In the night, he woke, and we made love so tenderly. I barely remember it; his hands wandered as I lay with my eyes still closed and fatigue still clawing at my mind. He did all the work and I let him. My lips were softly parted and he brushed against them slowly. The strokes of his tongue were enough to alight my desire. He wrapped my thigh over his and he made love to me as I lay on my side, with my breasts cuddled against his face tightly. I felt sure tears covered me as he kissed my skin but I could not be sure. All I knew was that I was swathed in this man's love for me, despite all the things I had done. I pulled on the back of his head and kept my eyes firmly shut. His rolling drives and tender licks of my nipples brought me to my peak. After that, he remained inside me most of the night, cradled against me. We had exhausted one another. I savoured every millisecond of every second of every minute of every hour of those last few moments together. I loved him but couldn't live with him.
When that weekend reached its end and he left for London, I started looking for a house elsewhere. Two weeks or so later, my flat was empty and I was gone. Noah would have found it like that because I never called to tell him that our next meeting was off.
Chapter XXVI
An Explanation
Dear Noah,
This is not exactly a Dear John but I guess it must feel a little like it is. Firstly, do I say sorry? Perhaps that would be cheap of me. It has now been a month since I left and I still believe that my actions were carried out intentionally and rationally. The latter you may not believe but it's true. I just needed to leave. A lot of people may not understand this thing I suffer with, including you. I have lived with it a very long time and sometimes there is no good way to cope.
You see, I love you so very much, and I know I am only bad for you. In the fibres of my being, I realise that. Neither of us knew that a night of passion would lead us here but it did.
To clarify, the pregnancy was not achieved dishonestly. I simply forgot to take the pills one week because I was so happy. You see, that is the thing about me. In our little make-believe world of pure love, desire and fulfilment, I could cope. Out in the real world, I am done for. The pregnancy and its abrupt end made me realise I've never really tackled my problems. Not really. I only found other distractions to bury my neuroses deep down. I use that word, though, in fact, what I really end up getting disabled by are the memories of what I went through. They are the horrors of my nightmares. When I was a child, my parents did not believe I was ill at first. They assumed I was lazy and refusing to get out of bed in the mornings. That's the horrific thing about illness: nobody wants to believe it can happen to you. Everyone tells themselves they should have some feeling and emotion about it all, but really, they only know the pain of watching someone they love disintegrate. Nobody who's ill can ever really tell anyone else what it is like. Out of love, the patient hides what they are really feeling from the people who cannot help but grimace at the slightest sign of your suffering. It was horrific being a bald child of 11 weighing less than four stone. Of being constantly hooked up and tested on. Not really understanding what was happening to me. I think my child's mind decided I was going to die and the fact that I lived wasn't in my plans. People might assume I am a brave survivor but what I actually am is a girl still, and one who just built so many imaginary foes inside my mind. To imagine villains and enemies is easier than to allow anyone entry into my heart. When you entered my familial world, that was unbearable. You were no longer part of my fantasies after that. The onset of depression after the miscarriage and the exhaustion that came with it made me feel like that child suffering cancer once more. The thought of going through that again is more terrifying than any other fear, and there are plenty. Mental anguish is something I am aware of but it is also something I have no control over and it is a battle. A daily battle. Feeling out of control is frightening. I have to take back control now and I can only do that alone.
Yes, I survived cancer. But there was a price. There's always a cost for everything and that is what I've come to firmly believe. I cannot help it. To live, I had to shut down. My subconscious mind took over. I found a world to escape to. The Lodge and the work of the Chambermaid was an outlet for my imagination, which was kept behind bars for so long. You were right about everything you said too – she's the person I should be. She is the person I am trying to be a little bit like in my ordinary life. I dare not trust myself to hope happiness is possible. Something in me says that everything comes with a price tag. You as much confirmed that for me when you told me about your marriage. And so, I have done the best thing for both of us. We had so many good times and we can look back on them with fondness. I couldn't bear to have any bad memories of my time with you.
I imagine in a parallel universe that we meet again in the future and you are older but still gorgeous. We're both greying a little but it doesn't seem to matter. We don't need to fix each other because somehow the world finally levelled us out. And then, we just decide to give it a go. This is also the thing about me: imagination is a powerful thing and sometimes I cannot help but worry I am kidding myself about so many things. I can't tell the difference between reality and illusion. I simply know this, Noah… I need more time before I'm solid enough to make anyone happy. If we continued as we were doing, I have no idea what I might have stooped to.
I'm dreaming of that day when I'm fixed and I see you, grey and stout, but still my Noah. You freed me and imprisoned me. You loved and hated me. You enthralled and effaced me. I ask only one thing and that is, don't try to find me. I'll be okay. We never really needed words but you deserve some after what I've done to you. I am going to disable this account after this has sent.
I love you. C x
Part the Third
Chapter XXVII
Heath's Disbelief
Heath had to speak. He had raced through the pages, desperate to know what might happen next.
Now, he was so shocked. Devastated, even. He could not contain his questions.
“I don't understand.”
“I don't expect you to,” the Chambermaid said.
Her face was stony and evasive. It was like he was in the room with another person again. The meek woman he had met had been replaced by the Chambermaid and now he was faced with a maudlin figure.
“You just… left him. Just like that. No contact. No, let's just be friends. I just don't get it, Lottie, I don't get it!”
Heath stood up out of his chair and moved to the window, looking behind the drapes. He saw the lights of the cars passing up and down the A-road down below, plus the glow of Nottingham in the distance. In the other direction he just saw a vast expanse of black night and nothingness, with the odd star shining through the light pollution.
“He loved you,” he muttered.
“I guess you loved your wife but that didn't work out, did it?” She was cold and calculated in her response.
“What do you mean?” he snarled.
“Sometimes, the pain is too much. People can be better off apart.”
“No, I mean, the tone of your voice. It's like…”
“Okay, I admit, I met your wife.”
“What!” he exclaimed, turning to step toward her.
She stood up and walked in front of him; her feline eyes disarming him.
“I needed to know what I was dealing with,” she revealed.
“I'm not a fucking client,” he insisted.
“You could be. You should be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, from what she said, you need some help.”
He shook his head and walked to the fire.
She continued, “Actually, I knew her already. Your wife taught an adult education class I took.”
“Which one?”
“The advanced creative writing course.”
“Shit. It's a small world.”
“I know. I knew I had heard the name Heath before.”
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She said you took
your job far too seriously. You never talked about it. You'd come home shattered and narky. All you did was type and muse and you forgot you had a wife to fuck still.”
“Oh,” he said, regretfully.
“Why did you let it get to that stage?” she asked.
He now understood why the Chambermaid was so effective. She was too forward in her guise and so very intuitive. He wondered why she had this ability to help others but not herself.
“I was too wrapped up in myself. When she confronted me, I couldn't deal with it. I felt less of a husband. It just seemed irreparable.”
“She loves you still,” she said.
He smiled and the news improved his demeanour tenfold.
“What do I do?”
“Have you learnt nothing? Really?” she asked.
“Oh, silly me. I just need to… service her,” he remarked, sarcastically.
“She's the one who helped me secure a publisher. She is a very nice woman.”
“She is.”
“Why is it that you behaved that way with her? Be honest.”
“I guess I reached a point where I wondered what I was doing with my life. I have been obsessed with finishing a novel that just doesn't want to be written and I felt like she wouldn't understand. She always says that if something needs writing it will be.”
“That may be the case. Perhaps, you should forget that book. Concentrate on your marriage. Go back to it later. Or, start another.”
“It's not so easy. It's a book about my father's life! And now, a lot more seems to make sense! I'd bet my bottom dollar all those missing persons were swallowed by the Lodge and the lifestyle there!”
“But what about your life? Your real life? The Lodge and all that… it's fiction, you know?”
“I know. But, all the same, it was a work of…”
“A personal nature. A labour of love?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And we all know where that gets us?” she asked, rhetorically.
“Nowhere. Heartache. You're right… I should write something daft. A comedy.”
“No, you should write your dad's story when it no longer hurts anymore. Distance is everything.”
“Interesting, so, your separation from Noah no longer hurts? If you've written this all down now?”
She looked up from her reverie and eyed him with contempt.
“I wrote it because, for me, this was the only way to get over it. I felt I had to put the past behind me and this was the line drawn underneath it all.”
“You have such double standards.”
“Please ask yourself… is a story told from direct experience going to be better expressed than one told from the voice of another who wasn't there in that time and place but is telling the story from a second-hand perspective?”
“Again, why did you leave him? I don't understand why. Fix everyone else, don't you? Just not yourself?”
She held her head in her hands. Some part of her did not have secure answers, another did.
“Noah and I had a once in a lifetime kind of love. I knew that I had to preserve that. I knew I was reaching the point where I'd make him hate me too much. He forgave so much. I knew he wouldn't forgive much more. We knew each other so well. But, he and I, are such complex souls. Not destined for the real world together.”
“You say that but I know, when I see you speak about him, you are still in love with him, aren't you? I see it.”
“I always will be. I freely admit that, of course. But I don't want to be with anyone. Not even him.”
“So, after you left, where did you go?” he asked, somehow knowing she would not reveal much more about Noah.
“I laid low for a long time. I rented a two-bedroom house in a nearby hamlet where I could hide. I spent nights crying and dwelling. Maybe I thought a miracle might drag me out of it all. I told my family I'd moved to Australia. I mocked up pictures on Photoshop to convince them of this fact. They offered to come over but I claimed I was moving around too often and not to bother. I made up some story about Noah blowing me off. I knew they wouldn't bother getting in touch with him and anyway if they did, he would be too much of a gentleman to reveal what had really happened between us…
“I signed myself up for therapy and for the first time in my life, I told someone what it was like surviving cancer. I mean, what it was really like. It blew out those cobwebs no end. Then, I started writing. The shrink said that was good. I took your wife's course during that quiet period and this book battled its way out of me.”
“Then, what else happened? What?” Heath asked eagerly. He could sense there was so much more yet.
“Fate,” she replied, and nodded at the book. He turned to the next chapter.
Chapter XXVIII
March 2013
Nearly a year had passed and it was around this time that I decided I was ready to get back to work. I knew I would be better off working independently of the Lodge and certainly not for any other former clients, so I joined an online escort service in need of a specialist dominatrix. I bought myself a nice car and began travelling all over the region, or occasionally, to other counties nearby if the payday was big enough. I feared I may encounter an old acquaintance but I never did. Perhaps they wouldn't recognise me, anyway. In my guise as the Chambermaid I was two extremes, either bland housekeeper or outrageously-dressed temptress. In my new role, I was a watered-down, classically dressed lady who became fearsome if the men required it. Their desires were always communicated to me beforehand and it was so much easier. I detached myself completely and it merely became a job. I had graduated I felt, but there was still some way to go. I began squirreling the money away and planning my escape. I wanted to make a fresh start.
However, soon, I realised word had got out that I was working again. Somebody I had dealt with through the agency had perhaps put two and two together. I knew Noah was trailing me and that even a sniff of my existence would be cause enough for him to put somebody on the case of finding me. I just became more careful and used side entrances of hotels I travelled to, or even dressed like the hotel worker I once was.
I had only been back in employment for a few weeks when I found myself travelling to Thoresby Hall to meet a client. In my own clothes and style, I wandered through the hotel lobby toward the lifts. He was there at reception, checking in. I knew it was him. His voice was imprinted on me. Heat hit my cheeks. My heart raced instantly. I was stunted in my tracks. Careful not to draw attention to myself, I trailed off to plant myself in a window seat looking out onto the manicured grounds outside. I tried to lose myself in the topiary and lakes, but, alas, his very presence in the vicinity sent a bolting chasm through my insides.
Once I had taken this inconvenient interference within myself to task, I thought about a course of action. How to make this man pay for what he had done to me? My own Initiate. I needed to devise a way of making him suffer as much as possible.
I heard him heading towards the elevators. I watched his movement out of the corner of my eye. He had not seen me, I felt sure. When he was just about to step inside his carriage upwards, I leapt from my seat. I marched toward the doors of the lift. I saw him turn around to face forward after adjusting his luggage inside. He looked directly at me. The recognition was quick, he saw me, and smiled. The doors started shutting, me the other side still, and I mouthed bastard. He deserved only a brief snapshot of my visage, I had decided.
A hand, it lurched between the shutting doors and was almost crushed. He rapidly pressed his fingers into the rubber seals to undo the closure. He reeled from the pain, shaking his fist. Before I had time to react, he dragged me inside with his hand wrapped around my wrist. I yanked my hand from his grasp. The doors shut. We were alone and travelling northwards.
All I heard was the whisper of my name.
He looked pensive and pained, his eyes surveying me quickly, but warily. He looked down at the carpet and covered his mouth, trying to mute whatever words were causing him torment b
ut might seem ridiculous if they were uttered.
Cody smelt so fresh and wonderful, recently-washed and wearing casual, figure-hugging clothes. He looked hurt, though.
His mouth was so inviting. Those seconds felt like hours as the tension zapped between us. I had been so deprived and needed him so badly. I felt like the proverbial moth to a flame. He had a wide pair of lips that were luscious and full. I reached for his hand… taking his fingers between my own. His eyes, which in the light I saw were chocolate, looked into mine with hope. He moved toward me, his confidence growing, and I wrapped both of my hands around his tightly.
“I never forgot you,” he said, hoarse, as though something was caught in his throat.
His skin was pink and clammy. When he stood right before me, I lifted my chin, and his face dipped to meet my mouth. It was a chaste kiss, the tissue of our lips lightly meshing so we could get a sense of one another before the inevitable fraught, mindless devouring of lips, tongue and skin. He pulled back, we paused, and he reached a hand to my cheek to steady me. He kept his eyes focused on me, planting his lips on mine so softly, so reverentially, tasting me, sampling me, reassuring himself it was me. I pulled back instead.
“The kisses were hard to get over,” I admitted, while he thumbed my cheeks.
I wrapped my arms around his waist. The lift reached his floor, the doors opened to an empty expanse, but we didn't get out. The elevator shut but remained static, not needed on any other floor.
“Cody.”
“You're even nicer than I remember.”
I wore no make-up but knew close up, I looked fresh and young in my own skin, vibrant and healthy, given my diet and lack of vices. In his eyes, I saw his fervour and it entranced me. It was genuine.
I reached one hand behind his neck, tantalised by his masculine structure. He wore a brown leather biker jacket, heavy, and battered. It was teamed with a plain t-shirt and 507s, plus thick industrial-style boots, black leather and brown fur, laces loose.
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 32
