Hayley woke up with a jump, surrounded by darkness, then she started to shiver. Her legs felt numb and she winced as she straightened her back. She fumbled for her bedside light but couldn’t find it. Then she remembered. Chris’ house. And he’d be returning soon.
As her brain became less jumbled and her senses returned, she realised her eyes were covered with something. She slid it away and groaned as the light coming in through a crack in the curtains hit her eyes, then closed them tight for a second. She opened them again, slowly this time, and looked at the object she’d pulled off her face; a black, silk sleep mask with a crimson strap.
‘Where the hell?’ she said out loud as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, sending the bottle that had been lying next to her spinning across the floor.
Hell it was most certainly not. And it wasn’t Chris’ bedroom either. She was lying on a thick white mat on the floor of the biggest bathroom she’d ever seen.
Hayley rubbed her eyes. Twin sinks that were at least five feet apart and a cabinet above them, equally wide, caught Hayley’s eye first. Then she noticed the spacious glass shower and a cast-iron, claw-foot bath, under which the bottle had disappeared. Soft, plush-looking towels with HG embroidered on them were stacked neatly on built-in shelves. Natural light streamed in through the large, frosted windows.
Where the hell am I? Buckingham Palace?
Hayley winced again as she tried to get up, deciding to stretch out her legs instead. Her toes touched the warm, charcoal-coloured tiles that covered the floor. She looked at her feet, registered the perfect French manicure but couldn’t fathom when she’d had them done.
Her eyes moved to the dressing table with its neatly arranged make-up brushes and pots of high-end creams.
As she got up, she instinctively put her hands to her body and looked down at the ivory nightdress that stopped an inch above her knees.
‘What on earth …?’ Hayley made her way towards the open door leading out of the bathroom, not daring to look left or right. She found herself in a room with a king size bed that had dark-green satin sheets and pillows that resembled giant, springy marshmallows. It all reminded her of The Princess and the Pea fairy tale she’d read to Millie dozens of times.
A pristine, beige suede ottoman, which looked like it had never been used, was at the foot of the bed. Across from that, at least fifteen feet away, was a large, solid, wooden desk with two drawers and silver, lion head handles, and a crystal bauble table lamp with a teal lampshade. The abstract, multi-coloured painting hanging above the desk reminded Hayley of the swirly lollipops she and Ellen used to buy for ten pence from Mrs. King’s World of Sweets.
In front of a prominent bay window to the right was a stylish, beige chaise-longue with emerald green cushions complete with a sparkling sequinned peacock design. Green, raw silk, half-open curtains graced the windows and the walls were painted an elegant cream that matched the chaise-longue. Hayley felt her feet disappear up to her ankles in the off-white carpet.
How did I get here? Where is here? And what time is it?
Hayley spotted a little gold clock on one of the bedside table. Five minutes to nine. She grabbed a small plastic water bottle next to the clock and took a big swig.
‘Argh!’ She coughed and spluttered. It tasted like gin.
Apart from the bathroom door she’d just come through, there were two others that led out of the room. Hayley rubbed her eyes again, then crept back over to the bathroom, gently opened the closed door next to it, felt around for the light switch and flicked it on.
‘Bloody hell!’
She entered the mother of all wardrobes, fitted with sleek white shelves and cupboards. There were rows upon rows of neatly organised clothes: trousers, skirts, long dresses, short dresses, cocktail dresses, blouses, tops, sweaters. Six wide drawers were filled with exquisite underwear in a range of striking colours and fabrics: lace, satin, silk. And then there were shoes; high heels, kitten heels, sandals, boots, and to the left of those was a rack of handbags.
Hayley noticed the labels on the tiny dresses. Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, Armani, Thierry Mugler – stuff that wouldn’t fit her if she didn’t eat for a year.
But then she went to pick up one of the dresses and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.
‘Jesus Christ alive!’ Hayley covered her mouth with her hand.
She moved closer to the mirror, her eyes darting up and down her reflection.
I look … amazing. So … thin. Good grief. I’m … I’m flipping gorgeous.
No longer cut in the cropped bob from the previous day, her hair now fell in soft waves past her shoulders. Its rich chocolate brown colour and the golden highlights reflected the sophisticated lighting in the wardrobe.
Even though her nightdress covered most of her body, Hayley could tell by the way it skimmed her hips and stomach that she was slimmer than she’d ever been. Hesitant at first, she slipped the spaghetti straps of her nightdress over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
Oh my god. Look at my boobs.
Her breasts were large, and as gravity-defying as a teenager’s. Hayley cupped them in her hands and when she squeezed gently, her nipples sprang to attention.
She continued to assess herself in the mirror, her hands gliding over her skin. Her stomach felt as flat and smooth as the tiles beneath her feet and when she clenched her stomach, she saw what she hadn’t had in decades. Abs.
As she tensed her muscles she stretched out a long, lean, smooth leg and ran a hand over her beautifully round bum that felt softer than a peach, utterly devoid of the dreaded cottage cheesy cellulite. She’d been waxed senseless too – her legs, under her arms and her bikini line, or what was left of it, considering it could now be confused with Hitler’s moustache.
A sudden knock on the bedroom door made her grab her nightgown.
‘Are you up yet?’ It was a male voice.
‘Yes of course,’ she answered, dressing in a frenzy as she heard the bedroom door open.
The voice came closer. ‘It’s about time. I brought you today’s paper, I’ll put it on your bed. We leave in two hours for the Fitzpatrick’s reception. I don’t suppose you’ll have a solid breakfast.’
‘Wait,’ Hayley said as she ran out of the wardrobe. ‘Where am …?’ The words caught in her throat because, standing in front of her, was Ian Graham.