by Lisa Hall
Relief floods through me as Sadie closes the front door behind her and I am alone again. I head back upstairs, intent on putting away the last of the laundry, but pause outside the spare room. Sadie’s words ring in my ears, ‘they were the perfect couple’, and my heart aches for Rupert. Caro may have been the only one for him, but I wonder if he ever gets lonely. Silently, I push open the door to the spare room, my body gravitating towards the huge wardrobe that houses Caro’s clothes. Her scent wafts out as I open the door, and I suppress a shiver. It feels as though she is in the room with me, a ghost of what was before. I glance down at the row of shoes that sit neatly under the hanging dresses, a mix of Converse trainers – still a brilliant white, unlike the faded grey-white pair of my own that sit at the bottom of the stairs – and flat gladiator sandals that must have been a favourite as the ends bear the faintest imprints of her toes, an oddly intimate glimpse into her life that makes me feel vaguely sad, and finally several pairs of sparkly sandals, with heels so high she must have barely been able to walk in them.
Sinking down onto the plush carpet, I pull out a pair with silver straps and a dragonfly buckle on the side. Hardly daring to breathe I slip my feet into them, the straps pinching as they are ever so slightly too small. I stand, wobbly on the spindly heels, and steady myself as I am assaulted by a flashback – myself, at around ten years old, trying on my mother’s high heels as she prepared to go out for the night with the man who would eventually become my stepfather, and her second husband.
‘Look at me, Mum! I look just like you!’ I wobble towards her, as she slicks red lipstick around her mouth, pouting and smacking her lips together in the mirror.
‘Hey, be careful!’ Finally, my mother turns to look at me as I stagger my way across the threadbare carpet towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Don’t you snap those heels. I want to wear those tonight.’
I slip the shoes off and hand them to my mother, unsure as how to she could possibly manage to spend the whole night upright while wearing them. I blink back tears at her harsh tone, and when she hears me sniffing, she turns to me, her face softening.
‘Silly thing, don’t cry.’ She pulls me towards her, and I snuggle into her shoulder, the silky fabric of her dress cool against my skin. I breathe in her heavy perfume, something thick and cloying but it doesn’t matter, she smells like my mum. ‘I just need to wear those killer heels tonight. John won’t know what’s hit him, and before you know it, we’ll be a proper family.’ She spins around with me in her arms and kisses my face until I shriek and giggle. ‘Honestly, little one,’ she sobers now, sitting me down on the bed as she puts the finishing touches to her make-up, ‘you don’t want to live here forever, do you? If John and I get married we can get out of here, go and live in his big house, all of us together. You want Mummy to be happy, don’t you?’ She shoos me into bed, and then I hear the click of the lock on the front door and the clacking of her heels down the path towards the man she thinks will turn our lives around.
Now, I slide the shoes off and place them back exactly where they were, not wanting Rupert to know that I’ve been in here. My mother did snare John, but that was years ago, and now she’s living in Florida with her fifth or sixth husband – I forget which number she’s on now – but she lives in a huge house and doesn’t have to think about money. Just like Caro. From the little that Sadie said about Caro earlier, she lived a charmed life right from when she was young. I stroke the arm of a fur coat, the pelt thick and glossy. It feels remarkably real – if it’s a fake, then it’s a good one. How would it feel, I wonder, to have all of this? To live the life that Caro lived?
The thunk of a car door closing outside brings me back to myself, and I slam the wardrobe door closed, half of me regretting that I didn’t take the time while I could to quickly try on the silky fur, the seductive feel of it luring me in, even though I am against real fur, while the other half of me feels grubby at the very thought of trying on a dead woman’s clothes. Peering out of the landing window, I see Rupert getting out of his car, his face ruddy and his hair sweaty as he pulls his gym bag from the boot.
‘Hi.’ I stop at the bottom of the stairs, as he bursts through the front door.
‘Oh, sorry. I thought you would have been gone by now.’ His face flushes and my heart skips a beat.
‘I just had a few things to finish off. I’ll get off now, get out of your hair. If you leave that bag by the washing machine, I’ll get it sorted on Monday.’
Rupert pauses for a moment, as if he wants to say something, before he gives me a small smile. ‘Thank you. For today, I mean, not the gym bag. I really appreciate you coming in on a Saturday.’
‘It’s no bother.’ I slide my feet into my trainers. ‘A woman called Sadie came over earlier – she said she’ll catch up with you later.’ I smile, even though the thought of Sadie and her chilly manner is like grit under an eyelid. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Emily…’ Rupert says, and I wait, my heart thudding hard in my chest. ‘Oh, never mind. Have a good weekend.’
I nod and make my way down the path towards the gate, sure I can feel his eyes on me every step of the way.
Chapter Five
Rupert finds himself sliding out of the office on time a week later, something he hasn’t done for months since Caro died. He tells himself that it’s Friday night, of course he should be leaving on time, that it’s the weekend and no one else is doing any overtime – in fact, Michael – Caro’s father and Rupert’s boss – left at lunchtime, as he often does on a Friday.
An hour later, Rupert drives through the gates of Fox House, and is relieved to see that there are still lights on inside. Emily must still be here, even though she is usually finished by four. Adrenaline fires through his veins and he has to take a deep breath before he gets out of the car. He can’t lie, he is looking forward to seeing her, in a way that he hasn’t looked forward to seeing anyone since Caro died. He takes his time getting out of the car, giving himself time to get his breathing back to normal – it’s ridiculous, the idea that he feels nervous at the thought of seeing his housekeeper. As he puts his key into the lock and twists the door open, his heart stops in his chest. Music. He can hear music, something that hasn’t happened in his house in over a year.
Slowly, he closes the door behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Someone is playing the piano. Caro’s piano. The sound of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake’ filters out into the hallway and Rupert has to lean against the wall to steady himself. He knows if he looks into the living room, he will see Caro sat on the tiny piano stool, her back straight and her attention fully focused on the keys as she runs her hands over them. Tchaikovsky was always her favourite, and ‘Swan Lake’ was the tune she played whenever she’d had a bad day or felt less than happy. She’d play it right through to the end, as Rupert waited patiently, letting the music run over him like water. When she’d finished, he would go to her and pull her into his arms, trying his hardest to make her feel better, to let her know that whatever she thought, whatever she was feeling, she mattered.
Don’t be ridiculous. Caro is dead.
As the music dies away, Rupert pushes himself away from the wall and forces himself to walk on leaden feet into the sitting room. As he enters, Emily jumps up from the piano stool, a flush turning her cheeks a hot red.
‘Rupert!’ Her eyes are huge in her face, and she covers her mouth with both hands. ‘Oh, Rupert, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you home yet.’ She turns to the piano and closes the lid, pushing the stool back into place, keeping her back turned to him.
‘I didn’t realize you played the piano,’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her.
‘I learned at school. I’ve tried to keep up with it, but I’m very rusty. I don’t have a piano where I live now,’ Emily replies, brushing her hair away from her face and looking anywhere but at him. ‘I couldn’t resist it. I’m sorry, I should go.’
She trails her fingers over the closed
lid before she moves past him, and Rupert catches her by the arm. ‘Emily, there’s no need to apologize. It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Caro used to play, and the piano hasn’t been used since she died. I should have called and told you I would be leaving work on time.’
‘Oh no, you don’t need to do that.’ Emily shakes her head, smiling slightly. ‘I should get going. I’ve left you dinner in the oven.’
Rupert realizes now that he can smell something delicious on the air, and his stomach gives a low growl.
Emily laughs and her whole face lights up. ‘You’re hungry, then? I’ve made a beef bourguignon. There’s a bit too much for one person, but if I leave you a tub, you can just pop the rest in the freezer.’ She is leading him along the hallway towards the kitchen as she speaks, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Rupert breathes in the scent of meaty stew, a clean lemony scent beneath it, and feels a pang, as though finding something he didn’t realize he had lost.
‘There’s enough for two?’ he asks.
‘Well, yes.’ Emily pulls the dish out of the oven, and Rupert notices that there is an open bottle of red wine breathing on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s a bit difficult to make a beef bourguignon for one. But like I said, you can just freeze whatever is left over…’
‘Why don’t you stay?’ The words are out before Rupert has even had a chance to think through the consequences. He looks down, worried that Emily might think he’s overstepped the mark.
‘Stay?’
‘Yes. Only if you want to, of course. It would be nice to have some company for a change. It gets pretty lonely eating on my own every night. Oh, unless you’re busy, that is?’
‘No. No, I’m not busy.’ Emily smiles, and Rupert’s stomach does another flip. ‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure?’
‘Of course. Here, let me.’ Rupert takes the hot dish from her and places it on the table, as Emily brings out plates and cutlery. Rupert grabs two wine glasses and the open bottle of red and pours them both a large glass.
‘Cheers.’ He leans forward and chinks his glass against hers. ‘So, Emily Belrose, housekeeper extraordinaire. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself? You’re in my house every day and I feel as though I barely know you.’
‘There isn’t much to tell.’ Emily ladles a spoonful of stew onto his plate. ‘I live in Swindon, not far from the High Street, with my flatmate. Above a kebab shop, believe it or not. It’s not my dream home, but it’ll do until I can find somewhere better.’
‘Oh?’ Rupert’s heart sinks in his chest a little – does she mean flatmate, or boyfriend? He tries not to think that way, but this is the first time he’s had any flicker of interest in anyone else at all since Caro died.
‘Yeah, Mags and I have lived together for about a year now – I had a bad break-up and Mags kind of saved me.’ Emily gives a tiny laugh, but there is a strange expression on her face, half sadness, half fear.
‘I’m sorry.’ Rupert sips from his wine, holding the stem of his glass tightly so he doesn’t lay his hand on hers. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it? I always thought I liked my own company, but now I guess not so much.’
‘It does suck a bit.’ Emily looks down at her plate as she pushes the meat round and round without eating. ‘My break-up is nothing, though, compared to what you must have gone through.’ She looks up at him expectantly, and Rupert clears his throat.
‘It’s been tough, yes. It came as a huge shock when Caro died, that’s for sure.’ He pauses for a moment, unsure whether to say what he really wants to. ‘It was partly a relief too, though.’
Emily says nothing, just tilts her head on one side.
‘Caro was… she was difficult to live with.’ Rupert lays his fork down, his appetite gone. ‘She was bi-polar. I never knew which Caro would be here when I got home. That’s why the piano playing took me by surprise. Caro would always play that song when she was low. I knew if she was playing that, I was in for a bad night with her.’
He is quiet for a moment, as he is assaulted by the memory of Caro crying, her mascara smudged black around her swollen eyes, the slamming of the bathroom door before the lock rammed home and he had no choice but to wait outside, murmuring through the door that he loved her, that if she would just come out… or the times he would come home from work, the house cold and dark as she lay huddled under the duvet, refusing to speak to him.
‘Oh my God, Rupert. I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry.’ Emily lays her hand on his, and squeezes, the warmth of her palm scorching his cold fingers. Rupert looks up to see she has tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not your fault – you couldn’t have known.’ Rupert keeps dead still, not wanting her to take her hand away. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by anyone other than Sadie or Miles, or his family. ‘When Caro died, I was devastated, I didn’t know how I would go on. But there was the tiniest part of me that felt relief, that there would be no more pain, no more suffering for either of us. Does that make me a terrible person?’
‘God, no. Rupert, you must have been a wonderful husband to be able to cope with her mood swings. I had a stepfather who was bi-polar; I understand exactly what you mean.’
‘I miss her dreadfully,’ Rupert says, ‘but I think I’m finally ready to start living again. Sadie told me I needed to move on, get myself sorted out, and if I’m honest, the best thing I could have done was to take you on.’
Emily nods, but slides her hand away. ‘I am very much enjoying working for you, Rupert. If you must know, I feel like working for you has given me a second chance. Now, pass me your plate.’
Rupert hands her his plate, a deflated feeling pushing all the breath out of him. He came on too strong. Emily clearly just looks at him as an employer; she hasn’t been having the same kind of thoughts he has. And why should she? He’s the one who has got used to coming home to a cooked meal, a tidy house, a lemon-fresh scent filling every room after Emily’s hard work. He’s come to enjoy arriving home, knowing that even if Emily has finished for the day there will be a small lamp left on so that he doesn’t come home to a cold, dark house.
He feels like he has to break the awkward silence that fills the room, as Emily stands in front of the sink, running the tap, her face reflected in the glass of the window that looks out into the back garden. ‘Leave those,’ he says, ‘you’re off the clock now. I invited you to stay – the least I can do is wash the dishes.’
Emily laughs, raising her eyes from the bubbly water to the window, when she lets out a gasp, the plate in her hands falling into the sink with a crash. ‘Rupert!’
Rupert crosses the room in two strides, standing close behind Emily, who is looking out into the garden, her face pale. ‘What is it?’
‘There was someone out there, in the garden.’ Her voice wobbles and Rupert wrenches open the back door, the security light pinging on and illuminating the lawn down towards the trees at the bottom fence. The damp February air is chilly as he steps out, causing goosebumps to rise on his forearms through his thin shirt. At least, he tells himself it’s the cold air, not the sinister shadows at the bottom of the garden. He quickly scans the garden, but he can’t see anybody lurking in the bushes. ‘There’s no one out there.’
‘I saw someone,’ Emily says, her arms folded tightly across her body. ‘I’m sure there was someone standing at the bottom of the garden, watching us.’
‘A fox, maybe?’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her. Her shoulders shake a little as she tries to stop herself trembling.
‘I don’t think so. It looked like a figure, a person.’
‘It really scared you, didn’t it?’ Rupert steps closer, blocking Emily’s view of the garden.
‘Yes. Sorry. I… I definitely thought I saw something. Someone.’ She swipes at a stray lock of hair with a shaking hand.
‘There’s nothing out there now. I promise. How about I pour us some more wine? If that’s all right with you?’
‘I’d like that. I don’t really
feel comfortable riding my bike home just yet.’ Her eyes flick towards the darkened window and Rupert wonders if she’s still imagining someone lurking in the thick, inky shadows. ‘Maybe we could move into the sitting room? No offence, but these kitchen chairs aren’t exactly designed for comfort.’
Rupert laughs, squashing down the memory of the argument he and Caro had had over the chairs – his argument being the exact same as Emily’s, that the chairs were a statement rather than something designed to be sat on in comfort, but it was Caro’s money that was paying for them, so he didn’t really have much of a choice.
Emily scoops up the half-empty wine bottle and their glasses and makes her way towards the sitting room, as Rupert plucks another bottle from the wine rack and follows behind, suddenly nervous. It’s been a long while since he spent any time alone with a woman who wasn’t Caro. He tells himself that it’s just a bottle of wine, and even if it wasn’t, Caro wouldn’t want him to be lonely. He hesitates for a moment, giving Emily the chance to change her mind, but when he steps into the room she is already snuggled into one end of the sofa, and she gives a thin smile as she pats the seat next to her invitingly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘for freaking out a bit in there. I really thought I saw something.’ She looks down at the ruby liquid in her glass, giving it a swirl before she takes a deep breath. ‘I had a really bad relationship last year. It’s left me feeling… jumpy, I guess.’
‘And vulnerable?’ Rupert asks, aware of his hand lying close to her thigh. He knows that raw, flayed feeling only too well. ‘I can relate.’
‘Vulnerable. Jumpy. Unsafe.’ She pauses. ‘Alone.’
Giving in to impulse, Rupert lays his hand gently on her wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate bones as he seeks out the pulse that jumps under her skin. Emily looks up at him, and Rupert gives in to impulse again, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. She freezes for a moment, before he feels her mouth soften under his and he can taste wine on her lips and smell the light floral scent that she wears.
