An Elegant Frame

By Claudie Banks

An Elegant Frame is the first in the series following Celia Moss, a seasoned musician and avid hiker in her adventures in the UK, single once again, vibrant and cautious. Her subsequent rise to popularity in the local music scene eventually brings scandal into her life. An unexpected romance with an elegant Englishman challenges her foresworn independence.

Share with Celia her discovery of British national parks, memorable music events, musician rivalry and world of crime. Enjoy her sensual romance with Henry, and try to have faith when circumstances challenge them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claudie Banks
• Release date: Apr 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370492213

Claudie Banks

I love to write and I love adventure - particularly when I am finding it on foot! So yes, I am an avid hiker as is the protagonist in my new series that follows Celia Moss. My home is on the Southeast Coast of the United States, so when I am not traveling to mountain terrain to hike, I am enjoying beach life and saltwater marshes. One of my favorites is captured on video - available on my Facebook page. A good friend created music for it and you might enjoy the thrill that Nature gives us daily. ClaudieBanksAuthor.

Book preview

Prologue

Oftentimes, on the weekend afternoons, he would take his digital reader to the spacious bedroom, kick off his shoes and recline against the big, firm pillows on the bed and read case notes and updates. The sun rays sifted through the trees and offered soft light through the windows.

She was never far behind and would curl herself just a foot away on the big bed and nap, not wanting to disturb him and desiring to be near him.

Some days he would submit to his desire for her, locking the reader, and drawing her into his embrace. The soft light then seemed to cocoon them in gentleness and secrecy.

And then there were days when he read a while, and then relaxed into just watching her, loosely curled and facing away, her muscled legs extended and bent at the knees, her hip bone pushing against the soft fabric of her pants, her pale colored toenails hinting at her preference for classic elegance. The expensive tank top hugged her torso, and her bare arms reflected her athleticism. Invariably the tank slipped up and her lower back drew his attention, moving on the flow of her breath. She always responded to him kissing her there.

Her loose brown curls seemed to spill out in every direction like a volcano sprouting a soft vanilla aroma, and he would breathe that in, breathe her in, pleasure and completeness spreading through him.

He wanted to remember those moments forever. Because of the charges against her, those times here with her might be over.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

This story began when I posted a couple of films on a popular internet sight, using my maiden name, Celia Moss. The first film was specific to US National Parks, including photos, film, and natural sound bites linked together with spacious and original music that I had created in my personal recording studio.

The second film, with drone footage, started getting some hits and I followed with two more films—enough to gain some high rate viewing and commercial notice. Soon I was seeing my shared clips here and there and even received some praise from the US National Park Service.

Putting together a new home for myself in North Carolina was becoming enjoyable, and good fortune seemed to follow me with some professional acclaim, small contract proposals and remuneration finally in my late fifties, and single once again.

My new location seemed perfect because it was in a mountain community with a lot of beauty, great hiking opportunities, a seasonal climate, and the Brevard Music Center. My daughter and her family lived in a college town only two hours away. Visits here or there with her, her husband and my granddaughter were now more frequent, and usually included some outdoor event or discovery.

After three weeks of becoming acquainted with people in the condo community and around town, I attended an orchestral event at the music center and met a local violinist. She was classically trained in her instrument, as I was in piano, and responded positively to my suggestion that we meet at my condo and jam together. We were not much alike, but as is often true of musicians, once we came together within the music, we synched well.

A week later she brought along an acoustic bass player, and again, our skills were comparable and the music was good. It was challenging for me to enter new social situations in a still new environment, but a part of me knew I would survive best by making effort in the areas that I loved, and music was definitely at the top of my list.

We rehearsed together on three occasions before Sylvia, the violinist, committed us to a hotel nearby for a cocktail party in their main salon, and that event propelled us into routine weekly performances at the same hotel. Our program was mostly classical with some classic rock and show tunes. The pay was decent and I enjoyed matching my musicianship with them, especially in the evenings, when I felt most alone.

I began to relax then and filled my days with gym workouts or hiking, musical creations written to film, and rehearsals with the combo. Visits with my daughter and granddaughter occurred at least twice a month and the family presence was strong and encouraging. I felt fortunate with my newly created life and also knew that the luck was there because, for the first time in my life, I was looking out for me.

One morning I received a message from the video hosting sight, passing along a user comment. Hi. My name is Steven Cowart and I have a contract for soundscapes composed for film with the British Park Heritage Commission. I like your work and would like to talk with you about a possible collaboration. Please respond to this address. The email address followed and I noted the Cowart Productions in London. I spent some time researching Steven Cowart and checking out his music credits. He had a small band as well, named Paleo, which seemed to me a puzzling name. Included was a list of their upcoming events, and enthusiastic comments from a small following.

I responded to the email and it wasn’t long before we were sending music files and working on the project with surprising ease, until the track sizes grew too large and the distance links ultimately became inefficient. The project gained more interest with the Commission, who then expanded it, and Steven offered to fly me over to London to work with him in his studio for a month, beginning early March.

I was stunned and excited to say yes and begin packing. An old conflict surfaced immediately in my psyche however—accepting an invitation that furthered my interests, or avoiding the discomfort of disappointing others, and staying, gratefully, where I was. Thankfully, I had learned, during the last couple of years, to follow the good feeling and to say yes to beautiful invitations. They must be beautiful! This one was, and it was only for a month.

I called my daughter, who shared my excitement and the combo became a duo. I packed my bags, locked up the condo, and soon was airborne for the UK. Excited thoughts precluded any sleep—living and working in a new place, discovering a new city, a new country, a new monetary system? I would be meeting all this alone, my physical presence and my skills open to a new community. Along with the excitement came the self-doubt regarding my skill, my age, finding my way, and being far from the close family presence. Thankfully it all stopped when the wheels touched down.

Chapter 2

Steven and his wife, Elle, met me at Heathrow. His head shot was on his production website, so I recognized him instantly with his thick, premature grey hair and his attractive face. He was actually the same height as his wife, Elle, and she was a beauty—a home décor wholesaler and ex-model. She came gliding toward me with a big smile, holding her husband’s arm.

Mine had been an evening flight and it was 9:00 am in London when I arrived, so we picked up my bags and they took me to a lovely cafe for breakfast and to become acquainted. Steven and I had talked often by phone, FaceTime and email, so it was easy to continue dialogue about many things with him.

It was hard not to stare at Elle with her bright, beautiful face, her long thin body, her pixie haircut and wonderful clothes. She was warm as well and laughed a lot, asking minimal but meaningful questions.

Stephen’s mobile rang and he rose from the table to take the call outside, and Elle responded with enthusiasm to my questions about their family. She spoke of Eric, age fifteen, who was quiet and a real computer geek, Madeline, age thirteen, who was extroverted, creative and likes being with me for as long as that lasts, and Callum, age ten, who loved sports and was mischievous. And we have two crazy dogs! She finished with a laugh.

Breakfast was delicious and then we headed to Sandringham Road to the studio for a tour, and on to the one-bedroom flat they had rented in Mayfair for me. On the way we stopped for groceries I might need. They delivered me to the flat with my bags and my groceries and a small digital piano, and we made a plan for the following day, and Steven would pick me up around noon.

Elle had set up everything in the flat to make my stay here easy—a train schedule, a detailed map of London, exquisite toiletries and towels in the bathroom. As I walked through it, appreciating all the fine touches, I thought about the two of them, judging them to be in their early forties, and knowing that both had substantial and successful careers with a home in the suburb of Sevenoaks.

After they left I texted Brooke, my daughter, and Alex, my son, to let them know I was situated and safe, and then began to walk through my new space.

The flat was small with pale gold walls throughout, and the trim paint might have been named snow. The soft pile carpeting appeared new and was a weave of soft cream and browns. This was what met me when I opened the door to my temporary home, a small hall tree to my right, and soft light inhabiting everything before me.

From this third floor space three long windows, dressed in linen sheers, looked out toward the park in the distance from the living room. The furniture here was a little dated and comfy—a nutty brown sofa with white piping, a linen side chair, modern glass tables, mismatched lamps with white shades, and a large glass coffee table piled with books on Britain and one on Hyde Park.

There was an office nook with white shelves and cabinetry, just right for the digital piano—a place where I could work.

From the entrance, I could turn to my left and face a small kitchen, again with white cabinetry and new, stainless appliances. A small cooking island separated the kitchen from a dining space just big enough for a round table and four rosewood chairs with faded upholstered seats in a flowered pattern.

I walked through the doorway beyond that to the bedroom and smiled. The long wall to my right was all closets with white louvered doors. The far wall held a painting and the door to the bath. To my left was a queen sized bed with a cream-colored, tufted headboard and plain, nice linens. There were glass-topped tables on either side of the bed with matching lamps in gold metal with white shades. A draped window was behind each table. In the corner directly to my left sat a slipcovered chair, the cover a botanical print, and closest to the door where I stood was a tall oak chest. I could tell that I would sleep well here, particularly since I had brought my beautiful Hawaiian quilt, soft and colorful piecework on one side, silk on the other.

I crossed the carpet through this wonderful room into the adjoining bath with its white cabinetry, and earth-toned tile. Eight chocolate-colored bath towels that Elle had left were stacked on the wide vanity with the generous assortment of toiletries. The small shower with its glass door was to the left, and the toilet was to the right of the vanity with its large mirror. It was simple with no tub, and perfect for me for this next month!

Elle had left two bottles of wine and a corkscrew on the counter with some simple condiments. The bags from the market held good bread, salad, eggs, coffee and vegetables, so I fared well that evening and slept better than expected, a little excited maybe. Setting the alarm seemed prudent, since I wasn’t adjusted to London time, and the morning was wonderful in my new place. I even managed a walk around the building, observing the beauty of Hyde Park only a short distance away.

Chapter 3

Steven picked me up, as planned, and pointed out the Underground entrance stations between my flat and Sandringham Road. When we arrived at the studio he pointed to the nearest entrance station there as well.

Once at the studio, Steven presented all the film sent to him in this first national park project. The featured park was the Pembrokeshire Coast with its dramatic coastlines, rock pools, beaches, flowery coastal paths and the Green Bridge of Wales. It was stunning topography and displayed for me the big picture. Steven presented to me his detailed vision for this first project and he asked me what my instinct suggested as I looked at the footage.

My answer was direct and without hesitation, because of my experience with my own park soundscapes, and I felt empowered by that and by the trust this highly skilled musician was placing in me. His acknowledgement and respect earned him the best I could give. It also helped me focus all my wide-eyed excitement in being and working in London!

We then pulled up tracks that we each had sent the other and began to work them in real time and toward alignment with the videographer’s artistry. It was so much easier and the tracks began to take shape as we worked all that afternoon, with only a break for sandwiches and tea. Oh, well, that is where I would have to get used to Britain—the tea! I did drink the tea that day, ever so grateful for this opportunity!

The next two days passed similarly and I was floating on the shared, creative process, going and coming by public transportation and loving my independence and all the discovery. I gave myself a lot of time to get to the studio so that I could sightsee on the way, and it was dark before I arrived home many evenings for the same reason, and because it was winter and damp! Gathering my coat tighter to my body I realized that at least some of my fear was evaporating. I was surviving; I was learning; my composer skills were being valued.

On Friday afternoon Steven’s band arrived. Edward, the engineer, invited me to sit with him in the mixer room while they practiced. They didn’t have a lot to say to me until after rehearsal and introductions. Steven was the lead guitarist and supplied the vocals. He held the electric guitar in his hands as if it were a part of him and surprised me with his melodic and rugged voice, articulating the lyrics with command. There was no mistaking who had control here.

Digby Jones, with his dark skin, ragged T-shirt, bulging muscles and huge smile, played drums as if it was all he wanted to do in life—laid back and accomplished, keeping the rhythm tight.

Charlie Lightman, who played backup guitar and anything else with strings, was quiet and gifted. Standing today in a pair of old tweeds and a turtleneck, his fingers flew through the frets while the light bounced off his balding head, and he held his tongue in the corner of his mouth. He was one of those guys who can play anything, the backbone of a good band.

Alan Duller in his boots and tight jeans with dark, graphic tattoo ink peeking out beneath his shirt cuffs, played bass and was solid and simple with his lines. Almost rhythmically he would shake his dark hair out of his face, revealing dark eyes and a thin, set mouth.

Learning all the band’s music before coming to Britain had been a priority for me, and when Steven asked me to play on an encore number, I left the mixing room and connected the keyboard into the input panel. I added simple chords and figures to their track, and overall they seemed impressed. It was a good time we had and took our party down the street to the pub where Elle met us.

That evening I belonged in a group of musicians that mostly acknowledged me