Revenge of the Dixie Devil by Kin Fallon; Alexander Thomas; Sylvia Lowry; Chris Westlake; Clarice Clique

Author:Kin Fallon; Alexander Thomas; Sylvia Lowry; Chris Westlake; Clarice Clique
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Xcite Books
Published: 2012-07-28T14:00:00+00:00

Bed of Glass

by Alexandra Thomas

It was the largest bed I had ever seen, and I had seen a few in stately homes and castles around the country. Henry VIII would have admired it. He would have liked it immensely except that he might have bumped his head getting onto it. A tall man would have to duck below the low canopy.

‘Want to try it?’ suggested the young man, rocking on his heels. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt and even tighter jeans.

It was the last thing I expected him to say. I shook my head. ‘Those days are long over,’ I said reluctantly.

It was a four-poster in a heavy, dark wood. I’m not good at identifying woods, but I guess it might have been mahogany or oak, maybe walnut, with the mattress resting inside a frame that had drawers underneath. At the head of the bed was a bevelled and flower-scrolled mirror with two curved cabinets either side with glass doors that protected a collection of porcelain china ornaments.

‘Who collects the Lladró?’ I asked.

‘My ex.’

It was beautiful. A bed to die for.

‘Is it a seven foot mattress?’ I asked, trying to measure it mentally.

I wanted to stare and stare at the bed, which would have been impolite as I was only there as a prospective buyer for his flat. I was not a salacious entrepreneur.

‘Yeah. It’s American,’ he said. ‘It’s called a super king-size. Americans like big beds.’

Very super. Very king-sized for any size of king. I put my hand on the left post at the end of the bed to steady myself and glanced upward, expecting to see the ceiling of the room. Instead, it was a mass of twinkling light. The low roof of the four-poster was completely lined with mirrors set into the wood, many of them diamond-shaped, some square, some patterned.

It was like gazing into a summer night sky.

I swallowed a gasp. Sex games came unbidden to mind. Yet the sturdy young man in a white T-shirt, jeans, and yellow protective waistcoat didn’t look like a sex games sort of person. He was a plumber. It was obviously an antique bed. There was nothing modern about the ornate carvings on the posts or the mirrors.

‘Amazing bed,’ I managed to get out.

‘Yeah, fabulous. Unique.’

‘Do you know its history?’

‘No idea. Very old. History is not my scene.’

Maybe it was a bed from a brothel with French origins. It had a very French look about it, smelt French, but the mattress was American and the white quilt and laced cushions were definitely late Laura Ashley.

‘How did you get it?’ I asked. I couldn’t stop myself asking. I wanted to know everything about the bed. Surely he knew something about it?

‘I bought it at a sale of old furniture in London. This warehouse was full of the stuff. The place was piled to the roof with furniture. Nobody wanted the bed. It was too big. It had been there, unwanted for years, gathering dust …’

‘Too big for a semi-detached. You couldn’t get it up the stairs.

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