buildings, even the streets, were darkening, traced through with glowing red embers.
She tried to scream, her mouth wide with terror, vast silent sobs racking her body, but there was nothing to hear but the breeze rustling the grass. She turned back to the hillside and it was darkening faster, marching resolutely towards her. Soon she would be stranded on a miniscule patch of golden turf then engulfed completely.
As the city dissolved into ash, two figures stood in a wide public square. They held hands, motionless, and she could sense rather than see, for they were too far away, that they were her parents. They crumbled slowly, separating into a million shreds of dark dust, which the breeze scattered towards her.
Sandrine screamed again and this time there was sound, a hoarse, piercing cry of desperation, of a pain that seared up from her soul.
She awoke, sitting upright, in her own bed, gasping for breath, whimpering incoherently, drenched in sweat. Heathcliff was at the end of the bed, wary, scared, ready to bolt from the room. She reached out and he crawled into her arms. The contact soothed her but her heart continued pounding for some time afterwards.
The dream didn’t go way, didn’t fade as they usually did. A feeling of foreboding stayed all that day and well into the next.
Chapter Nine
Breakfast was bacon and poached eggs with a few slices of toasted sourdough, orange juice and, later, Earl Grey tea. It was an unusual choice; on most days, she would have something far healthier but Sandrine was ravenous and tired, both from the excitement of the previous evening and the sleeplessness that followed her nightmare.
She ate at the kitchen table, taking her time, picking through the sections of several weekend newspapers and dipping into those articles that caught her eye. Heathcliff was curled up on an adjoining chair, luxuriating in the morning sun. As she’d prepared her own breakfast, she’d finely diced raw beef and placed it in his white porcelain bowl. It was out of character to serve him such a grand meal so early in the day but Sandrine thought she’d owed him a special treat for staying out so late.
Evidently, he forgave her without preamble. Beef was his meat of choice; he had unusual tastes for a cat, especially one she’d rescued from the streets when he was just a kitten. He avoided fresh fish and even chicken, although he was more than happy with the tinned variety. Beef, however, was an entirely different matter. Even cheaper cuts, once trimmed of fat and sinew, brought him running to the bowl, eliciting a purr louder than a diesel engine.
It brought a smile to Sandrine’s face as she watched him. Afterwards, he would forgo his usual preening, jump onto the chair and fall fast asleep.
“Lucky you,” she said quietly to him. “Wish I had your ability to sleep so easily.”
She reached across and lightly stroked his sleek fur. Heathcliff huffed slightly and gave a small, barely noticeable snore.
The nightmare notwithstanding, Sandrine had other things on her mind. The events of the previous evening came back with a startling clarity and she flushed red with acute embarrassment. She was confused and ashamed. How could it all have gotten out of control so quickly? What was I thinking?
It wasn’t the alcohol, although she undertook to watch things very carefully in the future. She felt relaxed and, as the evening progressed, increasingly mellow. She enjoyed Jack’s company immensely but something had taken over. That she was attracted to him went without saying. She’d felt it the moment he entered the shop but she’d never, never, acted on such feelings so rapidly.
It disturbed her every bit as much as it aroused her. She hated the thought that her libido had overridden her common sense and her normally steely self-control. What does he think of me? I’m not easy. I don’t give myself to just anybody. What the hell happened?
She tried to think of a logical reason why she’d
She tried to scream, her mouth wide with terror, vast silent sobs racking her body, but there was nothing to hear but the breeze rustling the grass. She turned back to the hillside and it was darkening faster, marching resolutely towards her. Soon she would be stranded on a miniscule patch of golden turf then engulfed completely.
As the city dissolved into ash, two figures stood in a wide public square. They held hands, motionless, and she could sense rather than see, for they were too far away, that they were her parents. They crumbled slowly, separating into a million shreds of dark dust, which the breeze scattered towards her.
Sandrine screamed again and this time there was sound, a hoarse, piercing cry of desperation, of a pain that seared up from her soul.
She awoke, sitting upright, in her own bed, gasping for breath, whimpering incoherently, drenched in sweat. Heathcliff was at the end of the bed, wary, scared, ready to bolt from the room. She reached out and he crawled into her arms. The contact soothed her but her heart continued pounding for some time afterwards.
The dream didn’t go way, didn’t fade as they usually did. A feeling of foreboding stayed all that day and well into the next.
Chapter Nine
Breakfast was bacon and poached eggs with a few slices of toasted sourdough, orange juice and, later, Earl Grey tea. It was an unusual choice; on most days, she would have something far healthier but Sandrine was ravenous and tired, both from the excitement of the previous evening and the sleeplessness that followed her nightmare.
She ate at the kitchen table, taking her time, picking through the sections of several weekend newspapers and dipping into those articles that caught her eye. Heathcliff was curled up on an adjoining chair, luxuriating in the morning sun. As she’d prepared her own breakfast, she’d finely diced raw beef and placed it in his white porcelain bowl. It was out of character to serve him such a grand meal so early in the day but Sandrine thought she’d owed him a special treat for staying out so late.
Evidently, he forgave her without preamble. Beef was his meat of choice; he had unusual tastes for a cat, especially one she’d rescued from the streets when he was just a kitten. He avoided fresh fish and even chicken, although he was more than happy with the tinned variety. Beef, however, was an entirely different matter. Even cheaper cuts, once trimmed of fat and sinew, brought him running to the bowl, eliciting a purr louder than a diesel engine.
It brought a smile to Sandrine’s face as she watched him. Afterwards, he would forgo his usual preening, jump onto the chair and fall fast asleep.
“Lucky you,” she said quietly to him. “Wish I had your ability to sleep so easily.”
She reached across and lightly stroked his sleek fur. Heathcliff huffed slightly and gave a small, barely noticeable snore.
The nightmare notwithstanding, Sandrine had other things on her mind. The events of the previous evening came back with a startling clarity and she flushed red with acute embarrassment. She was confused and ashamed. How could it all have gotten out of control so quickly? What was I thinking?
It wasn’t the alcohol, although she undertook to watch things very carefully in the future. She felt relaxed and, as the evening progressed, increasingly mellow. She enjoyed Jack’s company immensely but something had taken over. That she was attracted to him went without saying. She’d felt it the moment he entered the shop but she’d never, never, acted on such feelings so rapidly.
It disturbed her every bit as much as it aroused her. She hated the thought that her libido had overridden her common sense and her normally steely self-control. What does he think of me? I’m not easy. I don’t give myself to just anybody. What the hell happened?
She tried to think of a logical reason why she’d
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