All night, he made love to me. He pleasured me and teased, worshipped and adored me, and all the while I knew that it was not meant to last. It was merely a moment of sheer, pleasurable enjoyment. I insisted we keep the conversation minimal while we enjoyed our first night together; me not willing to lie about my own circumstances and reason for being there. I told him it could all wait until morning. For I felt certain he would never accept the real me. He wanted me but only because he thought I was one thing and not another. He was one of the profaning romantic pleasure-givers who saw the sexual side of me but not the rest. He probably never would do.
He slumbered finally at 4am but I did not sleep a wink. I lay those two hours wrapped in his arms, shedding tears, knowing then what I had given up with Noah. In that bed with those hands of Cody's, those strong man's hands clutching at my woman's figure, I had truly never felt sadder. His body folded around mine perfectly, and indeed, our lovemaking was helped by our similar physiques. He occasionally brushed his mouth against the nape of my neck as he slept and each time he did, my heart boomed just that little bit louder inside my chest. But then… I knew it had all been a fantasy. It was lust of the highest, purest kind, but nothing like love.
I left at dawn, taking my ring out of my purse to leave on his pillow, ensuring he would know who I was. The mark of the notorious Chambermaid was then his. My guise was finished. I was getting ready to swap agenda yet again. I would be me.
Chapter XXIX
A Ghost from the Past
I remember the day I got Alex's last gift to me and how blaringly I was forced to realise I had a condition. It was that thunderbolt moment, seeing the reality in print, and though it seemed so simple a task to overturn my problems, the process had been long and arduous.
I still visit Alex's grave every year, on the day, but on the fifth anniversary someone I did not expect to see ever again crossed my path.
I headed to the grave and placed my friend's single rose on the ground. The loiterer stood near me, afraid to say a word. I tried not to acknowledge his presence.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Not too bad,” I muttered.
“I thought this might be one of the only ways to find you.”
“I went freelance, so to speak.”
There was a pause. It felt very uncomfortable. I saw vaguely out of the corner of my eye that he had turned quite grey. He looked like a different person to the last one I had seen.
“You remembered me telling you about my friend and you hoped…”
“Yes, I thought you may visit. I hoped. I did my research. You know me. I have been here since dawn just in case.”
“Why are you here, Mark?” I asked, rearranging Darcey's new bouquet around my single rose. It had become a ritual of ours, it seemed; her being the one to visit first before I added my one fleck.
I stood up and faced him. He looked drawn and weary, as if he had aged ten years since I had last seen him.
“Florence and I parted ways.”
“And you thought, what? I might be game for another go…”
“No. Not at all. I have been trying to find you to say sorry. I really am. For everything. I abused your good nature. It was wrong of me. I should never have tried to… it was all wrong. Florence should never have befriended you. It was wrong.”
“It's negligible, Mark. All that. Besides, I am a grown woman. I always could have said no. I really liked Florence and I was glad to make her acquaintance. What's done is done. If I told you what has happened since, you might be surprised. Meeting you and Flo led to something else. It was all meant to be. It has not been easy but I'm better for everything that has transpired.”
“You mean Him?” Mark asked.
“Who?” I asked, suspiciously.
“The Grandmaster's son. The millionaire's estranged son. The one who famously sought to make his own way in the world, outside of his father's global haulage business, based right here in Nottingham.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Noah Yeardley. One of the richest men in London. The divorcee every girl wants to bed. But, he only wants you. He's been searching for you. I saw you with him once, at a masked ball at the Lodge. You didn't see me.”
It all became clear. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the news.
“When I was initiated, you mean…?”
“They were Noah's brothers in the bukkake room with us. CCTV would have shown the Grandmaster your little performance.”
Oh my god.
“I was shocked to see him there with you that night at the ball. He renounced the Lodge after his wife slept with his brother. He tried to tear himself away from it all.”
“His marriage? It really was over then?”
“Yes, that's how crazy the lifestyle can get. Time away from it has made even me realise that.”
“You never told me how you got involved in the Lodge.”
“Noah's father felt certain he had royal blood in his veins. It was an obsession of his; a myth passed down through the generations. He had been trying to prove it for decades. He felt sure that his ancestor, the woman who died in childbirth, the one who supposedly lost the will to live and snuffed it, was impregnated by an actual duke. The Grandmaster visited the archives frequently searching for records. He invited Florence and I over for dinner a number of times before we joined the Lodge. He created that shrine to the whore's memory out of a misguided sense of duty, or perhaps, even to qualify his own need for debauchery. Maybe, because Noah's own mother died when she gave birth to him. Noah's the oldest, you see, and his brothers are from a second marriage his father had. There have been several more step-mothers since. It was my interpretation that Sir Yeardley was another among the new-money set unable to satisfy his thirst for having it all. Just a madman with a penchant for all the sex he can get and more. He built the Lodge because he must have felt that he still had to impress his peers, perhaps because of an innate inadequacy he harboured over his origin in lower class stock. Isn't it strange… even in this day and age, Lottie, we are still bound by prejudice, aren't we? By class. By wealth.”
I tutted loudly. I did not want to discuss Noah and his strange family. I took the spotlight and shone it back on Mark…
“I did think you were unsettled about your own roots. I always thought Flo's wealth, or something, made things difficult for you.”
“It wasn't that.” He shook his head. “I actually can't see myself getting married and having children. I can't. I came clean to Flo about that and she could hardly fathom my choice. I guess you might have seemed like a little escape route, but, I was so wrong. I was an utter shit doing what I did to you.”
“You don't need to apologise. I was never in love with you, Mark, I told you that.”
He seemed a little aggrieved that I did not care more for him, but he accepted the reality. I knew that in his heart of hearts he might change for a woman who did not bow down to him as easily as Flo had done. That was not a fault of hers. Just a mismatch.
“Noah distanced himself from his father's world for decades but maybe he eventually started believing his father's conviction that you love your wife and fuck your mistress. A twisted mantra if you ask me. Old fashioned till the last.”
“The last?”
“He died at the Lodge two months ago. A sex game gone bad by the sounds. He was 71 and a heavy smoker. The place has been shut up.”
“Noah… what, what about Noah?” I stumbled.
“Like I said, he is looking for you.”
“And why are you here?”
“There is a reward. But also, I am here because I felt as though you deserved to know the truth.”
“You're so transparent, Mark, you always were. Don't you realise you actually had a woman who really loved you? You threw that away so easily. She's a good woman.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he trailed off.
“I don't care if he is searching for me. I have plans that don't involve a man.”
I still missed Noah so much but what I really couldn't come to terms with was how I had treated him. I was so ashamed and after seeing Cody again, I knew what I had given up. Perhaps, the love of a lifetime that I would never find again. I contemplated contacting him but always, I imagined, he had already moved on and perhaps had found a woman to love him. A little part of me hoped someone was giving him the happiness that I felt sure was totally beyond my capabilities. That he was still unwilling to give up on me only made me more hateful of my own actions. I couldn't live with what I had done.
“What are your plans?” Mark asked.
“They are not your concern and I do not wish anyone to follow me.”
“You'll just go then, alone?”
“Yes, I'm okay, alone. I'm fine, in fact. It's when other people try to interfere that things flounder.”
“He put ads in the paper.”
“I saw.”
“He has a website asking for information.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“He really seems to love you and yet…”
“Yet, yes. I'm going anyway. What are you? Some kind of twisted cupid?”
“I'm just inquisitive,” he said.
“A woman's mystery is what drives a man. When that's gone, bam, she's done for. Fate sent me a love too strong to contend with. I had it for a good while. It ceased. That's the end of it.”
“You're arrogant,” he said.
“You're a cheating manipulator,” I seethed, and turned to walk toward my car.
Just as I was slamming the door shut, I heard him shout, “His father's estate paid for a new facility for leukaemia research! He made sure of that!”
My head drooped over the wheel and I nearly lost my rag. I sighed deeply. I breathed away the ache in my lungs and took myself to task.
What else can I say? The Chambermaid is done and now I plan to fly to the Caribbean and have a long holiday. I have paid for a rented villa for up to six months. I'll use that time to think and decide what to do with the rest of my life. Perhaps, I may write more. Otherwise, I might do what I've always wanted to and that is run my own little boutique hotel. It would be an amazing feat for me, but little by little, I could probably do it. The things I'd see in a small establishment; the people passing through; the stories and the tales their filth would tell. It would be a dream for me. I could start somewhere totally new where nobody knew me. I might pretend to be a former pole dancer who's flying through. I might travel to Australia or South America and seem so exotic – a child of the world who needs to be shown the way.
I only know this: I was once a chambermaid living a life half-lived. I was forced out of my shell by individuals who were present throughout certain periods of my life. Nobody meant more than my precious Noah, however, and I know when he reads this he will know that what we had was true. We didn't seek it and at first, neither had any respect for what we shared. It grew over time and it was beautiful and imperfect but wonderful nonetheless. This new version of me has to go and she has to leave for pastures new. I hope those who suffer low self-esteem like me realise that progress begins with self-love, it develops with shared love, and it ends with self-love. If shared love maintains, it probably means it is meant to be. Right place, right person, right time. If those factors don't coincide straight away, just hold on to hope. Or otherwise, learn to embrace the imperfections, and always, take pleasure from life.
Chapter XXX
Heath's Last Word
Heath read the last paragraph over and over, desperately trying to convince himself that there must be more. Please say she realises the reality. Surely…?
“But he let you as good as fornicate with other men!” Heath exclaimed. “And yet you still love him? Clearly! He loves you, stupidly! Ridiculously! And yet, it cannot be. You won't let it be!”
“Yes, I nearly always enjoyed my trysts. The wives and girlfriends the men went back to were no doubt unknowingly thankful. It was something I was good at. It gave me purpose outside of the hotel. That's good you know, purpose? Makes us feel better people. Without that, sometimes we are dormant, unused and unhappy. He gave me purpose but there was a cost.”
“He was a fuckwit and a tyrant if you ask me!” Heath declared. “But clearly grew to love you! Don't you see that?”
“That's where you couldn't be more wrong,” she insisted. “He always loved me. I reconciled with that.”
“Why the hell are you so bent on just upping and leaving? Don't tell me it is shame. That is not the woman you have painted.”
“It is shame, I assure you. In love, we feel shame because we feel responsibility for keeping the heart of our loved one safe. I did not do that with Noah. I meant to mangle his heart with my antics. It was the only way to tear him away from me. The only way to stop him making me feel unworthy of his love. A man's love, once given, is not easily taken back. It must have taken a lot for him to give himself up after his marriage. Yet, I desecrated that unspoken pledge.”
“What about my marriage? You said I could save it?”
“Yes, of course, I've no doubt you can save it. Rebecca is a wonderful woman and all you have to do is talk to her.”
“But, you're playing with double standards again!”
What he felt was frustration. He felt that these two people, Noah and Charlotte, were without question meant to be. It was agonising seeing a situation not reach the conclusion it was surely meant to. He tore at his hair and twisted his shirt cuffs between his fingers, angered by this woman's refusal to back down.
“You love him enough to leave him, don't you? To spare him.”
He needed logic. He sought it. He needed some recompense for this tale that had broken his heart.
“I suppose.”
“What about giving him a chance to show you what life together would be like? What about that?”
“Too risky. I may relapse. I still need time… Anyway, listen, Heath, I hear your concerns and you can spout them until the cows come home, or whenever whatever's at home! My decision is made. I had to work really hard at learning to make decisions and so now, when I do, I stick to them. It works for me. I am my own self now. I am steering this ship toward her destiny and its end point is a flaming Sambuca on the beach!”
They laughed a little. She always bypassed strain with humour. He rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. It had reached around 3am. He had been reading straight for almost a day.
“And this place?” he asked, staring at the surroundings.
“Just a setting. A metaphor, even. Here, it all began, and here it ends. I set up a few home comforts here for this meeting of ours. I also decided that if I could cope within these walls, which are quite bacteria-ridden as you can see, I must have overcome my fears. It was a little test for myself.”
“Oh,” he said.
“This is the place that used to act as the young buck's finishing school. I did a lot of my own research in the archives. I found an interesting story. This building was mostly burnt out at the turn of the twentieth century, by local zealots convinced this was once a filthy whorehouse of sorts. And, of course, they were right. The wing we're now in is one of the only parts of the building to survive, though decrepit now.”
Heath was captivated. She was an entrancing, mysterious creature who knew how to tell a tale. Thank god, there's more yet, he convinced himself, asking her enthusiastically, “Tell me all you know.”
“I tried to trace Noah's bloodline back. No reference to royalty or anything. Nada. I doubt anyone will prove inconclusively whether the Yeardleys are related to any kind of duke.”
“What are you getting at then?” he asked, desperate to know the end of this tale.
“I did find the diary of the woman who kept this house. It's in the archive. I asked around to find out what the Grandmaster wanted to see whenever he visited. Always, he went straight to the historical document section relating to working women of the time. I read it cover to cover. I found a story. Of the woman who had inspire
d me in Mrs Lamb's list. The young lady, according to the Madam of this house, was taken sorely ill. She'd met a man who meant to make a decent woman of her but he was forced into marrying a childhood friend by his father. The indifferent parlour maid of my imagination was just as fallible as the rest of us. She died of TB after failing to recover her humour following the gentleman's decision to abandon her. You cannot help but feel a little like history repeats.”
“What? What is there to tell?” He was desperate for some final twist in the tale.
“Inherent personalities make us commit the same mistakes. We never seem to learn. The cycle repeats, even despite all the advances of the modern world. We still live in a world in which we create barriers to prevent matches or situations that are achievable. Maybe, this world is worse than the old one, even.”
“And yet, I'm still lost,” he mocked, impatiently.
“There's always a chance of preventing history repeating itself. Always a chance to make things right. Always time to separate the romantic pleasure-giver from the indecent woman he thinks he can make good. The odds of such a match lasting are never good. The romantic ideal is for the strong, unbreakable man to fix the wronged, fallen woman. But, that was not the most astounding thing I realised, Heath…”
“Yes, yes?” he demanded.
“I am the strong one. Always, I outdid Noah at every turn. Why? What do I mean by that… you may ask…”
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 34
