by Sharon Booth
"I certainly do," I said decisively. "And if you don't mind me saying so, that's incredibly sexist of you. Not every woman wants a man, you know. We can, believe it or not, make lives for ourselves without them. I'm happier alone. I don't intend to get involved with anyone, ever again."
"Ever again?" His eyes narrowed. "So, there was someone?"
"There was," I mumbled, suddenly less defiant, "but that's well and truly over."
"Your choice, or his?" I stared at him, and he clapped his hand against his forehead. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
"It was my choice," I said quietly. "Though, he made it very easy for me."
We sat there, looking at each other for a few moments, neither of us saying a word. My stomach fluttering like a butterfly that had been trapped in a jar.
"I didn't mean to offend you," he said quietly. "And I wasn't being sexist. It's not just women who want a home, a family, someone who's always going to be on your side, no matter what. Someone to talk to, laugh with, when the outside world gets a bit much."
"I suppose so," I murmured, thinking, was that what he wanted? If so, he didn't seem to be in luck. Antonia didn't strike me as the stay-at-home type. I couldn't see her being there to laugh and talk with him at the end of a weary day. I felt quite sad for him actually, so it was a bit of a shock when he unexpectedly leaned towards me, his expression serious.
"You are happy here, Miss Truelove? There's nothing troubling you?"
Me? I thought it was him who was troubled? I shook my head. "Nothing. I love working here, honestly."
His eyes bored into mine. "If you have any worries, any concerns at all, if you feel you need to confide in someone …" I held my breath, only to let it out again as he said, "Mrs Fairweather is an excellent listener. I can vouch for that."
He gave me a faint smile, and I smiled back, not sure what on earth he was getting at, and cursing myself for the feeling of disappointment that had swept over me. Not that I had anything to confide in him about, of course, but… maybe I could make something up? "Thank you,” I told him. “I'll bear that in mind."
Abruptly, he stood up. "I have a conference call first thing tomorrow morning. I need an early night, so I'd better head to my office now and finish up there. Will you be all right alone?"
"Of course." Why wouldn't I be?
He glanced at his watch. "Mrs Fairweather will be back soon. Perhaps you could spend the rest of the evening with her?"
"I'll go to my room," I told him. "I have a book I'm halfway through, anyway."
He frowned. "I don't really like to think of you alone."
"But I'm fine. I like being alone. Well, some of the time."
The conversation had taken a rather surreal turn, I thought. Must have been all the wine. I brushed aside his concerns and left him to his work.
Lying on the bed a short while later, I thought about our evening together and tried to decide if I'd dreamt half of it. I wasn't used to drinking, and I had drunk a lot, after all.
As I drifted off to sleep, I could’ve sworn I heard a scraping noise coming from above me, but then again, that was probably just the alcohol. Or perhaps I was dreaming.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the day before the party, and Mr Rochester spent the entire time in his office.
"What on earth does he do in there all day?" I demanded, as Adele tucked into Mrs Fairweather's version of fast food—a homemade venison burger in a wholemeal roll, with lots of salad and a side order of sweet potato chips. No greasy hamburger with cheese and fries for that kid.
"Runs his empire." Mrs F rolled her eyes. "Just as his father ordered."
"From what he said to me," I told her in a low voice, mindful of Adele sitting at the table, "he wanted to do something else with his life. I assumed he was a businessman through and through, but it seems not."
"He's a mixture of both his parents," she said with a sigh, "and it doesn't sit easily with him. He wanted to please his father, though, and he made a promise, which he will keep. He always keeps his promises. Mind you, I think he goes too far."
"In what way?"
"Tries to do it all himself. He has plenty of people around him who are more than capable of taking some of the load from his shoulders, but he tries to control it all. He'll drive himself into an early grave, if he's not careful."
"How do you know that?" I said, curious as to how she could possibly be so well-informed, living all the way out here.
She sniffed. "I've spent time in his London home. They only have a cleaner there, so I've gone down to the house, if they're hosting business dinners or other events, and, as I told you, I stayed there when they needed someone to mind Adele when—when they lost the nanny. Mrs Rochester—Jennifer—tells me things, sometimes. She worries about him. Frightens her that he may go the same way as his father, if he's not careful. And then, there's Michael." Her face went pink again, just at the mention of his name.
"Oh, yes. The chauffeur," I said.
"He's more than the chauffeur," she protested. "He's ferried Ethan around since he was a little boy, and he knows him inside out. Ethan confides in him. Like another father, really. And he's worried, too. Says it's all work and very little play. It's not right. I mean, he should have some fun in his life, don't you think?"
It was my turn to go pink. "Yes. I mean, of course he should. Everyone should. But it would probably help if his wife was at home more often, wouldn't it?"
She tutted and turned away. "We're expecting Mrs Rochester home later today—Jennifer, I mean. Michael called earlier. They should be here around six."
"Really?" I smiled. "Can't wait to meet her."
"She's not up to meeting people at the moment," Mrs F warned me. "She's been in hospital. Had an operation. She's here to recuperate, so don't get your hopes up."
"Is she really ill, then?" I asked, worried. A flibbertigibbet she may be, in Mrs F's words, but I knew her son loved her.
"Not for me to say what's wrong with Mrs Rochester," Mrs F said primly. "I'm sure if the family want us to know, they'll inform us in due course."
I had the strongest feeling that she knew perfectly well what was wrong with Jennifer Rochester, but she clearly wasn't going to share that information with me, so I didn't press her. I nodded meekly, and seeming satisfied, she turned back to the cupboard.
"Well, that's odd," she said. "I could have sworn I'd got a tin of tomato soup in here. I was going to have it for my lunch. Just fancied it with some hot, crusty bread. I don't know." She shook her head. "I think I'm going a bit daft."
"It's your age, Mrs F," I told her cheerily. "It's the start of a slippery slope."
"Cheeky madam," she said, laughing. "I've still got all my marbles, thank you very much."
#
Later that afternoon, I was heartened to see a Facebook status from Tamsin, which sounded much more like her old self.
Listening to classical music in the conservatory! So moving and so inspirational! Have had a lightbulb moment! Exciting times ahead!
"What exciting times are ahead?" I asked her over the phone, after leaving Adele in Mrs F's hands for her tea and heading upstairs to wash and change.
"That would be telling," she said. "Let's just say, I'm done with sitting around, crying and feeling sorry for myself. I'm taking back control, Cara."
"I'm really pleased to hear it," I assured her. "But in what way?"
"For a start, I'm not going to be a burden on Brad any longer. Oh, he's being very decent about everything. He hasn't mentioned the mortgage, or tried to stop me having any money, or anything like that. But I've been thinking about it all. What must his tart think of me? She must see me as some helpless woman, totally dependent on her ex. Well, I'm not having any little scrubber look down on me like that. I'm going to free myself from Brad, once and for all. I'm going to get a job, for starters."
"A job? Doing what?" Tamsin hadn't worked since Alice was born. The job market had changed drastically since then. "You migh
t have to update your secretarial skills."
"I'm not going back to secretarial work," she said determinedly. "I'm not saying what I want to do yet, because I have some investigation to do first, but if it pays off, well, I'll be heading in a whole new direction."
"Wow," I said. "Well, that sounds fabulous."
"And then, once I'm working," she added, "I'm going to speak to Brad and the girls about selling the house. I don't want to stay here, where all these memories are, and I don't want to have a huge mortgage hanging round my neck, either. I'm thinking we may as well downsize."
"And what about the girls' school?" I asked. "Those fees must be enormous."
She sighed. "I know. I wish we'd never sent them there, but I can hardly ask them to leave now, can I? I'll just have to suck it up and wait until they've finished their education. But once they have, I'll be free of Brad forever, and I won't have to have any communication with him, at all."
"Is that what you want, Tamsin?" I said softly. "Really?"
"Of course," she said, sounding far too hearty for my liking. "We're done. I'll never forgive him for cheating on me, Cara. I just can't, so there's no point in wishing for anything different, is there?"
"Are you eating okay?" I had to ask. It had been worrying me for ages.
She sounded surprised. "Eating okay? Of course I am. What an odd question."
"Just that, I know how you've been dieting so strictly, and exercising so much. I don't want you to fade away to nothing."
She tutted. "No danger of that, Cara, trust me. Anyway, how's it all going at Rochester Towers? Still enjoying yourself up there in the back of beyond?"
Too much, I thought, with a sudden clarity. "It's fine," I said. "Adele's lovely, and everyone's very kind here. I'm really happy. It's Mr Rochester's birthday party tomorrow, and I'm invited. It's going to be a very posh event."
"Ooh, get you. What are you wearing?"
I pulled a face. "My one and only dress."
"Not that black maxi dress with the pink roses?"
"Don't say it like that," I protested. "It's a perfectly nice dress."
"Nice isn't what you want for a posh birthday party, Cara," she pointed out. "This employer of yours is a multi-millionaire, and I'll bet he's invited loads of posh people. You can't wear a boring dress like that. What on earth are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it's the only dress I have."
"Well, you'd just better get yourself to the shops and rectify the situation," she said firmly. "Seriously, you deserve this. Get a new dress. New shoes. Have your hair done. Buy some makeup. Live a little, for God's sake. You deserve it." We were both quiet for a moment, then she said, "No word from Seth?"
"Not for a few days. I'm praying he's moved on to Isolde now." I crossed my fingers. "And the best of British luck to her."
She laughed. "You're not wrong there. I'll love you and leave you, Cara. Have a great time at the party. Get a new dress! Don't snog anyone you shouldn't. Oh, what the hell, snog whoever you like. Bye, sweetie."
"Bye, Tamsin."
Snog anyone I like? If only! I stared out of the window at the lawn and thought I really would have to make sure that, tomorrow, I stayed well away from any alcohol. And I'd better stay well away from Ethan Rochester, too.
#
Michael, it turned out, was silver-haired and twinkly-eyed, and, without doubt, the object of Mrs F's affections. When I walked into the kitchen after putting Adele to bed, ready and eager for my dinner, I found her standing by the table, looking all coy and girly, while he sat there, hands cupped around a mug of coffee, enthralling her with tales from Old London Town.
She went very red when she spotted me. "Oh, Cara! Let me introduce you to Michael. Michael, this is Cara, Adele's nanny."
He beamed up at me and held out his hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Cara. I've heard good things about you."
"Have you?" I glanced at Mrs F and smiled. "Thank you very much."
She looked down at Michael, whose eyes twinkled even more in response.
"Laura hasn't said a word," he told me.
I felt the fire spread from my chest, all the way up my neck, and across my cheekbones. Mr Rochester had said good things about me? "Oh," I said, or rather squeaked.
He watched me thoughtfully, until I felt like I was being barbecued.
"Ethan's having dinner in his suite with his mother," Mrs F said, changing the subject, to my everlasting gratitude, "so I thought the three of us could eat in here tonight, and then spend the evening in my sitting room. What do you say?"
I decided that three, in that case, would definitely be a crowd. "I'm happy to eat here," I told her, "but I think, if it's all right with you, I'll go to my room afterwards."
To my astonishment, she looked horrified at the very idea. I would have thought she'd be gagging to be alone with Michael. "Don't be silly," she insisted. "You don't want to be stuck up there on your own all evening. You can watch television with us, can't she, Michael?"
He looked a bit taken aback, and I had a feeling he was pretty surprised about her outburst himself. Clearly, he'd been expecting, or at least hoping for, some alone time with her. He obviously returned her affections, and there was no way I was going to play gooseberry.
"I'm perfectly happy to watch television in my own room," I said firmly. "Honestly, Mrs F. I'm quite tired, actually, and I fancy an early night, anyway. Now, what's for dinner?"
She seemed really put out by my reply, but Michael twinkled his approval at me, and I thought I was probably doing her a favour, even if she didn't realise it. Perhaps she didn't trust herself with him, I thought, amused. I couldn't say I blamed her. I knew how it felt to be tempted, didn't I? But Mrs F had no reason to be cautious. If she liked him, and he liked her, what was the problem? She was far too sensible to be led astray, and he seemed like a nice, uncomplicated man. Not a pretentious, fake poet, nor a multimillionaire married man. No, I was definitely going to get out of their way later, however much she protested.
#
I must admit, heading up to my room after dinner, I was curious. Nearing the door to Ethan's suite as I stepped onto the landing, I was really tempted to put my ear to it and listen in. I was dying to meet Jennifer, but then again, I reminded myself, she was ill. She must have been. She hadn't even made an appearance, but had been whisked upstairs and given Ethan's suite, rather than her own room, and she hadn't even seen Adele. God, what if she was dying? It hadn't occurred to me before, but there was something Mr Rochester and Mrs F weren't telling me about her illness.
After a last, thoughtful look toward the door, I went on into my own room.
Though I tried to concentrate on the television, I couldn't settle. I realised I hadn't set eyes on Mr Rochester all day. Not once. It scared me how much I'd missed him. Then I remembered Michael's words.
Mrs F hasn't said a word. I've heard good things about you.
Only my employer could have said those things. But what had he said? Did he mean I was a good nanny, or something else?
You're being ridiculous, I chastised myself sternly. Of course he meant I was a good nanny. What else could he mean?
I didn't want him to mean anything else, anyway. I was off men, I reminded myself. No more Brontë heroes for me.
I jumped when the phone beeped on my bedside table. Picking it up showed Seth’s name on the screen, and I experienced a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Betrayed! O cruel harlot!
I am Heathcliff, left alone to grieve.
You are Cathy, destined to leave.
Creation of Emily, not of Charlotte.
Was it foretold, down the ages?
In Wuthering Heights' gothic pages?
I think you should know I had to give up the flat. The council weren't very understanding about my rent arrears, so I hope you're happy now. You have no idea what you've driven me to. I don't know where we're going to live when you come back. You'd better hope Isolde is willing to forgive and forget, though I warn
you, her spare room is tiny.
Not as tiny as his brain, clearly. I should have known he wouldn't sort out the rent. So, the flat had gone? It was no loss, though I did wonder, with a sudden panic, what had happened to my belongings. I'd barely brought anything with me, having had to leave some of my clothes, all my books, and some personal stuff like photos and old birthday cards behind. Maybe they were at Isolde's? Or maybe he'd burned them all, or taken them to the local tip.
Well, I told myself, they were just things. I had no use for romantic novels anymore, anyway, and Tamsin, Redmond, and Mum and Dad would have plenty of photos that I could copy. I certainly didn't need any of Seth. I would be okay. Whatever happened, whatever he'd done, it didn't matter. He was no longer my concern.
After deleting all his messages, I lay back on my bed with a sigh of relief. Seth was the past. I had to look to the future. And that, despite my treacherous hormones, would be a strictly man-free zone.
Chapter Fourteen
What do you buy the man who has everything? And should you buy him anything, anyway, considering he's your employer and, as unbelievable as it seems, you only met him a few weeks before?
I'd struggled with what to do for ages, but decided, in the end, to just buy Mr Rochester a card. I didn't know him well enough to gauge what he would like, and I didn't want to ask Mrs F, so a card would have to suffice.
When he didn't show his face at breakfast the morning of his birthday, I presumed him to be with his mother, until Mrs F informed me he was out and about somewhere, having already eaten with her earlier, and that she reckoned he was probably psyching himself up for the party.
"Psyching himself up?" I said, surprised. "Is it going to be some sort of ordeal, or something? I'd have thought he'd be looking forward to it."
"Not if I know him," she said, handing me a cup of tea. "He was railroaded into it by his friends. They, no doubt, fancied a free weekend trip to the country to have a nosy round here. And he probably thought he should make the effort, since he does nothing but work when he's down there."