The Ice Seduction

by Sk Quinn

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, taking a seat on the stool. ‘You’ll love it. I promise. And it’s easy. Here. Let me play you something to get us warmed up.’

  I begin playing one of my favourite songs, ‘Lean on Me’.

  As I play, Bertie watches me, his mouth a little open, his eyes soft and happy.

  ‘Why don’t you have a go?’ I ask.

  But Bertie holds back.

  ‘How about I try something else?’ I say. ‘What would you like to hear?’

  Bertie turns on his heel and runs from the room.

  ‘Bertie! Wait!’ I shout.

  God, I hope Mrs Calder isn’t lurking around.

  No running around the corridors this morning.

  I tear after him, and follow him up to his bedroom.

  Oh no.

  ‘We can’t go in here today,’ I whisper, but Bertie dashes into his bedroom and opens a drawer in his dresser. He reappears with a key and heads for the West Tower.

  Bertie unlocks the door to the West Tower, and to my horror runs inside.

  Oh god.

  What if someone catches Bertie running around up there? He’ll be in big trouble.

  I tear after him, chasing him up the stone spiral staircase.

  He heads straight into the room I hid in yesterday – the one where I found the Just William stories.

  Bertie disappears into the room, and quickly reappears with a music score.

  ‘Bertie—’

  I try to stop him, but he races around me and back down the staircase.

  I run after him, down corridors and around corners until I see him run back into the music room.

  I follow him and watch him set the score on the piano, opening it out.

  ‘Bertie, you shouldn’t have done that,’ I say. ‘We’re not even supposed to be in the castle today. And who gave you a key? The West Tower is off limits.’

  But Bertie’s little face looks so excited that I can’t be angry with him. He taps the piano and looks at me with pleading eyes.

  ‘You want me to play this?’ I say, cocking my head at the music score and going to the piano.

  Bertie nods hard.

  ‘Okay.’ I sit at the stool.

  I see the song Bertie wants me to play is ‘Everything I Own,’ by Bread.

  ‘I love this song,’ I say, putting my hands to the keys. ‘Ready?’

  Bertie nods again.

  I start playing and singing, getting lost in the music.

  Bertie perches on a chaise longue nearby and cups his chin in his hands. He watches me.

  It’s only when I finish the song that I notice a tall shadow in the doorway.

  I gasp and stop playing, my hands hitting the keys with an awkward clunk.

  It’s Patrick.

  Oh god, now I’m for it. If he recognized the Just William book, he’s bound to recognize this music score.

  My eyes fly straight to Patrick’s strong, curved lips. They’re set into a hard line, and sharp dimples are cut into his cheeks.

  Bertie notices Patrick at the same time I do, and gives a little jump.

  ‘That was my brother’s favourite song.’ Patrick’s eyebrows pull together. He’s wearing a classic black suit today and white shirt, but no tie.

  I open and close my mouth, glancing back at the music score.

  ‘Bertie … I mean, I … we needed some more music, so …’

  ‘We played it at his funeral,’ says Patrick.

  ‘Oh god.’ My hand goes to my chest. ‘I’m so sorry. Truly, I am.’

  ‘There’s nothing to apologize for,’ says Patrick, his eyes softening. ‘You played it beautifully.’

  My breathing slows a little. ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘I know it wasn’t you who ran into the West Tower,’ says Patrick softly, glancing at Bertie.

  ‘How?’ I blurt out.

  ‘Let’s just say I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Since you seem incapable of keeping yourself safe.’

  ‘You—’

  Patrick cuts me off with a sharp turn of his head. ‘My mother has arrived early. She’d like to see Bertie now. In the drawing room.’ With that, he stalks away.

  So that’s why Patrick is all dressed up. His mother is here.

  42

  Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

  My stupid heart is hammering away in my chest, and I know I’ve gone bright red.

  Patrick’s brother’s favourite song … and his brother died … what have I stirred up now? God, I hope I haven’t hurt him.

  I turn to Bertie and plaster on the best smile I can manage.

  ‘Well,’ I say, all false brightness. ‘Um. I guess we’d better get you smartened up for grandma.’

  We go to Bertie’s bedroom, and he picks out a smart suit and shoes from his wardrobe.

  After he’s dressed, Bertie leads me to the drawing room, which is pretty near the music room.

  I knock politely on the door and open it.

  Inside I see an elegant fifty-something woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut into a neat bob and a soft, pink-lipstick smile. She’s wearing a floaty, lemon-coloured dress and has a set of pearls at her neck.

  Everything about her, from the upright way she sits, to the elegant clothes she wears, tells me she’s expensive. But there’s also something soft and kind about her too – the way the wrinkles around her gentle brown eyes follow her smile, and the fact that she’s tucked her feet under her on the sofa.

  ‘Enchanté,’ she says, in a lovely French accent. ‘Bertie, my lovely little man.’ She gets up and crosses the room quickly, kissing Bertie on both cheeks. Then she turns to me. ‘And you must be the beautiful Seraphina. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ She holds out a dainty hand. ‘Daphne Cote. Formerly Mansfield. Bertie’s grandmother and Patrick’s mother. Very good to meet you.’ Her accent is lovely.

  ‘You’ve heard a lot about me?’ My eyes widen in astonishment. ‘Oh, no, no. Maybe you’re thinking of a different nanny. I’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘I can assure you, I don’t make mistakes. My son has told me all about you.’

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Patrick. He’s spoken glowingly of you.’

  I blush. ‘Patrick has?’

  ‘Take a seat,’ says Daphne. ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh I … really, I wouldn’t intrude,’ I say, looking left and right at the beautiful white silk sofas. ‘Mrs Calder said I should—’

  ‘Tuch! Mrs Calder.’ Daphne holds up a hand. ‘That woman would do better not to interfere. You stay and take tea with us.’ She glances at Bertie and her eyes glimmer. ‘I can see Bertie likes you.’

  I smile at Bertie. ‘I don’t think he’s quite gotten used to me yet.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ says Daphne, standing up. ‘If he didn’t like you, he’d be running around the castle causing havoc. As far as I can see, you have him very well-trained.’

  ‘Well. We’re getting to know each other,’ I say, shuffling my feet.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ says Daphne, taking my hand and leading me to a silk sofa. She smells divine – like roses and jasmine. ‘And Bertie, you sit next to Seraphina.’

  She takes Bertie’s hand too and sits him down next to me. ‘There now. Perfect. Seraphina can tell me how you’re getting along, and you can shake your head if she gets anything wrong.’ She gives him a little wink. ‘Okay?’

  Bertie’s lips twitch a little.

  ‘So.’ Daphne takes a seat opposite us and slaps her knees lightly. ‘The tea will arrive soon. But while we’re waiting, Seraphina, tell me all about yourself. I need to fill in the gaps.’

  ‘I … there must be a lot of gaps,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’ve only just got here.’

  Daphne laughs. ‘Oh, I think Patrick knows more about you than you realize.’

  A sharp knock on the door makes my head snap around.

  Mrs Calder appears, rolling a tinkling tea trolley.

  Bone china teapots, cups and saucers rattle on top, and freshly baked cakes, s
cones, and dishes of cream and jam sit on the bottom layer.

  Mrs Calder notices me and her mouth drops open.

  I smile politely, but Mrs Calder throws me a look that says she is not happy to see me.

  ‘You’re excused, Seraphina,’ says Mrs Calder, with a glare. ‘Daphne, I apologize. I told Seraphina to excuse herself before your meeting with Bertie.’

  Daphne waves her hand. ‘Nonsense. I invited Seraphina. She’s my guest.’

  Mrs Calder’s lips grow tight. ‘Your guest? But she’s just the nanny.’

  ‘I value all the staff here,’ says Daphne, with a light smile. ‘Even you. No one is below my attention. And I’m interested in Seraphina. So is my son. I wanted to learn more about her.’

  So is my son? What on earth has Patrick been saying?

  Mrs Calder’s lips turn so white they almost disappear.

  ‘I don’t see anything so interesting about Seraphina. She can’t even get up on time.’

  Daphne laughs a lovely musical laugh. ‘You and your schedules, Mrs Calder. Life is more fun when you loosen the corset strings a little.’

  ‘Well.’ Mrs Calder puts her hands on her hips. ‘Patrick’s father is, thankfully, more in line with my way of thinking.’

  ‘Yes he is,’ Daphne agrees. ‘I can see my ex-husband’s penny-pinching hand everywhere in this place.’

  She looks at an oil painting hung over the fire. ‘He’ll spend money on himself, but not on anyone else.’

  I follow her eyes.

  The painting shows a short, balding man in a black suit – the same man I saw getting out of the car earlier. He’s holding a black walking stick with a silver dog’s head at the top.

  ‘The cold,’ Daphne continues. ‘The dark corridors. Don’t you think this place needs lightening up a little?’

  Mrs Calder ignores the question, instead busying herself with the tea tray. A little shakily, she unloads china cups and saucers and pours tea.

  ‘Bertie, would you like some cake?’ says Daphne.

  Bertie shakes his head.

  ‘Ah,’ Daphne sighs. ‘Still not eating? You’ll waste away.’ She leans forwards and puts a light hand on my arm. ‘I took Bertie to Paris just before Christmas. We visited the most delicious patisseries and restaurants. But he wouldn’t touch a thing. Only that god awful liquorice. I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck getting Bertie to eat?’ She raises a neat little eyebrow.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘But I haven’t given up hope.’

  Mrs Calder gives a little smile. ‘Not long to go now, Seraphina. Until you’ll be packing your bags …’

  ‘Packing her bags?’ Daphne’s eyes widen.

  ‘Bertie must go to boarding school at the end of this week, if his eating problem hasn’t been cured,’ Mrs Calder smirks. ‘Dirk’s orders. So Seraphina won’t be needed soon.’

  ‘Well, what if she gets him to eat?’ Daphne reaches forwards and picks up a cup of tea. She takes a quick, thoughtful sip. ‘Mmm. It seems to me Bertie is comfortable with Seraphina. I mean, he’s sitting right next to her. I’ve never seen him that way with a nanny before. Maybe she has a good chance.’

  ‘The best doctors in the country couldn’t cure him,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘She’ll go the way of all the others. And Bertie will be out of my hair. As usual, myself and Dirk are in total agreement when it comes to his care.’

  Daphne’s eyes pull down a little, and she places her tea back on its saucer. ‘He’s not a fair man, my ex-husband. Not a man who uses his power for the good. And you, Agnes Calder, have him right in your pocket.’ Her eyes flick up.

  ‘I …’ Mrs Calder opens the teapot and stirs the tea way too fast. ‘We have an understanding. That’s all.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ says Daphne. ‘Tell me, Mrs Calder. How long have you had this understanding with my ex-husband? It’s been … exactly twenty-one years, hasn’t it?’

  43

  Mrs Calder drops the lid back on the teapot with a clunk. ‘I have things to attend to. Do excuse me.’

  She marches out of the room.

  Daphne turns to me, the smile back in her soft brown eyes. ‘I wish I could say Mrs Calder’s bark is worse than her bite,’ she says. ‘But the truth is, Agnes has some power in this castle. For reasons that you may discover over time. Neither Patrick nor I can do much about it.’ She sighs. ‘It’s a shame. Bertie really does seem to like you.’

  ‘I have no intention of leaving,’ I say. ‘I want to stay with Bertie for as long as he needs me. Maybe by the end of the week he’ll eat something.’

  Daphne shakes her head sadly. ‘So many of us have tried and failed. Bertie is … a troubled boy. Something happened to him. We think when he stayed with his father – Anise’s first boyfriend.’

  Beside me I feel Bertie tense up.

  ‘Bertie, is that true?’ I ask.

  Bertie looks at his hands.

  ‘He won’t talk about anything,’ says Daphne. ‘That’s the trouble. So nobody knows for sure. All we know is that he did talk once. And eat. But now he doesn’t. Here. Have some tea.’

  She pours tea from the pot, and mixes in milk and a little sugar. Then she hands me the cup and saucer.

  The door clicks, but I’m so busy wondering about Bertie and his past that I barely notice it.

  It’s only when Daphne says, ‘Patrick! Enchanté!’ that my head snaps up.

  The cup and saucer rattle in my fingers.

  Oh good god, what is he doing here?

  ‘Hello Mama,’ says Patrick, his eyes locking on mine as he strides into the room. He stands, hands on hips, by the fireplace. ‘So you’ve met Seraphina? I knew you’d manage that, one way or another.’ His lips flick into a little smile.

  ‘Yes,’ says Daphne, smiling back. ‘And so far I thoroughly approve.’

  I grip my cup and saucer so they stop shaking. ‘Hello Patrick,’ I say, trying to be all formal and professional and in no way think about that kiss yesterday …

  What on earth has Patrick told Daphne about me?

  ‘Did you know that Bertie will be shipped off to boarding school at the end of the week?’ Daphne asks Patrick. ‘Unless he deals with this eating problem of his. Dirk’s idea, of course. But Mrs Calder is happy to go along with it.’

  Patrick’s jaw tightens, and he grips the mantelpiece. ‘That man … he needs dealing with once and for all.’

  ‘Patrick, no.’ Daphne shakes her head, her eyes going all soft and sad. ‘You know what will happen. For my sake …’

  Patrick frowns. ‘This has gone on too long, Mama.’

  ‘But what can be done? Nothing. We just have to bear it. And you never know. Maybe Seraphina can get Bertie to eat.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I say. ‘But helping him may take longer than a week. There’s really not much I can do to force things. I just have to keep trying and he’ll eat when he’s ready.’

  ‘Enough is enough, Mama,’ says Patrick. ‘My father needs dealing with.’

  ‘No Patrick, please.’ Daphne’s eyes widen. ‘Please. If anything happened to you …’

  Patrick sighs. ‘And so we’re back here again.’

  Daphne reaches for a spoon and stirs her tea. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But if I just talked to him …’ says Patrick, glaring at the fireplace.

  ‘No.’ Daphne raises a hand. ‘You know how that will end. Threats and god knows what else. Right now, he holds the winning hand.’

  Patrick taps the mantelpiece with a long, athletic finger. ‘Yes. I know.’

  Daphne sighs. ‘Well. I’m going to take Bertie out to the village for a little grandma time. Come on Bertie. It was wonderful to meet you, Seraphina.’

  She leaps up with the grace of a much younger woman and takes Bertie’s hand. ‘See you both very soon.’

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘What about Bertie’s lunch?’

  Daphne pats her beige handbag. ‘I have three bags of liquorice in here. I carry them everywhere with me, just for Bertie. You needn’t worry. I’ll bring h
im back after supper.’

  She and Bertie head out of the room.

  I feel my heart beat faster.

  There’s a weight to the air, now Patrick and I are alone together. A heavy, heavy weight. The room is practically crackling.

  ‘I … I should go,’ I say, about to stand up.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ says Patrick.

  ‘I—’

  ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

  44

  My heart beat doubles.

  ‘Did you like my mother?’ says Patrick.

  ‘I … very much,’ I say, my fingers plucking at the flowery patterns on the sofa.

  ‘I’m glad,’ says Patrick. ‘And I’m glad you met her. She wanted very much to meet you.’

  ‘She said you’d told her about me,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says Patrick.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That I’ve finally met the woman I want to be with.’

  My eyes begin to swim. ‘Patrick, is this some sort of game? You hardly know me.’

  Patrick laughs. ‘Have you never heard of instinct? When you know, you know.’

  I blush and get to my feet. ‘Patrick, I should go.’

  ‘Running again, Seraphina?’ Patrick takes two strides towards me, and I feel the electricity as his body comes closer.

  My mouth has gone dry and my stomach is flipping over and over. ‘I …’

  I want to tell him to take pity on me. Because I don’t know how much longer I can be strong. And I need to resist him. Me and the lord of the manor … it can just never be. It’s impossible. But my throat is so tight the words just won’t come out.

  ‘You don’t need to speak,’ says Patrick, his voice low. He’s moves nearer, his face inches from mine. ‘You don’t need to say a word. I know what you feel.’

  He takes my hands, and this time I don’t pull away. Then he pulls me towards him so our bodies touch.

  I feel like I’m falling into his eyes.

  ‘You have to stop running now,’ Patrick growls. ‘Don’t you understand? You’re meant to be mine.’

  ‘Pat-rick,’ I murmur, the word soft and broken. ‘Please.’

  In one strong movement, Patrick scoops his hands under my backside and lifts me up, into his body.