by Sharon Booth
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.
#
I got an excited phone call from Redmond the following morning. I'd just settled Adele down for a nap, and I rushed out of the French windows so the ringtone wouldn't wake her up. I tried not to feel anxious as I accepted the call. It wasn't like Redmond to ring me. Last time he'd done that, Granny Reed had just died.
"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.
#
The beeping of my phone awoke me the following morning.
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.
Chapter Seven
It was hard to believe, but I'd already been at Moreland Hall for almost a month. Time flies when you're having fun.
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 t
o 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?"
