Chapter 25
The stinging on her neck from the salt water was easing now, and it felt pretty good, Isabel thought, clambering into the bath trying not to shiver at the cool temperature. She took a deep breath and submerged herself up to her chin in the water, glad she’d had the foresight to put a shower cap on. She didn’t want her hair getting wet; it would be her luck the herbs would set off some strange reaction with the colour. As her body adjusted to the temperature, she relaxed beginning to drift.
In her mind’s eye, she conjured up a symphony. They were waiting for her to come on stage, Isabel cast around, where was she? Oh, there she was stepping out from the wings draped in a fabulous silver gown. The dress shimmered beneath a moonlit sky and moved to the rhythm of her steps. The fabric rippling like cascading water as she glided confidently across the stage bearing an uncanny resemblance to Celine Dion but with green hair. Andre Bocelli stood spotlighted in his white tuxedo, looking impossibly handsome and Isabel took his outstretched hand before whispering in his ear.
A cheer went up from the crowd who were reclining on picnic blankets, the sweet scent of the Tuscan grass tickling their senses as bottles of wine were drunk, and cheese platters indulged in. The eager audience had been waiting all night for this moment, hers and Andre’s duet.
The cheering grew to a jungle-like roar in its power, as Andre leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. They waited for an age for the sound to die down and then as it ebbed, Isabel opened her mouth and, submerged in a bath full of horsetail tea, she began to sing.
Her voice rose carrying itself up and over the notes of the hauntingly, beautiful, “The Prayer.” She could hear her favourite Italian singer’s wonderfully rich voice as clearly as if he was there singing alongside her—not soaking with her in the bath obviously. She hadn’t taken complete leave of her senses. Besides he was a happily married man and she would never do that to another woman. Isabel enjoyed the sensation of effortlessly climbing to the highest pitch. It was an otherworldly feeling of her voice almost not belonging to her, as the purity of a note soared free. It was why she loved to sing.
The acoustics in the bathroom were pretty good, she thought, launching into “Time to Say Goodbye”, the shampoo bottle an improvised microphone. By the time she climbed out of the bath despite the water being stone cold, she felt amazing. Euphoric, almost. Singing did that for her. It lifted her to a higher plane if only for a little while. She gave a little bow to the empty bathroom before pulling the plug and wrapping herself in a towel.
Her neck looked better already she decided, wiping a patch of condensation off the mirror and peering at it. She scooped a blob of honey from the pot and plastered it onto the patch. Next, she daubed it on the pesky area inside the crook of her arm. Isabel twisted this way and that, but so far as she could see, she hadn’t come out in any hideous spots.
Yes, it had been worth all the palaver, she decided straightening up the bathroom before swishing out the bath until she was satisfied there would be no tell-tale brown rim left behind. Her clothes lay in a pile where she’d stepped out of them, and scooping them up a sprinkle of sand fell like fine drizzle to the floor. She’d sweep up the remains of her walk on the beach in a bit but first things first, she needed some fresh clothes to change into. Her jeans, she remembered, were on the clothes rack in the sitting room drying out.
‘Oh, you startled me.’ Isabel jumped at the sight of Rhodri who was standing in the kitchen. He was pouring boiling water into his teacup and remembering her state of undress she clutched at the towel with her spare hand.
‘Sorry about that, I called out, but you mustn’t have heard me. I popped upstairs to make a brew, and I wanted to know how you got on with Constance today.’ He turned away fishing the teabag out of the cup, but not before she saw the amused look on his face.
She took the opportunity to scoop her jeans up off the rack ‘It was her, but she didn’t give anything away,’ Isabel said, before hot-footing it back up the stairs to her bedroom.
‘You’ve got a great voice by the way,’ he called after her.
Isabel closed her bedroom door and leaned her head against it, realising, as she did so, that she still had the shower cap on. Oh well, if she was going to make a complete prat of herself, she might as well do a proper job it. There was a lot to be said for living alone, she decided pushing away from the door and digging out a clean T-shirt to wear with her jeans. She debated hiding out in her room until Rhodri had returned to the gallery but decided she’d better face the music.
‘I meant it you know. You do have a lovely voice,’ Rhodri said, as she reappeared fully clothed and minus the shower cap this time. He frowned putting down the packet of digestive biscuits he’d just opened and tapped the side of his neck. ‘You’ve something there.’
Her hand inadvertently flew up to her neck and connected with the honey she’d slathered on after her bath. She looked at the sticky mess
