by Sharon Booth
"Sorry to interrupt. Just letting you know that your room's ready."
"Excellent." He stood. "Thanks, Mrs F. I'll go and unpack."
"Thank you so much for the chocolates, Ethan. Very kind of you," she said.
He'd bought her chocolates? Wow, she was honoured! I peered closer at her and noticed a faint flush of pink on her cheeks.
"Er, will Michael be joining us any time soon?" she enquired. "Only, he usually drives you up here. I was quite surprised to see you in your mother's car."
His mother's car! Thank goodness for that. The news instantly sent Mr Rochester up a notch in my estimation.
"Michael's staying on for the time being. He'll be bringing my mother up here, in a week, or so."
"Ah, that's good. It'll be nice to see him again. I mean, it will be nice to see them both again."
"Right, well, if you'll excuse me." He flashed a smile at Adele, who gave him a megawatt smile back, then he nodded at me and headed upstairs.
"What do you think, then?" Mrs Fairweather bustled into the room, her face bright with obvious curiosity. "Was he what you expected?"
"I can honestly say," I said, "he wasn't at all what I expected."
"He needs a haircut," she said disapprovingly. "Looking very unkempt, he is. Still, I'm sure you'll get on with him. He's very kind."
"Is he?"
"Oh, yes. Look how good he is to Adele, for a start. Practically brought her up. And giving up his suite for his mother, like that." She tutted. "You'll find he doesn't much take after her. More like his father. She's a bit of a flibbertigibbet."
"A what?" I said, laughing.
"Flighty piece," she said. "Mind, don't get me wrong. She's not a bad person, and you can't help but like her. Just, well, she's not like him. It takes all sorts, I suppose. Lucky for Adele her brother's more responsible."
"Isn't it?" I said, wondering if she really was that naive. He treated Adele as if she was his daughter. The fact that Adele called him Ethan and not Daddy made no difference. I wondered who her real mother was. Did Mr Rochester have any contact with her? Why had Adele ended up living with him and not her mother?
Adele put down her colouring pencils. "What's for dinner, Mrs F?"
Mrs Fairweather beamed at her. "Your brother's favourite—beef stew and dumplings." She winked at me. "Always loved his comfort food. Not one for fancy cooking, thank goodness. And then there's rice pudding for afters. Is that okay with you, miss?"
Adele nodded. "I like your rice pudding."
"Good job you do," she said. "I'll get back to the kitchen, then, now that's all sorted. You'll be okay with Adele, Cara?"
"Of course." I hesitated, then whispered, "Does Mrs Rochester ever visit? I mean, his wife, not his mother."
She looked distinctly shifty. "Not often. Haven't seen her for a while. Some people find Yorkshire too remote. You know."
"So, she lives in London?" I persisted.
"She, er, travels around," she said. "Right, back to work for me."
As she left the room, I sank back onto the sofa and considered the matter. Clearly, Ethan Rochester's wife wasn't on the scene much, and I couldn't help wondering if Adele had anything to do with that. She couldn't be the little girl's mother, because why would they say Adele was his younger sister, if that was the case? Adele was obviously Rochester's guilty secret, but then, why stay married? His wife could have taken him for millions if she could prove adultery, and Adele was living proof, right there. It was all very odd.
I thought about the fictional Mr Rochester and his ward, Adele. Luckily for him, he'd had no rich wife who could kick up a fuss about her presence. Poor Bertha had had no say in anything he did, being locked away in an attic all those years, unaware of anything that was going on around her. Although, she'd been aware of some things, I supposed, or why else had she prowled the house, scaring Jane and setting fire to her husband's bed?
I shivered. At least my Mr Rochester wasn't keeping that sort of secret from me. I shook my head impatiently. Of course he wasn't! And he wasn't my Mr Rochester, either.
Honestly, Cara, you're the one who's going crazy.
I suspected sugar withdrawal was the culprit.
Chapter Nine
In spite of my initial expectations, I rarely saw Ethan Rochester over the next week. He spent a lot of time out walking, or shut away in his office. He made time for Adele every day, but, during those times, my presence clearly wasn't required, and I was free to do whatever I fancied. I wandered the grounds, or sat in the kitchen, while Mrs Fairweather baked, or went up to my room and watched television, or read, and caught up with the latest events in Tamsin's life.
Busy day today! School run, yoga, fab lunch with friends, collected children from school, fed children, dance class for DD1, swimming for DD2, dinner with Darling Husband! And relax...#TFIFriday
God, I felt knackered just reading that lot. On the Saturday morning, I rang Tamsin. "Are you awake?" I teased, when she answered, sounding a bit grumpy.
"Of course I am. It's almost eight o'clock," she pointed out.
"Yes, but after the day you had yesterday, I'm surprised you don't sleep for the whole weekend. So, you had a nice lunch with your pals, then?"
She tutted. "You must be joking. They're not really pals. They're the mothers of two of Alice's classmates, and they're the most boring people you can imagine. Louisa spent the entire time boasting about how her son is going to be the next Andy Murray, and Geraldine has already decided that poor little Fenella is going to win an Oscar before she's twenty-one. Poor children. They're pushed into doing all sorts."
"Hmm."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "That was a very accusing hmm."
Crikey! Paranoid, or what? She was right, though. "Just that, well, Alice and Robyn seem to do an awful lot of out-of-school activities, too. Maybe you're pushing them a bit hard?"
She snorted. "You couldn't be more wrong. I pray every day that they'll get bored and decide to spend the evening lounging in front of the television like normal kids, but no such luck. They're always demanding to be taken somewhere, and I'm running myself ragged."
"Maybe you should be firmer with them?"
"I tried that. They threw a mighty tantrum, and in the end, it just wasn't worth the bother. I can only hope they grow out of it all. I wouldn't care, but they don't even seem to improve at the things they do. Robyn's hopeless at gymnastics, but it hasn't stopped her nagging at me to buy her a new leotard this week, and then there's Alice's sudden enthusiasm for ice skating. Yes, you heard me right. Ice skating. More money."
"Good job your husband has such a great job, then," I said. "Did you have a nice romantic dinner last night?"
There was quiet for a moment, then she said huskily, "It was okay. He spared me fifteen minutes before disappearing off to the study. I felt very privileged." There was a definite catch in her voice.
"Tamsin, are you okay?" I said, worried.
She sniffed. "Fine. Anyway, how are things with you?"
"Oh, nothing very interesting to report," I said, before adding mischievously, "except, Mr Rochester's here."
She gasped. "Wow! Really? What's he like?"
"I don't see much of him," I admitted, "but he's pleasant enough. He's very good with Adele, I'll give him that."
"Gosh. I Googled him, you know. Rather handsome. And much younger than I expected." She hesitated, then asked, "Any news from Seth?"
"Nothing," I said, relieved. "I think he's finally got the message. He's probably moved in with Naomi and Isolde and forgotten all about me."
"Thank God for that," she said. "Mum and Dad are having a fabulous time, aren't they? They won't want to come home at this rate. Have you heard from Redmond?"
"A couple of brief calls, just checking that I'm alive and well, and that I haven't been ravaged in my sleep. He sounded different. Odd."
"Really? In what way?"
I couldn't really explain it. There had been a note of excitement in
Redmond's voice that I hadn't heard before. I supposed it could have been because I'd told him Ethan Rochester had graced me with his presence. Redmond was very impressed with the man and his business empire, I knew that much. I just hoped he hadn't mentioned it to Susan. She'd be wangling for an invitation to stay before anyone could say gate-crash. "Not sure, really," I said eventually. "Just, different."
"Oh. Well, I expect he's in line for promotion, or something else equally dull," she said with a sigh. "Have to go, Cara. The girls have drama club in half an hour. I'll speak to you soon."
I put the phone away, noting with relief that there was still no word from Seth. I gazed out of the window. It was a beautiful April day, with blue skies and sunshine. Far too nice to be indoors. Since weekends were my official day off, and Adele had her brother home to help out, I decided to go for a wander through the grounds and maybe take a book with me to read. I picked up the fantasy novel/draught excluder and left the house, with a plan to make my own breakfast when I returned.
Outdoors was cool, but not unbearably cold. I explored the woods, noting in delight the wild garlic that covered the ground, a carpet for the clusters of nodding bluebells. I'd pulled on a jumper, rather than the duffle coat, and at first I wondered if I'd made the right choice, but as I walked, the chill disappeared and, as I emerged from the woodland and headed across the lawns, I raised my face to the sun, clutching the book to my chest and feeling a sudden contentment.
Right then, life was good. Okay, it wouldn't last forever. Adele would go to school, and I would have to find another job, another home. But that was for the future. Apart from my concerns about Tamsin and Redmond, I had nothing else worrying me, at all. It was a rare happy interlude in my life, and I was determined to make the most of it.
I found myself walking by the secret garden, drawn, perhaps, by the sight of the blue-purple wisteria that’d draped itself over the wall. Not expecting to find it unlocked, my hand, nevertheless, reached out to the door handle, and my heart leapt into my mouth when it opened.
I pushed inside into Eden. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. I mean, it was only April, not the height of summer, so it probably wasn't even at its best, but against the far wall, there was a line of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, cheerful pom-poms, the colour of strawberry ice cream, on every branch. The flowerbeds were a blaze of colour—bushy yellow wallflowers, delicate silver-blue crocuses, buttery daffodils and lemon meringue narcissus, baby blue grape hyacinths, flaming red tulips, fragrant, lacy-white lily-of-the-valley, and tiny, soft, creamy primroses. It looked as if nature had simply scattered itself across the ground, but I knew that a great deal of thought and planning must have gone into making the cottage garden look—and smell—so perfect.
Spotting an archway at the end of the garden, I followed the narrow winding path to take a closer look. Through the archway was another large square lawn, bordered by a high hedge. There was a bird table, a curved wooden bench, and, the immediate focus of my attention, a beautiful old sycamore tree.
My heart skipped when I saw a rope swing hanging from one of its sturdy branches, and I rushed over, dropped the book on the ground, and examined the swing carefully for signs of decay, but the rope looked strong, and the thick, wooden seat was secure. What was more, it was double width, meant for two people, so I wouldn't have to squeeze myself into it.
I glanced around, as if someone would suddenly rush over and tell me to get away, but, of course, there was no one in sight. I grabbed the ropes and lifted myself onto the seat, and spent a very pleasant ten minutes, or so, simply swinging back and forth, feeling blissfully happy, and rather guilty, all at the same time. I wasn't sure I was supposed to be in there, after all, but then again, if it was private, they should have kept the door locked, shouldn't they?
Shrugging off my doubts, I swung myself higher and higher, closing my eyes as the sun dazzled me and its warmth hit my face, and revelling in the sense of freedom—until the laughter bubbled up in me, and I found myself giggling out loud for the sheer joy of it all. I must have looked—and sounded—mad, but I didn't care. There was no one around to mock me, was there?
"Having a good time?"
I gave an involuntary gasp of horror and the swing juddered as I did my best to bring it to a halt. Ethan Rochester leaned against the tree, one eyebrow raised, arms folded, and an unmistakable look of amusement on his face.
"I'm so sorry," I managed, as the swing finally, after what felt like forever, stopped, and I leapt off.
He shrugged. "No need to apologise. You were having fun. It was nice to see it being used. It's been a long time." He strolled up to the swing and plonked himself down on it, tapping the seat beside him. "Please. Join me."
Was he serious? I stared at him in astonishment. "Pardon?"
"Join me. Come on, there's plenty of room. I promise not to squash you."
I could hardly refuse, could I? He was my boss, after all. Reluctantly, I climbed back on the swing, nerves jangling. My body pressed up against his, and, as he put his arm behind my back and took hold of the rope, I could barely suppress a shiver. He was quite a commanding presence. Maybe it was because he was such a powerful businessman that I felt totally awestruck. It certainly wasn't because he was tall, dark and handsome. I was well past all that nonsense.
A sudden stab of nerves raced through me as the swing began to rock back and forth. I grabbed the rope with one hand, but I couldn't reach the other rope without putting my arm around him, which hardly seemed appropriate. As the swing went higher, though, I thought, sod it. It was either that, or fall off. My arm went behind his back, and I gripped the rope for dear life.
He looked down at me, and I was sure I saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes, as if he found my discomfort amusing. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't let you fall."
I made a sort of squeaky noise, and I couldn't for the life of me say what I meant by it. "I'm sorry I was in the garden," I said eventually, when the quiet between us became deafening. "I just found the door unlocked, and I couldn't resist."
"It doesn't matter. It's not a secret. You haven't broken any laws, or anything."
"Oh," I said. "I could bring Adele in here, then. She might like the swing."
"As long as you're careful with her. Perhaps if you sat on here with her."
"Of course I'd be careful with her," I said indignantly. "I'm not completely irresponsible."
"Apart from your habit of wandering in the middle of the road," he said.
"You're never going to drop that, are you?"
"Probably not. It's always good to have something over people," he mused. "Unless I find something a bit more interesting about you, of course."
"There's nothing interesting about me," I assured him.
"I beg to differ. There's something interesting about everyone, if you look hard enough."
"An admirable philosophy," I said, "but in my case, you couldn't be more wrong."
"Let me be the judge of that." He slowed the swing to a halt and turned to me, his arm still behind my back as he clung to the rope. "Tell me about yourself."
"There's nothing to tell. Honestly."
"You said you were born in Newarth and lived there until you were seven. Why did you move?"
"I didn't have much choice," I pointed out. "Most seven-year-olds don't."
"You're very prickly," he observed. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing! If you must know, my dad got a better job, and we moved to Beverley in East Yorkshire. Do you know it?"
"Of course. I went to a wedding there once, at the Minster. Lovely town."
Surprised, I nodded. "Well, yes, it is. I missed the moors, though. I used to visit Granny Reed regularly, until I was sixteen, just so I got to come back up here every month, even though she made me play the piano."
"There's a piano at the house," he told me. "Would you like to play it?"
"Not really. And I doubt very much you'd like to hear it. Unless you're a particular fan of The
First Noel. It's about as much as I ever mastered, despite her best efforts."
He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. I was so startled I almost let go of the swing rope entirely. "You sound as musically gifted as me. Ah, well, the piano lid will stay firmly shut, then. I don't think I can face a Christmas carol in April. It just seems all wrong."
"Exactly!" I said. "That's just what I told her, but she would insist. Mind you, she was a bit religious—in the way that the Queen's a bit posh. Pictures of the Holy Family everywhere, and she seemed to have a bit of a thing for the Pope."
"She sounds like quite a character. But you were clearly very fond of her."
"I was," I admitted wistfully. It was heart-breaking, the way things had turned out. I'd barely set eyes on her since I was sixteen. Was that my fault for moving in with Seth? Or her fault for being so judgemental? Maybe a bit of both, I supposed.
"So, what happened when you were sixteen?"
I stared at him, unnerved. "Nothing! Who says something happened then?"
"You did," he said. "You said you visited Granny Reed regularly until you were sixteen. So, what happened then?"
Drat him. He was far too observant for his own good. "We had a falling out," I admitted. "I didn't really see her after that."
Thankfully, he didn't ask me what we'd fallen out about. He just sighed and said, "Families, eh?"
"Yes," I agreed. "Families."
"Are your parents still alive?"
I wondered how much more he was going to probe into my private life. Was this the interview he'd missed out on? He was certainly more thorough than Mrs Fairweather had been. "Yes, they are. They're having an extended holiday in Spain, thanks to Granny Reed's inheritance."
He grinned. "Sounds like a plan."
"Definitely." I pulled a face. "She left me her piano."