Isabelle And The Attic

By Ashley Hargrave

Who would have believed that Isabelle’s life could be changed so much simply by finding the key to a locked attic? Yet, by entering this strange and unfamiliar world, Isabelle had opened the door to a curious series of events which led to her meeting Mark and embarking upon a warm-hearted and witty rollercoaster ride through the following summer. Along this journey, the loss of someone very close, and the discovery of shocking facts about her past, forces Isabelle to make life-changing decisions about the future. Indeed, Isabelle’s world will be utterly transformed as this romantic drama slowly unfolds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Hargrave
• Release date: Apr 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310405587

Ashley Hargrave

Ashley Hargrave is the pen name of a lawyer and published academic writer who studied at Durham, Exeter, Warwick and De Montfort Universities in the United Kingdom.Outside of academic work, Ashley writes high quality romantic fiction which explores the humorous and physical side of human relationships through the central character of Isabelle. However, Ashley is determined to avoid the often brutal and objectifying sexual descriptions and language common in so much of today’s erotic literature. In doing so, Ashley believes Isabelle’s exploits reveal a world that many of us will recognise in ourselves – a place where coping with the pressures of everyday life, and being a bit naughty at times, is just the way most of us spend our lives.

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Isabelle and the Attic

by Ashley Hargrave

Published by Ashley Hargrave at Smashwords.

The moral right of Ashley Hargrave to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction without permission.

Copyright 2014 Ashley Hargrave. All rights reserved.

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eISBN: 9781310405587

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are entirely products of the author’s own imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, specific locations, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.

Any copyrights or trademarks referred to herein are the property of their respective owners and have been used without permission.

Preface

Who would have believed that Isabelle’s life could be changed so much simply by finding the key to a locked attic? Yet, by entering this strange and unfamiliar world, Isabelle had opened the door to a curious series of events which led to her meeting Mark and embarking upon a warm-hearted and witty rollercoaster ride through the following summer. Along this journey, the loss of someone very close, and the discovery of shocking facts about her past, forces Isabelle to make life-changing decisions about the future. Indeed, Isabelle’s world will be utterly transformed as this romantic drama slowly unfolds.

As with all intimate relationships, Mark and Isabelle share some spicy moments together. This means parts of this story may be suitable only for adults, and especially those who appreciate that intimacy can often be very funny when things don’t always go quite to plan!

Chapter One

Isabelle grabbed the handrail just in time to stop herself falling down the dark, narrow staircase which led to the top-floor attic. She had stumbled over an unnoticed piece of loose carpet and very nearly suffered a serious injury. This was not a safe thing to be doing by herself; but after a lifetime’s curiosity, Isabelle was determined to discover what actually lay beyond the door at the top of the attic stairs.

No-one had visited the attic in countless years, and certainly not within Isabelle’s living memory. The steep attic staircase had always been placed strictly out of bounds with grim penalties for any disobedience. Once, as a little girl, she had been found sitting on the bottom step simply re-tying a shoe lace. This had earned Isabelle a good hiding and no supper. Indeed, as if to further reinforce the peril of breaking this rule, she had often been told bedtime stories about the horrors which supposedly lay beyond the locked attic door. As a result, her earliest childhood memories were of the bed-wetting fear that the attic monsters might escape in the middle of the night to steal her soul. Luckily, no such monsters ever appeared, and the fear of them doing so had now largely disappeared. Nevertheless, even at the age of thirty six, Isabelle now held the door key firmly in her hand with a grim determination to prove this to herself, and hopefully, to drive away at least one demon from her troubled past.

By the time she had groped her way through the murky darkness, Isabelle was able to locate the door handle and probe for the key hole with her fingers. Once discovered, the key slid without complaint into the lock. Isabelle knew from the stiff clunk that she’d managed to unlock the door, and uttered a gasp of surprise as it fell open without warning. This was not what she wanted. Isabelle had always hoped to be able to choose the precise moment when she would open this portal into the imagined world of horrors beyond. Instead, fate had decided for her; but she was relieved when the attic room simply exhaled a breath of musty staleness as air rushed out to flee countless decades of imprisonment.

Almost immediately, Isabelle felt overwhelmingly disappointed. Although she knew there were probably no such things as attic monsters, she’d hoped that something of interest might lie beyond this forbidden door. Yet, even the most cursory glance revealed it was simply a storage room filled with a collection of unwanted belongings and broken furniture. Now, confronted with this stark reality, she felt herself flush with foolish embarrassment. How could a woman of her age ever have been so silly? At the very worst, this room would offer little of interest, but absolutely nothing in the way of any soul-stealing, bug-eyed monsters.

Perhaps the most profound thought in Isabelle’s mind right now was how the dreary contents of this room justified thirty years of secrecy and torment. ‘What was the point of making this room the object of such terror?’ she thought. ‘Okay, the staircase is a bit dodgy, but nothing that a new light bulb and carpet couldn’t fix.’ So far as Isabelle was concerned, the attic’s main mystery is simply why it had ever been made so mysterious in the first place.

The midday sun streamed through the window at the far end of the room, and this brightness provided a stark contrast to the near total darkness of just a few moments earlier. Blinking, she stumbled across the room to peer outside to view her suburban London neighbourhood. As she tried to see, the rotting curtains fell away in her hand. This left her with the uncomfortable feeling of being covered in dust and cobwebs. Unfortunately, the windows were too encrusted with dirt for her to be able to see very much of Battersea at all.

Isabelle’s scanned the room for any signs of interest. A large Persian rug was hanging on the far wall, but both time and countless moths had taken a huge toll. This was an enormous pity because the carpet would undoubtedly have been quite magnificent when new.

Isabelle’s attention moved to the room’s other contents. There was no obvious logic to the arrangement of boxes that were strewn haphazardly across the floor, so her choice about where to start was entirely random. The first packing case was filled with what could only be described as bric-a-brac wrapped in sheets of newspaper printed on various dates throughout September nineteen thirty six. None had any obvious value, except possibly to their long-dead former owners. The second had almost identical contents, which Isabelle didn’t bother to examine any further.

Isabelle’s searching eyes wandered over to the far corner of the attic where several large trunks were piled up against a wall. To her surprise, these contained a large collection of dresses from what may have been the nineteen twenties – all carefully wrapped in tissue paper to help keep them in pristine condition. As she opened these crinkly layers, she was stunned to find the clothes were of breath-taking quality, and must have cost a small fortune when they were new. Isabelle held several of these dresses up against her moderately slender figure and felt sure they would all fit. Since there was no mirror up here to give her a better view of how they might look, she decided to take them downstairs for a more serious posing session later this afternoon.

Isabelle was soon distracted by even more delights. One case contained a variety of the most delicate under-garments, almost all of which seemed to have been scarcely used. Indeed, Isabelle was almost afraid to touch the assortment of crisp white cotton, fine lace and light-as-air silk underwear. Another contained a number of wrap-over topcoats with fur and animal hide trimmings that would have created mayhem amongst today’s animal rights activists. They looked fabulous, but it was a pity that, nowadays, none of these could ever be worn outdoors. Yet, Isabelle could think of no reason why she shouldn’t wear them inside, when no-one was around to see. As a result, her plans for an oh-so-decadent night in were now taking very firm shape.

Isabelle glanced at her watch and was startled to realise several hours had now flashed by. ‘Maybe the attic has a lot more interest than I first imagined,’ she thought. With that, Isabelle grabbed a large armful of the most exotically glamorous clothes and returned back downstairs - leaving them safely hidden from prying eyes in her large first floor bedroom overlooking the rear garden. She then sauntered nonchalantly down the main staircase and was immediately met with a predictable interrogation about what she had been doing for so long by herself. Her elderly mother, who was confined entirely to the ground floor of this large Victorian family home, resented being left alone for such a long time - and made sure her only daughter felt the full force of her displeasure. Isabelle had little choice but to switch instantly back to the drudgery of her part time role as domestic carer and attended uncomplainingly to her mother’s instructions.

Have you been in the bureau? her mother demanded a little later that evening. You know you’re never to go in there.

Although Isabelle was a poor liar, she managed to offer an indignant denial that many people would have thought seemed reasonably convincing. Perhaps you forgot to lock it, she retorted. Her mother showed a vague memory of opening the bureau yesterday evening. Nevertheless, no apology was forthcoming.

‘Damn,’ Isabelle thought. Earlier this morning, she’d discovered that her mother had left the bureau unlocked and decided to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to discover what really lay beyond the attic door. Now she’d nearly been caught out, and Isabelle prayed her mother hadn’t noticed the attic key had gone.

I’ve locked it up again, her mother snapped as she shuffled off to the ground floor bedroom for her usual afternoon nap.

Isabelle was left clutching the attic key tightly in her hand. What was she to do now? It couldn’t be returned to the bureau, and there was always the chance that her mother would discover that it was missing.

‘Christ. All hell would let loose!’ she thought to herself.

There was only two completely unbreakable rules in this house – one was never go up to the attic, and the other was never to go into the bureau. Unfortunately, Isabelle had now scored a hat trick by breaking both rules on the same day. To make matters worse, she was amazed why anyone would be so obsessed with wanting to hide their contents. With her very own eyes, she had discovered there was nothing sinister about either the attic itself, or its contents. Indeed, knowing her mother’s callous attitude to many things in life, she could not believe that her purpose had simply been to hide the corrupting image of fur coats from Isabelle.

With the weary shrug of someone who had been stuck between a rock and a hard place for most of her life, Isabelle decided that an indignant denial would probably be the best answer. It had worked many times before, and there was no obvious reason why sheer bravado shouldn’t work again.

Isabelle hid the attic door key in her bedroom dressing table knowing that her mother’s invalidity meant she couldn’t climb the stairs to the first floor, let alone to the attic. This meant Isabelle’s secluded upstairs world provided a welcome sanctuary from her mother’s constant prying and demands for attention.

Isabelle laid out the fruits of her expedition neatly on the bed for a much closer inspection. In full daylight, she could now appreciate the extraordinary quality of each item. These were fabulous garments, all made with the greatest skill – and obviously for a very discerning clientele. This made her wonder who in her family had enjoyed such incredible luxury. Certainly, there had never been any rumours about high society living, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any juicy secrets waiting to be discovered. ‘But surely, the mere existence of this finery can’t be the secret which needed to remain hidden?’ she thought.

Although Isabelle had promised herself an intensive dressing-up session, she decided these clothes were still rather too musty-smelling to try on today. Instead, she hung them up in a spare bedroom to become fully aired. They looked quite magnificent on the makeshift line which Isabelle had stretched across the room, particularly when they caught an occasional warm breeze blowing through the open window. Isabelle stood mesmerized by the sight before eventually returning downstairs to wake her mother and start preparing their evening supper.

The rest of that Sunday evening was spent, as usual, in front of the television. Her mother provided an endless running commentary on the programmes, but Isabelle paid little attention. She simply offered a token ‘Mmmm’ or ‘No’ when it was clear that her mother expected some kind of response. Instead, Isabelle’s mind was preoccupied with the much more exotic world of elegant parties flowing with champagne and gay young things dancing the Charleston.

***

The next day, Isabelle was forced to exchange one drudgery for another as she returned to her job as an English lecturer at the local Further Education College. There was a time when teaching both sixth form students and adults had been enormously rewarding, but those days had long since gone. The past decade of educational reforms, together with a relentless pressure to spoon feed less resourceful students to get ever-higher grades, had taken a huge toll on Isabelle’s enthusiasm. Teaching had now become simply a routine, rather than a passion to be pursued. Unfortunately, her working life had descended into an endless stream of essays to mark, coursework to correct and parents to contact about missing homework or unexplained absences. This was not why Isabelle had entered the teaching profession, and she now yearned for a more fulfilling career doing virtually anything apart from this.

To make matters worse, Monday was the most difficult day of Isabelle’s week. This is when she had all her weekly 10X and 11X classes, who were fourteen and fifteen year old children on alternative education programmes from their local comprehensive schools. Here, a lightweight curriculum of English, maths, science and humanities was taught on Mondays and Thursdays - with plumbing, bricklaying, beauty or animal husbandry courses on the other days.

‘Oh joy,’ she thought, ‘what on Earth did I do in a former life to deserve this privilege?’

Most of those youngsters were close to being permanently excluded from school. Indeed, college was their very final chance to improve, but Isabelle saw no evidence that many students responded positively to the more adult environment of college life. Instead, all the local rotten apples had now