Moonlight (The Moon Trilogy #1) Page 11

Then she felt the cool touch of a hand on her ankle. A man’s hand. Strong. Moving like the legs of a giant spider, she could feel fingers slowly traveling up her leg. They worked slowly, caressing her calf muscle, stroking and pressing her inner thigh. She reached out with her hand, to brush it away but there was no one there.

Open your eyes, she cursed herself. She couldn’t.

The room fell silent again. The only sound she could hear was her own heart thumping in her ears. She felt scared but didn't want to yell out, in case she disturbed Thaddeus.

Then, she felt those fingers again as they passed over her stomach and worked their way up between her breasts. Winnie reached out again but still couldn't find anybody there.

Open your eyes, the voice inside urged her. She couldn’t or wouldn’t. She was no longer sure. Then she felt the warm wetness of lips covering her own.

She felt scared now, but kind of excited, too. How was that possible? She wondered behind her closed eyelids. The mouth worked its way up her throat and nicked at her fair skin. She moaned in pain, and then the mouth covered hers again. A tongue darted into her mouth and she kissed back. Then for the first time, she could feel the whole of his body pressing down over hers. Winnie reached out with her hands for him, wanting him now, yet hating him. She could feel no one there.

The mouth broke away from hers and she threw open her eyes and although the room was in complete darkness, his face shone palely down into hers. She looked up at Thaddeus. His eyes bore right into hers and he smiled...

...Winnie sat bolt upright in bed, her whole body covered in a sticky sweat. She sucked frantic mouthfuls of air into her lungs as she fought to breathe. With her heart racing, she peered about her room as the early morning sun streamed through the windows in thin ribbons of light. Her head ached from the alcohol she had drunk the night before. Winnie sat and shivered as the last fragments of her dream ebbed away. She felt troubled by her dream. Not because it had scared her - but it had felt so real. Not just the feel of his touch, but the feelings she had felt while kissing him.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Winnie tried to push the last remaining shards of the dream away, which still lingered on in the furthest corners of her mind. Why had she dreamt of them together like that? She thought, as she padded over to the bathroom. Sure, Thaddeus was hot, with his messy hair, stubble, and dark brown eyes, but to have had such a vivid dream...what did that mean? As she turned on the taps and watched the hot water slosh into the bath, Winnie feared that just like she had tried to push him away in her dream, where she had secretly wanted him, she didn’t want those feelings to become a reality.

“I can’t allow that to happen,” she whispered to herself. “I won’t let it happen.”

She hadn’t come to Cornwall to settle down, to fall in love and live happily ever after. She didn’t believe in fairy tales. Winnie only wanted to stay long enough to earn the money to pay rent on a place of her own. She wanted her own life – not somebody else’s.

Winnie turned off the taps, stripped, and climbed into the bath. As she sunk beneath the water, she warned herself not to become too comfortable at the mansion, form any attachments, or grow roots. Roots kept you in one place. They stopped you from running away if you wanted or needed to. She closed her eyes and let the water wash over her.

Chapter Thirteen

Winnie stood in fresh panties and a bra, and worked her way through the clothes in the closets. All of the clothes were beautifully made. She went through each dress, skirt, top, trousers, and jeans, admiring their expensive quality. Although most of the clothes varied in style and fashion, most of them were coloured black, scarlet, violet, cream, or pale green. She paused over a couple of the garments and held them up to herself; they seemed to fit perfectly. Winnie pulled open the drawers in the base of the closet and found neat rows of shoes, trainers, and boots. She let her fingers dance over their suede and leather forms and as she did, Winnie noticed something which struck her as being very strange.

None of the shoes had ever been worn. She turned a couple of pairs over in her hands and studied each sole. They were in perfect condition. There wasn't one with a worn-down heel or scuffed toe in the whole collection. Winnie stood for a moment, hands on hips, and then turned back to the clothes. She pulled out different garments at random and searched their linings. To her amazement, all the clothing had the price tags still firmly fixed in place. Winnie found it a little curious but was also slightly relieved that none of the clothes had been worn. She hadn't relished the idea of wearing the clothes of a dead woman.

Shrugging to herself, she removed a sweater and a pair of jeans and pulled off the price tags. Dressed, she picked out a pair of trainers and slipped them on her feet. They fitted perfectly. Winnie closed the closet door and made her way downstairs. The kitchen clock read a quarter past nine as she filled the kettle and set about making herself some breakfast. The kettle bubbled away in the corner as she crossed to the window and peered out at the day before her. It was overcast again, but dry. She looked out across the patchwork of fields that spread away from the rear of the house and down to the sea. The house was so quiet, that if she listened really carefully, the faint sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs could be heard. Winnie had never known such silence before, and she thought back to the sounds she had heard in the wind as she had stood in the moonlight.

The kettle clicked off behind her, breaking the silence. She jumped at the sudden sound. Not wanting to dwell on what she thought she had seen and heard in the moonlight for fear of freaking herself out again, Winnie spied an iPod on the side and switched it on. Thumbing through the tracks, she noted that Thaddeus liked to listen to anything from Debussy to Maroon Five. Eventually, Winnie selected from the tracks, Dance Again by Jennifer Lopez. She kept the music low for fear of disturbing Thaddeus.

Swishing her butt from side to side to the music, Winnie fixed herself a steaming mug of coffee and a couple of slices of heavily buttered toast. When given the chance, she only ever toasted her bread on one side beneath a grill, because she loved the way the butter melted on its warm, golden surface and dripped through, making the bread all soft and doughy.

She finished her breakfast, placed her plate and mug in the sink, plucked the iPod from its dock, and put on the hooded coat Thaddeus had told her to wear the night before. With the money that Thaddeus had left on the table for her, she went into the hall. Just as she reached up on tiptoe to release the bolt that fastened the wide front doors shut, she noticed that the door to the lounge was open. Stepping away from the front door, Winnie peered into the lounge. Perhaps Thaddeus had risen early or had yet to go to bed.

“Thaddeus?” she called out.

Silence.

Then, as she stood in the open doorway, Winnie noticed that one of the comfy-looking armchairs had been moved, so it sat side on before one of the giant bay windows. Hanging over the back of the chair was a pretty violet top and a long, black skirt. Winnie stepped into the room and approached the chair. As she drew nearer, she could see that a book had been left perched on the arm of the chair. Picking it up, she turned it over in her hands and read the title.

“The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe,” she read aloud.

Then, as she was about to place the book back on the arm of the chair, a folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages of the book and fluttered to the floor. Winnie picked it up, unfolded it, and read what was scrawled across it.

Winnie,

I hope you don’t think my choice of book is a little too young for you. I know you said that you aren’t the best reader in the world, and I appreciate that you are eighteen years old, but this book is enjoyed by young and old alike. It truly is a magical story.

If you could kindly read from the book at dusk, while sitting in this chair by the window and wearing the clothes that I have left out for you, I would be very grateful.

I know that this may seem like a rather odd request, but I did warn you I had some little eccentricities.

Thank You,

Thad

Winnie read the note twice over, just in case her reading abilities were worse than she first thought and had misread the note left by Thaddeus.

After the second read, she folded the piece of paper in half again, and slid it back between the pages of the book.

“He’s got to be kidding me,” she sighed aloud. “What a freaking weirdo!”

She picked up the violet top and held it against her. Just like all the other clothing she had found, it looked like it would fit perfectly. Sighing, and not knowing what reason Thaddeus could have for wanting her to wear the clothes while sitting and reading the book, she laid the top over the back of the chair and left the room. She released the bolt and swung open the heavy front door. A pile of newspapers, as Thaddeus had mentioned, sat on the front step. They had been bound together with a length of white string. She hoisted them up, leaning to one side due to their sheer weight, and placed them in the hall as Thaddeus had requested. She swung the door shut behind her and made her way down into town.

Chapter Fourteen

Although the sun hung high in the sky like a copper disc, the air was fresh and it pinched her face. Winnie thrust her hands into her coat pockets, and plumes of wispy breath escaped through her mouth. She teetered every now and then on the rough ground, and she wished silently to herself for a little bit of tarmac. She wasn’t used to the country life – not yet. Grey stone walls constructed crudely out of old rock and slate stood on either side of her. The land was broken up by these walls, and cut the fields up into uneven squares. The fields were a patchwork of different colours. Some green with rich, unkempt grass, others yellow-filled with wild gorse and several, a deep mauve with flowering heather. Winnie consumed all its rugged beauty and felt truly free at last.

Part of Winnie was glad that she had come to Cornwall with Thaddeus, but there was another part of her that told her she had made a mistake. It was like a little voice inside of her that just wouldn’t stop whispering. The note which Thaddeus had left for her inside the book hadn’t done anything to gag that voice. Why did he want her to sit in that particular chair, wearing those clothes, and reading that book? But the little voice was telling her it had something to do with Frances - Thaddeus’s dead wife. Winnie knew that Thaddeus didn’t want to speak about Frances, for every time she had raised the subject, he carefully steered her in another direction. She remembered Thaddeus telling her that she looked like his wife in some way.