Resisting Mr Rochester

by Sharon Booth

  Even so, I stared down at the photo and felt a bit sick. They were standing with their arms around each other, laughing at whoever was behind the camera, and they seemed totally relaxed and at ease with each other. Judging by Mr Rochester's appearance, it was a fairly recent picture, too, so clearly, they had more contact than I'd realised.

  "Paris," he murmured, and shook his head slightly.

  They'd been in Paris together? The city of romance. So much for my belief that their marriage was dead. I stared harder at Antonia's face. There was a light of love in her eyes that was unmistakable. I wasn't imagining it. I kind of wished I was.

  "It was on my pillow," Briony said, sounding rather hysterical. "I heard noises. They woke me up. I switched on the lamp, and there it was, right beside where my head had been. Someone came into my room and planted it there."

  "Who would do such a thing?" Joel said, hugging her.

  "I don't know," I said, tilting my head, as if trying to work it out. "But given there's a bald, deformed creature roaming the house with a knife, I'd say you got off lightly."

  "What on earth is she talking about?" Briony said.

  "She says she saw something in her room," said Tristan's cynical friend, in a tone that clearly said he thought I was imagining it all. "Probably a nightmare."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Briony snapped. "Stop attention seeking." She seemed to finally notice my employer's half-undressed state, because she looked at me, then gave him a filthy look and said, "Hoping for a replay, Ethan?"

  He scowled. "Can everyone just calm down and go back to bed?" He waved the photo in her face. "This is obviously someone's idea of a joke. I can't think what point they were trying to make."

  "Can't you?" Her eyes gazed into his, her lips parted slightly, and she stood there all quivering, with an invitation practically oozing from her body.

  "No," he said firmly. "I can't. Now get back to sleep and put all this nonsense behind you."

  Joel squeezed Briony's shoulders. "Would you like me to sit with you a while? Make sure you're all right?"

  Briony gave Ethan a long, hard look. Then she shrugged slightly and turned to Joel, giving him a seductive smile that seemed to send him all trembly, even as I watched. "Thank you, sweetie, that would be so kind of you."

  Dazedly, he followed her into her bedroom, and they shut the door behind them, while Tristan and his friend grinned and nudged each other. Ethan turned to them and instructed them to get some sleep, and as they shuffled off, he said, "Cara, come with me."

  "Where are we going?" I said, but he was already heading up the landing towards his old suite. He rapped on the door, then motioned to me as it opened. I walked towards him, feeling a mixture of curiosity and dread. What was I about to see?

  "All right, Mother," he said wearily. "What exactly have you been up to?"

  A strange vision met my eyes. A woman with a sort of face sling on her slightly swollen head was peering out at Ethan and looking rather guilty. She reminded me of the ghost of Jacob Marley. I wondered, if I removed her sling, would her jaw drop open like some fearsome ghoul?

  Thinking that, I realised she must have been the strange apparition that had appeared in my room, and finally, a lot of things began to make sense.

  "Jennifer Rochester?" I realised I'd said it out loud and blushed.

  There was no mistaking the procedure that she had undergone. She'd had a face lift. The swelling and slight bruising, and the facial support sling, left no room for doubt. No wonder she'd hidden away up there and hadn't even seen Adele. She wouldn't want to alarm a four-year-old with her appearance.

  "You'd better come in," she said stiffly, and we both followed her into the room, Mr Rochester closing the door firmly behind us.

  I looked around, realising that it was, in fact, Ethan's own room. Well, his suite of rooms, to be accurate. I could understand why he'd given it to his mother, given that she was closeted away up there. Not only was there the bedroom and en-suite, but through an open door, I glimpsed a sofa and a television in another room. It was practically a self-contained flat, much like Mrs F's.

  "I think you'd better tell us exactly what you've been up to tonight," Mr Rochester said, waving the photo in her face. "And don't try to deny it."

  She gave a sort of twisted smile, which I didn't think was meant to be twisted. Her eyes, although puffy, were definitely twinkling, and in spite of the fact that she'd frightened me half to death earlier on, I thought she had a mischievous expression rather than demonic, which was reassuring.

  "I'm not trying to deny it, darling," she said, gleefully. "It was terribly good fun. Although," she added, glancing apologetically in my direction, "I'm awfully sorry I scared you, Cara. I hadn't realised you were in Ethan's room. I only went in to warn him what I'd done to Briony before she started accusing anyone else."

  "You frightened the life out of both of them," said her son sternly. "What did you think you were doing?"

  Jennifer sighed and sank onto the end of the bed. "I was bored," she admitted. "Besides, I think that little madam needs reminding that you're a married man, don't you? I heard her tonight on the landing. Shameless little hussy."

  On the landing? What had happened while I'd been fast asleep, oblivious to all the shenanigans that were taking place outside my door?

  Ethan shook his head. "Don't you think I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself? I'm well aware I'm married. I know my responsibilities to Antonia, believe me." He sounded quite sad for a moment, and I glanced at him, puzzled. "I don't need you to look out for me, Mother," he added. "What you did was like something from an Agatha Christie novel."

  "I know." Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "I did consider spearing the picture to the pillow with a dagger, but I thought that might be taking it too far."

  "For God's sake!" He bit his lip, but I could hear the hint of laughter in his voice and felt suddenly quite indignant.

  "Okay," I said, "so I get that you only put the photo on Briony's pillow to stop her flirting with Mr Rochester, and I understand that you didn't mean to frighten me to death earlier, but what about my dress?"

  She frowned—or, at least, tried to. "Dress?"

  Mr Rochester put his hand on my shoulder. "Oh, no, Cara. Not that. She wouldn't. Trust me."

  "Why should I trust either of you?" I demanded. "I hardly know you, and she's clearly got a weird sense of humour." I probably shouldn't have said that, given he was my boss and she was his mother, but I was tired and I had an overflow of adrenaline sloshing around my system with nowhere to go. That was my excuse, anyway.

  Jennifer tutted. "Weird sense of humour? How rude."

  "Not as rude as slashing my new dress to bits," I protested, aware that Mr Rochester's eyes were fixed on my face and trying not to look at him, as irresistible as the magnetic pull from them was.

  "My mother," he said firmly, "may be many things, but she's not vindictive, or cruel. She would never slash the dress, Cara. Obviously, you don't have to take my word for that, but I hope, by now, you realise you can trust me."

  Could I? I wasn't sure about anything anymore. And how much did I know about him, anyway?

  "What dress are you talking about?" Jennifer said, looking from one to the other of us.

  "My new party dress," I mumbled. "And how did you know my name was Cara, anyway?" I added, as I realised she'd called me by my name when I entered the room.

  "I told her your name, of course," said her son.

  "He's told me all about you," she said. "Who else would you be? Not one of these hangers-on, that's for sure. Now, what about this dress?"

  "Cara bought a new dress for the party and left it hanging on the wardrobe door while she went for a shower. When she went back into the bedroom, someone had been in and cut it to pieces. She was understandably scared."

  "Oh, my dear." Jennifer stretched out her hand, and rather reluctantly, I took it. "How awful for you. No wonder you were scared! And then for me to appear like that in your room. I'
m so sorry."

  "She was very nervous, so I swapped rooms with her," Mr Rochester said. "I thought she'd be safe in my room with the door having a lock. I knew, of course, about you having your own key, but it never occurred to me that you'd go in there, tonight of all nights."

  "Ah. I wondered what she was doing in your bed." Jennifer managed another stiff smile.

  "Which brings me back to your irresponsible behaviour." Mr Rochester sounded like a stern teacher addressing a naughty pupil. "You're supposed to be resting, and keeping away from people, until your swelling goes down and the bruises have disappeared. Your idea, I might add, not mine. Yet, you're out prowling the corridors of this house where anyone could see you. If you're that unconcerned about your appearance, you could have come to the party, after all."

  Jennifer looked guilty. "Sorry. Of course I'm concerned. I was just agitated, having heard that hussy practically issue an invitation to her bed, and sitting here, my mind was running riot. I wanted to warn her to keep her hands off, that's all."

  "And as I've said, I can look after myself."

  At least he hadn't taken Briony up on her invitation, I thought, though I couldn't help but wonder why. And what did he mean about his responsibilities to Antonia? She didn't show much responsibility towards him, leaving him alone all the time to go off on her travels. It was all a bit perplexing.

  Jennifer squeezed my hand. "You look exhausted, Cara, and no wonder. Get yourself back to bed and lock the door. I promise faithfully that I won't leave this room tonight."

  "I should hope not," Mr Rochester said. He gave me a concerned look. "You do look tired. I'll see you back to your room, make sure it's clear, then you can lock yourself in after I leave."

  "There's no need ..." I began, but my voice trailed off as I realised I would rather prefer it if he checked things out for me. Any weirdo could have sneaked in and be lying in wait while I’d been chasing down monsters, after all. "If you like," I said feebly.

  We said goodnight to Jennifer and headed back to my room, where Mr Rochester very nobly searched under my bed, in the en-suite, and even inside the wardrobe for me, just to make sure there was no one there.

  My heart thudded the whole time he was in the room, and not due to the possibility of a monster under the bed. It occurred to me that Mr Rochester and I were alone, in a bedroom, practically naked. Well, not exactly. I mean, I was in pyjamas, obviously, but I'd become very aware that they were quite fitted, and I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. He, on the other hand, wore nothing but a pair of trousers, over those trunks.

  Oh, those trunks! I remembered the sight of him throwing back the duvet and revealing that toned body, and my face burned. That image, and the broad chest and flat stomach still on display, proved difficult to ignore.

  "No monsters in here now," he said, eventually, as he closed the wardrobe door.

  "I'm relieved to hear it," I said, pulling a horrified face as I realised how husky my voice sounded. Lust had clearly strangled my vocal chords.

  He stared at me a moment, and I saw the expression in his eyes change, as if he'd just noticed what we were wearing, too. Thankfully, he turned away. "Lock the door after me, okay? I'm sure things will look better in the morning." Was it my imagination, or did his voice sound a little strained, too?

  "Well, they could hardly look worse," I said, in an attempt at flippancy. I followed him to the door, key in hand. "Thanks for looking, though," I added, as he hovered in the doorway. "And I'm sorry I threw the water at you." I daren't look at him in case he could read the lustful thoughts that were chasing through my mind. "Goodnight, Mr Rochester."

  To my amazement, he reached for my hand. My head shot up, and my eyes met his. It seemed like a million emotions attacked him all at once, and he just stood there, as if unable to put any of them into words. Slowly, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, then let it go. "Ethan," he said softly. "My name's Ethan. Goodnight, Cara." He turned and walked away.

  I closed the door, then stood there, staring at it, my mouth open. What the hell had just happened?

  After turning the key in the lock, I scuttled back to bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling. I'd quite forgotten about monsters on the prowl. I knew, right then, I was facing an entirely different kind of threat, and it was more dangerous than anything else I'd ever known.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I slept in until almost nine the following morning, which was unheard of for me. I expected I'd be in a bit of bother with everyone because of it, but when I entered the kitchen, it was a scene of domestic harmony. Michael, Mrs F and Adele were sitting at the table eating breakfast, and they all beamed at me when I sat down, no trace of condemnation from any of them.

  "I'm so sorry I overslept," I began, but Mrs F waved her hand at me.

  "No need to apologise. Ethan told us what happened last night. What a performance! No wonder you overslept, although the wonder is you slept at all. Michael went over to Mrs Turner's and picked Adele up, to save you the job. We decided we're going to look after her today, so you can have the day to yourself."

  "Won't you be busy looking after the guests?" I said, puzzled.

  She tutted. "They can look after themselves. Ethan's up and out already, but the rest of them are still snoring their heads off, as far as I can tell. They probably won't surface until around lunchtime, so I'll do them all a cooked breakfast, and that will be that for the day. They can clear off before dinner, and I'm sure they can amuse themselves this afternoon."

  All I really heard was, Ethan's up and out already. I didn't know where he found the energy, and what was he doing, anyway?

  "His special guest has been asking for you," Mrs F added, giving a surreptitious nod towards Adele, as if to remind me not to mention Jennifer's name. "Seems you made quite an impression. Can you take her breakfast up to her? She asked me to ask you specially."

  "Really?" I felt a bit dismayed at that, not sure I wanted to spend any time with a woman who did such crazy things in the middle of the night, not to mention hiding away from her own daughter—or granddaughter, if I was correct. Seemed I had no choice, though. "I'll make myself a cup of tea first, and then I'll go up. Good morning, Adele. Enjoying your cereal?"

  She nodded, eyes shining. "Yes, thank you. Michael and Mrs F are taking me to the seaside this afternoon."

  "Really? Aren't you a lucky girl?" I said, smiling at her.

  "I know. I'm taking my bucket and spade," she added happily.

  "Wonderful," I said. "Make sure you build a giant sandcastle and get Michael to take a picture for me."

  "What about your breakfast?" Michael said. "I make a mean bacon sarnie, if you fancy one?"

  "No, honestly. I'm not hungry." The wine from last night was still making me queasy. I shouldn't have drunk so much. Nerves, I supposed. I certainly couldn't face greasy bacon, or anything else, for that matter.

  "You should eat," Mrs F said, sounding concerned. "You're fading away before my eyes."

  I laughed. "Hardly! Don't worry, Mrs F, I'll be hungry at lunchtime, no doubt."

  "Hmm. We'll see," she said.

  I made a cup of tea, trying not to yawn. "What is—er—the guest having for breakfast?"

  "There's a smoothie in the fridge for her." Mrs F rolled her eyes. "Some breakfast, but there you go."

  I took the tall, lidded cup from the fridge, picked up my cup of tea, and told them I'd see them later, then I headed upstairs to face Jennifer.

  Not wanting to disturb any of Ethan's guests, I crept along the landing. The last thing I needed was to come face to face with Briony Wotsit-Quaver, or the sycophantic Joel, or any other of Ethan’s London friends. I couldn't imagine what he had in common with any of them. They really didn't strike me as his sort of people, at all. But then, as I'd pointed out correctly last night, how well did I really know him? Certainly not well enough to predict that he'd kiss my hand and tell me to call him Ethan.

  I tapped lightly on J
ennifer's door, and nearly fell into her room when she opened it immediately. Had she been waiting to pounce, or something?

  "Morning, Cara," she said. "Thanks so much for bringing my smoothie. I'm feeling quite hungry today."

  I checked the carpet to make sure I hadn't spilled any tea, then satisfied I hadn't, I studied her warily.

  She didn't have the facial sling on, and her honey blonde hair seemed distinctly flattened and messy, something she was clearly aware of, as she patted it rather self-consciously and said, "I know I look a fright, but it will all be worth it in the end."

  She motioned for me to follow her through to the living room part of the suite, which I did, looking around me curiously. It was quite a masculine sort of room—all brown leather and oak furniture, and tartan fabrics, but there were French doors opening out onto a balcony, and Jennifer opened them so that I could feast myself on the amazing view of the lawns and lake. I sat in a large, comfy armchair, while she plonked herself on the sofa, feet curled under her, and slurped noisily on her smoothie.

  "Ooh, I needed that." She closed her eyes for a moment.

  I sipped my tea, wondering why she wanted my company all of a sudden. As the minutes ticked by and she said nothing, I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "You've taken your face sling off," I said, in a desperate bid to break the silence. "You don't look so scary this morning."

  Why had I said that? Fancy implying that last night she'd looked hideous, which wasn't exactly true. Well, not really. Although she'd looked terrifying in the dark, looming over me like that, all swollen and bandaged, like something from a Hammer Horror film.

  "Yes, I don't have to wear it all the time now. It's been just over a week. Things are settling down at last." She must have seen the doubtful look in my eye, because she managed a smile. "You think this is bad? You should have seen me the day after the procedure. I terrified the life out of myself. I expect you've guessed that I've had cosmetic surgery. Quite a lot of it, actually. I'm so happy with the results already. I was getting terribly jowly, and my eyes were so droopy. I feel quite like my old self again now, and I can't wait to show everyone my new look."