A/n: Thanks to everyone that has been enjoying this story, I can see that lots of people have been reading but not leaving reviews. Please let me know what you think of this story. Even if it is just to tell me why you won't be reading it again!
Thanks to BelleOfTheBook and Redsock for their reviews - you probably don't realise how much I love getting them and it really encourages me to keep writing.
All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, I'm just having fun with them in Blighty!
It is a blustery day, large white fluffy clouds are floating overhead and it is unseasonably warm, a perfect washing drying day I muse to myself. I try not to wince while hanging out the last few items of washing. Last night's "corrective" beating is still fresh in my mind, the deep belt cuts on my back keep catching on the cotton of my blouse, the pain is almost too much to bear.
The wind whips around my legs making me shiver, the blouse and fitted skirt he put out for me to wear today leaves me exposed and is entirely inappropriate for the chores he has me carry out. I huddle into my oversized cardigan, pulling it closer as though it were a suit of armour, I shut my eyes tightly as I instantly regret the movement. I breathe deeply through the pain that those few swift actions creates. I finish hanging out the washing and dash into the house as quickly as I can in my current state.
Later, as I curl up in the armchair in the living room, my new book resting on my lap I notice a removal van pulling up; it seems the new neighbours might be moving in. I wonder if it is a family, some young children really would be a joy, although I wont be able to interact with them – another of his ridiculous stipulations – at least I might still be able to watch them from afar. James can't give me children, he's infertile, for which I am deeply grateful as I could never knowingly bring a child into the dysfunctional home-life that we have.
I rise from my seat and wander over to the window, peering out through the Venetian blinds, my body in the shadows so that I cannot be caught spying. I observe, two men in uniform get out of the rather large van and wander up the path to the house, they seem to be alone and have a key.
Over the next hour or so, various items of furniture are ferried into the house; a grand oak Welsh dresser, a beautiful mahogany bureau and a wine-bottle green coloured leather studded wingback chair are among the more antique pieces of furniture. Interestingly, there are also some extremely contemporary objects, an Arne Jacobsen chair, an Ashby & Boyle coffee table and a black DecodeLondon coat stand. The final item of furniture they struggle with is an extremely impressive Steinway grand piano. No child-related paraphernalia, nor any members of the new household are present, the move is completely handled by the haulage staff. Sighing I return to the armchair and immerse myself in my book.
It's late, the moonlight shines through the crack in the curtains, and I'm sitting in the window-seat of our bedroom, my forehead rests against the window-pane, the cold glass keeping me awake. I am exhausted, a headache is forming in the back of my head at the nape of my neck, but the cuts and bruises on my back as well as my bedfellow are making it difficult for me to sleep. I tuck my nightgown around my legs and listen to the sound of James snoring – I wish he'd choke on his own tongue. His legs entangle in the blankets as he occupies far more than his fair share of the bed, forcing me to cuddle up to him should I decide to return.
As if accepting my fate I begin to rise, when I hear a car pull up outside. Checking that James is still deeply asleep I settle back down at the window and look out at the car. It's an Aston Martin I can tell that much, but unsurprisingly the model escapes me. My car knowledge only extends as far as the badge and colour. As the engine switches off and the headlights cut-out, the driver's side door opens, even though the light is limited I can make out the form of a tall, slender, muscular man.
He's wearing an army green military style jacket, the moonlight bounces off the brass buttons on the epaulettes. His facial features are impossible to see as a trilby sits atop his head, but I can clearly make out his strong jaw-line, which looks tense almost as though he is clenching his jaw.
He retrieves what looks to be an overnight bag from the car, shutting the boot loudly he quickly glances around as if to see whether anyone heard or is watching. He seems satisfied that he has gone unnoticed and confidently strides up to the house, reaching the front door he disappears from my view. I crane my neck and try to peer out but I can no longer see him. The car beeps and the headlights flash once to confirm that it is locked. I'm unable to see the front door of the neighbour's house, but the soft-click of the door shutting is my indication that the evening's brief entertainment is over.
It seems strange that the new neighbour has chosen to move in under the cover of darkness. I hope that I get to see him tomorrow, I wonder if he lives alone or he is preparing the house for the arrival of his beautiful cosmopolitan wife. Judging by his taste in material goods he clearly has a more than comfortable amount of money.
I pad quietly over to the bed and lie in a foetal position as far from James as the mattress will allow. I sleep without covers as I don't wish to wake him by tugging on them, he'll only want sex, or worse to spoon with me as we sleep, his face and nose burrowed in my hair. I shudder and pray he sleeps through the night without waking.
As I drift off to sleep, I think of possible excuses to strike up a conversation with the neighbour or some reason to pop round. I decide that tomorrow I shall bake him a cake, it's a neighbourly thing to do and a pastime I enjoy. A smile spreads across my face as I will the hours to pass and dream of the potential welcome break from the drudgery of tomorrow.
I kiss James on the cheek, hand him his suitcase and his extra strong coffee in an insulated travel mug as he is making his way out of the front door.
"You seem happy this morning Isabella, I hope this mood continues when I return from work" James comments.
"Oh, it's just such a beautiful day, it puts me in an upbeat mood" I lie, "I think I might give the garden some attention today."
"Just so long as you don't neglect your duties in the house Isabella. I have noticed that some areas are beginning to slip. I shall investigate further tonight and come up with a list of things for you." He leans forward pats my head and turns on his heel. God I bloody hate him sometimes.
"See you this evening James. The same time as usual?" I ask.
"Oh yes, Isabella, the usual time. Let's hope you don't forget this time, I wouldn't want you to spoil this evening for us both by requiring discipline." He sneers, a glint in his eye at the possibility of me screwing something up. He gets in the car and begins to pull out of the driveway as I shut the door.
I skip to the kitchen and begin to bake my world famous Bella's Lemon Drizzle cake. Well, it went down well at the local village fete when James made me bake last year. I only hope the new neighbour likes lemons.
The oven-timer pings letting me know the cake is ready, I set it on the cooling rack, I prick the cake all over and then sprinkle on the sugar, lemon rind and pour over the lemon and sugar syrup. The intoxicating smell of the lemon wafts up at me with the heat generated from the cake. I take in a large breath and look over my handiwork, the cake looks delicious if I do say so myself. I turn the cake out of its spring-form tin and place it in a container, leaving it on the kitchen worktop.
I visit the bathroom and check over my appearance in the mirror, my hair has been blow-dried straight and a little de-frizzing serum helps to calm down the errant hairs. My eyes are shining and my cheeks are a little flushed, I spray on some perfume, it smells of English roses.
I dash to the kitchen, grab the cake and walk out of the front door, closing it firmly behind me. Walking the short length of our garden, I turn left and walk to the neighbour's house. Opening the old wooden gate it creaks loudly on its hinges, I turn and close it behind me whilst juggling with the cake so as not to drop it. I pray that my clumsiness doesn't choose to present itself now.
I stride up to the house and grab the antique looking doorknocker and bang loudly on the door three times. I wait, and look around, the car from last night is still here. On closer inspection I can see that it has a champagne leather interior and what looks to be a very expensive stereo system.
I wait...
And wait...
Where is he? I know he's in, I glance at my watch, it isn't very early surely he can't still be in bed, this is the best part of the day – well I am slightly biased as my favourite part of the day includes any hours that James isn't present for.
I decide to peer through the window and see if there is any movement, perhaps he's had an accident, fallen down the stairs and is lying unconscious at the foot of them in a crumpled heap. God Bella! You need to keep your imagination under control.
Hmm, well it can't hurt to have a little look, I step off the threshold and move closer to the downstairs window to peek through. The windows are very dirty and I have to tiptoe to get a clear view, I can see some of the furniture from yesterday arranged around the living room.
I decide to leave the cake, but I'll write a note to leave with it. Reaching into my apron I retrieve the pen and paper I always carry in case James should call it's useful to be able to write down his mundane requests. I quickly scrawl a note 'Hello Neighbour! Please accept this cake as a welcome to the area, I hope you enjoy it and please call round should you need anything. Regards Isabella Smith' Oh god I had better include that snake of a husband of mine as well. I quickly append '& James Smith' to the end of the note.
I place the cake on the doorstep and use it to weigh down the note. All of a sudden a piano begins to play, the music is dark and macabre. My own sheer nosiness gets the better of me and I decide to sneak another look through the window. I pick up an old piece of log that is lying in the garden and move it closer to the window. Perching on the log I can see much further into the room. There in the middle of the room is the Steinway black Grand Piano, the man from last night is huddled over the piano playing, his slender fingers dance along the keys and his body seems tense, his shoulders hunched. He has his back to me, but I can clearly see his hair, it's unruly and bronze. I know that hair from somewhere! but I can't think where. I press my nose up against the dirty window pane so I can get a better view.
It all happens so quickly, I'm not sure what the cause is, but I suddenly feel the log slip out from underneath me. I grab onto the windowsill and let out a yelp of surprise. My head hits the window, causing a loud bang and the piano playing stops immediately. The man turns and stares out the window. His piercing green eyes meet mine and I stare open-mouthed. It's him! It's E.A.M Cullen!
This is all too much for me, my arms tremble and weaken and I land in a crumpled heap in the long neglected flowerbed.
I shake my head and look-up, feeling my heart-beat quicken, I hear the sound of someone running to the door and yanking it open. Before I have a chance to speak, he runs straight out of the house right into the cake in its container. The cake flips up in the air, almost completes a full somersault and lands upturned on the path, it looks as destroyed as I feel. At exactly the same time E.A.M Cullen trips up and lands flat on his oh so perfect derriere. He turns to glare at me and I recognise the look of pure anger and hatred in his beautiful green eyes. My shoulders slump as I realise it's so much like the look James gets when he is disappointed in me.
He stands and walks over to me "Why the fuck are you on my property?" He fumes breathing heavily, his hands tightly clenched into fists.
"And what the fuck do you think you're doing spying at me through the window?" he rises and begins to stalk towards me, every inch of his body screaming with rage.
I feel the hair on my arms and the back of my neck begin to prickle, I shut my eyes and whimper, wrapping my arms around my legs for protection as I feel him towering over me.
"I came here to get away from the fucking paparazzi and the media." He continues to rant "Not to mention the crazy stalker housewives!" he shakes his head.
"So come on, answer me! Who are you working for? What do you want an exclusive?" He steps closer to me with each accusation.
All of sudden, I feel his strong hands grip my shoulders and he lifts me from the ground, shaking me, as though that will make the answers come forth.
I look up into his eyes and finding the strength from somewhere I manage to speak "please..." I croak.
"Please don't hurt me, Sir."
A/n: Please leave a review, it would be better than a slice of Bella's Lemon Drizzle Cake!