Chapter Six
Of course it is, Tamsin, I thought, smiling to myself. It’d been a huge relief to discover that I had both a phone and internet signal at Moreland Hall. As I lay on the extraordinarily comfortable double bed, I gave a sigh of contentment, as I scrolled through my Facebook timeline, catching up with what had been going on with everyone.
It had been a brilliant day. Even the weather had warmed up over the weekend, and it felt as if, finally, spring had put in an appearance. I'd arrived at nine, and had been welcomed like an old friend. Mrs Fairweather had asked if I'd had breakfast, and when I admitted I hadn't, she insisted on making me a full English. I did protest, honestly. I thought, at that rate, I’d have to buy some new clothes in a bigger size, and a plate full of bacon and eggs wasn't going to help, but I didn't want to appear rude on my first day, did I? The plan was to just eat half of it, but it smelt so delicious and tasted so good. How was I supposed to resist? I'd have to eat less for lunch, I decided.
By the time I'd troughed the lot, my jeans were digging into my stomach with such ferocity, I thought I was going to burst. Longing to undo the button, I struggled to my feet. "Is it okay if I go upstairs and unpack, Mrs Fairweather?"
She looked surprised. "Already? Wouldn't you like a nice cup of tea first?"
"I'll have one later, if that's okay. I'd really like to get settled in." And get these flipping jeans off, so I can breathe again.
"Oh, well, just as you like. Do you remember the way, or would you like me to show you?"
"It's fine. I know my room's at the end of the landing," I said, lifting the suitcase. "Should I go up these stairs?" I asked, nodding towards the staircase in the corner of the kitchen.
She shook her head. "That would lead you to the east wing. No one's used those rooms for ages. The family uses the west wing. Your room's at the end of the landing, with Adele's next to it, then Mrs Rochester's room—his mother, I mean. Then there's two guest rooms, and, finally, Mr Rochester has a suite of rooms at the beginning of the landing, nearest to the stairs. It's quicker for you to use the main stairs and go left."
"Where's Adele?" I asked, as I stepped into the hall.
"Helping Mrs Jones vacuum the drawing room," she called. "She's got a toy vacuum cleaner, bless her. Keeps her occupied for a while. Now, remember, when you get to the top of the stairs, take the left-hand landing," she said.
I nodded, vaguely hoping Adele hadn't been given heaps of toys designed to train her only in housework, and hauled my suitcase up the stairs. Passing the identical closed doors of various rooms, I noticed one door was much narrower than the others, and with curiosity getting the better of me, I opened it cautiously, finding a flight of narrow winding steps behind it. The entrance to the attics, I supposed. Given the size of the house, I reckoned they must’ve been enormous. Oh, well, I thought, and grinned to myself. As long as Mr Rochester didn't keep his secret mad wife up there ...
Entering my own room, I placed my suitcase on the bed with a sigh of relief, then threw myself down beside it. Staring round at my gorgeous new bedroom, I could hardly wipe the smile from my face.
After unpacking—my paltry belongings looked completely lost in the large wardrobe and chest of drawers—I changed into something a little more comfortable, then headed downstairs, where Mrs Fairweather told me to have a wander ‘round the house and get to know the place a little before lunch.
"Would it be all right for me to have a walk in the grounds?" I asked, thinking they'd looked so magnificent from the garden room, I couldn't wait to explore.
She looked at me like I was a bit crazy. "What are you asking for? If you want to, of course you can. Come and go as you please."
"Thank you so much," I said and grabbed my duffle coat from the utility room, which was reached by a door under the stairs. From there, I headed out of the house into the garden, taking deep lungfuls of fresh air and thinking I was the luckiest person alive.
It took me a while to cover the grounds. I wandered for quite some time in the woods, where the last of the snowdrops peeped between the trees, and daffodils danced in the spring breeze. To the rear of the house, I explored the kitchen garden, where herbs and vegetables grew in raised beds, or in the greenhouse, then followed a path around the lawn, where I came upon a small lake, edged with reeds and weeping willows.
Most interesting of all, though, was the secret garden. At least, I assumed it was a garden, although I didn't suppose it was really a secret. I was quite sure everyone in the house knew about it, but it felt sort of secret, because it was hidden away behind a wall.
The wall itself was half hidden behind bushes and creepers, but when I spotted it, I followed it until I reached an old wooden door set in the brickwork. Unfortunately for me, it was locked. I wanted to go inside that walled garden so much, but it was probably for the family's use only. Besides, I was being romantic again. It was probably nothing more than a glorified vegetable patch.
I took my time walking back to the house, unable to stop thinking about Seth. Was he managing all right? Had he sorted out some benefits for himself? Was he still in the flat, or had he moved in with Isolde and Naomi?
I might’ve no longer been in love with him, but that didn't mean I didn't care what happened to him. I wasn't completely unfeeling, as much as I tried to be. In fact, I felt rather ashamed that I hadn't spoken to him. I shouldn't have left like that. I should have sat down with him and explained how I felt, told him I was leaving.
But then, I reasoned, he would have talked you out of it. You know he would. He would have cried and told you how much he loved you, and even though you knew he didn't love you at all, just depended on you, you would have given in and stayed.
Yes, I realised, I had to go without telling him, for my own sake.
It's funny, really. No matter how much your head tries to tell you that you did the sensible thing, your heart always betrays you. It floods you with all those awful feelings that make you believe you're a bad person. As I headed back to the house, I knew it would take me a long time to forgive myself for what I'd done. I needed to start work, keep busy.
"You were gone ages," Mrs Fairweather said, when I returned to the house. "I was about to send out a search party." She smiled at me. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"The grounds are amazing," I said. "I love it here."
She nodded approvingly. "And why wouldn't you? Now, let's think about lunch, and then I'll hand Adele over to your care."
Looking after Adele proved astonishingly easy. After coping with a class full of three and four-year-olds, most of whom thought Jilly and I were basically theirs to command, the polite and pleasant little girl was a joy to work with. In fact, it didn't feel like work, at all. Like I was being paid to read stories, play with toys, and entertain her. The main priority, it appeared, was keeping her occupied, so Mrs Fairweather could get on with her own work without interference. I couldn't help wondering why they hadn't just enrolled her at a local nursery school, but Mrs Fairweather told me, over tea—or dinner, as she called it—that Mr Rochester had his reasons, though it wasn't for her to say what they were.
"Of course," she'd added, "she'll be going to primary school before we know it, and then it will all change."
I'd had a sinking feeling at that, realising that the job wouldn't be forever, after all. Of course it wouldn't. When Adele started school, she'd have no need of a nanny.
That evening, with Adele tucked up in bed, and Mrs Fairweather in her own little sitting room, watching television, I headed up to my room and lay on the bed, While trying desperately not to worry about Seth, I decided it was time to relax, and tell Redmond and Tamsin of my good fortune. I hadn't mentioned it before, because I'd had a nagging fear that something would go wrong, and I'd have it all snatched from my grasp, but Mrs Fairweather had informed me casually that afternoon that my reference had reached Mr Rochester the day after my interview, and it was excellent, and he'd checked that my diploma was for a genuine, recognised qualification. Apparently, he’d been very impressed, so there seemed no danger of me being turfed out of Moreland Hall any time soon.
When I took out my mobile phone, I found there’d been another text from Seth.
Haunting laughter now surrounds me,
How cruel is another's joy.
No pleasure soothes this tortured boy.
Why can't you hear my desperate plea?
I need my love, my world, my life.
Return to me, my almost wife.
Don't you think this has gone far enough? I've had to sign on, for God's sake!
My sympathy drained away immediately. What a hardship for him, having to put his signature to a piece of paper once a week, or fortnight, or whatever it was. Terribly hard work.
That last line of the poem had annoyed me, too. My almost wife! Yes, and why was that? Because he'd refused to marry me, that was why. Marriage, he'd insisted, was a constraint, and he didn't even ask my opinion on the subject—although, to be fair, I'd no doubt have agreed to whatever he said, anyway. I was such a doormat in those early days. And, really, he'd done me a massive favour by not marrying me. No messy divorce for me to worry about. I was completely free.
Well, almost.
Feeling angry at myself for being so soft, I decided to text him back. It took me ages to determine exactly what to write, and I practically wrote an essay, at first, trying to explain myself to him. Then I thought, why bother? He wouldn't understand in a million years, and it would just lead to more questions, and a whole evening spent trying to make him accept things. Better to send just one short text, making it clear that I wasn't coming back.
In the end, I simply wrote a few brief sentences.
Seth, it's over. I'm sorry, but I've made a new life for myself now and I think you should do the same. I hope you have a good life. No hard feelings. Cara.
After reading Tamsin's yoga update on Facebook, I decided to message both my siblings and tell them of my good fortune. I was just about to do so when the phone pinged.
Seth!
And that's it, is it? No explanation? No apology? After all I've done for you! After all we've meant to each other! I don't understand this, Cara. You know we're meant to be together for all eternity, and you know I love you. Haven't I always told you, you're my world? I think this is just your hormones playing havoc with your common sense. I don't know. Maybe it's something to do with turning thirty. Hormones do strange things to women. Come home and we'll get you some help. There are medications you can take, you know. Isolde says there are patches which might be the answer. I'm willing to forgive and forget. Come home, my love. Your Heathcliff xx
I took a deep breath. My hormones! Typical! And trust Isolde to be feeding his stupid ideas. Bet she was praying I wouldn't come home, so she could have him all to herself. Well, she was welcome to him. I wasn't his love, and he wasn't my Heathcliff.
Even if he had been, I wouldn't have wanted him. Heathcliff was a psycho. I'd finally figured that much out, at least.
Wuthering Heights was a brilliant novel—a real masterpiece—but how I'd ever mistaken it for a love story was beyond me.
My fingers itched to send him a stinging reply, but I realised that would only be fanning the flames, so with enormous effort, I decided to ignore him. I'd said all I had to say.
Instead, I wrote a text, explaining about my new job and home, and sent it to Tamsin and Redmond.
Redmond replied within a few minutes.
Living in? With some strangers you know nothing about? How do you know this mansion house isn't owned by gangsters? Crime barons? You could be in real danger. You are so irresponsible, Cara. I do wish you'd talk things over with me before you do anything. Who is this man you're working for? Text me his name and I'll make enquiries. Redmond xx
Well, that hadn't helped my bad mood. Trust men to drain away every drop of joy from the day.
I was just wondering whether, or not, to answer when the phone rang. I almost dropped it in shock, then peered nervously at the screen. If it was Seth, there was no way I’d answer it, but luckily, it was Tamsin.
"Are you serious? You've got a job in a posh house? How posh? Who are you working for? How the hell did you manage that?"
"Take a deep breath," I said, "and I'll begin."
I told her everything, right from searching the newspaper column in The Singing Kettle Café, to Redmond's and Seth's texts.
"Bloody men," she said. "Always spoil everything. Who do they think they are, anyway? Everything revolves around them and their needs, and sod us."
I was astonished to hear her speaking like that. "Are you all right, Tamsin?" I said worriedly. "I mean, everything's okay?"
"Oh, bloody perfect. Same old, same old." She sounded very bitter. "Got to go out in ten minutes to pick Alice up from dance class, and Robyn's throwing a tantrum because she doesn't want to come with me, because she's watching Cinderella for the twentieth time this week, but I can't leave her here, because bloody Brad's at work, doing overtime. Again. And I've spent all day cleaning the house from top to bottom, then trawling ‘round the supermarket, doing a mammoth shop, because he's invited the boss and his wife ‘round to dinner, without even warning me, or asking me if it was okay, or anything. Frankly, I'm sick to death of it all. Think you had the right idea about buggering off."
I didn't know what to say to all that. So much for Tamsin's perfect life. "I'm really sorry," I said.
"Oh, never mind," she said. "I shouldn't have vented like that. Just, sometimes, I feel so lonely and bored, and it's like my husband and children are living their busy and fulfilling lives, while I'm just here at everyone's beck and call. I don't feel like a mother, or a wife. I feel like a cook, cleaner, maid, waitress, chauffeur and nanny. Anyway, talking of nannies, how wonderful for you! I'm so pleased for you, Cara. You'll have to send me photos of that kitchen. I quite fancy updating ours, so it will give me some ideas. Oh, shit!"
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just spilt my wine all over Robyn's Pony Magazine. She'll be furious." There was a big sigh. "I'd better go, sweetie. Keep me in the loop, okay?"
"I will. Promise."
Ending the call, I tapped on Facebook and read Tamsin's last status update.
Gosh, it's been a beautiful day! Had a lovely time, hitting the shops! Glass of prosecco now! Good times!
I put down the phone and rolled over onto my side to look out of the window. It just went to show. You never really knew what was going on in people's lives, whatever they might say in public.
#
"Cara, you'll never believe this! I did some checking up on your Mr Rochester, as I said I would, and I'm stunned. You do realise, he's the Mr Rochester?"
"So I've been told," I said, "though that means little to me. The only Mr Rochester I know exists between the pages of Jane Eyre, and I doubt that's the one you're talking about."
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "Ethan Kingston Rochester. Born 24th June, almost thirty-six years ago, in St Mary's hospital, London. Parents Jennifer Jane Rochester, formerly Kingston, society girl and social butterfly, and Thomas Edward Rochester, heir to the Rochester Department Store fortune."
He was clearly reading all that stuff from something, and as his voice droned on, I almost lost interest. Then I realised what he'd said, and my mouth dropped open.
"Rochester Department Store. You mean—you mean ..."
"Exactly," he said, a note of triumph in his voice. "Now do I have your attention? You're working for Ethan Rochester, who owns and runs the entire empire, since his father passed away six years ago."
Bloody hell! I'd never been in a Rochester's store, but I knew of them. Everyone knew of them. "They're pretty big, aren't they?"
"Big? According to Wikipedia, they own twelve stores which are worth in the region of five hundred million pounds."
I almost dropped to the floor in shock. Good God! Well, that explained the luxury house makeover, at least. A refit, even the size of the Rochester house, would be chicken feed to the them. But how had someone like me ended up working for Ethan Rochester, of all people?
Hang on a minute!
"Did you say Thomas Rochester died six years ago?"
"Yes. Heart attack. Very sudden."
"And has Jennifer married again?"
There was a mumbling noise, and some shuffling of papers, and a few clicks. Eventually, he said, "No. Grieving widow, apparently. They were married for over thirty years, and there was no scandal of any kind. No affairs on either side—well, that anyone knows about. Devoted couple. Shame. Why do you ask?"
"No reason." So much for Adele being Ethan Rochester's little sister. I'd guessed as much. Clearly, she was his daughter, but why keep that a secret?
"There's no mention of another child, though," he said curiously. "Whose kid are you looking after? Ethan and his wife have no children."
"He's married?" Mrs Fairweather hadn't mentioned any wife.
"Yes. Married his teenage sweetheart, Antonia Wilson-Smythe, from what it says here. He was only just twenty, and she was eighteen. They married in a Chelsea registry office, with just two friends as witnesses." He gave a low whistle. "She's not short of a few bob, either. Her dad's the owner of loads of prime property in London, and she's his only child. Jesus, those two are loaded. I hope they're paying you plenty."
Come to think of it, I was only getting just above the minimum wage. Mind you, I was living in luxurious surroundings, with no bills to pay and no food to buy. I could hardly complain. But he was married! I wondered why Mrs Fairweather hadn't spoken of Antonia. The cogs of my brain started whirring again. If Mr Rochester married Antonia when he was just twenty, that meant they'd been married for fifteen years, and since Adele was only four ....
So, Mr Rochester was a cheat. How disappointing.
Adele stirred, and I told Redmond I was grateful that he'd taken the time to check I wasn't living under the roof of a drugs baron, or an international arms dealer, but that I'd have to go as I had to get back to work.
"Me, too," he said, sounding less than enthusiastic. "And someone had to look out for you. You seem completely incapable of taking care of yourself."
He rang off before I could retort, although, thinking of it, I probably wouldn't have been able to come up with anything. My mind was too full of all the information I'd just received. Of course, if I'd had anything about me, I would have found all that out for myself. After all, I could get the internet on my phone.
Except, to be honest, I hadn't really been interested. Ethan Rochester was just my employer, nothing else, and as long as he continued to employ me and let me live at Moreland Hall, I hadn't been too curious about anything else. I was quite glad he wasn't around, though. I'd be far too nervous, having to talk to a multi-millionaire employer. I hoped he'd stay in London for a good long while.
#
Joined as common-law man and wife.
Your heart to my heart, your soul to my soul.
Torn away! Now just a gaping hole
Mutilated with traitor's knife.
Light of my life, return once more.
Mend the weeping wound you tore.
Naomi and Isolde came round last night. Isolde thinks you're insane. I defended you, of course. Mind you, at least she brought me a Chinese takeaway. I'm getting heartily sick of cheese sandwiches.
"Oh, bugger off, Seth," I mumbled, dropping the phone onto the bedside table and wrapping the pillow around my head. It was half-past five. I really couldn't be doing with his feeble attempts at poetry at that time of the morning.
Come seven o'clock, I finally staggered out of bed and made my way to the en-suite. A long, hot shower soon woke me up, and I realised I was hungry. I hoped Mrs Fairweather was doing one of her fry-ups.
Just as I was pulling on the skirt I still had to squeeze into, Tamsin called.
"Morning, Tamsin,” I answered. You're up and about early."
"It's half-past seven," she said. "That's halfway through the day for me. You have no idea how much work it takes to get Brad off to the office and the girls ready for school." She gave a big sigh. "Anyway, how exciting is your news!"
"What news?" I said, puzzled.
"Ethan Rochester! Redmond called me last night to tell me all about it. Phew, talk about going from one extreme to the other. I mean, Feldane flats to Moreland Hall. Seth Blount to Ethan Rochester. It's quite funny, when you think about it."
"Huh. Trust Redmond," I grumbled. "Honestly, it's none of his business. He went hunting for information because he didn't think I could be trusted to make any kind of life for myself. He's done nothing but criticise me, since I left Seth. I thought he just wanted me to leave him, but it seems I'm incapable of taking care of myself, and should be asking my brother's advice and permission for everything."
She laughed. "Well, of course. He's trying to assert his masculinity. Can't do it with Susan, can he? She's practically cut his balls off."
"Has she? What do you mean?"
"Not literally, of course," she said hastily. "But you know what she's like. He has a hell of a life with her, doesn't he?"
"Does he?" It was all news to me. I wondered how come I didn't know, but, of course, I'd lost touch with my family over the years. I had no real idea what went on in their lives, I realised sadly.
"He's worn out, and she pushes and pushes him. Wants him to end up as dean, or something. She's absolutely determined that he's going to the top of the academic tree. She's always nagging him, and, of course, the worst thing is she refuses to have children."
"I didn't know Redmond wanted children," I said, astonished. "He never mentioned it."
"He wouldn't dare," she assured me. "I reckon, if he pushed for it, Susan would march him down to the vasectomy clinic quicker than you can say snip. She says children are an unnecessary distraction, an unwelcome expense, and lead to the inevitable ruin of a woman's figure."
"Well, it hasn't hurt your figure, has it?" I said. "You're thinner now than ever."
"Hmm." She sounded almost wistful, and I felt a sudden lurch of panic. What was going on? Was Tamsin struggling with food issues? Should I have been worried? "Anyway," she said, "the upshot of it is, Redmond has no life at all, and he's pretty bloody miserable. So he's asserting his masculinity with you, coming over all big brother, because it's definitely the woman who wears the trousers in that marriage."
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. My perfect brother and sister, with their perfect lives and perfect marriages, weren't having such a fabulous time, after all. The thought gave me no pleasure. I just wished I could make things better for them.
"You must take photos of the house," she continued. "I'm dying to see what the Rochester mansion looks like. I mean, I know the main home is in London, but even so. Will you send them to me?"
"Only if you absolutely swear not to put them on Facebook," I warned her. "I don't want to get sacked before I've even properly started."
"As if I would," she said indignantly. "What do you take me for?"
"A Facebook junkie," I replied, thinking of how often she posted. "Swear it."
"I solemnly swear," she promised.
"Okay. I'll send some later tonight. Got to go, Tamsin. Breakfast time."
"Yes, and I have to find Alice's swimming costume, so I'll speak to you later. Have a good day."
"You, too." I ended the call, feeling a warmth towards my siblings that I hadn't felt in years, but also a vague anxiety. What was going on with them both? Why would someone as seemingly in control as Redmond let Susan push him around like that?
My heart ached for him. He wanted children and couldn't have them because his partner didn't want them. I could relate to that. And as for Tamsin, there’d been something in her voice when I mentioned her figure that worried me. I knew she was an exercise addict, and that she ate healthily, but how far had that obsession gone? I felt a growing anger towards both Susan and Brad. My conversation with Tamsin just seemed like a confirmation of what love and passion did for you.
Both my siblings had married for love, and they were each stuck with selfish, ambitious spouses who’d pushed them into a life that was making them unhappy. I wished I could make them see that they would be better off putting love aside and concentrating on themselves. Although, of course, Tamsin had the girls to think of.
With a sigh, I made my way down to the kitchen, thinking how odd it was that, after all that time spent worrying about my own future, my family's futures had become my bigger concern.