I suppose part of the reason I’ve been single so long, ever since Emma, is that every woman I’d met seemed to have this glint in their eye, like they can see that I’m rich and they know that means they’ll be taken care of, and they’re willing to put up with my daughter if it means they’ll get their monthly allowance, and hopefully she’ll be packed off to boarding school in a few years anyway. But not Chrissie. Not this beautiful free spirit, who loves my daughter with all her heart, and wants to make her own way in the world.
I turn her face to mine and kiss her, overwhelmed with the intensity of my feelings for her.
I never hoped to feel this way again, but could this perhaps be it?
Could this be perhaps be love?
§
“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” Bruce says, the following afternoon. We’re in the sauna after an especially intense game of squash (he beat me, I don’t want to talk about it). “She really is a catch, old man. Wherever did you find her? Because if there’s an agency that will deliver a girl like that to my house, I want you to give me their number straight away!”
“It’s funny,” I say, “but it wasn’t like that at all, Bruce. I wasn’t even looking for a nanny, let alone a relationship. But one day, we bumped into each other and Tabby just fell for her – in a heartbeat. And I guess now I’m falling for her too.”
Bruce pushes himself up to add more water to the coals, sending out a billowing cloud of steam into the hot little room.
“And how’s that working out?” he asks. “I mean, with Tabby. Isn’t it confusing for her?”
“We’re both extremely careful not to confuse her,” I say decisively. “Like I said, Tabby loves her, but only as her live-in nanny. And for the moment, she thinks it’s just great that Chrissie is daddy’s friend too. She loves it when we all hang out together. But we make sure she doesn’t see anything that suggests we’re anything more than just friends. She’s too young to understand anyway, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. As she gets older, and as things get more serious, then sure, we can choose the right time to sit her down and explain. But for now, it’s working out just fine as it is. I guess if there’s any problem with my family, then it’s with my parents.”
“Of course,” says Bruce. “Let me guess, some chippy American nanny isn’t exactly good enough for Lady Cavendish?”
I sigh, nodding and hanging my head in my hands. I don’t want to confront the issue, even in my own thoughts, and I suppose I’ve been skirting around it. But I need some advice, and Bruce has known my family since we were just schoolboys. If anyone can give me some good advice about my mother, it’s him.
“Not that she’s said as much, no,” I reply. “She’s far too tactful for that. But I just get the feeling that Chrissie isn’t what she had imagined as a step mother to her grand daughter. I think for now, she’s pretending that nothing serious is going on between us. That I’m still single, and she’s still trying to set me up with other women – giving me updates on her friend’s beautiful, eligible single upper class daughters, how much they would love to see me and how I should take them for dinner, that sort of thing. But I just say that I’m busy. I know I should say that I’m no longer single, that Chrissie is my girlfriend. But ...”
“Just do it,” Bruce cuts in. “It sounds pretty simple to me.”
“You’re right,” I say. And I curse myself inwardly for letting this slide for so long, for not standing up for our relationship. “In fact, I’m going to do better than tell them. I’m going to show them.”
What do you mean you still haven’t told him?!?” Brian exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in utter exasperation.
“I know, I know!” I sigh. “But it just never seemed like the right time, I don’t know why. I’m such an idiot, I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.”
“But ...” says Brian, looking puzzled. “It’s, well, it’s already October. Which means ...”
“Yes!” I shout. “You don’t have to say it. I know. Which means my visa’s already expired, right? I’m now an illegal immigrant. What a freaking joke.”
We’re walking through Regent’s park, takeaway coffees in hand, but suddenly my mental exhaustion becomes physical and I just need to sit down. I quickly head to the nearest bench and flop into it. Brian sits down next to me, and for a few moments we stay there in silence, staring gloomily into the distance.
After what seems like the longest moment, Brian puts his hand on my shoulder and says gently, “But really, this is getting serious. What are you gonna do, Chrissie?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, using all my remaining willpower just to fight back the tears. “Will keeps talking about how much he wants me to see the world. The other day, he was even talking about a trip to Rome. He says he wants to take me there so much. But I just can’t bring myself to say that if I leave the country, I’ll never get back in.”
“There must be ways round it all,” Brian says, trying his hardest to stay optimistic. “You wouldn’t be the first girl to marry their boyfriend for a visa. Hell, I’ll even marry you if you want!”
“It’s too late for all that now,” I mutter. “That might have worked before – before I’d overstayed my welcome. But now? Now it’s simply too late. My only remaining options are to get out of here, pronto, or to sit around and wait for the authorities to catch up with me and kick me out.”
Brian shakes his head.
“There’s still a third option, you know,” he says gently.
“What d’you mean?” I ask.
“Just tell him! If he could pull strings before, I’m sure he could still now?”
“Oh, it’s too late,” I sigh. “I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything. And it’s not just him. It’s Tabby too. She’s really important to me, and I know how disorientating it would be for her to have me just disappear from her life, just like her mother. And now that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. And when it does, Will will never forgive me. Tabby’s so precious to him.”
We pause for a moment, watching the people go past – the joggers, the dog walkers, the mothers with prams, all in their own happy worlds, and I feel a pang of jealousy at the fact that they don’t have to leave this beautiful country.
“But the worst thing is,” I continue, “it seems like Will is getting more and more serious every day. Only last night, he invited me to spend the weekend with him and Tabby at his parent’s castle in Yorkshire.”
At this, Brian spits his coffee out.
“Castle?” he practically shouts. “His parents have a fucking castle? That is just insane.”
“I know, I know,” I agree. “Actually, it’s not as fancy as it sounds. Will assures me that it’s only a small castle. And although it’s been in the family for a few generations, it’s not as if they’re lord or lady or anything. They bought it at a knock down price, a couple of hundred years ago, from some Baronet who couldn’t afford the maintenance. Will promises me that they aren’t titled gentry, just your average regular mega rich billionaires.”
We both laugh, and I’m relieved that, for the moment at least, things seem a little lighter.
“You’ve got to promise me you’re going to go,” Brian says. “Because if you are gonna get kicked out of the country, you may as well spend one of your remaining weekends in a bloody castle first.”
“Yeah,” I say, “with his mom, who clearly hates me.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” he grimaces. “The evil mother. My advice would just be to try and keep out of her way. If Will has invited you to their home, he’s showing them that he’s serious about you. This is an important step. And maybe she’ll turn out to be nice after all?”
“Oh god, Bri,” I say. “How have I landed myself in such a mess? I’m about to get kicked out of the country – forced away from the man I’m falling head over heels in love with, but it’s not like I can ever be with him anyway because we’re just so different. I mean, while we’re playing house in Chelsea, it’s not something
I’ve ever really thought about, but if we’re gonna be together, I’m never going to fit in with his friends, his family, his whole social circle. It’s just never gonna work.”
“For a start, you need to stop being so negative,” Brian says, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. “You’ve found something truly incredible, Chrissie, something worth fighting for. And trust me, love will find a way. I just know it will.”
§
If you’d told me twelve months ago that I’d be arriving at a castle in a helicopter, I’d have told you to shut the hell up. The helicopter was an extra surprise from Will – for me, and for Tabby of course. She’s so excited, I mean, she was excited enough just to be given her own Dora the Explorer suitcase for the weekend. And she’s been chattering happily and excitedly the whole journey. But this is just the icing on the cake.
Will looks so handsome sitting there in the helicopter and the three of us grin at each other happily, unable to talk over the deafening whirr of the engine, the breath-taking view of the castle and grounds sprawling out below us. In what feels like no time at all, the journey’s over and we’re coming in to land on the helipad just outside the castle. I know that Will said it was just a small castle, but come on. This place is huge.
Will tells me we’re in Yorkshire – the north of England. And out of the window of the helicopter, I watch the scenery turn rugged. It’s so beautiful here, and also kind of remote. The castle itself is set amongst green hills and moorland; it’s built from a kind of yellow stone and it looks magnificent. If this is a small castle then what on earth does a big one look like?!
A portly butler with salt and pepper hair and a chubby friendly face meets us at the helipad and happily takes our bags. “Ah, Mister Cavendish! So good to see you!” he exclaims in a broad Yorkshire accent.
With Tabby on one side and me on the other, Will takes both our hands and leads us up the gravel path, towards the huge front entrance.
Okay, here goes nothing, I think.
§
After we’re shown to our rooms, we take tea in the drawing room, and I don’t know whether I’m just being paranoid, but sitting here with Mr and Mrs Cavendish and Tabby over a typical English afternoon tea, I quickly get the impression that Mrs Cavendish – or Joan – is trying her hardest to treat me not as Will’s girlfriend, but merely as the nanny.
Even if I’m just being paranoid about that, she’s certainly trying her best to freeze me out of the conversation. She’s not asked me a single question so far, and all the talk is about friends of the family, and one person in particular. Mrs Cavendish just won’t stop harping on about someone called Jemima Brentworth. Jemima, so we’re told, earned her MBA from Harvard, has spent a year travelling, and is now back in the UK, where she’s just set up her own charity. Jemima is remarkable. And Jemima – so Mrs Cavendish makes sure to remind us – Jemima remembers Will, and she’d simply love to catch up. Will should certainly call her up, now they’re both in London.
I squirm awkwardly in my seat, folding my arms across my chest, glad I’m wearing long sleeves today so that she can’t make any more catty comments about my tattoo. To be honest, the way I’m feeling right now I wish I could simply disappear completely, and I bet Mrs Cavendish wishes I’d disappear in a poof of smoke, too.
Meanwhile, Mr Cavendish, generally the quiet type, must sense my discomfort, because he gently asks what my major was.
And I’m about to tell him, but just at that very moment Mrs Cavendish butts in to announce in a shrill voice, “Oh, Christina! If I’m not mistaken, Tabitha looks like she needs to go to the toilet. Why don’t you take her? It’s just down the corridor, second door on the left, thank you ever so.”
Okay, well, I guess that’s me told, I think.
But to be honest, I need out of this damn room, anyway.
“Come on,” I say cheerfully to Tabby, “let’s go to the ladies, shall we?”
So hand in hand we walk off to the bathrooms, and while Tabby’s using the toilet, I stand by the mirror, staring at my reflection. I’ve got another twenty-four hours here. I’ve just got to get through my time in this castle without strangling Mrs Cavendish, or hurling one of her heirloom vases at her.
I take a few moments to splash some cold water on my face, then make sure Tabby washes her hands.
“Come on, rascal,” I say as we head back again. “Let’s go and see grandma!”
“Chrissie,” Tabby sighs. “I’m bored. I want to go out and play. Will you come out and play with me? Please?”
“Oh honey,” I say with a sympathetic smile, “I understand. And if you can keep a secret, I’m a little bored, too. But we just need to finish our tea first, and then I promise we’ll be allowed out to play. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
And then, hand in hand, we head back down the corridor, and into the lion’s den.
§
Later that evening, after Tabby’s gone to bed, we’re back in our rooms, freshening up for dinner.
“How are you finding all this?” Will says, gesturing around the room.
I know he means the splendour and decadence of the castle, but it’s not that I want to talk about.
“The castle?” I say. “It’s incredible. Of course it is. It’s like a fairy tale. I can’t believe you grew up here.”
“Actually,” he replies, “I didn’t really grow up here. We lived mostly in the house in London when I was a boy. This was more of a holiday home.”
“Okay,” I say. “Even crazier. I can’t believe somewhere this big isn’t the only house your family owns.”
“I know,” he says. “You’re right. I guess it is slightly obscene.”
“But anyway,” I add gently, “I don’t think your mother is too thrilled about me being here.”
“Really?” he says, looking concerned. “Whatever makes you say that?”
I sigh and shrug my shoulders. Because the thing is, Mrs Cavendish is being so shrewd, she actually hasn’t done anything obvious yet, except undermine me in tiny, clever little ways. I bet she was the chief mean girl, back in her school days.
“It’s not that she’s said anything or done anything,” I try to explain. “I just get the feeling that she’s decided to pretend I’m just here as Tabby’s nanny, and really, you should be going out with that Jemima Whatever-Her-Name-Is.”
He comes over and draws me into a hug, kissing me reassuringly on the neck.
“I know my mother can be a cold fish at times,” he says, starting to nibble on my ear. “But please don’t let her get to you. And I know what you mean. She likes to test people; to check that they’re worthy of her. She’s just making sure you’re good enough for her precious only son. And can you blame her?”
“No,” I sigh, pulling away from his kiss, too worked up to let myself go. “I guess I can’t.”
“When my parents get to know you, I know that they’ll come to adore you just as much as I do,” he promises. “And in the meantime, stop worrying. You look amazing, and I want you to enjoy the food tonight. The caterers have prepared a meal using the finest local produce, and if you liked partridge, I think you’re going to love the venison that’s on the menu tonight.”
“Okay,” I say, taking his hand and trying to put on a brand new positive attitude. “Let’s do this.”
We walk along the seemingly endless corridor and down the huge flight of stairs and then finally we arrive at the enormous, sumptuous dining room. But while it looks amazing, it’s not exactly the most friendly place to be. For a start it’s freezing, despite the roaring fire in the corner. I guess when they built this place, central heating hadn’t been invented. And on top of that, the table is absolutely enormous. It could fit a whole army for dinner, but instead it’s laid for the four of us, set out in the corner – thankfully the corner nearest the fire.
Mr and Mrs Cavendish are already seated, expecting us, which makes the whole evening feel even more like some god awful job interview – or perhaps some test I
have to pass.
Test. That’s right. Will said she likes to test people! Well, one thing about me? I’m really hot at exams. I’ve never failed a test in my life, and I’m not about to start now. So as I approach the table, I take a deep breath, and tell myself that I’m gonna ace this one, no matter what.
“Good evening, what a wonderful room this is,” I begin, forcing myself to sound really positive and upbeat. “You are so lucky to have such a beautiful home.”
“Thank you,” says Joan, tightly. “Of course, it’s been in the family for generations.” It’s immediately clear that this comment is off-hand and simply intended to shut down conversation.
“Are you enjoying the Fordham Suite,” chimes in Rupert, Will’s dad. “We were going to put you in the bedroom Will had as a boy, but his mother insists on it being kept as a shrine to his childhood. The place is still chock full of toys, so it seemed more appropriate for young Tabitha to have that room.
Will smiles sheepishly. “Come on, dad. You know it’s not just mum.”
He turns to me to explain.
“I must admit that I, too, am loathe to get rid of my childhood train set. And it’s a good thing, too. There’s also masses of Lego there, and Tabitha goes crazy for the stuff!”
No sooner do we take our seats at the table than Mr Cavendish offers me a glass of wine.
“Oh, no thank you,” I smile back politely. “None for me.”
“Come on!” says Rupert. “Don’t be a prude! Just because Will is an old bore who doesn’t drink, doesn’t mean that you can’t have one!”
“No really, I’m fine,” I reply.
After our talk in Brighton, I know that Will doesn’t mind if I have a drink. But on this occasion, I figure it’s probably best to keep my wits about me.
“Ah, food, finally,” snaps Joan, as the waiter enters with a trolley of plates.
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