Resisting Mr Rochester

by Sharon Booth

  "Sounds painful," I said.

  She nodded. "You're not wrong there. I thought I was going to die the day after the operation, but it passed. I stayed at the clinic for a week, so they could keep checking on me, and I had my stitches out, and then Michael brought me here to recover. I simply couldn't risk going back to the house in London. Too many people nosing around. This is out of the way—or so I thought. I couldn't believe Ethan decided to throw a birthday party the very weekend I arrived."

  "Well, I suppose he couldn't exactly move his birthday," I pointed out, thinking that she really could have moved her op, instead.

  "Oh, but he never has parties. He hates all that socialising. He's far more like Thomas than like me in that respect. No doubt he has his reasons. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

  "You mean Briony?" I couldn't help myself, and she looked at me curiously.

  "Do you know anything?"

  I lowered my eyes. I shouldn't really get involved. It was Ethan's business, and I shouldn't discuss anything with his mother, anyway. "Only that it's obvious she wants him," I muttered.

  "Huh. Wants his money, more like." She shrugged. "As he keeps telling me, he's old enough to take care of himself. We shall see. He hasn't done too well so far. What a mess. Talk about a tangled web. I think it's a good thing I'm here, given the situation he's landed himself in. Silly boy."

  I was longing to know what she meant, but she offered no further information. I cast around, trying desperately to think of something else to talk about.

  "Adele's going to the seaside today," I said. "Mrs F and Michael are taking her."

  "How nice," she said.

  "When were you planning on telling her you're here?" I asked. "Only, I'm sure she'd love to see you, and your face looks fine. I'm sure it won't scare her."

  She sighed. "I know. I suppose I should meet up with her again. I'm just not awfully good at all that sort of thing."

  "What sort of thing?" I said, surprised.

  "Children." She sounded quite gloomy, and not at all like a doting mother. I gazed into my tea for a moment, wondering whether I had the courage to broach the subject of Adele's true parentage. I decided I had. It was now or never. "I think you should know," I said, carefully, "that Adele overheard a conversation you had with Jodie. She asked me about it."

  She eyed me curiously. "What conversation? I rarely had any sort of conversation with that woman. She was hardly my favourite person."

  If that was the case, I was a bit surprised that she'd confided such a massive fact to someone she didn't seem remotely keen on. It was all very awkward. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, after all. I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment as she stared at me, waiting.

  "She heard you telling her nanny that you weren't her natural mother. Of course," I added hastily, "she didn't understand what that meant. She simply asked me what natchell meant."

  "And what did you tell her?"

  "I—well, to be honest, I fudged it," I admitted. "I told her I didn't understand it myself and maybe she'd misheard. Sorry. I just didn't know what to say."

  To my relief, her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I can see the thoughts running through your head, Cara. You're so transparent." Her face broke into a smile. "I didn't say I wasn't her natural mother. I said, I wasn't a natural mother—which I'm not, as I'm sure you've already realised."

  My face burned even hotter. "I'm sorry. I wasn't saying—"

  "Of course you weren't. You're far too polite. Don't worry, you're not the first person to doubt Adele's parentage. Many people assume she's Ethan's daughter, and I'm simply pretending that my granddaughter is my own child to save his reputation, given that Antonia clearly isn't her mother." She giggled. "And I can see by your face that you thought the same. Oh, dear."

  "So—so Adele is your daughter?" I said faintly.

  "She is. A rather unusual souvenir from my last holiday in Barbados. I was hoping for a mahogany carving from Pelican Village, but there you go."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "A holiday romance, darling. Not even that, really. A night of passion in a hotel, with a rather hunky chap who was on the last night of a somewhat raucous stag week. It was my first night there, so it was a brief encounter. That's a romantic way of saying one-night-stand. He was quite delicious, as I recall. We had a wonderful time in his hotel room, with Adele's album 21 playing in the background. That's why I called my daughter Adele. I'm pretty certain she was conceived to Rolling in the Deep."

  "Gosh." There wasn't an awful lot I could say to that. Eventually, I asked, "Did you not tell her father? I mean, does he know about Adele?"

  She shook her head. "Certainly not. It would have been terribly awkward, given it was his forthcoming wedding they were all celebrating. Besides, it was embarrassing. I mean, getting pregnant at that age! I was convinced all that was well behind me. I was menopausal—had been for ages, or so I thought. Just shows you. Anyway, even apart from all that, it wasn't an option." She gave me a mischievous look. "I never thought to ask his name. I'm almost sure it was something like David, or Damien, or Daniel. Or was it Rupert, or Robert? I really can't remember, and there's no point in worrying about it, is there?"

  I supposed there wasn't. I sipped my tea and gazed out across the lawn, noting the sunlight glinting on the waters of the lake, and reflecting that I'd been very wrong in assuming that Ethan had fathered an illegitimate child. I couldn't help feeling guilty that I'd misjudged him.

  "The fact is," Jennifer continued, after taking another mouthful of her smoothie and replacing her cup on the table, "Adele would probably be better off if Ethan was her father, and I her grandmother. He's practically brought her up himself, anyway. I never was very maternal. I was far too young to have a child. I got married when I was just nineteen, and before I was twenty, Ethan was in a crib in the nursery and I was a mother. I was woefully unprepared. I told Thomas, before they'd even wheeled me out of the delivery room, that he needn't think there'd be any more children. What a barbaric business childbirth is! And then, all the inconvenience and discomfort afterwards. Disgusting, really."

  "Didn't he mind? About not having more children, I mean?"

  She tilted her head, as if considering the matter for the first time. "I don't think so," she said eventually. "He never said anything, anyway. Then again, he had an heir, which was all that really mattered, and he wanted me to be happy. That was important to him." Her face softened. "He was such a good man, you know. Kind. Considerate. He put up with a lot from me. I could have been a much better wife." She shook her head carefully. "Not that I was a bad wife, exactly," she said hastily. "I mean, I flitted and I flirted, but I was never unfaithful to him. And I was always discreet in my flirtations. I knew his reputation mattered to him, and I wouldn't want to damage that. Besides, it's so sordid, don't you think? All that infidelity business. Vile."

  I nodded. "And painful."

  She reached for her cup again, watching me thoughtfully. "You speak as one who knows?"

  "I do." I didn't add any further information, and she sighed.

  "I had the same experience with my father. The pain he caused my mother was unbearable to see. I could never have inflicted it on Thomas. Some people seem to see relationships as a game, but they're not. They're deadly serious. You see, that's the trouble with Briony. Well, one of the troubles with Briony. She really wouldn't understand, or care, about reputations, or discretion, or feelings, for that matter. All she cares about is money and celebrity. She would sell her soul for a cover spread in All the Goss. She's probably got the headlines all worked out already: Briony and Ethan share their engagement happiness; Briony and Ethan's wedding day bliss; Briony's heart-breaking decision—Why I had to end my marriage. Because it would end, you know. She'd always have her eye on the next rich man, and she would break Ethan's heart, which would break mine. My son doesn't need that sort of woman in his life."

  My stomach did a funny little shudder. Must have been the tea sloshing
around in there. "Well, it's his choice, I suppose," I murmured. "If she's the kind of woman he wants, there's not much you can do about it."

  She looked at me with evident surprise. "Of course she's not the kind of woman he wants! He wants and needs someone steady, honest, faithful, kind."

  "Maybe you should buy him a Labrador instead?" I suggested helpfully.

  She giggled. "You are funny, Cara. You know what I mean. He's been hurled into this world of cut-throat business deals, sharp suits, and glamorous women, but he's not that sort of man really, is he? You must know that. He'd be happy to spend his days on the moors, and being with Adele." She hesitated. "He'd make an excellent father, you know. I've always thought so."

  "Well, maybe he and Antonia—"

  "Antonia?" She shook her head. "Let's not even go there. Something's going to have to be done about that situation. The clock is ticking, and it's not fair." She squinted slightly as the sun hit her face, and reached over to the coffee table for a pair of sunglasses, which she perched on her nose, conveniently hiding her expression as she said with deceptive calmness, "Have you ever considered having children, Cara?"

  The tea did another slosh around in my stomach. Had I? I'd thought of little else for the last few years. I smiled, hoping the pain didn't show in my voice. "Of course, but the time was never right, and now I'm thirty—"

  "Oh, tosh." She beamed at me. "I was fifty-two, for goodness sake. Thirty is nothing these days. Women are choosing to delay having their families until their forties. You're still young enough, and I'm sure it will happen for you. You would be so good at it. I've heard you're marvellous with Adele. It's a real gift, you know. I just don't appear to have it."

  "Adele loves you," I assured her.

  "Of course she does, much as one would love an older sister, or a favourite aunt. Not the same as a mother, though, is it? Thomas would have adored her, you know. How ironic. Still, things are what they are. We can't all be good at everything, can we?"

  "No," I said. "We can't."

  "I will see her, of course. Perhaps tomorrow? Or the day after?"

  "Why don't you come out with us?" I suggested, on impulse. "We could take her somewhere nice for the day. It would be a lovely re-introduction to you, and I'm sure you could do with some fresh air and a change of scenery."

  "Looking like this?" she said incredulously.

  "A bit of makeup would cover that," I said. "Honestly, it's not too bad, at all, and I'm sure foundation would conceal the bit of bruising you have left. Oh, why not? It would be fun."

  She considered the matter for a moment. "And you'll definitely come with us? Break the ice?"

  I thought how sad it was that she felt she needed someone to be with her to break the ice with her four-year-old daughter. Was that the sort of mother she'd been to Ethan, too? I felt so sorry for all three of them. How much they'd missed out on. I thought of my own mother and felt a pang of homesickness that took me by surprise. I wondered how they were getting on in Spain. I hoped Dad was eating well and feeling better. "Of course I'll come with you," I said. "I'd love to."

  "Excellent." She beamed at me. "And I'll mention it to Ethan. I'm sure a day out would do him good, too."

  Hang on! I hadn't mentioned Ethan!

  "So, that's all settled," she said, leaning back on the sofa and smiling. "I feel much better. That's Adele sorted. Now I just have to work on Ethan."

  I had no idea what she meant by that, but clearly something was wrong, and it was worrying her. What sort of mess had he landed himself in?

  Chapter Nineteen

  I didn't see Ethan all morning, as he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. I remembered what Jennifer had said—he'd happily spend all day on the moors if he could. Doing what? And if that was the case, why did he spend so much time in London?

  The rest of his guests stirred themselves throughout the course of the morning, stumbling downstairs and throwing themselves on the mercy of Mrs F, who cooked up full English breakfasts for each and every one of them who could face it, and provided tea and sympathy for those who couldn't. She was quite cheerful, and even friendly towards them all, not even complaining when one of them insisted he'd lost his breakfast and demanded a replacement.

  "Lost it?" she chortled. "Well, I've heard it all now."

  "But I did," he insisted. "Only put it down in the hallway for a minute while I went to call Alfie here, and some bugger made off with it." He scowled accusingly at another, rather portly man, who was tucking into a mound of sausages smothered in brown sauce. "And don't think I don't know who nicked it, either!"

  "Get on with you." Mrs F laughed and handed him another plateful of food, and he beamed at her and wandered off, bad mood quite forgotten.

  Briony was nowhere to be seen, which I was quite glad about. Joel tucked into sausages and bacon with gusto and looked decidedly cheerful, and none the worse for wear, in spite of his previous night's alcoholic intake.

  I was persuaded into eating a bacon sandwich by Michael, who seemed determined that I'd taste his cooking, for some reason. I had to admit, it hit the spot nicely. Fortified by my tasty butty and another mug of tea inside me, I bid them farewell as they took Adele off to Bridlington for the afternoon, and decided to go for a walk around the grounds with plans of escaping the London crowd with a book in my secret bolthole behind the wall.

  I felt a bitter disappointment on discovering the gate locked. Though, maybe Ethan didn't want any of his guests to intrude upon the garden, a thought that cheered me up no end. Still, I didn't want to be disturbed by any of them, so after a moment's thought, I headed to the lake and crawled beneath the branches of an obliging weeping willow, where I leaned against the trunk and opened my book, knowing I was hidden from the outside world. Finally finding the page where I'd left off, I began to read.

  I wasn’t sure how long I'd been there when I became aware of a low murmur of voices. I froze, hoping no one would move the branches aside and discover me there, which was ridiculous really, because why would they? As I listened, praying I would remain out of sight, it dawned on me that the voices I could hear weren't exactly friendly.

  My blood ran cold when I recognised Ethan's voice. "You're being ridiculous. There is no plot. I've told you, I don't know where she is at the moment."

  "And I've told you, I don't believe you. Look, Ethan, I don't know what goes on between you and Antonia, and I don't particularly care. All I know is, her old man's in a bad way, and he wants to see her. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Of course it's not, but what can I do? If I can't find her ..."

  "But it's crazy! No one seems to know where she is. How is that even possible in this day and age?"

  "If Antonia doesn't want to be found ..."

  "And why wouldn't she want to be found? Has something happened between the two of you?"

  "Not at all. You know Antonia. She likes to go off and do her own thing. Always has."

  "Don't make out like you never see her. I know for a fact that you spent Christmas with her. I've made enquiries. You stayed in Paris together. Are you seriously telling me that six months later, you have no contact with her?"

  "So we were together in Paris for Christmas. Why wouldn't we be? She's my wife, for God's sake. But then I had to return to London, and she wanted to go off on her travels again. She's like that, isn't she? She can't stay in one place for long. Never has."

  "So, you won't help?"

  "It's not that I won't help—"

  "It's a bloody disgrace. Don't you think you owe Uncle Simon something, after the way you humiliated him?"

  "Humiliated him! That was years ago! And what did he expect? It was like something out of the Tudor ages."

  "That's not the point. There was an agreement. You made him look a fool. He gave you the benefit of the doubt, didn't he? And what happened? She abandoned him completely. He's hardly seen her at all, since you two got married. You turned her against him, that's what you did. You isolated her. She was a
real party girl until you got your claws into her, and after that, she practically vanished off the face of the earth. What did you do to her, eh?"

  "Do you have any idea how paranoid you sound? For God's sake, Marcus, stop being an idiot. Antonia's very much her own woman, always has been. If Simon hasn't seen her, maybe he should look to himself for an explanation."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Never mind. Look, I understand Simon wants to see her before it's too late, and I'm genuinely sorry that he's ill, but I don't know where she is. If I hear from her, I'll let her know what's happening, and then it's up to her whether she contacts him, or not. It's totally her decision."

  There were some vague mutterings, then the man, Marcus, said, "Whatever you say, there's no reason on earth that I can think of why she wouldn't want to see her father. I don't know what hold you've got over her, Rochester, but let me be very clear. If you can't find her, perhaps the police will."

  There was quiet for a while, and I thought maybe they'd both moved away, so my heart leapt into my mouth when I heard Ethan say clearly, "Faith? How is she today? Oh, no, I'm sorry to hear that. Look, I wouldn't disturb you, but there's bad news, I'm afraid. Marcus just turned up at the house. It seems her father's taken a turn for the worse, and he wants to see her. Well, I know that, but if he doesn't see her, Marcus has threatened to get the police involved, and he means it. What are we going to do about it? Christ, Faith, this is such a mess. We have to sort this out, once and for all."

  His voice grew fainter, and I realised he was walking away. Eventually, I couldn't hear him at all, and I sat there, feeling sick.

  What was going on with Antonia Rochester, and why had Ethan just lied to her cousin?

  #

  You would never have known that anything untoward had happened. Ethan stood at the front door, bidding his guests a fond farewell, smiling and laughing, as they thanked him for his hospitality and teasing him about the unusual party theme. Any other time, I'd have found it amusing when several of his friends asked for Paolo's contact details. It was just as Ethan had predicted. Because he'd pretended he liked the theme, everyone else had taken to it, making Paolo a man in demand. I'd have said it was a kind gesture on Ethan's part, but after the phone conversation I'd overheard, I was no longer sure about anything.