Free The Glass Knot-mmf by Lily Harlem

laugh.
    “You
said you had a, er, business proposal, in the note, with the flowers.”
    “Are
the flowers okay? I haven’t sent flowers before. Not a very guy to guy thing to
do in my world.”
    “They’re
beautiful, very extravagant, and from such a posh place.”
    “Only
the best for the only woman in my life.”
    A
silence extended between us. The words not spoken a thousand times louder than
if they had been.
    I had been the woman in his life once, for one night, but not any more, no
longer.
    Just
once.
    “Your,
er, business proposal,” I prompted eventually.
    “Yes,
yes of course. I was wondering if you fancied doing some portrait work. It’s
Nick’s birthday soon, and he was complaining, just the other day, that he had
no photographs of me in his office. Well, I thought I only know one
photographer, and that’s you, so how do you fancy it?”
    Take
pictures of Josh. Hell yes. That would hardly be work. Well, it would be, I
needed the money, but work with the benefit of seeing the most drool-worthy
body ever. “Well, I guess that could be arranged. What were you thinking? A
trip to London?”
    “No.
Actually, I wondered if you fancied coming up here for the weekend. We could do
the pictures, have dinner, drink wine, catch up. What do you think?”
    For
a moment I was spellbound and all I could do was think.
    Me
go and stay with Josh and Nick, at their cottage? Take pictures of Josh, drink
wine, catch up? Really?
    I
glanced around my flat. The smell of damp lived permanently in my nostrils, and
the mold creeping up the corners of the rooms was the most disgusting thing I’d
ever shared living space with.
    “It
sounds like the perfect working weekend,” I said, picking my words carefully.
“I could do your shots, and also I’ve been working on a city life series. It
would be good to compliment it with some village pictures.”
    “Perfect,
that’s all set then. We’ll see you on Friday.”
    “This
Friday?”
    “Yes,
it must be this Friday. Nick’s birthday is next week. I’ll need the picture by
then so I can get it in a frame.”
    “Oh,
okay then.” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. Two more days and I
would be with Josh. Only half an hour ago I’d resigned myself to never seeing
the sexiest gay fireman to have ever walked the planet again, and now, here he
was, giving me directions to his house.
    I
scribbled down his instructions and hoped my old VW would cope with the two-hour
journey. The suspension had been particularly dodgy lately.
    * * * * *
    The
Kendal’s sandstone cottage stood before me. It had a fresh, butter-yellow
thatched roof that was neatly trimmed and rose over five upstairs windows like
sleepy eyebrows. The front door was bright red with a brass letter box and fox
head knocker. The ancient garden wall, constructed of the same pale ginger
stone as the cottage, was pock marked with green lichen.
    Picking
up my battered case, I pushed open the wrought iron gate and stepped onto the
brick path. The heady scent of lupins filled my nose as I walked to the front
door; a hot and heady smell, almost like incense.
    Beating
down a wave of nerves, I announced my arrival using the fox’s head. As I waited
for an answer I glanced at the front garden. The striped lawn was immaculate,
every border manicured and not a weed in sight, just endless vibrant flowers
stretching upward.
    The
door remained shut. My stomach tightened and worry gripped me. I was sure this
was the right house. Barn View, Josh had said, the last house in the village on
Ridgeway Road. I turned and looked back across the street. The sun was
beginning to drop and shadows stretched their long dark fingers over the
rolling green hills that surrounded Little Mickleton.
    I
couldn’t see any barns.
    Stepping
back from the door, I spotted writing etched palely into the brickwork; Barn
View.
    I’m
at the right cottage.
    I
reached for the fox again, but just as my fingers wrapped around its long nose
the door pulled