remained as close as their conflicting commitments would allow. Surprisingly, they'd hardly ever considered each other as rivals, for in spite of both being beauties and sharing the ambition to write, they'd never had the same taste in men, and Julia knew very well that to begrudge Sylvia her success as an author would certainly do nothing to enhance her own. Besides, she was far too fond of Sylvia to wish her anything but good, and was even delighted by the added success she'd been enjoying lately with her highly unusual ceramics. It was why she'd taken this bijou mews house in Notting Hill, to be in a more bohemian environment, which Julia found both amusing and intriguing, for Sylvia, with her haute-couture wardrobe and aversion to even the slightest muddle, had always been the epitome of Chelsea chic and stylish living up till now.
'You'll get through this,' Sylvia assured her, 'you love each other too much not to.'
Liking the sound of that, Julia watched as she pulled the cork from the bottle, and thought how lovely she looked in the sunlight that was
streaming through the open French windows. It was turning her long, silky blonde hair to a silvery mane, and shrouding her in the kind of light that made Julia understand why some referred to her as the ice maiden, for everything about her seemed impenetrably cool and collected, and aloof almost to the point of disdain. Julia knew, however, that passions ran very deeply beneath that perfect facade, for Sylvia's love affairs had been many and tempestuous, and if there was a lover who'd been willing to let her go when she'd decided to move on, Julia was at a loss to remember him now.
'Is Pauline still joining us?' Julia asked, reaching into a cupboard for glasses as Sylvia made ready to pour.
'As far as I'm aware,' Sylvia replied. 'She should be here any minute,' and after filling three glasses she handed one to Julia before picking up another for herself.
'I miss seeing you,' she said, gazing directly into Julia's eyes. 'You don't come often enough ... OK, I know you have demands on you, but you really ought to take more time for yourself. You look in need.'
Julia sighed and grimaced. 'I feel it,' she confessed, 'and believe me, there's nothing I'd like more than to come here for at least two weeks to indulge myself in us, being a woman, pretending to be a writer ...'
'Is there any news about your book?' Sylvia cut in gently.
Julia assumed a defeated smile, and clinked their glasses. 'Let's drink to you,' she said, 'and be thankful that at least one of us is living the dream.'
Sylvia was about to respond when the doorbell ring. 'It'll work out,' she said, giving Julia's hand a quick squeeze, 'I know it will,' and putting her glass down she crossed the open-plan living room to buzz Pauline in through the workshop downstairs.
As Julia watched her, she was admiring the shimmering turquoise wrap that seemed to float behind her like a cloud and the matching bikini underneath that sat so smoothly on her slender hips and over her neat, unpretentious breasts that it might almost have been a part of her. Then with no small dismay she found herself reflecting on how long it had been since she'd felt that willing to show off her figure, even though the dress she was wearing now complemented it and her legs quite beautifully - she was just lacking the confidence to exploit it, the way she used to.
On returning to the kitchenette Sylvia began unwrapping the tapas she'd picked up at the deli, while Julia carried plates and cutlery out to the small roof terrace where the table was already partly laid. 'Is Pauline seeing anyone at the moment?' she called back over her shoulder.
'Not that I'm aware of,' Sylvia answered. 'She didn't mention anything when we spoke last night, but you know Pauline, everything could have changed between then and now.'
Smiling, Julia stepped back into the room, and was about to return to the kitchenette when she spotted a large, harp-shaped porcelain
'You'll get through this,' Sylvia assured her, 'you love each other too much not to.'
Liking the sound of that, Julia watched as she pulled the cork from the bottle, and thought how lovely she looked in the sunlight that was
streaming through the open French windows. It was turning her long, silky blonde hair to a silvery mane, and shrouding her in the kind of light that made Julia understand why some referred to her as the ice maiden, for everything about her seemed impenetrably cool and collected, and aloof almost to the point of disdain. Julia knew, however, that passions ran very deeply beneath that perfect facade, for Sylvia's love affairs had been many and tempestuous, and if there was a lover who'd been willing to let her go when she'd decided to move on, Julia was at a loss to remember him now.
'Is Pauline still joining us?' Julia asked, reaching into a cupboard for glasses as Sylvia made ready to pour.
'As far as I'm aware,' Sylvia replied. 'She should be here any minute,' and after filling three glasses she handed one to Julia before picking up another for herself.
'I miss seeing you,' she said, gazing directly into Julia's eyes. 'You don't come often enough ... OK, I know you have demands on you, but you really ought to take more time for yourself. You look in need.'
Julia sighed and grimaced. 'I feel it,' she confessed, 'and believe me, there's nothing I'd like more than to come here for at least two weeks to indulge myself in us, being a woman, pretending to be a writer ...'
'Is there any news about your book?' Sylvia cut in gently.
Julia assumed a defeated smile, and clinked their glasses. 'Let's drink to you,' she said, 'and be thankful that at least one of us is living the dream.'
Sylvia was about to respond when the doorbell ring. 'It'll work out,' she said, giving Julia's hand a quick squeeze, 'I know it will,' and putting her glass down she crossed the open-plan living room to buzz Pauline in through the workshop downstairs.
As Julia watched her, she was admiring the shimmering turquoise wrap that seemed to float behind her like a cloud and the matching bikini underneath that sat so smoothly on her slender hips and over her neat, unpretentious breasts that it might almost have been a part of her. Then with no small dismay she found herself reflecting on how long it had been since she'd felt that willing to show off her figure, even though the dress she was wearing now complemented it and her legs quite beautifully - she was just lacking the confidence to exploit it, the way she used to.
On returning to the kitchenette Sylvia began unwrapping the tapas she'd picked up at the deli, while Julia carried plates and cutlery out to the small roof terrace where the table was already partly laid. 'Is Pauline seeing anyone at the moment?' she called back over her shoulder.
'Not that I'm aware of,' Sylvia answered. 'She didn't mention anything when we spoke last night, but you know Pauline, everything could have changed between then and now.'
Smiling, Julia stepped back into the room, and was about to return to the kitchenette when she spotted a large, harp-shaped porcelain
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