Chapter Seven
Mum and Dad had jetted off to Spain and were having the time of their lives, if their texts were to be believed. I was happy for them. They'd worked hard for years, for little financial reward, and it was good to see them enjoying themselves for a change. At least I didn't have to worry about them.
Redmond was bothering me, though. He'd opened a Facebook account, which wasn't like him, at all. He didn't have many friends on there—just me, Tamsin, and five or six people who seemed to be work colleagues. Susan wasn't on his friends list, which was odd, because she definitely had an account—confirmed when, wonder of wonders, she sent me a friend request. I’d accepted it, rather unwillingly. What if she'd only sent it to check up on communications between myself and Redmond? Assuming, of course, she knew he'd joined Facebook. Odd that they weren't friends on there. I wondered if it was another way of Redmond asserting his independence and masculinity. Poor Redmond.
Tamsin, meanwhile, had thoroughly annoyed me by posting a picture of Moreland Hall, with the caption:
Sister's new workplace! Working for THE Mr Rochester, no less! Go, Cara! #feelingproud
"What did I say to you?" I demanded, calling her as soon as I spotted the photo.
"You told me not to post any photos you sent me of the house," she said, "and I didn't. I downloaded that one from the internet. You didn't say anything about that."
"I didn't want anyone on Facebook to know where I was working," I said. "What if Seth finds out?"
"Why would he find out?" she said. "He's not even on Facebook."
"No, but his stupid sister and best friend Isolde are," I said crossly.
"Don't be daft. My account's not public. Only my friends can see what I post," she said confidently.
The next thing I knew, I was tagged in a post by Susan. Susan, of all people! She'd never even wanted me as a friend before, and suddenly I was being tagged in her posts. I clicked on the notification to find the same picture of Moreland Hall, and her show-off status:
Moreland Hall, Yorkshire, home of Ethan Rochester of Rochester's Department Stores. New home of sister-in-law! That's some job, Cara Truelove. Congratulations! We'll visit soon. xx
You bloody well won't visit soon, I thought angrily. What was she doing, sharing the picture like that? And since when did she ever care what I was doing, or where I lived? I'd have bet a million pounds that most of her friends hadn't even been aware of my existence until that moment. And her page was public.
Furious, I'd rung Redmond and demanded he tell her to remove the post, which she did, but only after a heated argument between the two of them, apparently. I should have felt guilty, but I was too annoyed to care whether those two fell out over it, or not. I then unfriended her again. At least she wouldn't be able to tag me in any more posts.
"This is all your fault," I told Tamsin. "If Seth finds out, I'll throttle you."
"Why would Seth find out? Are his sister and Susan friends?"
"No, but her page is public. What if Naomi's searched my name? Susan tagged me. It will be visible!"
"Why on earth would Naomi bother? I think you're being paranoid, Cara. And why would Seth go to that kind of trouble? He's far too idle to do anything about it all, anyway. Stop worrying."
I took a deep breath. She was right. I was being overanxious. Seth was probably too busy telling Isolde that she was his soulmate and writing terrible poetry to her, to even think about me.
Thankfully, the next text from him gave me hope that things were dying down on his part, at last.
Angry, desperate, tortured, broken,
This is how I feel inside.
As if my very soul has died.
The grief, the angst cannot be spoken.
What did I do to drive you away?
What is the crime, for which I must pay?
You know what, Cara? I had no idea you could be so cruel, so vindictive. There is no justification for this treatment. I'm beginning to see you in a different light.
Well, thank God for that. He might finally come to the same realisation as me. We weren't soulmates, and we weren't destined to be together forever. Hallelujah!
As the days passed, and I heard nothing more, I began to relax. It was time to put the past behind me, and get on with enjoying the present. And there was so much to enjoy. Adele was a delight, and she was quite bright, too. She loved picture books, and enjoyed being read to. She also, blessedly, liked going for walks around the grounds, and as the weather was warming up nicely, we were outside quite a lot. I'd even got permission from Mrs Fairweather to mess up her kitchen a couple of times, so Adele and I could make biscuits. That’d been great fun, if only to see the state of Adele when we'd finished, and to laugh at the expression on Mrs Fairweather's face when she saw the state of her worktops.
Though I was officially given the weekends off, life continued just the same on those days. After all, I was living in the house, and Mrs Fairweather was entitled to a rest, too. I did think it was a bit rich that people as wealthy as the Rochesters couldn't provide full-time care for Adele, and I also thought that it was quite disgusting that she'd been left all alone with people who were, when it boiled down to it, staff. Where was her family?
Mrs Fairweather explained, quite proudly, that she'd worked for the Rochesters for so long that they considered her family and probably felt as if they were just leaving Adele with an auntie. I didn't believe that for a second. It seemed to me that they were taking advantage of her. And why didn't they want to spend time with Adele, anyway? She was adorable.
"It's not that they don't want to spend time with her," Mrs Fairweather protested, loyal as ever. "Ethan is devoted to her. He's just very busy at the moment, but he'll be up here as soon as he can."
I smirked. "And what about her ... Mother? Surely, she's missing her."
Mrs Fairweather sighed. "She, er, has things to do, too. She'll be staying here shortly, though. Ethan has given instructions that she's to have his suite."
"His suite?"
"Yes. He has a suite of rooms at the beginning of the landing, but he's told me his mother is to take it when she visits, and he'll be using the room she usually has."
"That's a bit odd, isn't it? Why would he do that?"
She shook her head. "How would I know? None of my business."
And none of mine, either, clearly, judging by the way she said it. The Rochesters were a strange bunch, it seemed, but I shrugged it off. The rich were often eccentric. At least Adele had Mrs Fairweather, who clearly loved her, and she had me, too. I had to admit, I was already strongly attached to the little girl. It was the Rochesters' loss if they couldn't be bothered with her.
One Saturday afternoon, I decided to venture out onto the moors, and maybe explore Hasedale, a pretty moorland village just a mile or two from the house. Adele was napping, having spent the morning making potato prints. Mrs Fairweather was happy to keep an eye on her, so I pulled on my duffle coat and grabbed my bag, deciding that I would have to go farther afield the next week, to Helmston or Whitby perhaps, to buy some new clothes. The weather was getting too warm for a duffle coat, and I needed some new shoes. My boots were definitely not suitable for the milder weather, and trainers were hardly appropriate. Time to start spending some money on myself for a change. It was a strange prospect, admittedly. I'd got so used to going without stuff, it felt weird to even contemplate shopping just for myself. At least my skirt and jeans had grown more comfortable, as I'd been very strict about refusing biscuits and puddings—as difficult as that had proved—because I really didn't want to go up another dress size. Plus, with me walking more, it should be easier to keep the weight off, I thought. I certainly didn't fancy saying no to puddings forever. I didn't see how it was humanly possible. Unless you were Tamsin, of course.
I thought about Tamsin as I walked through Hasedale and passed a little bakery. Did she ever give in and buy something fattening, I wondered? Or was her obsession with dieting and exercise too strong? What was going on with her? Was it really just a health kick, or something more serious? If so, what could I do to help her?
Hasedale was a lovely village, and I passed a very pleasant hour, or so, wandering around and checking out the handful of shops, having a cup of tea in the teashop, and generally relaxing. Just as I decided it was time to head for home, the dark clouds rolled in, and the first drops of rain hit my head. Wonderful.
Within minutes, the rain was bouncing off the pavement, and I glanced around quickly for somewhere to shelter. I'd just passed an old-fashioned sweet shop, The Candy Cabin—a real, sweet treat of a building itself. It was a tiny stone cottage, with a large latticed window to the left of a small, extraordinarily narrow wooden door. It was if it had been built for fairies, I'd thought, then reminded myself that such notions were fanciful and out of keeping with the new sensible me. It would make a good shelter, though, and besides, I could always buy Adele some sweets. That would be a good excuse to spend some time in there out of the rain.
I turned back, and just about got through the door without ducking, stepping down into a real sugar wonderland. Shelf after shelf of jars filled with the most appealing confectionary that brought back loads of happy childhood memories. The lady in the shop was even shorter than me, and so thin I doubted she'd ever tasted a single one of the products she sold, but she was lovely and welcoming, and after commenting on the dreadful turn the weather had taken, and assuring me it would pass as quickly as it had arrived, she let me browse for ages while I made my mind up.
After choosing a selection of the sort of sweets I'd loved as a child—white chocolate mice, pink candy shrimps and yellow foam bananas, chewy fruit sweets and red liquorice laces—I headed towards the door, scouting through the paper bag and wondering whether I should treat myself to one of the shrimps.
So engrossed in deciding whether, or not, to say hang the diet for the day and buy myself the same selection, I didn't notice someone trying to pass me to enter the shop—not until a deep voice said, "Excuse me, can I get by?"
I looked up, and there, looming over me, stood a tall, broad man, dressed all in black. If I hadn't sworn to renounce all such soppy notions and give up romantic fantasies for good, I'd have said he was a real-life Heathcliff. I mean, move over Seth, with your wiry, long hair and grey eyes and skinny frame—the man before me was in a different league altogether. He towered over me, his jet-black, rather shaggy hair dripping wet. Dark eyes pierced into mine, his strong mouth set firm. Silhouetted against a dark and brooding sky, he was, quite frankly, a bit intimidating, and I quite forgot to move out of the way and simply gaped.
He allowed me that luxury for all of five seconds, before he tutted. "Hello? I'm getting soaked out here," he said, as if speaking to a child.
"Oh, yes, sorry, of course," I said, all flustered, and stepped aside.
He ducked down and squeezed through the door, and I hovered near the window, looking out anxiously, fingers firmly crossed that the rain would stop. Behind me, I heard him asking the lady behind the counter if she had a decent box of chocolates. The shop felt far too small for both of us, and I heaved a sigh of relief as the rain finally fizzled out.
Without looking back, I called a brief thanks to the shopkeeper and rushed outside, just as the dark clouds began rolling away and the sunshine claimed its rightful place.
As I began the walk back to Hasedale, though, the fresh air brought me to my senses. He was just a man, for goodness sake. What had I been thinking, letting him daze me like that? He’d seemed pretty grumpy, true, but he hadn’t been intimidating at all—not like I’d made him out to be. Just because he was tall, and broad, and dark and glowering.
Ugh, I really needed to get a grip.
Heading along the open road across the moors, I gave a big sigh of pleasure, and began to relax again. There was nothing quite as uplifting as sunshine after rain, when the light glinted on the puddles and everything felt fresh and clean and newly-laundered. I'd had a lovely afternoon. No way would I let anyone spoil it. Which reminded me, those pink shrimps were calling my name, and I'd forgotten to buy my own, so ...
One less shrimp in the bag wouldn’t hurt Adele, surely. God, I wished I'd bought myself some. I was such a sugar addict, though, it was probably best to go cold turkey. Maybe I shouldn't even have one.
At the blast of a car horn, I jumped and shrieked all at the same time, and the bag of sweets left my hand, scattering the contents all over the road. A flashy red sports car screeched to a halt, and my heart sank when the dark-haired man from the shop yelled a string of expletives over his shoulder. How disgusting.
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I demanded. I'd heard someone say that on a programme once. Sometimes, being forced to watch endless television with Seth had its uses.
"Seriously? You're having a go at me? What the f—what the hell were you doing, wandering in the middle of the road like that?"
I cringed inside, seeing the way his black eyebrows knitted together, and the stony look in those dark eyes. Even so, he was the one in the wrong. He'd almost run me over with his mad driving, for goodness sake. "I'm sorry?" I began, "I think—"
"I should hope you are sorry," he cut in, looking me up and down in disgust. "Honestly, I've got used to idiots weaving across the roads in London, but up here, I foolishly expected people to behave with a bit more common sense."
I gave him my best glare and marched over to the car. "Excuse me? I was walking at the side of the road. Not my fault that you were too close to the edge. Besides, you're driving far too fast. There are sheep and lambs wandering these roads. Are you blind?" I waved my hand pointedly, indicating the group of ewes and lambs grazing on the side of the fell, totally oblivious to the angry scene playing out below them. I cursed the fact that none appeared to be actually on the road, which was unusual for sheep in those parts, but typical of my luck.
His eyes flashed. "I saw you, all right. You were walking by the side of the road until just before I reached you, then you suddenly started veering into the middle, right in front of me. What the bloody hell were you doing?"
I blushed, attacked by doubt. Had I veered into the centre of the road? I supposed it was possible. I had been sort of focused on the bag of sweets, and hadn't really been concentrating on where I was walking. I could hardly confess to that, though, could I?
I drew myself up to my full five-feet-two-inches. "Well, that's your opinion,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “We'll just have to agree to differ. Anyway, there's no harm done, so I'll say nothing more. Good day."
"Good day!" He stared at me, clearly astonished. "That's it, is it? You just wander into the road, nearly cause me to crash, frighten the life out of me, and then you expect to just wander off, as if nothing's happened? I could have killed you. What do you think that would have done to my no-claims bonus?"
Wow, he was all heart. "What more do you want me to say?" I said. "Personally, I think it was you who wasn't concentrating. It could just as easily have been your fault as mine."
"It most definitely wasn't my bloody fault," he said, sounding quite put out. "I drive very carefully, I'll have you know."
I eyed the red sports car with contempt. What a show-offy sort of car for him to drive. It screamed, Look at me! How distasteful. Deciding it was best just to get rid of him, I sighed and gritted my teeth. "All right, then. I'm very sorry you had a fright. Good day."
As I began to walk off, he exclaimed, "Bloody cheek!" The car started up, and I breathed a sigh of relief, only to jump again as it slowed down when he caught up with me. The driver kept pace with me, leaning over the passenger seat as I eyed him nervously. "You don't really think it was your fault, do you?"
Did it matter? I shrugged. "We'll never know," I said, my attention fixed firmly on the road ahead of me as I continued walking.
"But I do know," he said. "And so do you, don't you? Look, all you have to do is admit it, and we'll say no more."
"I most certainly won't admit it," I said. He looked as if he had a bob, or two, and how did I know I could trust him to keep his word? I didn't want him to sue me. He looked the type to have a very expensive solicitor, and I wasn't about to pay for any non-existent damages to that tacky car of his. I sneaked a sideways glance at him.
He shook his head. "Stubborn as a bloody mule," he said, and drove off, leaving me to stare after him, feeling a mixture of relief, regret and surprise.
I was even more regretful when I remembered the sweets scattered on the edge of the road. I couldn't bear litter, and besides, it would be just my luck if some sheep swallowed them and got ill. I wasn't sure if sheep could digest candy shrimps and liquorice laces, but the way my day was going, I wasn't prepared to take the risk.
I headed back, picked them up, and shoved them in my pocket. They were only fit for the bin. I might as well have eaten them, after all. How frustrating was that?