The Man in the Mirror

L. E. Hartley

Description

Over the space of a long weekend, three couples living in Ireland find their paths crossing as each person pursues their own agenda.
A pair of Ukrainian mercenaries, acting on behalf of a Russian Oligarch, add spice to the mix of sex and violence in this erotic page-turner.
The eponymous Man in the Mirror is confronted with changes beyond his wildest imaginings when he encounters a strange woman on a train in London.
It seems that witches still walk the streets, and magic is alive and well, even in the inner city.

Sujets

• Erotica
• Romance
• Love
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse UK
• Date de parution: 25 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781728376509
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR
 
 
 
 
L. E. Hartley
 
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™ UK
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403 USA
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)
UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)
 
 
 
 
© 2022 L. E. Hartley. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 11/23/2022
 
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7651-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7650-9 (e)
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
PROLOGUE
A plume of white smoke rises behind the ancient mound. The waning moon hangs ready to greet the sunrise. She pushes the old bicycle to the top of the hill, stopping to catch her breath before mounting the saddle for the easy free-wheel down to the town. A great bundle of dead branches topples over the wall, landing with a loud crack on the roadside verge. Startled, she slams on her brakes and skids to a halt just as the agile figure of a young man vaults the wall beside her. They look at each other, both equally surprised.
‘Sorry if I frightened you,’ he says.
His long black wavy hair is tied in a thick ponytail. A short, straggly beard outlines his tanned face. Denim-blue eyes smile from under thick brows, long lashes.
‘Just a bit surprised . . .’ She blushes.
He starts to gather the wood into a heap, still looking straight at her. He tightens the rope around the branches, hoists it up to his shoulder.
‘Is that your fire?’ she dares to ask, indicating the drifting smoke with a tilt of her head.
‘It is.’
‘Are you camped in the woods?’
‘I am.’
She rolls the pedal under her foot, preparing to go.
‘Come and have breakfast with me?’ he suggests.
‘I’ll be late for work.’
‘Have dinner with me tonight then.’
Her cheeks are burning now. She silently curses her pale freckled complexion, the way she blushes so easily, betraying her every emotion.
‘What are you having for dinner?’
‘Rabbit.’
‘Rabbit? Have you caught a rabbit?’
‘Not yet.’ His smile shows even white teeth, the pale lines around his eyes disappearing.
‘I have to go.’ She pushes down hard on the pedal, propelling herself forwards.
‘See you later!’ he calls, watching her wobble away. She doesn’t look back.
*    *    *
The golden light of dusk filters through the newly-decked branches overhead. A bright little fire sends up a haze of pale smoke into the clearing. She sees the headless carcass roasting on a makeshift spit, its skin stretched inside a hoop of green willow alongside the woodpile. He emerges from his tent; a lightweight canvas cover on a frame of bent hazel rods. Leaning her bike against a tree trunk, she lifts a wriggling cloth bundle from the basket in front of the handlebars. As they stand either side of the fire, he can see she has been crying.
‘What’s wrong?’ Concern in his voice.
She carefully unwraps the little yellow puppy, holding it close to her neck.
‘I found her this morning. The Tinks must have left her behind.’ Tears are welling up in her eyes; she rubs her cheek against the soft fur. ‘Daddy says I can’t keep her. Another mouth to feed . . .’ She starts to sob.
He reaches out his arms, stepping towards her, engulfing her and the pup in a warm hug. Both respond with quiet whimpering sounds.
‘Sit down.’ He guides her gently towards a log beside the fire. He pours milk from a billy-can into an enamel dish and sets it down in front of her. ‘See if she likes this.’
The pup laps hungrily, drinking it all.
‘Better now?’
They watch in silence as the little creature sniffs around the fire, shuffling through the long grass, crouching beside the track. She wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands, sniffs loudly.
‘Thank you.’
He carefully lifts the roasted rabbit from the fire, digs out potatoes from the embers with a pointed stick. Tips water from a metal canteen into a little pan and sets it in the fire. She hadn’t intended to eat with him, but the barbecued meat and baked potatoes topped with a knob of butter are just too tempting. The cool evening air scented with wild garlic and woodsmoke makes her ravenously hungry, and when he offers her the haunch of rabbit, she accepts it gratefully.
When they have scooped the potato skins clean, and the pup is gnawing and growling at the bones, he sprinkles tea-leaves into the boiling water, and sets the pan aside to brew. They drink black tea from his battered enamel mug, sitting side by side on the log.
He asks her name.
‘Rosemary. What’s yours?’
‘Bex.’
‘Where did you get a name like that?’
‘First day at school.’
She doesn’t know what to say.
‘Walk with me?’
Glancing around, she realises that darkness now totally engulfs them beyond the firelight.
‘Where?’
‘You’ll see.’
He takes her hand, pulling her to her feet.
‘What about . . . ?’ She looks at the pup, curled up asleep beside the glowing embers.
‘She’ll be fine. Come.’
Her steps are unsteady at first, but after a while her eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and she can detect the outline of the mound ahead of them. The trees soon give way to open fields, and before long they are climbing the steep incline to the top of the ancient barrow.
‘You must have been here before?’
‘Not at night.’
‘It’s the best time!’
She is unsure, glad he is still holding her hand.
‘Lie down?’
She hesitates.
‘Alright then.’ He takes her other hand in his. ‘Look up.’
She tips her head back and sees the night sky in all its glory.
‘It’s better to see it lying down.’ He lowers himself to his knees, still holding her hands.
When she is lying full-length, he positions himself so that the crowns of their heads are touching. A gentle breeze blows her long red curls over both their faces. They lie in silence, awed by the multitude of stars, the clear dark vastness of space. A shooting star describes a line of light overhead.
‘Did you see that?’
‘Of course. That was for you. Did you make a wish?’
*    *    *
Back at the fireside, they exchange life-stories.
She tells him she has always lived here, the eldest of eight children. How Grandpa died a few years back, and since then Daddy has been steadily drinking the farm. She had to leave school at fourteen, and for the last five years has been the main breadwinner with her job in the factory. Two of her brothers are working on farms now, bringing in a few extra pounds.
He talks about the island where he grew up, the only child of wealthy parents; a constant disappointment to them. Being enlisted in the army at the age of fifteen, a junior officer, in the mistaken belief that it would “make a man” of him. Less than two years later he was discharged as being “unfit for further military training.”
She smiles at the thought of him in a uniform, marching around with a gun to his shoulder.
‘When did you last see your family?’
‘Oh, must be about three years now. After the army, I was offered a place in the family business. When I turned that down, there was nothing for it but to make my own way.’
‘Don’t you miss them?’
‘We were never that kind of family. I was sent away to boarding school at the age of eight. Bullied and battered by teachers and kids alike. Never learnt anything of any value.’
‘What about the army?’
‘They taught me to shoot,’ he says, ‘and run. I was never a team-player; couldn’t understand the attraction of kicking balls around fields, but I was a cross-country runner. I liked the outdoor pursuits side of it. The square-bashing was a nightmare!’
‘So what have you been doing for the past three years?’
‘Dossing about. Odd jobs here and there. Meeting people.’
He smiles at her in the flickering light.
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘Apart from you?’
She feels herself blushing under his steady gaze.
He asks ‘What about you?’
‘There’s a boy I’ve known all my life. I suppose we’ll get married one day.’
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
‘Sorry. You know how it is.’
A light drizzle starts to fall. He piles more logs on the fire. Smoke fills the clearing, swirling around, blowing in their faces. Soon the flames start to lick around the edges and the blaze breaks through just as the rain becomes heavier. He throws back the canvas door of his bender-tent, inviting her to join him in the shelter. Inside, a layer of bracken is topped with fresh green rushes which rustle and yield when they sit down. Further back, a sleeping bag is unzipped all round to make a big quilt. A black and white checked blanket is rolled to one side. The pup wakes and looks around, whimpering.
‘Here girl,’ he calls her, making a low whistling sound to attract her attention.
‘I was going to call her Cara.’
‘Good name. Here, Cara, good girl!’
‘It means Friend.’
The pup shakes raindrops from her back, and tumbles around the fire to the tent. He scoops her up in his hands, rubbing her dry, before handing her to the girl.
She cuddles the little furry bundle to her neck letting it