Sebastian had also mentioned that Alex was a consummate liar. “Don’t believe anything he tells you, Emilie. My brother can convince the brightest mind that black is white.”
• • •
“Sweetheart?”
Emilie felt a warm hand snake toward her. “Yes?”
“Christ!” Sebastian exclaimed as he felt Emilie’s shoulder, shrouded in all the layers of clothes she’d put on during the night. “You’re wrapped up like a pass-the-parcel.” He laughed. “Come here and give me a hug.”
As Emilie settled into his deliciously warm embrace and he began to kiss her, any early-morning fears that had assailed her melted away.
• • •
“I doubt it’s a day for sightseeing,” Sebastian commented as they stood in the kitchen drinking coffee and looking at the hillocks of snow piled up outside the window. “I reckon it’s a good foot deep, and that sky is threatening further falls. I’m going to call Jake, my farmer neighbor, and see if he’ll bring his tractor here to clear the drive. Supplies are running low and I’ll need to get out to the village shop to get us some essentials. How about I install you in the drawing room with a nice fire? There’s a library along the corridor, and I’m sure you can find yourself a book to keep yourself amused.”
“Okay,” agreed Emilie, feeling she didn’t have much option.
“And I’ll see about having some oil delivered so we can get the central heating going again. It’s so bloody expensive these days, and most of the heat seems to disappear through the rotting window frames.” He sighed. “Sorry, darling. As I said, I’ve rather taken my eye off the work-and-home ball in the past few months.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll also pop in and visit Mrs. Erskine, our ex-housekeeper, while I’m in the village and see if I can persuade her to return. I promise I’ll have things back on track in the next couple of days.” They walked together along the corridor to the drawing room. “You must wonder where the hell I’ve brought you to,” he added as he bent to clear the grate. “It gets better, I swear. This is a beautiful part of the world, truly it is.”
“Let me do that.” Emilie knelt next to Sebastian. “You go off and do what you need to.”
“Are you sure? Sorry about the lack of servants around here,” he teased. “I know it’s not what you’re used to.”
“Sebastian …” Emilie reddened. “I can learn.”
“Of course you can, only joking. And feel free to explore the house, although what you’ll see will probably horrify you. It makes your old château look positively modern!” Sebastian grimaced and left the room.
Clad in two of Sebastian’s thick fisherman’s jumpers, Emilie spent an hour wandering around the house. Many of the rooms upstairs had obviously not been used for years, and unlike the huge château windows built to let in as much light as possible, the small mean ones of this house were designed to keep out the cold. The dreary colors and heavy mahogany furniture were reminiscent of walking onto the set of an Edwardian play.
As she wandered back downstairs, Emilie was aware of how desperately this house needed taking in hand. But, like the château, it would be a huge renovation project. And she realized she had no idea how much money Sebastian had to fund it. However, it hardly mattered; Emilie knew her finances were healthy and they had enough money to live as they wished for the rest of their lives.
Back in the drawing room, Emilie again pondered why she had never thought to ask about the exact state of Sebastian’s finances before she’d married him. Not that she regarded it as relevant to her decision, but now that she was his wife, it was important she knew. Perhaps she’d broach the subject later on, she thought, as she saw both the tractor and Sebastian in the Land Rover behind it make their slippery way up the drive and away from the house.
By lunchtime, Emilie was hungry and bored, so she took herself off to the kitchen to see what she could find in the fridge to eat. Making a sandwich with the last remaining crust of a loaf of bread, she sat down at the table to eat it. As she did so, she heard a door slam loudly from somewhere in the house and a raised voice. This time it was female. The door to the kitchen opened and a scrawny, middle-aged woman appeared through it.
“Is Mr. Carruthers here? I need to see him immediately.”
Emilie could see the woman was shaking with anger. “No, I’m afraid you’ve missed him. He’s gone to the village.”
“Who are you?” the woman asked rudely.
“I’m Emilie, Sebastian’s wife.”
“Really? Well, all I can say is good luck to you! And as you’re his wife, you can tell him from me that I resign as of now. I’m not taking any more of his brother’s rudeness. Or violence! He’s just thrown a boiling-hot cup of coffee at me. If I hadn’t moved out of the way, I could have suffered third-degree burns on my arms. I’ve called my friend who has a four-wheel drive, and she’s coming to collect me within the hour. I will not stay another minute in this godforsaken house with that … madman!”
“I see. I’m so sorry.” Emilie noticed the woman was slurring slightly, probably due to anger. “Can I offer you a drink? Perhaps we should talk about it before you leave. I’m sure Sebastian won’t be long—”
“There’s not a thing you or he could say to make me change my mind,” the woman interrupted her. “He’s persuaded me before and I’ve regretted it. I just hope for your sake your husband doesn’t dump his brother on you. Having said that, I can’t imagine you’ll find anyone else to fill the post. You know Mrs. Erskine’s walked out too?”
“Yes, but my husband says she’ll be coming back.”
“Well, more fool her. She’s a nice lady, and it’s only out of loyalty to their grandmother that she stays. I knew Constance when I was a young’un and lived in this village. Lovely woman she was, but what those two boys have put her through doesn’t bear thinking about. Any road, not my problem anymore. I’ll be off to pack. He’s had his lunch, so he should be all right by himself until your husband gets back. I’d let him be at the moment, anyway. Wait until that temper of his dies down. It normally does.”
“Right.” Emilie didn’t know what else to say.
The woman obviously saw the fear in her eyes, for her own softened suddenly. “Don’t worry, love, Alex is all right really, just gets frustrated, like we all would if we was him. He’s a good lad at heart, and he’s had a rough time of it. But I’m too old to be doing with it all. I want a nice, calm geriatric to take care of, not a volatile little boy who’s never grown up.”
All Emilie could think of was that this woman was leaving before Sebastian returned. Consequently, Emilie would be left alone in an unknown and forbidding house, which—due to the snow—she could not escape from. With an as yet unseen, drunken, paraplegic lunatic. Currently her new life resembled something out of a horror film, and Emilie had a sudden desperate urge to giggle at the ridiculousness of it.
“Anyway, congratulations on your marriage, love,” said the woman.
“Thank you.” Emilie smiled ironically.
The woman walked toward the kitchen door, then stopped and turned back. “I hope for your sake you knew what you were taking on. Goodbye.”
• • •
Back in the drawing room half an hour later, Emilie saw a car steering carefully down the drive and the woman she’d met in the kitchen stomping through the snow and stowing a suitcase in the trunk. The car performed a skidding eight-point turn and made its way precariously away from the house.
Emilie watched as the snow began to fall once more, filling the sky with a whirling dervish of thick flakes that built an even more impenetrable wall between her and the outside world. Her heart began to thud against her chest. The mad brother was now no more than a few feet away from her, and they were completely alone. What if the snow became so bad it was impossible for Sebastian to return? At three o’clock, the January sky was already darkening in preparation for dusk and then dark�
� . Emilie stood up, her raised heartbeat signaling its eagerness to move to all-out panic. She’d suffered many attacks in her late teens and, having conquered them, lived in permanent terror that one might strike again.
“Keep calm and breathe,” she told herself as she felt the unremitting waves rushing through her. She began to pant, knowing she was now out of control and it was too late for rational thinking.
Sinking onto a sofa, Emilie put her head between her legs. Her physical strength left her and garish colors assaulted her closed lids as she struggled for breath.
“Please, mon Dieu, mon Dieu …”
“Can I help you?”
A deep male voice came from somewhere in the distance as her head spun and her hands and feet tingled wildly. She couldn’t look up—couldn’t waste the breath she needed to pant.
“I said, can I help you?”
The voice was nearer now, was almost next to her. Perhaps she could feel hot breath on her cheek, a hand grasping her own … she couldn’t answer.
“I’m presuming you’re Seb’s new French wife. Do you understand English?”
Emilie managed a nod.
“Okay. I’ll go and see if I can find you a bag to breathe into. Just carry on hyperventilating while I’m gone. At least it will mean you’re still alive.”
Emilie had no idea in her detached existence how long it was before a paper bag was placed over her mouth and nose and she was told by the same, calm voice to breathe in and out slowly. Whether this was part of a dream—or a nightmare—she didn’t care. The person seemed to know the right thing to do, and like a helpless child, she followed his instructions.
“Good girl, you’re doing really well. Just keep breathing in and out of the bag. There, it’s calming. It will stop soon, I promise.”
Eventually, the pounding of her heart began to return to a beat resembling normal, her hands and feet began to rejoin her body, and Emilie took the bag away from her mouth. Flopping back exhausted onto the sofa, eyes closed, she felt the relief of her body calming down.
Only after a few minutes of relishing that she had survived and it was over did her brain begin to question who her knight in shining armor could be. She forced one tired and twitching eyelid open and saw a man who was Sebastian, but not Sebastian. It was a Sebastian in Technicolor—eyes a more mesmeric brown, with flecks of amber running through the irises, hair glinting with red-gold lights, a face containing a perfect nose, fuller, pinker lips, and cheekbones that stood out razor-sharp under the softness of his unblemished skin.
“I’m Alex. Pleased to meet you.”
Emilie immediately closed the eyelid she’d opened and sat very still, not confident that the sight of the mad brother sitting within centimeters of her wouldn’t set off a further panic attack.
A warm hand patted hers. “I understand you don’t want to waste your breath speaking to me at present. I know what you’ve just been through. I’ve had panic attacks countless times. What you need now is a good stiff drink.”
This man who spoke so gently to her did not match up to the image Sebastian had painted. The hand on hers was reassuring, not terrifying. She dared to open her eyes and study him properly.
“Hello.” He smiled and she saw his eyes were full of amusement.
“Hello,” she managed, her voice still recovering its strength.
“Shall we speak English or preferez-vous Français?”
“Français, merci.” Her brain was still too fuzzy to start thinking in another language.
“D’accord.”
Emilie watched him studying her.
“You’re very pretty,” he commented in French. “My brother said you were. Far prettier with those big blue eyes of yours open though, it has to be said,” he continued in immaculate French. “Right, your final medicine.” Out of the side of his wheelchair, Alex produced a bottle of whiskey. “The harridan who just left didn’t think I knew where she kept her secret tipple. But I managed to rescue it from her suitcase when she was with you complaining about what a complete nightmare I was. Sebastian didn’t believe me, but she was a total drunkard—she knocked back a good bottle of this a day. Now”—Alex wheeled himself expertly over to a cabinet and opened it, displaying a dusty array of Edwardian glassware—“we’ll both have one, shall we? Never a good idea to drink alone.” He poured two healthy measures of whiskey into the glasses and, wedging them expertly between his thighs, steered his wheelchair back toward her.
“I really don’t think I should,” Emilie said as Alex handed her one of the glasses.
“Why not? You can say with complete honesty this is for medicinal purposes only. Come on, seriously, it’s my turn to play nurse for a change, and this will help, promise.”
“No, thank you.” Emilie shook her head, not wishing to encourage him.
“Well, I won’t if you won’t.” Alex placed his glass firmly on the table. “Right, it’s bloody freezing in here, and if I can’t warm you up with a dram of whiskey, at least I can get the fire going again.”
Emilie sat and watched as Alex stoked the fire, too mesmerized to help.
“So where’s Seb?” he asked. “Gone out to beg poor old Mrs. Erskine to come back for the umpteenth time?”
“Yes, he said he would visit her while he was in the village buying some food.”
“Doubt he’s going to find much in the shop. All the locals will have seen the snow coming and gone into siege mode, clearing the shelves. It’s their most profitable moment of the year, when even the ancient tins of butter beans get snapped up. We’ll be lucky if they’ve even got those this evening. This has really set in,” Alex added, looking at the still-falling snow. “I rather like it, actually. Do you?”
As the whole weight of his penetrating gaze fell upon her, Emilie tried to remember what Sebastian had said about Alex’s ability to charm and convince. “Not really, I haven’t been warm since I arrived.”
“I’d doubt you have. The oil tank’s been empty for weeks now. Luckily, I have a secret stash of electric heaters, which at least keep my blood circulating. Don’t tell Seb, mind you, they’d be confiscated forthwith. Anyway, apart from the fact that we live in an English version of an igloo, I do like the snow. But then”—Alex sighed—“I like anything that breaks the boring monotony of the norm. And this weather is dramatic.”
“Yes,” agreed Emilie feebly.
Alex eyed the two whiskeys sitting on the table. “I think we should both drink this down. It seems a shame to waste it.”
“Really, no.” Emilie shook her head.
“Oh”—Alex raised his eyebrows—“I suppose Seb’s mentioned my rampant alcoholism and drug dependency?”
“He mentioned it, yes,” she said honestly.
“It’s true that I had a drug problem in days of yore,” Alex agreed companionably, “but I’ve never been an alcoholic. However, that doesn’t mean to say I don’t like a drink. We all do. I mean, you are French; you must have been drinking wine from the cradle, surely?”
“Of course.”
“So, how come you married my brother?”
“I …” Emilie was nonplussed by his directness. “I fell in love. It is the reason most people marry.”
“That’s as good a reason as any.” Alex nodded. “Well, I suppose I should say welcome to the family.”
The door to the drawing room opened. Sebastian stood there, his hair dripping with melting snow.
Guiltily, Emilie jumped up to greet him. “Hello, I’m so glad you’re back safely.”
“We didn’t hear you come up the drive,” put in Alex.
Sebastian was scowling, his eyes pinned to the two glasses of whiskey on the table.
“No, that’s because I had to leave the car at the end of it and walk through the snowdrifts with two bloody great bags of shopping. Have you been drinking?” he accused Alex.
“No. Although I admit I did try and persuade your new wife that she should knock one back as she wasn’t feeling very well,” Alex said equ
ably.
“That just about sums you up,” said Sebastian, raising his eyebrows. He turned to Emilie, looking angry, not sympathetic. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I am fine now, thank you,” she replied nervously.
“I told you, Alex, that you were not to enter this house,” Sebastian said, turning on his brother.
“Well, as I was explaining to Emilie here, my carer has walked out on me, so I was just coming to tell you.”
“What! Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done this time?” Sebastian expostulated.
“I threw one of her disgusting cups of coffee at a wall. She was so drunk that she’d put salt instead of sugar in it. And she thought I was aiming for her.”
“Well, you’ve really done it now, Alex.” Sebastian was furious. “Mrs. Erskine has finally refused point-blank to come back, and I don’t blame her. And as for that poor woman who’s just left … I’m not surprised she’s gone too, the way you behave. Where the hell I’m meant to find an immediate replacement to come out in this weather, I really don’t know.”
“Look, Seb, I’m not completely incapable, as you know,” Alex shot back. “I can feed, clothe, wash myself, and wipe my own backside. I can even manage to haul myself in and out of bed at night. I’ve told you countless times I don’t need a full-time carer any longer, just someone to help me domestically.”
“You know that’s not true,” countered Sebastian angrily.
“Oh, yes, it is. Honestly.” Alex raised his eyebrows and turned to Emilie. “He treats me like a two-year-old. I mean”—Alex indicated the wheelchair—“I’m hardly going to get into much trouble in this, now am I?”
Emilie felt like an onlooker at a boxing match. She remained silent, unable to add anything to the conversation.
“You seem to do a bloody good job of it, actually,” countered Sebastian. “Anyway, now you’ll be put to the test, certainly in the next few days. Because there’s no way I’m going to be able to find someone.”
“That’s fine by me, really. I’ve told you it’s a waste of money, but you won’t listen. Well, I’ll leave you two to it.” He maneuvered his wheelchair to the door and grasped it. Pausing, he turned back and smiled at Emilie. “A pleasure to meet you, and welcome to Blackmoor Hall.”
The Lavender Garden Page 17