Abashed and meek, Ruby turned her head towards the kitchen, where it sounded as though Luther was creating havoc. He soon appeared with a steaming bowl of chicken soup “to soothe the soul” as he put it. Lemongrass, ginger, umeboshi plums (signalling Luther’s influence) spring onion, coriander and slices of lime fought with torn chicken strips for space in the broth.
Famished, the soup was soon gone, and seconds were on their way, memories of her attack slipping away like water through her fingers. Soon Ruby was being lead by the hand towards the bathroom to freshen up before unconsciousness claimed her once more. The room smelled sweetly of raspberries and chocolate, undertones of black pepper and roses amongst the sharp scents of red wine and cloves. Most arresting of all was the perfume of sleep, more subtle than all the perfumes of arabia, closing dusky eyelids, and spiriting her away to bed.
cecily
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