Resisting Mr Rochester

by Sharon Booth

  What a pity it had all come too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sitting in the garden, Dad and I shared the hammock that Mum had bought him for his birthday—even though, as he reminded me with a twinkle in his eye, it was her who’d always wanted one.

  "You're so lucky," I said with a sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder as we rocked gently back and forth. "You and Mum, I mean. You have such a happy marriage, and such a simple life."

  He laughed at that. "You think?"

  "Well," I said, surprised, "don't you?"

  "No one's marriage is that perfect, love," he assured me. "And no one's life is untouched by pain and loss and fear. No one's." He turned to face me. "This Ethan chap—what made you fall for him?"

  "Does it matter?" I said. "It's over now. No point in going over it all."

  "But I've been thinking about it," he admitted. "About him. He said his marriage wasn't a real marriage. What do you think he meant by that?"

  I shrugged. "I suppose, because they rarely saw one another. As Mum said, though, it didn't stop them conceiving twins, did it?"

  "Hmm. It all seems very odd to me. But you believed him? I mean, at the time. You believed he was genuine, and that he loved you?"

  "I didn't want to," I said. "That was what made it so different from Seth. With him, I desperately wanted to believe that he loved me, and that blinded me to reality for so long. But with Ethan ... I really fought it every step of the way. I couldn't allow myself to believe he meant what he said. Somehow, though, he got through my defences. I couldn't help it."

  He sighed. "Life's a very funny game, isn't it? And love's even funnier."

  "But you struck lucky," I said. "You're happy."

  "Oh, yes. Now."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Now? Are you saying you and Mum have had problems?"

  He took my hand and squeezed it, then he looked at me, and I was horrified to see tears in his eyes. "Now, Cara, I'm going to tell you something that Redmond and Tamsin don't know, and your Mum would be furious if she knew I was telling you this, but I want to now. It's time. Don't you get scared, love, but, well, I've had cancer."

  "What?" My throat tightened, and I felt sick with fear. "When? What sort of cancer? Have you had treatment? Are you going to be all right?"

  "Shush, now, your mum'll hear you." He leaned back in the hammock and seemed to consider for a moment. "It was months ago when we found out. I needed an operation and chemotherapy. That's why I took voluntary redundancy. It was a godsend, really. Came at just the right time. I didn't have to worry about being on sick, or taking time off work, or how we were going to manage financially. Always a silver lining, you see? Anyway, I was lucky. They'd found it early, and after a pretty gruelling course of treatment, I got the all clear."

  "I knew you looked ill," I said, wondering why I hadn't pressed for more information at the funeral. "Mum said it was because you were stressed about retiring, but I could see how much weight you'd lost and how tired you were. I'm so sorry, Dad."

  "Sorry for what?" he said. "You didn't know. I didn't want you to know. I made your mum promise that we wouldn't tell anyone. Anyway, when the treatment finally ended, that windfall from Granny Reed paid for a nice long holiday, and I had a very lovely recuperation period in the sunshine. Timing again, see? Someone's been looking after me." He smiled up at the sky, and I thought, only Dad could go through so much and still see the bright side.

  "But you're all right now?" I said anxiously.

  "Oh, yes. I mean, I have to have regular check-ups, but the doctors seem very confident, and I feel wonderful. Better than I have in ages."

  "Thank God," I murmured.

  "Yes, even I've begun to thank Him," he said, grinning mischievously. "Whether God's an old man with a beard, or a genius of a computer programmer, I'm very grateful. You see, Cara, no one's life is completely straightforward, no matter how it looks on the surface. You may think they're having a wonderful time of it, but beneath the public facade, things may be very different."

  "Like Tamsin with her cheerful Facebook statuses," I said. "In private, her heart was breaking."

  "Exactly," he said. "What I mean is, however it looks to the rest of us, who knows what's really going in Ethan Rochester's life? People don't do things for no reason. I'm not saying you should take his word for it, necessarily, but what I am saying is, maybe you should look a bit deeper. He said he would tell you all about it when he sorted things out with his wife, but he never got the chance, did he? After everything you went through with Seth, he must be a pretty special man to win your heart the way he has."

  "He's very special," I admitted. "I never thought someone like him could love someone like me."

  "Maybe that's been your trouble all along, Cara," Dad said. "Maybe it's not other people you don't trust, after all. Maybe it's yourself. You have to start believing that you're good enough for others to want to be with you. When you've figured that out, you may see things very differently. If I were you," he added gently, "I wouldn't give up on this chap of yours just yet."

  I didn't know how to answer him. Part of me was holding on to every word he said, clinging to the hope that he was right, that there was something I didn't know that would change everything. But the other part of me was afraid. Afraid to believe in Ethan's feelings. Afraid to accept that such love was truly possible. "We'll see, Dad," I said, patting his hand. "We'll see."

  #

  You could have knocked me down with a feather. The last person I expected to find in Mum and Dad's kitchen when I entered it that afternoon was Michael, but there he was, large as life, and looking quite embarrassed about it.

  I'd only been to the local shop for some milk. Honestly, who could have predicted that I'd get home to find Ethan's chauffeur sitting at the table, sipping tea from Mum's Emmerdale mug?

  "So, there you are," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I was beginning to think you'd done a bunk. Again."

  "Sorry, love," said Dad. "He was quite insistent that he saw you."

  Mum was eyeing him suspiciously. "I won't have you upsetting our Cara," she said. "Your precious boss has already done that, thank you very much. If you've come here to make things worse, you can sling your hook right now."

  Michael looked offended. "I'd never upset you, now, would I? Be fair."

  I dropped into the chair opposite him and stared at him in bewilderment. "What on earth are you doing here? I mean, why—how—?"

  "You're not as clever as you suppose," he said. "You provided Ethan with a reference from your previous employer, remember? Ethan contacted her and explained that he needed to get in touch with you regarding unpaid wages. She gave him this address."

  That explained that. Jilly knew my parents’ address, all right. She'd come to an anniversary party there with me one year, when I'd been invited and hadn't wanted to bring Seth. I hadn't seen my parents for ages and hadn’t wanted to turn up alone. I'd expected to be mostly ignored, and Jilly had offered to come with me so I'd at least have someone to talk to. As it turned out, I'd had a lovely time. Everyone had been so delighted to see me, and they couldn't wait to catch up.

  I blinked away tears at the memory. "Okay, so you've tracked me down. But why? There's nothing to say, Michael. I heard everything."

  "I'm under orders to give you these," Michael said, reaching under the table and handing me a bunch of flowers.

  Mum tutted. "What a cheapskate," she said. "All that money, and he can't even send her a proper bouquet."

  Michael looked steadily at me, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  "You don't understand, Mum," I murmured. Taking the handtied offering, I inhaled the beautiful scent of blush-tipped creamy roses and palest pink sweet peas, my mind flooding with happy memories. "They're beautiful."

  "He cut them himself this morning," Michael told me. He leaned forward, his voice serious. "What are you playing at, Cara? He's tried ringing you and texting you, but he can't get through. Guessed you'd blocked his nu
mber. He's at his wits end."

  "Not here, though, is he?" Mum demanded. "If he's that bothered, where is he?"

  Michael glanced up at her, then back to me. "He's at the hospital."

  "Hospital?" My hand flew to my mouth. "Is he all right?"

  "He's fine, love." He patted my hand. "It's Antonia. She's gone into labour."

  The world seemed to spin. I heard Dad say, "Well, that's put the cat among the pigeons."

  Mum put her hands on her hips. "Well, that's charming, I must say. So, his wife's in labour, and he's sending flowers to another woman. What a lovely man he is."

  "Ethan Rochester is one of the most decent, honourable men I know," Michael said, glaring at her. Clearly, he’d had enough of her attacks on Ethan's character. "You only know one side of the story, and that's a bit cock-eyed, if you don't mind me saying so. Sorry, Cara," he added, "but it's a fact. If you hadn't run off like that, you'd have found out the truth."

  "She knows the truth," Mum said. "She heard—"

  "We know what she heard," Michael said. He looked at me, an appeal in his eyes. "Laura remembered, you see. When we discovered you'd gone, she remembered that you'd been on the stairs. We realised you'd heard and misunderstood."

  "Maybe we should leave you to it," Dad said, and grasped my mum's arm, leading her into the living room, in spite of her obvious objection. "Just hear him out, love," he pleaded with me, before he shut the door behind them—though, not before Mum threw Michael a very threatening glance over her shoulder.

  Michael shook his head. "Feisty, your mum, isn't she?"

  "Is Antonia okay?" I said anxiously. "The babies—they're not due yet, are they?"

  "No." He sighed. "It's a bit worrying, I won't lie. That's why Ethan's with her. He's been going mad, waiting for your old boss to give him this address. He was all set to come here today, bring you the flowers, plead his case. Then he got the call from Faith, and—well, you know Ethan. He was devastated. About both of you, I mean. Blames himself for it all. Worried sick about you, worried sick about her. Torn, he was. Torn. I told him to get himself to the hospital, because if anything happened, he'd never forgive himself. He made me swear that I'd not come back without you." He patted my hand. "You've led us a proper merry dance, haven't you? But you must know by now that Ethan wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Not deliberately. He's a good lad. Come home, Cara. Let him explain."

  I buried my head in my hands. "I don't know what to think anymore. There are so many secrets and lies in that house, and you can't deny that he's a married man, and that his wife is pregnant. And that woman said, quite clearly, that he was abandoning his wife just weeks before she gave birth to twins. Do you deny that?"

  He sipped his tea slowly, as if considering what to say next. Finally, he put the cup down and said, "Look, love, I can't get into all this with you. From what Laura told me, yes, Faith did say those words, but there's more to it than you know. Ethan's not a liar, or a cheat."

  "He told Antonia's cousin he didn't know where she was, but he knew the whole time. He lied then."

  He shrugged. "Things are never that straightforward. What do you want me to say? I could sit here and argue with you all day, but it strikes me that there's only one thing you need to decide. The way I see it, you either trust the lad, or you don't. If you don't, then there's no point in going back. Of course, he'll be distraught if I go back without you, and, in all likelihood, he'll be down to fetch you himself as soon as he can leave the hospital, but personally, I see no point in taking you back to Moreland if you've no trust in him. That's no basis for any kind of relationship. I know Ethan inside out. I'd trust him with my life. Question is, would you? Because that's what he's asking, you know. It's not just a fling to him. He's asking for the rest of your life, and he's willing to give you the rest of his. Do you want it, or not?"

  I could have been making the biggest mistake of my life. I could’ve been throwing away all my integrity, all my common sense. I could’ve been heading back down the same road I'd taken with Seth, compromising myself yet again.

  Yet, as I looked into Michael's face while he watched me steadily, through totally honest, kind blue eyes, I knew the answer.

  "I trust him," I said finally. "I'm coming home."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The drive to Moreland Hall seemed to take ages. Michael was a professional driver, and had no intention of breaking any speed limits, however much I urged him, although the journey was a lot quicker than it would have been if I'd had to get the train and a taxi, or bus, again.

  I noticed him checking his phone, as he’d stood patiently by the car, waiting for me as I’d tearfully hugged Mum and Dad.

  "Don't you take any nonsense from that Rochester fella," Mum said. "If he gives you any trouble, you come straight home, do you hear me? I don't want you putting up with any more rubbish from men."

  "I won't," I promised.

  Dad hugged me. "Just give him a chance and make up your own mind," he whispered.

  "Take care of yourself, Dad," I murmured, holding him tightly. "I love you so much."

  He winked at me, then let me go. I’d climbed into the car and they’d waved to me, as Michael started the engine. "Love you, Cara," they shouted. "Ring us. Let us know how it goes."

  I’d nodded, smiling tearfully as the car headed down the road. We’d turned the corner and they were gone from my view.

  "Mrs Rochester's just messaged me," Michael informed me. "Babies have arrived. Identical boys. They're poorly, but not thought to be critical. Ethan's on his way home."

  "Is Antonia okay?" I said anxiously.

  He nodded. "A bit shocked and exhausted, obviously, but fine otherwise." He surveyed me through the rear-view mirror. "Reckon Ethan will be in shock, an' all. What a traumatic few days you've all had, eh?"

  He could say that again, I thought. I'd have given anything for a quiet life. "Can you go a bit faster, Michael?" I begged.

  "No." He didn't appear willing to negotiate, so I settled back in my seat and tried not to fidget.

  After what seemed like hours, but was actually barely ninety minutes, he cleared his throat and said, "Not long now. You should catch sight of the house any minute."

  I leaned forward, eager to see the first sight of Moreland Hall. I was so excited and nervous that, at first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks.

  "Michael," I said slowly, "is that—is that—"

  "Christ almighty," he gasped. "Smoke. The Hall's on fire!"

  He seemed to forget all about speed limits and his professional integrity as we raced towards the house, too terrified to even speak.

  The gates were standing open, which just seemed to emphasise the severity of the situation. Smoke billowed from the roof, and flames leapt from the shattered window of Ethan's art room.

  "Adele!" I jumped out of the car and raced over to where Jennifer was holding her daughter, Mrs F standing by their side and looking grey with worry. Thank God they were safe, at least.

  "I've rung the fire brigade," Mrs F said, her voice choked with fear. "But Ethan—Ethan ..."

  I looked at her in horror. "You're not saying he's up there?"

  "He ran back in. I couldn't stop him. He said he saw someone at one of the attic windows, just before ..." She looked up at the shattered studio window, clearly traumatised.

  "I'm going in," Michael said, but Mrs F grabbed his arm.

  "You're doing no such thing! With your asthma? Ethan told us to get Adele out and stay out. The fire brigade should be here by now. Where are they?"

  Adele was crying, and Jennifer clutched her tightly. Tears were running down her own face as she stared up at the burning attic. "My son. My baby."

  My hands flew to my mouth at a loud crash, and we all jumped when several tiles fell to the floor, clattering on the drive.

  Michael looked helpless. "I have to try," he said.

  "It's dangerous standing so close to the house," I said. "Michael, get them all to the end of the drive."r />
  "What are you doing?" Mrs F said, as I turned away.

  "Just go!" I yelled.

  Michael's hand shot out to grab me, but I dodged it and ran into the house.

  The downstairs was already beginning to fill with smoke as I rushed into the kitchen. I managed to find a towel, which I soaked in water and wrapped around my face. Before I could think about it too much, or talk myself out of it, I ran up the stairs, my eyes burning with the thick smoke that was blocking the landing.

  The attic door stood open, and I stared at the black, smoke-filled cavern in terror. Yet, I knew I had no choice. Ethan was up there. I couldn't lose him. I would never leave him again.

  The heat was unbearable as I stumbled along the central corridor, my eyes stinging and streaming as acrid smoke choked me. I thought of Ethan's artwork and his cleaning materials. No wonder the window to his studio had blown out. But what was he doing up there, anyway? No one could have been up there. Jennifer, Adele and Mrs F were safe. He must have imagined it. Unless .... Unless there really had been someone up there all that time. All those noises I'd heard. Bats, Mrs F had said. Ethan moving the easel, he'd insisted. What if they’d both been wrong?

  I sobbed. "Ethan! Ethan!"

  My voice sounded choked and muffled. How would he ever hear me? My eyes hurt badly. I could barely breathe. The roaring of the flames made it impossible to hear anyone moving around. What if he wasn't moving? What if he was unconscious? How would I ever find him? I couldn't even tell where his studio was.

  Through the blinding smoke, a dark shape loomed. Some weird, misshapen form stumbled towards me, and I reached out my hands, groping for contact. The towel dropped to the floor, lost somewhere in the smoke.

  Ethan's face was black, his clothes filthy, his eyes red-rimmed and streaming. I saw the shock on his face as he registered my presence, and I heard him say something, but his voice was too hoarse to be properly audible. I looked down at the crumpled figure he was dragging with him. I couldn't tell if it was a man, or a woman. It was too difficult to see anything properly.