Back To The Beginning, Part II

To-day I am featuring my second book with Cerridwen Press, Isabelle's Diary (copyright Anita Birt) It was published on September 6, 2007. It's a contemporary romance with a paranormal twist. Below is a snippet from the first chapter.

Chapter One Llandrindod Wells, Wales

Sally lowered her coffee cup and stared at the oddly dressed young woman seated at a table by the window. When had she entered the café? Intrigued by her unusual appearance, Sally studied the stranger more closely. Her smoothly braided dark hair was coiled neatly on top of her head. The sleeves of her elegant black silk jacket were turned back at the wrist revealing a lilac silk lining and the tightly buttoned cuffs of a snowy-white blouse. Her black skirt, of some lighter silk, fell in graceful folds to the floor. Well-polished boots peeped from beneath the softly draped fabric. She removed a book bound in maroon leather from a black silk purse and opened it.

Curiosity got the better of Sally and she craned her neck for a better look. The gold edged pages were handwritten in black ink. Must be a diary. Tears trickled down the girl’s pale cheeks as she slowly turned the pages. Her hands trembled and her grief-stricken sighs tugged at Sally’s heart. Should she try to comfort her? Offer motherly help?

Without warning the stranger’s manner changed. She returned the book to her purse, closed the gold clasp and rose to her feet. Smiling slightly, she looked directly at Sally and for endless seconds her steady, dark-eyed gaze held Sally captive.

“Here’s your check, miss. Care for more coffee?”

Startled by the waitress’s voice, Sally bumped the table and tipped her cup spilling the dregs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a scare.”

The waitress cleared away the cup and saucer and wiped the table.

“No more coffee, thanks.” Sally reached for her shoulder bag hanging on the back of the chair, squirreled inside its jumbled contents for her wallet and for the umpteenth time promised to organize it. She counted out the unfamiliar English coins to pay the bill. When she looked up, the stranger had disappeared.

“Do you know the young woman who just left?” Sally asked. “Pardon? What young woman?” “She sat at that corner table by the window.” Sally stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. “No one’s occupied that table all morning. I reserve it for my regulars.” “Of course, she was there, dressed in black and crying over a diary.”
The waitress frowned and peered over her glasses. “You’re mistaken, miss,” and turned to greet an elderly couple at the door. “There’s late you are. I’ve some fresh-baked currant scones to go with your coffee.”

“This is ridiculous, I saw her.” Sally pointed at the table. Why was the waitress being so dense? “Miss, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please let me get on with my work.”

“But she…”

“There’s been no one at that table all morning!”

Rudely dismissed, Sally gave up, stepped outside and caught sight of the black-clad girl hurrying down the street.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Sally muttered and sprinted after her. Dodging shoppers, mothers pushing babies in strollers, sidestepping around small children on tricycles, Sally was only a few feet behind the girl as she disappeared around a corner at the end of the street.

Seconds later Sally caught up and skidded to a stop. The girl had vanished. Where? How? Bewildered by her sudden disappearance and not ready to give up the chase, Sally visited the nearby shops, a small market, a gift shop, a bookstore and an estate agent’s office. Everyone was polite. No one had seen the girl.

“People do not disappear into thin air,” she grumbled crossly and retraced her steps. She clearly remembered seeing her. She hadn’t imagined it. Walking slowly she reached the park near her hotel and sat on a bench determined to think through what had happened. The girl had entered the café. When?

Sally rubbed her forehead trying to dredge up a missing piece of memory and one by one she ticked off everything she remembered. The girl was already seated when Sally noticed her. She started reading from the diary and crying over the pages. How long had she watched her? Seconds? Minutes? The girl had closed the diary, secured it in her purse and stood. She’d gazed calmly at Sally but there were no tears trickling down her cheeks and no broken-hearted sighs. A Mona Lisa smile had briefly tipped her lips.

An icy shiver snaked down Sally’s spine. The mysterious stranger had singled her out. Why?

A raven swooped down to peck at a crust of bread and a pair of noisy rooks zoomed over the raven’s head. One of them swerved aside and perched on a nearby tree, cawing and flapping its wings to distract the raven while its partner returned to the attack. Ignoring the rooks, the raven hopped a few feet away and with magnificent aplomb spread its wings and sailed off, the crust held firmly in its curved beak.
The rooks scratched the ground searching for a few crumbs. Just like me, she thought, searching for clues and finding nothing. So how would a detective handle the problem? Begin at the beginning.

She leaned back on the bench and let the scene in the café drift behind her eyes. The girl had to walk past Sally’s table before taking a seat by the window. Why hadn’t she seen her? The girl was so curiously dressed she’d have noticed her or heard footsteps but she hadn’t. Trapped in an endless loop she circled back to the scene in the café. Was the girl an actor assigned to interest the public in a forthcoming play? Possible but it still begged the question. Why had the waitress denied seeing her? Why?

Frustrated by too many whys without answers, she changed tactics, walked through the park and crossed the road to the tourist information center. Maybe there were clues there to explain the girl’s strange behavior, a PR blitz to tease the tourists into attending a theatrical production. A crowd of German teenagers surged into the center questioning the staff about local attractions. Sally picked up a brochure describing the storied past of Llandrindod Wells during its heyday as a spa town. Victorian villas graced many streets and Sally imagined they still echoed to the sound of carriages drawn by prancing horses bringing wealthy people to take the waters.

Sorry to leave you there. If you'd like to read the complete first chapter, you will find my e-mail address on my web site, www.anitabirt.com

Thanks for dropping by. Tomorrow, I will tell you about Isabelle's Story, a historical romance, the story of the girl who wrote the diary.

Anita