by Sharon Booth
"Out, out." Ethan's eyes pleaded with me. I wasn't going to leave him. No way. I put my arm around the unconscious figure, and, somehow, I managed to help drag him to the stairs.
We half fell down them, collapsing on the landing.
Ethan's breathing was laboured. He looked about to pass out any moment. "Get out," he wheezed eventually.
"No way," I said, with huge difficulty. I wanted to say so much more, but it was impossible. I felt as if a giant hand was choking me, wrapping its merciless fingers around my windpipe and squeezing tight. I thought, we're going to die here. We really are. This is it.
Ethan's eyes seemed to flare into life again. He made a superhuman effort and headed for the staircase, his determination making me redouble my own efforts. Together, we dragged the unconscious person down the stairs.
The smoke thinned, and I saw a light ahead of me. I hoped it wasn't heaven. I guessed from the way my eyes and throat were burning that I hadn't actually died yet, so it was a safe bet that the light was the outside world.
We moved forward, down the hall and out onto the steps. I was dimly aware of other shapes pushing past me, and felt a massive relief that the fire brigade had arrived. Michael and Mrs F rushed over to us, helping us, and then someone in a uniform took the figure away from us, and I almost fell against Mrs F, coughing and spluttering, while beside me, Ethan sank to the ground.
I didn't really remember how I ended up sitting in an ambulance, but someone had put an oxygen mask on me and was telling me, in soothing tones, to take nice deep breaths. As it became easier to breathe again, I looked around me in a panic. "Ethan?"
"He's just outside having some oxygen, love. Don't worry, he'll be right as rain."
"What about the other person?"
The paramedic's eyes softened, and she rubbed my back gently. "Just keep taking nice deep breaths, love. There's a good girl."
#
Ethan came to find me, in spite of Jennifer hanging on his arm, begging him to rest. "How are you doing?"
I made my way to the ambulance exit and stepped down onto firm ground. "I'm okay," I said. "But what about you?"
"I'll be fine," he assured me, although his voice sounded hoarse. He glared at me through red-rimmed eyes. "What the hell did you think you were doing? That's the most stupid thing I've ever seen."
"I beg your pardon?" I said indignantly.
"What were you playing at? Fancy running into a burning building!"
"You mean, like you did?" I demanded.
"That's different!" He coughed, shaking his head at the same time. "You could have been killed."
"So could you," I pointed out.
We stared at each other, then he put his arms around me, and his forehead pressed against my own. "You came back," he whispered.
"I did. And whatever happens, I'm never leaving you again."
If I'd needed something to convince me of how much I loved him before, I'd had my proof. When I thought I was going to lose him in that fire, I'd felt as if my own life was over, too. I had no idea what was going on with Antonia, but at that moment, it really hadn't seemed to matter.
"And what you heard …"
"It doesn't matter right now," I said, aware that neither of us were up to a deep and meaningful conversation. Besides, there was a more pressing matter to discuss. "Who was the person in the fire? And are they going to be okay?"
He looked towards a second ambulance, his face anxious. "I have no idea who he is," he confessed. "But he doesn't look good."
"What on earth was he doing in the attic?" I said, bewildered.
"I haven't a clue. Thank God I spotted him, though. If I hadn't gone up there …" His voice trailed off, and he stared up toward the roof. The flames had been extinguished, but the Hall looked in a sorry state. Smoke still billowed from the windows and the hole in the roof, and I could only imagine how bad it looked inside.
"Your lovely house," I murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Houses can be repaired," he said firmly. "All that matters is that we made it, and, hopefully, our mysterious visitor will make it, too."
"Quite right," said Jennifer tearfully. "I was so scared when I realised you were in there, Ethan, and then when Cara followed you …. Honestly, you two are both mad. You were made for each other."
Ethan winked at me, and I grinned.
"You look like you should be singing Chim Chim Cher-ee," I told him. "You need a shower."
"We both do," he said, trying to sound seductive. Unfortunately, another bout of coughing put paid to that effort. "Serves me right," he said finally, then took my hand. "I need to check on our mystery man, Cara. Wait here, if you like. I'm not sure how he'll look, so—"
"I'm coming, too," I said firmly. "I want to know he's okay, and I want to know who he is."
The paramedic in the second ambulance was writing something down when we approached. On the trolley to his side, a figure lay with an oxygen mask on his face.
"We're just about to get off to the hospital," the paramedic said.
"Is he—I mean, will he—"
"He came round long enough to speak to me," the paramedic assured us, "and the signs are good. Do either of you want to go with him to the hospital?"
"I'll go," Ethan said. "Someone needs to find out who he is. He must have someone, somewhere, who's worried about him."
The paramedic raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know who he is?" he said, puzzled.
We shook our heads. "Not a clue."
"Hmm. All I got out of him was his name's Seth," the paramedic informed us. He put down his clipboard and nodded to Ethan. "Okay, get in if you're coming. We need to get off."
Ethan and I stared at each other in shock. "Seth!" I glanced over at the figure, lying still on the trolley. "What the hell was he doing up there?"
"You'd better go with him," Ethan said, squeezing my arm. "It's okay," he added, clearly seeing the look of anxiety in my eyes, "I'll follow you. Go on, Cara. If he comes round again, he'll need you."
I could only nod in bewildered silence, before the paramedic closed the ambulance doors, and we headed off to the hospital.
Chapter Thirty
Seth, it transpired, had initially passed out, not due to smoke inhalation, but because, in his own words, he was ‘as drunk as a skunk’.
It was the following day before he was well enough to talk to us, and Ethan and I sat by his bedside, in stunned silence, as he recounted his tale of woe.
"I'm so sorry, Cara." He looked genuinely mortified. "I can't explain it. It was like some madness descended. I was so scared when you left. I'd never been alone before. I didn't know what to do. I just had to be with you. I only felt safe when you were nearby."
Sitting beside him on the bed, Isolde squirmed uncomfortably. "It's true," she said sullenly. "He was inconsolable when you left, and nothing me and Naomi said could persuade him that he'd be just fine on his own. He'd somehow got it fixed in his mind that, without you, he wouldn't be able to cope. Crazy."
"You could say that," I said.
Ethan leaned towards me and whispered, "Understandable, in my opinion."
"Don't encourage him," I whispered back, squeezing his hand.
Seth had quickly discovered my whereabouts, thanks—as I'd feared—to Susan tagging me in that wretched photograph of Moreland Hall on Facebook. Isolde had spotted it and tipped him off, little realising the effect it would have on him.
"So, what took you so long to go to the Hall?" I asked. "Susan put that post up ages ago."
"I thought you'd come back," he said. "I was convinced you'd come to your senses and return home. I couldn't believe it when you ignored my poems. They took me hours to write, you know."
"It was very difficult," I said solemnly, "but I knew I had to try."
"Naomi and I kept reassuring him that things would be okay, but after a few weeks, he was getting worse, not better." Isolde shook her head, clearly bewildered. "Then he just disappeared. He was supposed to be moving in with us,
but when we went to the flat, he'd gone."
"I needed to talk to you, make you understand you were making a big mistake," Seth explained.
The problem he’d faced was, how to get in? The gates were electronic, he didn't know the keycode, and it was impossible to climb that high wall.
It’d been Paolo's timely arrival that had enabled him to sneak in. Paolo, he said, had pulled up in his van, and he and his buffoons had got out to press the intercom. They'd been so busy chattering among themselves, peering through the gate and congratulating each other on landing such a lucrative contract, that no one noticed when he’d followed the van through the gates, shot off into the woodland, and sneaked slowly and stealthily into the house through the back door.
"I couldn't believe it was that easy to get in," he admitted.
"Neither can I," Ethan said grimly. "Security will have to be reviewed, that's for sure."
Seth looked embarrassed. "Thing is, once I got in, I had no intention of leaving, in case I couldn't get back in again. I hadn't brought much with me, though. My phone, my charger—which I seem to have lost somewhere—"
Ethan and I exchanged knowing glances at that. So, it wasn't Briony's charger, after all.
"I didn't have so much as a change of clothes," Seth admitted. "All I had on me was a couple of joints, and I daren't even smoke them, in case the smell gave me away. Cara's like a bloodhound when it comes to dope," he informed an amused Ethan. "I knew I needed some food, if nothing else, so I helped myself to some stuff from the fridge. I nearly had a heart attack when your granny spotted me, and lectured me on being in her kitchen uninvited."
Ethan looked puzzled. "My granny?"
"He means Mrs F," I said, thinking how furious she'd be to be mistaken for Ethan's grandmother.
"Anyway, whoever she was," Seth continued, "she seemed to think I was with that little foreign chap, so I let her think it, then I buggered off upstairs."
He didn't have a plan, he said. It’d been sheer luck that led to him discovering the attics, but once he had, he'd realised there was a place he could hide out easily. He'd chosen one of the old servants’ bedrooms, complete with iron bed, closed the door behind himself, and hidden well away. He was, if not exactly comfortable, hardly slumming it.
"He texted me," Isolde admitted. "Told me where he was. I said it was daft, and what did he hope to achieve by it?"
"Well, quite," said Ethan. "What did you hope to achieve by it?"
"I wasn't thinking straight," Seth moaned. "In the back of my mind, I was just waiting for Cara to see sense and come home. I can't tell you what was going on because it's all a blur. I was off my head."
Ethan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "How ironic," he said. "I appear to have had a madman in my attic." He winked at me. "There's a twist we never saw coming."
"So, you’re the one who stole all that food,” I said. “Do you know everyone thought it was me? They thought I had an eating disorder."
"Well," Seth said uncomfortably, "you do tend to scoff a lot. It's an understandable mistake."
Of all the cheek!
"Sorry I nicked your food, mate," he said to Ethan. "It was pretty easy to get it. No one was around at night, and the house was often empty, anyway. Your granny, or whoever she is, was the only real fly in the ointment, but I soon got used to her routine. I even swiped one of the guests breakfasts one morning." He actually had the nerve to chuckle to himself. Served him right, when it brought on a coughing fit.
Isolde patted his arm. "Be careful, Seth. Don't overdo it."
As something else occurred to me, I looked at him coldly. "You slashed my dress, didn't you?"
Ethan glared at him. "Did you? Why on earth would you do that?"
Seth reddened. "Do you know how hard it's been, watching you two grow so close? I never expected that, did I? I could see you, from the attic window. I watched you walking across the lawn together. Sometimes, I even risked standing on the landing so I could hear you talking. That was a bit dodgy," he admitted. "One of your party guests spotted me once, but luckily he was too drunk to realise what he'd seen."
"So, you were spying on me," I said, shivering.
"I couldn't stand it," he confessed. "I could see what was happening, from the moment I saw you together, and that dress—it was disgusting. What were you doing, flaunting yourself like that for him? You never wore anything like that for me."
"It was for me, not him. Anyway, we never went anywhere," I pointed out. "It's hardly the sort of thing you wear to nip to Asda, is it?"
He looked shamefaced at that. "I guess not."
"And the sketch?" I said. "Was that you, too?"
"It just finished me," he admitted. "Sorry I ripped your picture, mate," he said to Ethan. "Just, I saw the way you'd captured something in her. I could see the way you felt about her, and I couldn't stand it."
"A bit like the picture Isolde drew of you," I said.
His eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Isolde went scarlet.
"Are you seriously telling me you don't know?" I shook my head in wonder. "You really don't, do you? Isolde, don't you think it's time you told him?"
"Told me what?" he said, looking baffled.
After a brief silence, Ethan said gently, "I don't know either of you, but it's perfectly obvious to me that this girl loves you."
Seth tutted. "Loves me?" He glanced across at her, where she sat, head down, plucking at the bedspread, and frowned. "But—but she's just Isolde."
Isolde's head shot up. "Thanks."
He looked stunned. "You mean, you mean it's true?"
Isolde hesitated, then she burst out, "Of course it's bloody true, you idiot. Why do you think I've been cooking for you and taking care of you since she left?"
"Exactly," I said. "She even offered to let you move in with her."
"But she said you could move in, too!" Seth exclaimed.
"Because she was so desperate to please you," I said, exasperated. "Don't you see? Isolde has always loved you. She'd do anything for you, even put up with me."
He stared at Isolde as if he couldn't take it in for a moment, then his mouth curved into a smile. "I never knew," he murmured.
"I didn't know how to tell you," she muttered. "I just kept trying to show you instead."
"And you know now," Ethan said. "So, if I were you, I'd do something about it. When someone loves you, really loves you, you should hang onto them for dear life. It's a precious thing, love."
He smiled at me, and I smiled back. "You and me, Seth, it's not real," I said, turning back to my dumbfounded ex. "You know that, don't you?"
He nodded. "I know. I think I've known for a long time, but I was just scared. I'm sorry, Cara. I think—I think I lost my mind for a while. I can't tell you how much I regret what I did. What happened." He hung his head. "I'm sorry I burned your house down, mate," he told Ethan. "And thanks—for coming in to get me, I mean. I'd never have made it without you."
"Yes, thank you so much," Isolde said, her eyes filling with tears. "I can't imagine …" She broke off, and Seth reached for her hand. She stared at him for a moment, then they smiled at each other, and I felt a huge burden lift from my shoulders.
"It was an accident," Ethan said. "You were stupid and irresponsible, but I accept that you didn't mean to start a fire."
"I'd had those joints in my backpack all those days and never touched them," Seth said wistfully. "Then, just as I'd finally accepted it was time to move on, I had to light one. I thought, it's my last night in the attic. Why not? I hadn't dared smoke it before, in case you smelled it. You always said it had a horrible smell. I couldn't risk it. I can't believe I fell asleep."
"Well, two bottles of wine all to yourself can make you drowsy," Isolde said, shaking her head.
The fire brigade had said that a discarded match had set light to some rubbish in the corner of the room. Seth had apparently dumped all his food wrappers there, and having lit his joint, he'd blown out the mat
ch and thrown it over onto the pile. Sadly for him, the match hadn't gone out.
"You're lucky to be alive."
"I know. I know that." He barely whispered the words. "I don't even remember anything about it. I was so drunk. Sorry I pinched your wine, mate," he said, adding another apology to the list. "I must have woken up, seen the flames, tried to get out. If you hadn't seen me moving in front of the window—"
It didn't bear thinking about, really. The fire had spread quickly, and once it reached the studio, the materials in there had exploded. Ethan had found Seth lying in the corridor, not far from that room. If he hadn't spotted him, Seth would have died up there. It made me sick, imagining an alternative outcome. Whatever he'd done, I couldn't have coped with that.
"I'm not a bad man, Cara," Seth said earnestly. "I never meant to hurt you, or make you unhappy."
"I know that," I said, "and you're quite right. You're not a bad man. You're just bad for me, as I'm bad for you. Your way isn't the wrong way, and neither is mine. The trouble is, we wanted different things. We simply weren't compatible."
"But there were some good times?" He sounded anxious.
I smiled. "There were," I said. "We were very young, and it was all very romantic for a time. Besides, you made me feel loved for a while. I thank you for that. Now you can make Isolde feel that way."
He glanced at Isolde and smiled.
"You're going to be all right, Seth," I told him.
He leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes, still holding Isolde's hand. "I think you're right, Cara," he said softly. "I think we're all going to be all right."
Chapter Thirty-One
We left the hospital, Ethan and I, and drove quietly back to Moreland Hall. Jennifer, Adele, and Mrs F had been driven back to London by Michael. The Hall was hardly somewhere they could stay, given that it was still being examined, and the smoke damage was horrendous, not to mention the actual fire damage upstairs.