by Sharon Booth
She shook her head. "How would I know? None of my business."
And none of mine, either, clearly, judging by the way she said it. The Rochesters were a strange bunch, it seemed, but I shrugged it off. The rich were often eccentric. At least Adele had Mrs Fairweather, who clearly loved her, and she had me, too. I had to admit, I was already strongly attached to the little girl. It was the Rochesters' loss if they couldn't be bothered with her.
One Saturday afternoon, I decided to venture out onto the moors, and maybe explore Hasedale, a pretty moorland village just a mile or two from the house. Adele was napping, having spent the morning making potato prints. Mrs Fairweather was happy to keep an eye on her, so I pulled on my duffle coat and grabbed my bag, deciding that I would have to go farther afield the next week, to Helmston or Whitby perhaps, to buy some new clothes. The weather was getting too warm for a duffle coat, and I needed some new shoes. My boots were definitely not suitable for the milder weather, and trainers were hardly appropriate. Time to start spending some money on myself for a change. It was a strange prospect, admittedly. I'd got so used to going without stuff, it felt weird to even contemplate shopping just for myself. At least my skirt and jeans had grown more comfortable, as I'd been very strict about refusing biscuits and puddings—as difficult as that had proved—because I really didn't want to go up another dress size. Plus, with me walking more, it should be easier to keep the weight off, I thought. I certainly didn't fancy saying no to puddings forever. I didn't see how it was humanly possible. Unless you were Tamsin, of course.
I thought about Tamsin as I walked through Hasedale and passed a little bakery. Did she ever give in and buy something fattening, I wondered? Or was her obsession with dieting and exercise too strong? What was going on with her? Was it really just a health kick, or something more serious? If so, what could I do to help her?
Hasedale was a lovely village, and I passed a very pleasant hour, or so, wandering around and checking out the handful of shops, having a cup of tea in the teashop, and generally relaxing. Just as I decided it was time to head for home, the dark clouds rolled in, and the first drops of rain hit my head. Wonderful.
Within minutes, the rain was bouncing off the pavement, and I glanced around quickly for somewhere to shelter. I'd just passed an old-fashioned sweet shop, The Candy Cabin—a real, sweet treat of a building itself. It was a tiny stone cottage, with a large latticed window to the left of a small, extraordinarily narrow wooden door. It was if it had been built for fairies, I'd thought, then reminded myself that such notions were fanciful and out of keeping with the new sensible me. It would make a good shelter, though, and besides, I could always buy Adele some sweets. That would be a good excuse to spend some time in there out of the rain.
I turned back, and just about got through the door without ducking, stepping down into a real sugar wonderland. Shelf after shelf of jars filled with the most appealing confectionary that brought back loads of happy childhood memories. The lady in the shop was even shorter than me, and so thin I doubted she'd ever tasted a single one of the products she sold, but she was lovely and welcoming, and after commenting on the dreadful turn the weather had taken, and assuring me it would pass as quickly as it had arrived, she let me browse for ages while I made my mind up.
After choosing a selection of the sort of sweets I'd loved as a child—white chocolate mice, pink candy shrimps and yellow foam bananas, chewy fruit sweets and red liquorice laces—I headed towards the door, scouting through the paper bag and wondering whether I should treat myself to one of the shrimps.
So engrossed in deciding whether, or not, to say hang the diet for the day and buy myself the same selection, I didn't notice someone trying to pass me to enter the shop—not until a deep voice said, "Excuse me, can I get by?"
I looked up, and there, looming over me, stood a tall, broad man, dressed all in black. If I hadn't sworn to renounce all such soppy notions and give up romantic fantasies for good, I'd have said he was a real-life Heathcliff. I mean, move over Seth, with your wiry, long hair and grey eyes and skinny frame—the man before me was in a different league altogether. He towered over me, his jet-black, rather shaggy hair dripping wet. Dark eyes pierced into mine, his strong mouth set firm. Silhouetted against a dark and brooding sky, he was, quite frankly, a bit intimidating, and I quite forgot to move out of the way and simply gaped.
He allowed me that luxury for all of five seconds, before he tutted. "Hello? I'm getting soaked out here," he said, as if speaking to a child.
"Oh, yes, sorry, of course," I said, all flustered, and stepped aside.
He ducked down and squeezed through the door, and I hovered near the window, looking out anxiously, fingers firmly crossed that the rain would stop. Behind me, I heard him asking the lady behind the counter if she had a decent box of chocolates. The shop felt far too small for both of us, and I heaved a sigh of relief as the rain finally fizzled out.
Without looking back, I called a brief thanks to the shopkeeper and rushed outside, just as the dark clouds began rolling away and the sunshine claimed its rightful place.
As I began the walk back to Hasedale, though, the fresh air brought me to my senses. He was just a man, for goodness sake. What had I been thinking, letting him daze me like that? He’d seemed pretty grumpy, true, but he hadn’t been intimidating at all—not like I’d made him out to be. Just because he was tall, and broad, and dark and glowering.
Ugh, I really needed to get a grip.
Heading along the open road across the moors, I gave a big sigh of pleasure, and began to relax again. There was nothing quite as uplifting as sunshine after rain, when the light glinted on the puddles and everything felt fresh and clean and newly-laundered. I'd had a lovely afternoon. No way would I let anyone spoil it. Which reminded me, those pink shrimps were calling my name, and I'd forgotten to buy my own, so ...
One less shrimp in the bag wouldn’t hurt Adele, surely. God, I wished I'd bought myself some. I was such a sugar addict, though, it was probably best to go cold turkey. Maybe I shouldn't even have one.
At the blast of a car horn, I jumped and shrieked all at the same time, and the bag of sweets left my hand, scattering the contents all over the road. A flashy red sports car screeched to a halt, and my heart sank when the dark-haired man from the shop yelled a string of expletives over his shoulder. How disgusting.
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I demanded. I'd heard someone say that on a programme once. Sometimes, being forced to watch endless television with Seth had its uses.
"Seriously? You're having a go at me? What the f—what the hell were you doing, wandering in the middle of the road like that?"
I cringed inside, seeing the way his black eyebrows knitted together, and the stony look in those dark eyes. Even so, he was the one in the wrong. He'd almost run me over with his mad driving, for goodness sake. "I'm sorry?" I began, "I think—"
"I should hope you are sorry," he cut in, looking me up and down in disgust. "Honestly, I've got used to idiots weaving across the roads in London, but up here, I foolishly expected people to behave with a bit more common sense."
I gave him my best glare and marched over to the car. "Excuse me? I was walking at the side of the road. Not my fault that you were too close to the edge. Besides, you're driving far too fast. There are sheep and lambs wandering these roads. Are you blind?" I waved my hand pointedly, indicating the group of ewes and lambs grazing on the side of the fell, totally oblivious to the angry scene playing out below them. I cursed the fact that none appeared to be actually on the road, which was unusual for sheep in those parts, but typical of my luck.
His eyes flashed. "I saw you, all right. You were walking by the side of the road until just before I reached you, then you suddenly started veering into the middle, right in front of me. What the bloody hell were you doing?"
I blushed, attacked by doubt. Had I veered into the centre of the road? I supposed it was possible. I had been sort of focused on the bag of swe
ets, and hadn't really been concentrating on where I was walking. I could hardly confess to that, though, could I?
I drew myself up to my full five-feet-two-inches. "Well, that's your opinion,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “We'll just have to agree to differ. Anyway, there's no harm done, so I'll say nothing more. Good day."
"Good day!" He stared at me, clearly astonished. "That's it, is it? You just wander into the road, nearly cause me to crash, frighten the life out of me, and then you expect to just wander off, as if nothing's happened? I could have killed you. What do you think that would have done to my no-claims bonus?"
Wow, he was all heart. "What more do you want me to say?" I said. "Personally, I think it was you who wasn't concentrating. It could just as easily have been your fault as mine."
"It most definitely wasn't my bloody fault," he said, sounding quite put out. "I drive very carefully, I'll have you know."
I eyed the red sports car with contempt. What a show-offy sort of car for him to drive. It screamed, Look at me! How distasteful. Deciding it was best just to get rid of him, I sighed and gritted my teeth. "All right, then. I'm very sorry you had a fright. Good day."
As I began to walk off, he exclaimed, "Bloody cheek!" The car started up, and I breathed a sigh of relief, only to jump again as it slowed down when he caught up with me. The driver kept pace with me, leaning over the passenger seat as I eyed him nervously. "You don't really think it was your fault, do you?"
Did it matter? I shrugged. "We'll never know," I said, my attention fixed firmly on the road ahead of me as I continued walking.
"But I do know," he said. "And so do you, don't you? Look, all you have to do is admit it, and we'll say no more."
"I most certainly won't admit it," I said. He looked as if he had a bob, or two, and how did I know I could trust him to keep his word? I didn't want him to sue me. He looked the type to have a very expensive solicitor, and I wasn't about to pay for any non-existent damages to that tacky car of his. I sneaked a sideways glance at him.
He shook his head. "Stubborn as a bloody mule," he said, and drove off, leaving me to stare after him, feeling a mixture of relief, regret and surprise.
I was even more regretful when I remembered the sweets scattered on the edge of the road. I couldn't bear litter, and besides, it would be just my luck if some sheep swallowed them and got ill. I wasn't sure if sheep could digest candy shrimps and liquorice laces, but the way my day was going, I wasn't prepared to take the risk.
I headed back, picked them up, and shoved them in my pocket. They were only fit for the bin. I might as well have eaten them, after all. How frustrating was that?
Chapter Eight
Mrs Fairweather was all of a dither, when I arrived back at Moreland Hall. "Oh, thank goodness you're back. Honestly, what a palaver this has been. I need to get Mrs Rochester's room ready, pronto, and Adele's woken up, and nothing's prepared for dinner yet."
Dropping the sweets in the bin, I said, "Mrs Rochester? She's here?"
"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "She's still in London. No, he's here. Ethan. Just arrived out of the blue. No warning, at all. He hasn't even brought Michael with him."
"Michael?"
"Michael Lawson, his chauffeur." She looked me up and down. "Ethan wants to meet you. You'd better tidy yourself up and go and see him. He's in the sitting room with Adele."
I felt a strange thudding in my chest. How had I not realised? He'd gone on about idiots on the road in London, hadn't he? I'd like to think fate wouldn't be so unkind, but past experience had taught me fate had a particularly twisted sense of humour.
I had an awful feeling that Ethan Rochester and I had already met.
Trembling and feeling a bit sick, I hung up my coat, washed my hands, ran a comb through my hair, then entered the sitting room. My worst fears were immediately confirmed. The big, dark-haired man with the flashing eyes, who'd almost mown me down on the moors road, sat in the armchair, Adele perched on his knee.
Bugger. Bang goes the job.
At least I had the advantage of a short forewarning. His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open when he took me in. Only for a second, though. He quickly pulled himself together and then shook his head. "Well, well. We meet again."
"So we do," I agreed, thinking there was no point in trying to creep round him. I'd already well and truly blotted my copybook, so it was far too late for that.
"So, you're Adele's new nanny."
"I am." I took a deep breath then held out my hand. "Cara Truelove."
He gave me a grumpy look, as if even my name offended him. "Ah, yes. Truelove. Huh." He shook my hand, rather reluctantly, I thought. "And to think, I believed it didn't exist."
It was on the tip of my tongue to assure him that it didn't, but his face told me he wasn't in the mood for jokes, and I was already worried about my job security.
He dropped my hand and looked down at Adele. "And how do you like Miss Truelove, Adele?"
Adele beamed at me. "She's nice," she said shyly. "We bake biscuits, and she does funny voices when she reads to me."
"Does she indeed?"
"And we made potato prints today," Adele continued. "Would you like to see them?"
"Of course I would," he said.
She wriggled down from his lap and ran over to the sideboard, where we'd placed the pictures while tidying the room earlier. "Mrs F said mine can go up on the kitchen wall later," she told him, proudly handing him her painting.
He scanned it carefully, and I saw a look of genuine pleasure in his eyes. "Very good," he told her. "And quite right. It should be on the wall, so everyone can admire it." He glanced up at me. "Take a seat, Miss Truelove."
I swallowed and sank onto the sofa. The whole situation was ultra-embarrassing. Trust me to land myself in it, right from the first meeting. "Call me Cara," I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "I think it best we keep things on a formal footing, don't you? Miss Truelove and Mr Rochester would be more appropriate in the circumstances."
Crikey, had I annoyed him that much? I was pretty sure that the family had referred to Jodie by her first name, and Mrs F definitely called her boss Ethan. Evidently, I was still in his bad books.
"I'm rich, Cara," Adele informed me with a wide grin. She rattled a piggy bank at me. "There's twenty-five pounds in there."
"Gosh," I said. "That's a lot of pocket money."
"It's not pocket money," she explained. "It's Ethan's fine."
"Fine?" I glanced across at Ethan, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"He says bad words when he gets grumpy," she continued, "so he promised me he would give me fifty pence for every swear word he says. He must have sweared loads of times, mustn't he?"
"Hmm," I said, thinking at least a tenner of that must have come from earlier on the moors.
Like he’d read my thoughts, he pulled a face. "Actually, Adele, I think I owe you a bit more now. I'll have to go to a cash machine later."
"More money!" Adele giggled. "Ethan bought me some sweets," she said, pointing to a bag on the coffee table. "Would you like one, Cara?"
Great minds think alike, I thought ruefully. "No thanks," I said.
"I think Miss Truelove has already had some," Mr Rochester said, giving me a knowing look.
"No, actually," I said. "Those sweets were for Adele."
"Have you bought me some sweets, too?" Adele said, sounding pleased.
I went red. "Well, no. Sorry. There was a bit of a mishap with them."
Mr Rochester smirked. "Got hungry on the way home?"
"Actually," I said, indignantly, "I dropped them in the road when your car nearly hit me."
"When you wandered into my path, you mean," he said. "I didn't notice them fall."
"Well, you wouldn't," I said. "You were probably too busy trying not to kill me."
He stared at me, saying nothing, and my heart thudded again.
What on earth was I doing? I'd be sacked at the rate I was going.
"What I mean," I said, thinking I'd better do some damage limitation, "is you were a bit distracted, trying to avoid me when I walked into the middle of the road."
His mouth twitched, as if it wanted to smile but couldn't remember how. "Well saved," he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He might’ve been a bit bad-tempered, but at least he had the remnants of a sense of humour. "So, how are you settling at Moreland Hall? It must be very different from Oddborough. A bit isolated for you?"
Wow, he had a good memory. Fancy him remembering that I'd worked in Oddborough. "Not at all. I love the Yorkshire moors. I was born here, and lived here until I was seven. After that, I used to visit my granny every few weeks. She lived in Newarth, but she died recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thanks. She was pretty old. In her nineties, I think, so it wasn't exactly unexpected. So, you see, I'm very happy to be living and working here. I feel really at home."
"Hmm." He watched me thoughtfully. "Mrs Fairweather speaks highly of you. She says you've fitted in nicely."
"Thanks," I said again. Maybe my job wasn't in jeopardy, after all.
"I don't come up north very often," he admitted, patting Adele on the head, as she climbed down from his knee before wandering over to the sideboard and fetching her colouring book and pencils. "I never liked it here when I was a child—the house, I mean. Far too gloomy and remote. It was completely different back then, and it used to terrify the life out of me."
I couldn't imagine him being terrified of anything, but I smiled politely. "You've done an amazing job with the renovation."
"It was for my mother," he said. "She decided that she was going to make Moreland Hall her permanent home. One of her whims." He rolled his eyes. "It didn't last long. She'd lost interest before the paint even dried."
"It seems a pity," I said. "It's such a lovely house. What a shame it's empty so often."
"Perhaps." He glanced over at Adele, who was absorbed in her colouring, and his expression softened. "I wish I could spend more time here. London has lost its attraction lately, I must admit, whereas this place ..." His voice trailed off, and he seemed almost relieved when a light tap came on the door and Mrs Fairweather popped her head round.