by Sharon Booth
"Thank you for today." His voice was soft, considered.
I opened my eyes and gave him a sideways look. "There's nothing to thank me for."
"But there is. It could have been awkward. My mother isn't always at ease with Adele, and she tends to run out of patience after ten minutes in her company. You made their reunion effortless. You have a very positive effect on my mother—on them both. I'm very grateful."
I knew my face was probably as pink as the roses in the cottage garden. "It's my job."
"And you're very good at it," he assured me, smiling again. "Did you always want to work with children?"
"Honestly?" I pulled a face. "I can't say I ever had a career plan, at all. I sort of fell into it. Childcare was recommended to me by the careers adviser, as something that even someone as academically challenged as me could manage."
He frowned. "That's ridiculous. Working with children certainly isn't a job that everyone could do. Besides, I find it impossible to believe that you're academically challenged, and equally difficult to believe that anyone would label you as such."
"Well, whatever you think, it's true," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I never went to university. Never even did A-levels. Unlike my siblings."
"Having had a number of most illuminating chats with you, I'm quite sure you're more than capable of getting a degree. What stopped you?"
"That's really kind of you to say so, but—"
"I'm not being kind," he said sharply. "It's a fact." He sighed. "Sorry. Just that, you always do that—put yourself down. You should have more faith in yourself, as I have faith in you."
I trembled, not knowing how to respond to that, and unsure what to make of it.
"Tell me," he urged. "What happened to stop you from going to university?"
"Long and boring story," I assured him.
His eyes pierced into me. "Indulge me."
I looked away, unable to face that level of scrutiny any longer. "Okay. Well, at school, I was a bookworm who wanted to learn. I wasn't an academic genius like my brother, Redmond, but I was keen to discover new things, and there was nothing I loved more than spending my lunch hour in the school library, head in a book."
"Nothing wrong with that," he said. "So far, so good."
"Huh, you think? Except, I quickly discovered that, at my high school, bookworms were not popular, and were actually targets for bullies. I figured out that, unless I wanted to spend my days hiding in a toilet cubicle to escape the name-calling, or worse, I had to put aside the books and become the entertainment."
"Ah." He shook his head slightly. "Not good. So, that's what you did?"
"Yep. I turned myself into the class clown, and by making people laugh, I soon got the gangs on my side. I was no threat to them, which helped."
"Threat? In what way?" He sounded puzzled, and I hesitated, not sure I should expand on the subject.
"Just that, there was no way someone so small and insignificant, who wore no makeup and didn't bother with fashion, could compete for the boys." I blushed as his eyes widened. "I wasn't glamorous, like my sister, Tamsin, so I didn't see any point in trying. I survived high school," I said, hurrying on, "but it cost me. My chances of passing exams slipped farther away with every day, and I left school with a handful of very mediocre GCSEs."
"But you could have done more."
"A lot more."
"If you'd only been true to yourself."
He was perceptive, I'd give him that, and I nodded, feeling choked. "Redmond went to an all-boys school and didn't have that problem. He absolutely shone, and he flew through university, too. He's terribly clever. He lectures at a university now. Mum and Dad are so proud of him."
"And your sister? What does she do?"
What did Tamsin do? A few weeks ago, I'd have said Zumba, shopping, Pilates, flower arranging, and updating Facebook. If I was being honest then, though, I suspected I'd have to say, panics a lot and cries more than she lets on. The thought was depressing. "She's a mum," I said. "And before that, she excelled at college, worked abroad with a holiday company for a while, moved back home, got a job in an office and married the boss. Now she looks after my two nieces, and she's brilliant at that, too." I couldn't bring myself to mention Brad's betrayal. It felt disloyal to Tamsin, and my sister had had enough disloyalty shown to her lately. "So, you see," I finished, "my siblings have done really well. I'm definitely the last in the queue when they handed out brains in this family."
"You sell yourself short," he insisted. "We all have different gifts. You're wonderful with children, and you're good with adults, too. You make people feel valued, wanted, cared for. You're a nurturing person, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that."
"You don't exactly get paid a lot for nurturing people," I pointed out.
He tutted in disgust. "Money has nothing to do with anything," he said fervently.
Easy for you to say, mate, I thought, you've got pots of the stuff.
He gazed deep into my eyes. "I know what you're thinking."
Crikey, I hope not!
"You're thinking, easy for me to say money has nothing to do with anything. What would I know about it, given my financial status?"
Well, er, close enough. Oh, dear.
"You're quite right, of course. What would I know about needing money? But it doesn't stop me from knowing what makes a person happy. And, as someone who has always had plenty of money, I can tell you, it doesn't automatically equate to a sense of fulfilment."
He sounded so sad, my heart just melted. "You should ease off the business side of things. Why don't you delegate more? Let's face it, you're a fine one to talk. There you are, stuck running that business, when anyone can see you have a real talent for painting. You should do more of that. I told you, let someone else do the work sometimes. Your gift deserves to be nurtured."
"You're very kind," he said, smiling ruefully. "I'm just an amateur. Average, at best."
"Now who doesn't know their own worth?" I said, nudging him. "You have an amazing flair for painting, and you should be glad of it. Enjoy it. I mean, how much money do you need? You can't spend the rest of your life chasing the next deal."
"It's not about that," he said, staring at the ground. "My father made me promise that I wouldn't let the business fail, and it's not so easy in this day and age. We have to constantly watch the market, keep one step ahead of the game. Particularly now, when so many people shop online. Do you have any idea how many well-established stores have folded in the last few years? It's a cutthroat world out there."
"I can appreciate that." I thought sadly of our local branch of Woolworth's. How I'd missed that shop when it closed down. No more Saturday afternoons browsing the bookshelves, queueing at the record department, and mooching around the pic 'n' mix. Sad times. I wouldn't want Rochester's to disappear from the high street, even if I'd never set foot in one of their stores. I knew Tamsin shopped there and thought very highly of it. Besides, it was the principle of the thing. "But you must have other people around you who could take some of the burden from your shoulders, surely?"
He nodded. "Of course, but I feel I owe it to my father ..."
"You owe it to your father to do your best for the business and for yourself," I said. "If you're exhausted and stressed, you won't be able to think clearly. Therefore, it makes perfect sense to find a better work-life balance and spend more time doing the things you love, with the people you love. I'm sure your father would want you to be happy. Besides, didn't you say you were going to make big changes? You said you needed new blood. You need to go for it, if you ask me."
He lifted his head and watched me thoughtfully. "You're absolutely right," he admitted at last. "I need to put the shadow of my father behind me and make my own decisions. Time to surround myself with people who think the same as I do. I've known it for ages, really. There are some really excellent people I'd love to work with, and they'd definitely be able to share the burden." He sighed. "I suppose I never had muc
h reason to stay at home before. I couldn't justify it to myself, but maybe now I can. There are people here who need me, and people I want to be with, spend time with. Perhaps it's time to rethink things."
"Adele would be happy about that," I told him, smiling.
"And what about you?" His voice was so quiet, I barely heard him.
"Sorry?"
"I said, what about you?" As his hand reached out and took mine, I thought I was going to slide off the swing and land on the ground with an embarrassing thump.
"Wh—what about me?"
"Would you be happy about that?"
I cleared my throat, trying at the same time to clear my mind of all the ridiculous thoughts racing through it—thoughts too far-fetched to possibly have any truth in them. "Happy about what? You mean, about you spending time with Adele?" Of course that's what he meant. Idiot! "Yes, that would be good for her, too, so obviously I'd be happy about that."
He stared down at my hand, softly squeezing my fingers. "But I didn't mean that. I meant, would you be glad if I spent more time with the people who mattered to me? People like you, Cara."
Was he winding me up? My heart thudded so loudly, it had to be audible to him. "I'm just the nanny," I said feebly.
Standing up, he turned to face me and held the swing ropes in his hands, his expression becoming deadly serious. "You're not just the nanny to me," he said. "Don't you understand what I'm saying? Don't you realise how I feel?"
I giggled nervously. "Is Ken growing something dodgy in this garden? I think you're hallucinating."
I gasped when he pulled me to my feet and held me close. If I'd had trouble breathing before, I was positively suffocating then. I lifted my head to meet his gaze, and the shock hit me like a slap across the face. He studied me as if I was the most precious thing in the world, and I'd never been more terrified. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to forget all the things I'd learned over the last few months. I didn't have a clue what to say, how to react. How could I let myself fall for Mr Rochester, when I'd only just escaped the clutches of Heathcliff?
Except—except Mr Rochester wasn't like Heathcliff, was he? Heathcliff was a jealous, vicious, vindictive monster. Hadn't I realised, years ago, that Wuthering Heights wasn't a story of love, at all, but of revenge and obsession? And Ethan wasn't like Seth. Seth was a lazy, selfish, pretentious pothead. Why hadn't I faced up to the fact that Seth and I were not, and never had been, Cathy and Heathcliff? But what was I thinking? Ethan and I weren't Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester, either. This was real life, not fiction. I'd had enough of make-believe romances, hadn't I?
I wriggled free of his grasp and backed away, narrowly avoiding the swing and trying not to panic and run.
"What is it?" His voice matched his eyes—full of anxiety. "I'm sorry. I've behaved inappropriately, I know. I'm your employer, and this is completely unacceptable. Forgive me, Cara?"
"Look," I said desperately, "can we just forget this? Can you stop doing this, please?"
"Doing what?"
"Doing this weird act! You're saying things that make no sense to me. I'm just the nanny. You're a multi-millionaire businessman, with super-loaded friends, a lifestyle I can't even begin to imagine, not to mention a wife somewhere in the world—oh, God!" The wife! I'd almost forgotten about her. What was I doing, sitting on a swing, allowing myself to be sweet-talked by a married man? I was shameless. Though, not as shameless as he was.
He held out his hand, and when I took another step backwards, he threw up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay. I won't touch you, I promise. But look, whatever I do for a living, whatever you do for a living, what does it matter? I'm just Ethan, and you're just Cara. We're two people who met and got on. We do get on, don't we?"
"Well, yes," I admitted. "But lots of people get on. I get on with Michael and Ken. I hardly want to start a romantic relationship with them, do I?"
"But it's more than that with us." He frowned. "Don't you feel it, too? Okay, look, tell me you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, and I'll leave you to it. I'll never bother you again. But you have to look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel something between us—some spark, some connection. I don't believe it. You and I—there's a bond. I felt it from the moment I almost ran you over on the moors road and we had that fiery exchange of words.
"I can't believe I'm saying this to you, and believe me, I know how corny it sounds, but I can't think of a better way to explain. An old Chinese proverb says that an invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. It says the thread may stretch, or tangle, but it will never break. That's what I felt pulling me towards you. You and I, we're connected with that red thread. I know it. I've never felt this way before. When I kissed you yesterday, I knew—I knew for sure. And, yes, it scares me, too, Cara. It scares the life out of me. That's why I walked away. I'm sorry I did that, I really am, but it hit me harder than I hit that dratted machine this afternoon, and I just can't ignore it any longer."
"And did you say all this to your wife?" I demanded, sounding far harsher than I meant to. It was a struggle not to launch myself into his arms, but where would that get me? He was a married man, and besides, I'd heard all the same sort of stuff from Seth once. Many years ago. All that, can't live without you, stuff. The bond. The I've never felt this way before speech. Then he'd used it on Gina, and probably Isolde too, come to that. I wouldn’t fall for all that again, just to be cast aside when the boredom set in, which it would, all too quickly. How could a man like Ethan Rochester be content with someone as ordinary as me, for heaven's sake? I may not have had a degree, but I wasn't stupid. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.
He looked utterly wretched. "No. I can honestly say I never said all that to my wife," he said. "It's not what you think. This thing with Antonia ..."
"Your marriage?" I said pointedly.
"It's not a marriage. Not really. It's … complicated."
"Of course it is." Wasn't it always?
"Trust me, please," he said, taking my hands in his and holding them against his chest. I remembered what that chest had looked like without his shirt and gulped. "I'm sorting this all out, once and for all. Things are in hand. Please, just be patient."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, growing ever more confused. "You're my boss, for goodness sake, and you're standing here, holding my hands, telling me all these things that I can't fathom, because why would someone like you ever look at someone like me? And I really don't understand what you—"
My sentence got cut off halfway through, as he pressed his mouth to mine and kissed me, pulling me closer to him and holding the back of my head so I couldn't have moved away if I'd wanted to. No, really, I couldn't. Well, not without a bit of effort, anyway and, to be honest, I wasn't exactly trying very hard. I felt as if all the blood in my body was pooling away to my feet. I had no energy, no strength to protest. And then, it was as if a fire was lit within me. All those cold ashes that had sat inside me, all dampened down and redundant, without so much as a smoulder for years, suddenly ignited again. Oh, they were doing more than smoulder, all right. I was aflame. The blood in my feet heated up like molten lava and coursed through my veins, heating my whole body as I shamelessly returned his kiss with a passion that was, to be frank, quite disgraceful.
"Cara," he murmured, his lips brushing my cheek as he held me to him. I swore I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He kissed me again, gently that time, and I melded against him, not wanting to fight it any longer. I'd thought yesterday's kiss amazing, but this—this was life-changing. I just wanted the moment to go on forever.
Of course, it couldn't. Regretfully, we moved apart, and he smiled uncertainly at me, his eyes betraying a sudden anxiety. "I'm sorry. I do know that this is inappropriate, of course I do. I don't make a habit of kissing members of staff, I assure you."
"That's not what Michael says," I said, teasing. I just wanted to lighten the mood, but his eyes d
arkened.
"He told you about Jodie?"
"Jodie?" I felt nauseous. "What about her?"
"Oh, God. You were joking. Of course you were." He stepped back, rubbing his forehead with his hand.
"Hang on," I said, my voice cold and steady, even though inside I was a churning mass of nerves. "Are you saying you had an affair with Adele's previous nanny?"
"What?" He looked at me as if I was mad. "Of course I didn't! But there was an incident ..."
"Is this the reason she was fired?" A tremble started within me. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he was about to tell me, but at the same time, a part of me was calmly telling myself that I needed to know. I vaguely remembered Briony hinting about some incident with the London nanny. Why hadn't I dug deeper? I'd got far too carried away. Hormones, I thought bleakly. You could always count on your hormones to overrule your common sense.
He took my hand again, staring down at it and squeezing it gently. "I swear to you, nothing happened. She, er, acted in a manner that wasn't invited, or welcome."
"Meaning?"
He took a deep breath. "Meaning, I got home late one night, went up to my room, switched on the light, and found her lying stark naked in my bed."
I gaped at him. "You're joking!"
"I'm so not." He bit his lip. "I really wish I was. That's why Mrs Fairweather had to come to London to take care of Adele, and why, rather than employ anyone else down there, we sent Adele to Yorkshire. With my mother in New York, it made more sense, because, to be honest, I didn't want to hire another nanny. I was hoping Mrs Fairweather would take care of her, but, of course, it was too much for her."