Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 73

Thirty-One Years Ago

She's tall and slim, although still filling out, and she's beautiful, in the way of young girls. Not sophisticated. Not worldly. But beautiful.

Her features are still half-formed. Not those of a child, but without the definition of a mature woman. Her face is still a little round. Cheek-bones which will one day be high have yet to fulfil their promise. The freckles on her cheeks may one day vanish, but now they sit scattered over pale skin.

But the eyes….

Sea-green….

Jade-green….

In sun or shadow, their shade changes; depthless emeralds, flecked by spring leaves or grass, rimmed with a dark circle and framed by lashes which oddly, are much darker than her hair.

Once orange-red, her long tresses have matured to a burnished copper-gold with the sun glinting in the highlights, and lowlights of deep bronze.

Shelley stands, gazing at her brother's frames, running her fingers over the glass which protects its bejewelled occupants….

Captives?

Prisoners?

A tomb….

She reads the labels: Hesperiidae…. Lycaenidae…. Riodinidae….

Gossamer wings, some in metallic blues and golds, other copper or burnished orange, some almost transparent, others in a green which rivals the glorious eyes of the watcher. All rest there, neatly pinned, displayed, categorised and named.

“Don't touch the frames, Shelley. You'll get fingerprints on the glass, then I'll have to clean them again.”

She snatches her fingers away. “Sorry, Stevie.” And she scurries out.

“Stephen, for God's sake, give her some air will you.” David looks exasperated.

“What's your problem? I just asked her not to make a mess of my exhibits. What's wrong with that?”

*****

“Stephen, have you seen Shelley?”

“Probably doing her homework. She has a test in her math class tomorrow.”

“No, I looked in her room. She’s not there.”

“I’ll give that little madam what for. If she’s around the back of the school again with that boy she’s been making cows eyes at….”

“No, I went to the school to see if she was there. I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Where the hell is she, then?” A red tide flushes up his neck.

“Stephen, there’s something else I can’t find.”

“What?”