Best Kept Secret

By Elsa Joseph

Natasha Dawson is a lucky woman. Her career as a fashion photographer has taken off magnificently. After her imminent marriage, she will have a stable future to look forward to and a loving husband in the funny and generous Luke Stevens. Everything is very nearly perfect. But her ex-boyfriend has disappeared, and, try as she might, she can't forget about him. Some part of her feels she's about to marry the man of the wrong person's dreams. The other man in her life is handsome, engaging and passionate, and Natasha is deeply in love with him. But he also has a terrible secret, and Natasha may have to risk everything if she wants to uncover it...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elsa Joseph
• Release date: Mar 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463014530

Elsa Joseph

Elsa Joseph is the author of Best Kept Secret and Dylan’s Cosydoze. She gained her writing degree at London South Bank University, UK. From an early age, Elsa had an ambition to be a writer. She often tried her hand at writing by entering writing contests, although little came from her early efforts. Besides her love of writing, Elsa has a passion for theatre and sits on the committee of a community theatre group which promotes new writing and encourages people to go to the theatre regularly. Elsa draws inspiration for her books from travelling, art, theatre, reading and conversations with friends. Living in London proves to be inspirational to Elsa as she sits at her desk in her office where she writes her stories and can merely look out the window at the hustle and bustle of city life to renew her creativity. Elsa strives to make stories with interesting plots and beautiful scenery. Characters with great strengths and weaknesses that readers can identify and fall in love with

Book preview

Elsa Joseph

Best Kept Secret

Smashwords 2020

Best Kept Secret

Copyright © 2020 by Elsa Joseph.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

ISBN: 9780463014530

Index

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 1

Are we there yet? asked Natasha, pretending to be a little girl on a boring car journey.

Won’t be long now, sweetheart, replied Luke in his best fatherly voice. Why don’t you count the cows that we pass or do you want to play I-spy?

They both laughed. They felt happy and relaxed in each other’s company and this was a special day. They were on their way to inspect their wedding venue.

Sliding down in the comfortable leather seat of Luke’s BMW, Natasha closed her eyes and appeared to go to sleep. Luke glanced across at her from time to time, his heart bursting with love for this amazing woman beside him. She was now twenty-seven, at the height of her youth and beauty, and her perfect oval face and flawless coffee-coloured skin showed no sign of the emotional turmoil she’d been through over the past three years. Natasha was of mixed parentage. Her father, Billy Dawson, was an English mechanic from Islington in London who’d fallen head-over-heels in love with Natasha’s mother Ida, a girl from St. Lucia, when he’d attended a breakdown of her rusty old hand-me-down car. The pair were married within the year and Natasha was born almost nine months later to the day, turning out to be an only child amidst a large, loving family of aunts, uncles, cousins and nephews all of whom lived in the surrounding area.

Like his future father-in-law, Luke had also fallen in love at first sight. Driving down the sunlit country lanes of rural Surrey, Luke let his mind wander back to the day when Natasha had first entered his office. She had looked both anxious and confident at the same time – anxious that she’d called in unannounced on the busy Art Director of a top London fashion magazine, yet confident that her shapely figure and long legs set off by the highest of heels were equal to anything possessed by the models in the photographs she was touting. Luke had been impressed by her and her work in equal measure. She was a sexy and desirable woman, yes, but her photographs were damn good too. They showed great flair and originality, two qualities he was always looking for. Yet the thing he remembered most was the way her face flashed when she smiled, showing her stunning white teeth. It was a smile to die for! He had hired her on the spot, commissioning her to make some freelance contributions to start with and then offering her a full-time job when one became available. Luke knew he would marry this woman one day. Now that day was almost here.

Curled up in her seat, her head facing the door, Natasha was not asleep. She was thinking about Luke. He was everything a woman could wish for. He was kind, funny and generous. He loved her unreservedly, remaining faithful and patient during all the ups-and-downs of the past two years. He was handsome in a simple, boyish way. He had sandy-coloured hair, blue eyes and a slightly freckled nose. He looked too young to occupy such an important position, but he’d done such a brilliant job of filling in when the previous Art Director had suffered a heart attack that the management had decided to let him continue. He had not disappointed them, running his department with a firm but light touch. His staff loved him and worked hard for him. By marrying Luke, Natasha knew she would have a secure future - no money worries, a proper home and a loving husband with no vices other than a liking for casual shirts and baggy corduroy trousers that made him look permanently scruffy. Her housemates, Amber and Claire, thought he was gorgeous and would swap places with her at the drop of a hat. So why these continued nagging doubts? It was simple. Luke was not Tony…

A penny for them, said Luke, noticing his fiance shifting slightly in her seat.

If you must know, I was thinking about you, replied Natasha, sitting up and stretching.

Sounds ominous, he murmured.

Oh, poppet, are you looking for a compliment? she chuckled, running her hand round the back of his neck and teasing his hair. I was just thinking, Mr Stevens, how wonderful you are and how you’re the only man for me!

At last, the big saloon swung its long, shiny bonnet through the gates of the ex-country house and crunched its way up the curving, gravel drive. The Ashwood County Hotel was just what you’d expect from a five-star establishment in the heart of the green belt outside London. It had oak panelling in the hall, a quiet atmosphere generated by older, well-bred guests and an enticing smell of expensive carpets mixed with beeswax polish. The manager, Monsieur Auguste, a small Frenchman who reminded Natasha of Agatha Christie’s detective Hercule Poirot showed them round the delightful wedding reception suite and then guided them smoothly to the dining room for lunch.

Table six is reserved for you, madame and monsieur, he crooned, holding out the chairs for them both in turn. I recommend the steak-au-poivre with pommes frites and legumes du jour. It’s the chef’s speciality. C’est magnifique!

Sitting in the bar after their delicious meal, Natasha noticed Luke’s eyes starting to close.

You can’t go to sleep on me here! she protested.

Sorry, babe, I’m not used to eating a big meal at midday. I’m lucky if I can grab a sandwich at my desk. Let me go and splash my face with cold water and I’ll come round. We’ve got to look at the chapel before we go.

Left alone for a moment, Natasha gazed around her opulent surroundings and imagined them filled with her friends and family, all smiling and clapping and throwing confetti as she set off for her honeymoon. It was a heart-warming scene that made her tingle with excitement. And it was only a couple of months away now, yet still it seemed unreal. Would it actually happen? Somewhere deep down within herself, she wondered whether it would.

The chapel in the hotel grounds turned out to be a beautifully preserved Saxon church dating from the mid- Ninth Century. It was small, dark and cold.

I don’t like it in here, whispered Natasha, suppressing a shiver. It smells of death.

I know what you mean, agreed Luke, putting his arm round her waist and holding her close. The weight of past generations bearing down on you and all that, but it won’t be like this on our wedding day, my sweet. It’ll be filled to the rafters with flowers and lit by hundreds of candles. There’ll be music playing and everyone we know and love will be waiting impatiently to see you sweep in through that low door, looking lovelier than any bride that’s ever entered the church before. It’ll be magic – like a fairy-tale, I promise you.

As they took their leave and Luke held the passenger door open for Natasha, he leaned across and kissed her tenderly on the temple.

Sure you like it here? he asked.

It’s perfect, she answered.

And marrying me? Are you sure about that, too? he added.

I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, said Natasha.

* * * * * * *

Amber Burke and Claire Reed shared a big Victorian town house on Richmond Hill with Natasha, each of them renting a floor each. Claire occupied the ground floor flat, including the basement which she used as her studio. She was a graphic designer by day, but her passion lay in painting and she would invariably be found there working on her latest landscape late into the night or all over the weekend. She also kept a small orange and white cat called Kipper who’d wandered in as a stray and never left. Keeping a pet was strictly against the rules, so great pains had to be taken to hide Kipper when the landlady, Mrs Kirkland, made one of her six-monthly inspections. Claire’s flat was always a mess with clothes strewn everywhere and the bed seldom made, but she did not care. She was an easy-going, down-to-earth type with a portly figure, a rounded face and a great mop of frizzy red hair that she could never quite control. Natasha liked her enormously and often sought her advice, valuing her rational and even-tempered take on the stresses of her own difficult life.

Amber’s flat on the floor above could not have been more different from the one below. A teacher at a big secondary school in nearby Kingston-upon-Thames, Natasha’s other housemate had a passion for tidiness and order that almost bordered on the obsessive-compulsive. Her schoolwork was always correctly sorted and filed in the spare bedroom she used as her study. Her kitchen never had a dirty dish in it – in fact, it never had a clean one, either, as she always dried up everything and put it back in the cupboard after every meal. And she often could be heard vacuuming late in the evening, something that drove Natasha mad when she was trying to relax after a long, hard day at the office. But nothing was ever said. For all of her five feet five, Amber was a formidable character with eyes that seemed to know what you were thinking and a manner that told you not to say it. Natasha was a little frightened of Amber and their relationship was more on the surface. But she was a genuine person who cared deeply about her work and her friends. During the long school holidays, when she had no work to drive her, she came across as rather a lonely soul. With her short hair cut into a stylish curve and her trim figure, she was attractive in a dynamic sort of way, but she could never keep a man. She scared them away. So, with Claire also having no boyfriend, the details of Natasha’s complicated love-life were always of paramount importance at No. 26 Richmond Hill Rise.

Natasha’s flat on the top floor was all elegance and simplicity. She believed in having the minimum amount of furniture and ornaments, so much so that when her mum and dad came to see her flat for the first time, they asked her when she was moving in! Amber and Claire loved the subdued lighting and the deep sofa that you sunk into to the point that it was hard to get out of it again. They made it something of a Friday night ritual to gather at around ten o’clock with a couple of bottles of wine and catch up on the week’s gossip and news. Tonight was no exception, only Amber had not yet arrived.

Where is she? asked Natasha, holding out a large glass of Chardonay.

Trying to park her car, replied Claire, rolling her eyes and laughing. Parking was the one thing that Amber could not control. Once she left her space outside the house, someone else would gratefully park in it and she would have to drive round the roads looking for another space. Eventually, she burst in, looking even more harassed than ever.

I only went to Sainsbury’s, she complained, but I’ve ended up parking right up at the top of the hill near the Park gates.

Never mind, said Natasha soothingly, pouring some wine for her as well. Come and sit down and relax. I’ve got something important to ask you two.

Natasha wanted Claire and Amber to be her bridesmaids. They were both delighted, only Claire was a bit anxious about the contrast between herself and Amber.

I’ll look like a horse beside her, she complained.

No, you won’t, retorted Natasha.

Not a horse, agreed Amber. More like a pony!

Then she ducked to avoid being whacked round the head with a cushion.

Later, as the next bottle was being cracked open, the conversation became more serious when Natasha asked if she could borrow Amber’s car on Sunday.

Of course you can, replied Amber. What do you want it for?

I just want to go somewhere, replied Natasha, casually.

Her housemates exchanged concerned glances.

Aren’t you seeing Luke on Sunday? enquired Claire.

No, I told him I was going to visit my folks, answered Natasha, still sounding suspiciously vague.

Is that why you need the car? questioned Amber.

Well, not exactly… murmured Natasha.

Now the other two girls looked at each other, raising their eyebrows and shaking their heads.

You can’t do this, Natasha, snapped Amber.

Why not? she retorted.

Because it’s cheating on Luke! exclaimed Claire.

No, it’s not! protested Natasha. I’ve got to find out what’s happened to him. I can’t marry Luke until I know!

Natasha’s long-term boyfriend, Tony Samuels, had gone missing. He had left Natasha a note saying he needed to find himself, but that was all – no clue as to where he might be going or what he was intending to do.

That was six weeks ago and he had still not reappeared. Natasha was worried sick about him, but she dare not tell Luke who had no knowledge of their long and tortuous relationship that had gone on in secret during his own courtship of Natasha. Her only option was to continue searching for Tony and put her mind at rest that he was all right. In pouring rain that drummed on the roof of Amber’s immaculate Ford Fiesta like thunder, Natasha set off early on Sunday morning to look for her ex. Having already telephoned all the local hospitals and medical centres to no avail, she drove round in person to all the drop-in centres, residential homes and hostels within a thirty mile radius of Richmond. It was tedious, tiring work, particularly as there was a rugby match on at Twickenham and she got caught up in the most horrendous traffic jam. It was also emotionally draining, hoping against hope that each new place visited would yield the result she so passionately wanted - only to have that hope dashed time after time. In the end, Natasha returned to her flat exhausted and heartbroken. There was no sign of Tony anywhere. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth!

* * * * * *

On the day before the wedding, the Ashwood County Hotel was a hive of activity. Monsieur Auguste had delegated his daily tasks to his deputy and had taken charge of the preparations himself, checking the deliveries and swooping from room to room like a mother hen, tut-tutting if anything was not exactly to his liking. Luke’s prediction about the chapel had been correct. Bedecked with banks of colourful flowers, warmly heated and brightly lit, it had turned into a place of enchantment in which the wedding rehearsal went off perfectly. Natasha liked the vicar, an elderly man with a twinkle in his eye who ran through the ceremony with kindness and humour, making her and Luke feel at ease and taking all the dread out of the real thing tomorrow.

Afterwards, Natasha had said goodbye to Luke who was staying with his best man, James Ruskin, at a nearby golf-club. Not having any brothers or being much of a man’s man, Luke had been hard-pushed to find a suitable best man, so he had settled on the advertising manager at the magazine. He got on well with James, so it seemed a logical choice. But Luke did not know him well and was not looking forward to a long evening away from Natasha.

I’m going to miss you, he whispered in her ear as she saw him to his car. Will you miss me?

Not in the slightest, replied Natasha. Mum and dad and the family will all be here for dinner. Then I’ll be with Amber and Claire.

You’re very cruel to me, he sighed.

No, I’m not, chuckled Natasha. Just honest.

Luke pulled her close and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

Yes, he said. That’s one of the million things I love about you – you’re always honest with me.

Luke’s car had just disappeared out of the gates when Natasha’s family arrived, pouring out of their minibus taxi and gazing in awe at the splendour of the hotel.

Blimey! exclaimed her dad. I didn’t realise it was gonna be this posh. That fella of yours must have a bob or two. Do you reckon he’d sub me for a season ticket at the Arsenal? Them prices have gone thorough the roof this year.

Come on, Billy-boy, stop your nonsense and help us in with these bags. scolded Mrs Dawson. You can’t expect our Natasha to be carrying them now, can you?

I’m sure someone from the hotel… began Natasha.

Nah, I’ll do it, luvvie! insisted her father, picking up a suitcase in either hand. There’s life in the old dog yet.

Dinner with her family made Natasha feel even more at her ease. They talked of Islington and all the latest goings-on in their extended family. There was a lot of laughter and fond tears. Her parents could not conceal their pride and excitement that their beautiful daughter was marrying such a fine man in these splendid surroundings.

They kept saying how lucky they were…but Natasha knew, in fact, that she was the lucky one. Just to have two parents nowadays was something quite unusual. To have both of them who still loved each other as much as the day they met was something very special.

Claire and Amber arrived in a flurry of anxiety.

"I said we’d be here by nine, but it’s nearly half-past.

I’m so sorry we’re late, Natasha!" gasped Amber.

Doesn’t matter, chuckled Natasha.

See? I told you, stress-head. grumbled Claire. You need to take a chill-pill, you know. She’s the one getting married, not you!

Having seen her family to their rooms (her father having drunk several after-dinner brandies and being inclined to sing about getting married in the morning, ding-dong the bells are gonna chime in the lift), Natasha returned to the bar for a night-cap with her bridesmaids before turning in herself.

Still no word of Tony? asked Amber.

Nope, answered Natasha, the glow of happiness that had been on her face disappearing in an instant.

So what are you going to do? wondered Claire.

What can I do? said Natasha, shrugging her shoulders.

I tell you what you can do, insisted Amber, raising her glass and motioning the others to do the same. You can forget all about Tony at last, marry Luke and live happily ever after. So here’s the toast. To Luke!

To Luke! repeated Claire and Natasha, clinking all their glasses together.

That night, alone in her luxury room, Natasha could not sleep. Her mind was all over the place. Was she marrying Luke for love or convenience? Did she or did she not still love Tony? In an attempt to find answers to these fundamental questions, she found herself reliving all the dramatic events of the past three years and the extraordinary circumstances that had driven her to be in such conflict on the eve of the most important day of her life.

Chapter 2

It was about four years ago that the story first began. Natasha had just arrived in New York City and was wandering around Washington Square Park in the heart of Greenwich Village on a sunny and mellow autumn afternoon. She felt on top of the world. She was about to start a one-year course in photography at the Tisch School of the Arts, part of the vast and sprawling University of New York that occupied most of this ancient area of the city. She had got there by merit, winning an overseas scholarship that was advertised in The Guardian and wowing the American interviewing panel at their UK overseas office near her home in central London with her charming photos of people going about their everyday lives in Hyde Park. It was a dream-come-true, an opportunity of a lifetime that she intended to exploit to the max by attending every lecture and working really hard. She could not wait to get started, though the term did not begin for another fortnight or so.

Photography had always been Natasha’s passion.

Ever since, as a child, she’d found an ancient Brownie camera in the attic and spent all her pocket money buying a film for it, she had been taking photographs – and really good ones at that. She had a natural artistic eye for the shape and symmetry of each shot. More importantly, she instinctively chose subjects whose characters could be brought out by her photos. The result was that every picture she took looked interesting. Other people took snaps; she made portraits, told stories and captured special moments. Her talent had been recognised by Mrs Hobbs, one of the teachers at her secondary school who ran an after- school photography club. Looking at Natasha’s clever and telling pictures of her family and friends, she’d said :

You have a great future in photography, young lady, if you get the chance to develop your abilities.

Now Natasha had that chance and was determined to make the most of it. A career as a fashion photographer was her aim. Taking pictures for a living would not feel like work. It would be like getting paid for indulging in her hobby.

The years between school and this scholarship had been dull and unrewarding. She had not gone to Sixth Form College, choosing to leave school and go to work instead. She had begun as a basic sales assistant in Marks & Spencer, but was soon promoted to becoming assistant shop designer and then chief designer in her local Islington branch. Her success (and her rapidly blossoming good looks) made her unpopular with the other girls, so she was never very happy at work. Nor did she succeed in finding a regular boyfriend with whom to share her leisure time. She went through a series of unsatisfactory relationships with boys from work and from her peer-group that met up on Friday and Saturday nights, gaining some sexual experience but never really finding any love. So she was still very much on the lookout for a proper partner. At the same time, whenever she’d found a gap in her working and social life, she had continued to take photographs and they continued to get better and better. This was the one thing that gave her confidence in herself.

Wandering back towards Washington Square Village, the huge student residence like a giant block of flats where she had her spacious single room, her mobile phone rang.

Hi, mum! she said, turning away from a line of orange and red-leafed trees to get a better reception. Yes, I’m settling in okay. No, I’m not lonely. Of course, I miss you guys, but I’m not feeling homesick, really I’m not. I’m a big girl now, remember. I’m twenty-four soon. No, I haven’t met anyone special. I haven’t met anyone at all, in fact, other than the girl in the room next to mine. She’s called Amy. She’s from Brooklyn right here in New York and she’s very kind. Listen, mum, I’d better go. This call’s costing you a fortune and it’s teatime over here, so it must be getting late with you. Don’t ring me again – I’ll ring you. And please stop worrying about me. I’m fine!

Popping her mobile back into her bag, Natasha felt a pang of emotion at the lies she’d just told her mother. She was very excited about her course but, at the same time, she felt desperately alone and anxious in this noisy, fast-moving and overcrowded city. Everything was so expensive! She knew for a fact that, at the rate she’d been spending since she arrived, her student loan and her paltry savings would not be enough to see her through until Christmas, let alone the rest of the academic year. What would she do if she ran out of money? Her parents had none to spare, so she could not ask them. It was something that