Oxford Shadows

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Authors: Marion Croslydon
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drawn, tempering the harsh light of the summer afternoon.
    “Liliana, my love, you are talented and succeed in expressing the heartbreak you plunge me into each time you leave me.”
    His words are more a jest than a confession of his real feelings. To bury my annoyance, I bite my lower lip. His sensual voice starts humming a melody, one I have never heard before. I suspect it is one of his own creations. My lover is an accomplished musician. When I hear my written words sung by his sonorous voice I can hardly refrain from running toward him and falling at his feet.
     
    Greensleeves was all my joy,
    Greensleeves was my delight …
     
    With him, next to him, the world is brighter and I am much more than when I am on my own.
     
    … Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
    And who but my lady Greensleeves?

11

    THE RHYTHM OF THE melody echoed throughout Madison’s dreams. Insistent and persistent. Liliana’s lustful fever rushed through her veins. Love could destroy any instinct of preservation—Madison already knew that—but the Italian girl’s feelings were doomed.
    Madison fidgeted under her duvet and kicked it away. A film of sweat covered her legs, and she felt clammy. Rupert lay naked next to her, or rather alongside her, given the narrow width of her bed. His arm was thrown across her waist in the possessive clasp she had grown accustomed to. She wanted to indulge in seeing him, to feed her senses with the defined shape of his shoulders and the curve of his lower back and hips.
    Shaking her head, she summoned the brain cells Rupert’s testosterone hadn’t affected yet and shook him out of his slumber. He answered with a groan. Another push and shove. Madison had no musical ear whatsoever. She didn’t play any instruments, and her singing was abysmal. Time was of the essence or she wouldn’t be able to remember the melody.
    “Wake up, please. Wake up.”
    Rupert rolled onto his back, freeing her from his grip. She sat up and wiped away the perspiration that ran down her chest. God, she hated the state these dreams put her in.
    A light kiss on her shoulders softened the blow the memories had punched into her. “Did you have a nightmare?” Rupert rubbed his eyes to push the sleep away, just as he must have done as a child. It was good-enough-to-melt cute.
    “Yes. Euh, no.” They were so much more than nightmares. “I need your help.”
    Rupert checked the digits on her alarm clock that shone through the semi-darkness of her room: 3:42 A.M. “Do we have to do it now?”
    “I remembered something important, something I hadn’t paid attention to before.”
    “Okay.” He took the cushion they had shared only a few moments before, threw it against the wall behind their heads, padded it and rested his back against it in a vertical position. “Is it about our ghost?” He shook his head and added, “I can’t believe I just said that. Anyway, fire away.”
    “I know what triggered the man’s appearance at the concert. It was the music. The whole thing happened when the musicians at the concert started playing a certain song. That tune means something to him and the girl he was involved with.”
    “What was the tune?”
    “I’m going to hum it to you. Please don’t take the piss.”
    The moonlight couldn’t hide the smirk that twisted across Rupert’s mouth. “Baby, don’t take it badly but your singing could shatter windows at several hundred places and—”
    A slap on his shoulder stopped him mid-sentence. “Don’t you think I know that? Now listen.” Madison cleared her throat and swept away all her inhibitions. Or most of them. She started humming.
    “Try once more,” Rupert prompted her.
    She obeyed. The sound of her singing could make a preacher cuss.
    “Stop. Please, baby, stop. I’m pretty sure I can tell you the title despite your interpretation.”
    The humiliation had been worth it. “Then don’t sit like a frog on a log. Tell me.”
    “It’s called ‘Greensleeves.’ The

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