TRULY (a modern version of Jane Austen's Persuasion) chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

Finally, Madly, Truly

In the end there’s only so much advice I could give to girls like me: the ones who can’t or won’t give up on their true loves; first loves; best loves. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find him again. And if it’s not, (I think), if you make the opportunity, you’ll find someone else… Truly (a blog by Jane Elliot)

   

    “Wow, I said, that was weird.”

    “For a moment I thought you and Tom…”

    “Were together? No, he’s obsessed with Liz.”

    “Oh,” Ben said with a smile.

    “I just got a report on Lia from Harley. They’re sending her home today.”

    “I know. I already checked but thanks for telling me.”

     I didn’t stop cleaning the benches. What was the point? 

     I hadn’t made a new blog entry in days. My notes for my most recent entry lay very much unfinished on the laptop in my satchel. I was trying to work on this entry because I felt it would be one of the most important I would write.

     I’ve moved on, I’d tell my readers.

     I’ve embraced change and put the past behind me. I’d advise them to do the same. Out with the old, bring in the new.

     Arghh! I just got a text from Liz. She bumped into Tom on the boardwalk. My older sister was coming to me for advice.

     He asked me to marry him Liz texted. What should I do?

     Say YES I texted back.

     Okay, she texted. That’s what I was going to do. It’s just that I value your good opinion.

     It’s yours, I texted. He’s changed a lot since high school!

     We all had.

     I shook my head. Ben was still seated in the café.

    “Oh,” I said, “I thought you’d left.”

    “No,” he replied. “At the risk of stating the obvious, I’m still here.”

    I’d accepted that Ben was leaving, that he was with Serena, that he even loved her. He said to Keira, “There’s already a woman I love, that I want to marry,” when Keira was joking around with him that night at The Mermaid Hut. Those were his exact words, I just didn’t want to write them down until I knew all hope was gone, didn’t want to admit them even to myself. I’d never let a social climber like Serena Collins get the best of me. I’d move on.

     Besides, Melissa, ever the family gossip, told me that Ben, in a moment of weakness confided to Keira that he was planning to ask the woman he loved to marry him. He’d added, “I’m not sure she’d move to Texas with me while I complete my flight training.” Then he asked Keira what she thought and she replied, “Maybe you should ask the woman in question.”  

     I remember Missy had thought it was in poor taste that he’d bothered discussing Serena with Keira while he waited for me in the lounge room, (no doubt fielding texts from Serena), but I said, “everyone multi-tasks these days.” As if I cared.

    “What can you expect,” my father grumbled, “from those types of people.”

     My sister Melissa agreed, but then a changed expression came across Liz’s face, almost as if she’d worked out something that the rest of us hadn’t.

    “A lot daddy, he’s well educated and hot. Someone also taught him manners.”

    Whatever, I thought. I had to move on. I had moved on.

    Like I said, over these few days, Ben had seemed to disappear.

    We’d parted amicably enough this time.

    I was resigned.

     I’d wandered over to Kellynch, determined to speak to his sister before I left to let her know there were no hard feelings and that maybe we could even be friends now that Ben and I were over it all, but the place was locked up.

     I’d never go back to Kellynch. When the lease was up, I knew my father and Liz aimed to sell the place. A few million would settle our debts and allow the family to rebuild. The next generation would never visit Kellynch but maybe they’d have something better – self-determination and the desire to build their own house of dreams.   

    That afternoon, the afternoon Ben arrived in the café unexpectedly, it rained.

    I was reading over my design school prospectus as it poured down. They had campuses in New York, San Francisco and Texas. Well, there was no way I’d be going to Texas. No way, not ever.

    I shut out the rain and wiped the tables as Ben stood framed in the doorway. He was so tall and strong looking; he seemed to fill up the empty space, like one of those annoyingly hot 1980s Brat Pack actors.

    This was good. The café was deserted and I was happy, now that we were just friends, for his company.

    I wanted to tell him my plans. I was excited to be moving to... I looked at the brochure… New York, yes, that would be as good a place as any. Besides, I could even stay with the other half of my family until I got on my feet. It could all be arranged.

    There he stood, hair wet and dripping on the mat, not a person in the entire café – no place emptier than a beach town on a rainy day.

      “I… I think I need a hot drink,” he said.

      I smiled.

      “What can I get you?

      “Mmm… a hot chocolate, please.”

      “That’s unusual,” I said. “Most men don’t go for that drink…it’s too sweet.”

      “I’m not most men.”

       I looked up and smiled.

       “I know,” I said as I heated the milk.

       “Are you sure that’s safe today?”

       He went to find his wallet.

       “It’s on the house,” I said, smiling again. “What brings you out here in this miserable weather?”

       “You.”

       I ignored the inference. There was no way he was going to wind me up over Serena Collins today. I pretended I hadn’t heard him, of course. I just nodded and changed the subject.

      “I heard about Harley and Lia,” I said. “Via Hailee, of course. She described him as if he was you. For a second I thought maybe you and Lia were together, but then I know you have a girlfriend so I didn’t really think that was possible.” I paused then added, “Send Harley my congratulations. I’m… not surprised. Lia is, unforgettable. I wouldn’t blame either of you for liking my cousins.”

      Ben nodded as he sat at a round table, near where I walked out from behind the counter. Then he looked alarmed.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Only that Harley told me once that he doubted he’d ever love anyone else but,” I hesitated, “Jenny.”

      Ben nodded, sipped his chocolate. “Well, my brother is pretty good at… not giving up. At least he’s trying to… move on. Finally.”

     I didn’t think he was going to offer any further input. The strong silences took a bit of getting used to. I’d convinced myself the Air Force had changed him, made a man out of him as they say, and of course it had. He had more to tell me after the waves crashed outside in the storm, interrupting our silence.

      “I think that, well, the truth is… Lia is very young and…fun. But, Jenny was, I think, his perfect match. So even though they were also teenagers, they were together a year and I think that relationship would have stood the test of time.

     Though I am happy that they have found each other, it remains to be seen if he and Lia are going to last as a couple. I don’t really think he’s recovered from his first relationship… a man does not get over that kind of love, with that kind of person. Lia is very young, just eighteen, and it remains to be seen if she is right for him and vice versa. Besides, they’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

    “I think; true love stands the test of both time and… separation, if it is lucky.”

     I looked away.

     By then he was standing close to me; so close in fact that he reached out to touch my cheek.

     He leant towards me and kissed me softly. I hardly believed I’d ever touch his lips with my own again. He smiled softly as we pulled apart.

   “You’re not?”

   “What?”

   “Involved with Tom Winchester are you?”

   “Are you kidding? My sister has been dating him for a few months. I sort of played matchmaker. I’m glad you’re jealous though.”

    Ben smiled.

    “I think he’ll get a shock when he realizes my family need to sell the beach house. I think he likes it more than he likes Liz. He might not be so ‘in love’ with her when he finds out our family are now flat broke.”

  “Nah, they’re made for each other.”

  He took my hand and looked into my eyes.

  “Follow me.”

   I chattered aimlessly as we walked for a bit along the edge of the beach road like old times.

   “Tom has actually got his eye on the Beach House because it’s become more valuable with the years and he thinks my sister owns it, but really, she thinks his family (his father is a film producer, remember) might just want to buy it and she wants to sell it to him. So the perfect match is at cross purposes. I think their love will withstand such pressures and they might find a happy medium…”

    “Definitely,” Ben said.

     We’d locked up the empty café, and, without really thinking about it, jumped into his convertible.  I continued to talk on. It was as if the years of silences were being filled up in ten minutes. I talked over the breeze and the sound of the ocean waves as we drove along the winding road that led to Kellynch.

    “He thinks she owns it outright, he’s going to get quite a shock. We don’t own much of anything anymore, even though this real estate has become more valuable over the years…”

    Ben stopped the car, once we’d reached about a mile further up the road, a good distance past Kellynch.

    “Like you,” he said suddenly.

    “Are you serious? My entire family are flat broke. They just won’t admit it yet. For once, they have nothing to be snobbish about, that’s for sure.”

    Ben gave me a slight smile.

    “That’s okay. I never wanted you for your money, anyway.”

    “That’s good,” I smiled, “because I don’t have any.”

    “I’m worth kind of a lot myself.”

    “I know. You were always worth kind of a lot, more than a lot.”

     “I… think you have become more yourself over the years we’ve been apart. Your value could not increase in my eyes because you are… invaluable. But I’m wondering if being around me in Texas while I go through flight training would drive you nuts. Being an officer’s wife is never easy…”

    “Well, I’d be very busy with my college classes.” I waved the brochure near his face. “Oh look, conveniently, they have a campus in Texas. But it’s probably not a good idea. Like I said, you can’t be serious. All these weeks you’ve been here, you barely seemed to notice me, much less speak to me unless you had to.” I determined to play it cool, but not too cool, this time.

    “I was wrong. I wanted to make you jealous. My heart was almost… broken.”

    “So was mine.”

    We walked down from the road and sat on the edge of the sand as the waves played along the shore.

   “But you rejected me, Jane. It took a lot of getting over. My final year of school was really tough. A shadow fell over everyone after Jenny; I know it can’t have been easy for you either.”

     I looked away.

     He continued, “I thought for years that I would get over you, but I never have. My love for you has only increased in strength. There is, nor could there ever be, another love like ours. But you should put me out of my misery now if you haven’t changed your mind since before,” he added these words quickly, as if it had taken him more than the courage it took to fly a plane, to say them.

    I interrupted him, “My mind is completely changed.”

    “Then would you consider being an officer’s wife?”

     “I would.”

     He smiled, “Then,” he leaned on one knee as he spoke, in the middle of the empty beach, “then I’m asking you again, Jane Elliot, will you marry me?”

     “Yes,” I replied, without hesitation.

     “Are you… are you sure this time?” he asked with a smile after we’d kissed again.

     “I am completely, truly, sure. I have never loved any man the way I love you.”

     “And I have never loved any woman, the way I love you…”

      “And nothing…” I said

      “And nothing?” he asked…

      “And no one…”

      “No one?”

      Ben smiled disarmingly.

      “No one,” I continued, “will ever persuade me to think differently.”

      The water splashed the sand on the shore, “then look behind you,” he said.

      “I see a cliff, some land…”

      “I want to build a house for you… for us. We’d have to stay in Texas for a few years but we could always visit, during vacations.”

      “Here are the plans.”

       He pulled out some paper from the pocket of his jeans.

       The house, new but made in a familiar design, was to be built overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was a few lots away from the one I grew up summering in, it would be built on higher land using sturdier foundations. I looked up and imagined it in the sun, even better situated than Kellynch, if that was possible. If it was possible, you could see all the way to Hawaii. This would be a house to love and raise a family in, to feel safe in, a place to call our own.  

   “So this is the surprise,” I said.

   “For you.”

   “For us.”

   “Yes, us.”

   I looked at him and smiled. Our fingers linked together as we kissed. This love felt everlasting, worth waiting for. True and tangible, I’d never be persuaded against what I felt again.

ANNE EYRE by Summer Day (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Success

     In the afternoon, while Sophie was riding, I’d commenced driving lessons in the village. With my driving instructor barking instructions at my side all the way, I practised. Mr Rochester had insisted I learn to drive along the country lanes, and after two weeks, I was driving almost as fast as him (though I tried to heed the speed limit – as a learner, I had to).

    The day of my driving test arrived and was the cause of much excitement in the house. Leah and Mrs Fairfax had even baked a cake in anticipation of my success.

    The previous afternoon Rochester had offered to take me out to practise my parking, particularly between two cars on a hill. I think he thought my hesitancy would amuse him. Since my driving course was officially over, I knew this extra practise could make all the difference. He turned on the stereo as we drove along the esplanade. We reached the flat expansive car park with the stereo on all the way. He turned it up and sang along with the words to a song he liked. It was refreshing to spend time with him like this – he was a different person outside the stuffy confines of his duty and work.

    After two hours’ practise, neither of us were surprised when I gained my driver’s licence.    

    I walked into the kitchen where Mrs Fairfax and Sophie were waiting expectantly.  I had purposely made Rochester drive me home. I covered the happiness I felt and instead wore a very long face with a downcast expression as we entered the kitchen. So did Rochester.

    Sophie raced up to me and put her hands on either side of my cheeks.

   ‘Never mind Anne… Ne vous inquietez pas!’

   I looked into her eyes and smiled, a true smile and one of many I’d shown since I’d arrived at Thornton.

    ‘Don’t look so worried Sophie. Guess what?’ I whispered, ‘I’m licensed to drive!’

    ‘Wow!’ the child exclaimed.

    I scooped her up in my arms and even Leah and Merida clapped. Mrs Fairfax brought out the plates for afternoon tea on the manicured lawn.

    Rochester walked in from the stables commenting, ‘We should all celebrate your achievement tonight, Anne; it means I can send you out to buy me whisky from the village.’

    I looked at him, knowing he must be joking, almost understanding his upper class, country humour by now.

     That night we all had a delicious roast dinner prepared by Leah who seemed, as Mrs Fairfax noted, to be in better humour these days which, according to Merida, had, ‘more to do with a boy she had met in the village than job satisfaction.’ After the meal, we went to the drawing room to watch some home movies Rochester made of Sophie; and more recently, there were scenes of parties and a group of young men trying to fly a plane to France. The plane barely got off the ground before filming was halted.

     ‘Those are friends of mine from university. You’ll meet them soon; they’re coming to stay.’

      The images were colourful, playful even. Caught unawares by some friends, you could see the look of care and wonder in Rochester’s eyes as he raced Sophie and twirled her around in the air. The films were a collage of colour, sound and music, pool parties and apparently infamous house parties. I’d searched the family name on the internet (in a village café) while he was away. The Rochesters were quite notorious in these parts of England for their upper crust lineage, Nathanial’s generosity and adherence to charity, and various scandals involving most of his relatives.

     I told myself the whisper of scandal was just cyber space gossip. The living room lights flickered while Rochester turned down the sound and put on some music, ‘a better soundtrack to our lives’, he assured me. The movies needn’t have been silent but he said he preferred them that way.

   Mrs Fairfax excused herself by then to go to bed. Merida and Leah had left to go into town to meet their boyfriends and play pool on their night off. Sophie had fallen asleep on the couch, her head on Rochester’s thigh. Rochester was not normally demonstrative, but for the first time, I saw him lovingly scoop the child into his arms and take her upstairs to her room.

    When he came back, I was watching an old movie in the drawing room on the large screen.

    ‘I love this film,’ he said. He was sipping a drink. ‘Sometimes I prefer films to real life.’

    I thought it was a strange statement for a guy whose real life was pretty amazing.

   ‘Do you want a brandy?’ he asked.

    ‘No thank you,’ I replied.

    ‘Why not? Everyone out in the country drinks in the evening. There’s little else to do,’ he laughed.

    ‘I just don’t like the taste,’ I replied.

    I hadn’t touched alcohol since Irma had had her drink spiked. Perhaps my new found sobriety was for the best. But who knew? If I was cold, brandy might be hard to resist. Seated by the fire, the night was warm and the atmosphere comforting.  

     ‘Everything in moderation,’ Rochester said. ‘That’s what my father used to say. But then he died a washed up alcoholic, so what would he know?’

    I was shocked that Rochester would say that about his father. It sounded so disrespectful, but later, when I learned more of his upbringing, I realized he was only being honest.

    It had been such a nice day. If I went to the wall, past where Rochester was seated, pulled back the curtain and opened the window, I’d hear the ocean in the distance.

    Meanwhile, Rochester took a few more sips of his drink, smiled and said, ‘Dutch courage,’ as he wandered over to the piano.

    He played a few notes, then a few bars of a classical tune which was familiar to me, but not familiar enough for me to name. Then he started messing around with some jazz and a song that I’d once rocked out to at a karaoke party at the house of one of my classmates; another excuse to escape from school. That song, I knew. It was about hardship and survival and it had a memorable melody. I hummed along with it as I read my magazine, trying to find something interesting to say about the society ladies who lunched in these parts and held charity auctions after the meal.

    ‘You have a nice voice,’ he said, when he stopped playing.

    ‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘You play well; I didn’t know you were a musician.’

    ‘I’m not. I manage a band sometimes. It’s just a hobby, if people still use that word. My friends stay here to rehearse in the vacant ball room. It has good acoustics,’ he chuckled.  

     I looked at the guitars stacked in the corner.

    ‘They’re sort of for show. The Ingram’s, my oldest friends from school, used to live across the village on one of the neighbouring houses, Highcliff. Now they live in the States but when they come home to visit their family… well, we put together the band; they play a few gigs in the village. I graduated from university as you’d call it, with first class honours but I don’t really use my education as it was intended. It’s not what father had in mind for me.’

    ‘Perhaps it’s true that no education is wasted.’

    ‘Do you really believe that Anne?’

    ‘I’m only eighteen. I try to believe what I’m told,’ I smiled.

     He laughed. I doubted my father knew of my existence and I was pretty sure he’d never had anything in mind for me, so to speak. I could tell Rochester felt hemmed in by family expectations but all that bluster had changed along with a sadness that seemed to have washed over him since we first met.  

    ‘You’re looking straight at me for once, Anne. Do you think I’m… hot?’ he joked.

    I laughed out loud and shook my head at his conceit.

    ‘No,’ I lied, perhaps a bit too swiftly.

    ‘Well, that was quick,’ he mused.

    ‘It’s just that… I didn’t mean you are not… attractive; I should have made it clear that what people are like on the surface is not always of interest to me.’

    ‘Really? That betrays depth beyond your years. You should explain yourself further Anne. There aren’t too many schoolgirls who would have given me that answer.’

     ‘I should have said that beauty, although memorable, is not as meaningful as a person’s actions. I think society places too much emphasis on what people look like and not what people do.’  I glanced dismissively at a famous celebrity on the cover of a magazine near my feet.

      Rochester laughed out loud as if my childish comments amused him endlessly.

      ‘You’re blushing, Anne.’

      ‘It’s the fire, it’s hot in here,’ I covered.  

       He laughed in my face over his brandy.

       I got up.

      ‘Good night… Rochester… Nathanial… Nate,’ I hedged.

      He smiled.

      ‘Are you leaving? Stay and play pool with me; we can watch the sunrise.’

     ‘I have to be up early.’

     ‘Sophie will sleep in on Sunday. She always does.’

     ‘Goodnight… Nathanial.’

     ‘Of course you are free to leave me, Anne, but won’t you sit for a moment while I play?’ He gestured to the piano, ‘…  Anyway, we’ll be lucky to see the sun tomorrow; according to the weather report, no need to wake early.’

    I smiled.

    ‘Goodnight,’ I said as I went to leave.

     ‘Goodnight Anne. Congratulations on getting your driver’s licence,’ he smiled as I walked out of the room.

    The lights in the hallway were low and I couldn’t see a clear path to my bedroom so I put my hand on the rail. The house was long and the halls wide. I picked a torch out of the little cupboard at the top of the stairs, kept there for power blackouts.  I found my way to my door and went to the bathroom. I noticed my bed had been turned down and a hot water bottle placed under the covers, along with a chocolate on the pillow. I think the chocolate was from Sophie but the water bottle was from Mrs Fairfax. I could have been forgiven for thinking Thornton was more like a six star hotel than a country house.

    As I brushed my hair and cleaned my teeth, I heard laughter from another room - the one upstairs, again. I turned off the tap and pressed my ear to the wallpaper. I heard only silence.

    That night, I tossed and turned for a while before falling into a deep sleep of perfect dreams, sunlight and ocean. Sophie and I were running along the beach barefoot through the sand. We were flying a kite we’d made from an online kit. The kite flew high, touching the sky.

     When I woke up at nine in the morning, it was raining. The sky was overcast. Once again I heard laughter and music from the rooms upstairs although I’d assumed Mrs Poole had already gone out for her morning walk. 

ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Eight: In Dreams

Chapter Eight

In Dreams

    That night, I dreamt I was a small girl again, walking through my life before the hurt took over. I was sitting on the doorstep of a huge house, waiting for someone, not my mean aunt, not my actual parents. There was a large garden and a fence and behind it, I felt safe, for the first time. Then I was an adult standing on the shore in a towelling beach robe. When the person I waited for arrived, the sun blocked his identity but he placed my hand in his and together we ran into the ocean. Heat blazed down on us; there were no cares, no worries - just bliss. When I woke, I remembered being told by my aunt that both my parents were drug users who’d abandoned me at birth. There, in the ocean, with this nameless person, I was free again; happy.

    The dream was more comforting than the one I usually had about the handsome young husband of my equally perfect-looking new foster mother. I had lived in Notting Hill back then with a selfish public relations executive who wanted a trial run at looking after a child. Her husband (and his wandering hands and too-close hugs), worked in advertising. He came up with the revolutionary idea of trying to turn me into a child model. I was only eleven but I could pick a dodgy character when I met one and I got out of that house as soon as was humanly possible, before any serious damage was done. His dubious intentions, when he tried to make me pose for photographs for my modelling portfolio, made me wary.

    I tossed and turned in the early hours.

    When I woke at around three in the morning, I had a feeling that someone was watching me. I got up to make a hot chocolate; the house was still and silent. I padded up the stairs in my socks and read for a bit, an old but beautifully written novel: Persuasion. I reached the part where Frederick Wentworth returns, and then I fell back into a deep sleep.

    I woke again, at around three in the morning.

    One of Rochester’s dogs, Pilot, was lapping my hand which I thought was quite strange since I’d shut my door and was yet to meet a dog capable of opening one with his paw.  I’d been having such a nice dream that if it was possible I would have closed my eyes and willed myself back into it; this was never going to happen. I’d arrived without a proper dressing gown so I pulled on my coat as it was still quite cold. Pilot followed me protectively as I got up and headed downstairs again to make some toast.  

    The floorboards creaked and the ancestral portraits haunted me as I crept downstairs.  

    Silence greeted me when I reached the kitchen, no noises but the opening and closing of a cupboard as I prepared my food. I switched on the stove light and boiled more water, feeling comforted by the familiar taste of English Breakfast Tea. As I sipped, I heard it again, unmistakable, a soft scream. I mentally counted all of the people I knew to be sleeping in Thornton Hall:  Mrs Fairfax, Sophie, the maids, the cook, two grooms, Mrs Poole and Rochester. It must be one of the maids, I thought. Then I heard them again - two words as clear as the daylight that would soon arrive - animal and hate.

   I wondered what those shrill words meant out of context and who they were directed towards.

   From nowhere, Edwina Fairfax raced down the stairs in her dressing gown.

   ‘Oh… Anne, I had no idea you were awake. We put you in a room, far away from the rest of the bedrooms so you wouldn’t be disturbed if people woke early.’

   ‘What is the noise?’

   ‘It’s just a maid; she’s been in the village. She brought someone home and there was a fight. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Nathanial has called for help, he’s getting her out. There should be quiet in the house now.’

   ‘I’ll go and check on Sophie,’ I said.

   ‘There is no need. I’m sure she will be asleep. Sophie is used to all kinds of noises. Things quite literally go bump in the night in these ancient houses. Her life in Paris was quite abnormal as well. In fact, from what I gather she is much better off with her father. He told me you know… Anyway, Merida has done this before; she’s on medication for anxiety and then, off she goes to the pub and starts to drink with her friends,’ Mrs Fairfax continued. 

    I thought about Merida and Leah, the kitchen maids. I’d met them the day I’d arrived. They looked at me strangely and said very little; not even hello.

     As I wrapped my coat tightly around my waist, I felt the card that Connor had given me and pulled it out of my pocket. He was a minister’s son, aiming to be a clergyman himself. His sisters were warm and welcoming and I recalled them telling me about their desire to build a school in India; something I might help with, if I retained an interest in teaching. I wanted to forge my own destiny. I stuffed the cardboard back into my purse after I’d checked on Sophie. She was sleeping soundly as Mrs Fairfax predicted.

    Before I got back into bed with the morning paper and my tea, I thought about what Connor had meant when he said, ‘call me, if you need to.’ His sisters, Rainbow and Daisy, had looked solemnly at me and nodded.

    I was fairly sure Thornton, like Rochester, was full of secrets, a mystery wrapped inside a riddle.

    I closed my eyes and eventually fell into a deep sleep.

    After the incident that morning, my days continued in an easy way.

     Nathanial only stayed for a week. I called him by his surname, Rochester, in my own mind and occasionally Nate as I grew to know him better. He had stayed long enough to choose some livestock and horses to raise, check with the grooms and sort out the expenditure of the property with his various staff. He then said goodbye to everyone and prepared to pack up and leave for a holiday in the South of France. He said he’d return to Thornton soon and bring his friends, the Ingram’s, to visit for the rest of the summer.

    ‘He never stays here long,’ Mrs Fairfax explained. ‘Each time he comes back I get very little notice, so I have to keep the house in a constant state of readiness. Sometimes he brings his American friends from university. Other times, it’s his European ones. He has so many friends; I’ve lost track of them all over the years. Nathanial lives in a social whirl of money and miscreants. He has managed the money so well; his father would be proud of him. We never lack for anything around here. He is very well-educated, studied Mathematics and Finance at university.  He worked in the City while his father was still alive but he doesn’t need a real job. I think he’s too young, really, to be so wealthy. It might have helped had he become interested in a profession but I’m hoping he’ll settle down soon. I’d like the house to be filled with some more children.’ Mrs Fairfax was staring at a photograph of Nathanial with a woman called Nicola Ingram on the social pages of a magazine.  The woman was everything I’m not; tall, blonde, glamorous.

     I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say, since my pay, although generous, was hardly a pathway to riches; but I knew Rochester was ridiculously wealthy. Just the estate alone would take some serious upkeep. The view from my window was expansive and breathtaking.

    In the mornings, I often woke to the sound of Pilot, Rochester’s dog, barking and the two of them would go out walking along the path that led from Thornton. I could see them below my window but they never looked up. It was so early almost the entire household slept in except me and Sophie. Rochester normally returned almost as breathless as the dog after running along the cliffs. I could see them from the window after I dressed. Sometimes, Sophie would run in and yell out to her father. Then, he looked up and waved at us. He seemed so happy and free with the dog, and much younger than his twenty-eight years on those mornings.

    During the day, while he was away or working with the horses, Sophie and I would commence lessons. By lunchtime our academic work and English classes were finished.  

     ‘Your English has improved so much, Sophie,’ I told her. ‘By September you will be fluent and able to speak easily with all your new school friends.’

     Sophie looked quite alarmed.

    ‘I am not going to school. I have always been home schooled.’

    ‘Well, perhaps that will change after summer,’ I said hesitantly, fearing I had mentioned something I probably shouldn’t have.

ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Seven: Lockwood

Chapter Seven

Lockwood

     I said nothing as Rochester sipped his port, contemplating the interview.

    ‘And was it a strict religious education?’ he asked.

    ‘Yes,’ I replied.

     I thought of morning prayers bringing a sense of calm, strength and routine to my days. Then I remembered mean girls hitting me with wet sheets after lights out and screaming at me for being foster care scum, ‘welfare scum, Social Services rubbish’. I thought of the teacher who’d snidely made remarks about writing my family tree in history ‘as if I’d know it’ and the headmistress who’d wrongly blamed me for a student prank because it looked better to blame a charity student whom no one would speak up for. I thought of the freezing cold mornings and the lack of hot water for baths we were expected to take. Prestige existed only on the surface of Lockwood School for Young Ladies. I think I may have fared better at a local comprehensive but then I might never have learnt French in the focused and careful manner Miss Stevens had taught the language to me… or music or probably have received such high marks on my final exams. Yes, it had been a privileged education.

      Rochester’s words interrupted my recollections.

     ‘I went to boarding school… not far from here actually. There was no real reason that I should have been sent away, it was simply family tradition. All the children were sent to boarding school by age eight. My parents didn’t particularly care for us. Well, that’s an understatement. My brother and I got along though, lived in our own world. My family didn’t know any differently, nor did they educate themselves about children. I’m a great believer in education, Anne. Are you?

     ‘Yes, of course.’ I added, ‘…although there are many ways to be educated. ’

      For one thing, formal education hadn’t prepared me for the verbal challenges of Mr Nathanial Rochester.

      ‘This is the twenty-first century but my father, before he died and left me his estate, still held the view that shooting helpless animals was the greatest sport in the world. He also didn’t believe it was useful to educate women. He thought the woman I’d marry would have so much money she wouldn’t need an education … You probably think his views were very… backward.’ I remained impassive. ‘I dropped out of Oxford because I couldn’t stand having to answer to my father. I then found myself in America, attended college in Los Angeles, and went to the South to produce a film in New Orleans.’

    ‘That sounds exciting.’

     He raised an eyebrow and changed the subject.

     ‘I wish you had met my father, the original Lord Rochester. I wonder what you would have made of him. He spoke his mind even more than I do… much more than you.’

     ‘He sounds like just the sort of man I would have gotten along with,’ I said sarcastically.

    ‘On the contrary, both he and my brother would have had you drinking port by now. I fear they would have had you dancing on the table.’

    I glared at him. ‘You must be joking,’ I said under my breath.

    He smiled. ‘They liked straight talkers and you seem to tell it as it is. Father wasn’t very happy about me running around with my college friends, I can tell you that. Oh, at first he didn’t care because it was never supposed to have been me inheriting the house and the title but things happen. Life doesn’t always go according to plan. When my brother… passed away, I was expected to come back to this part of the world to take over the running of the estate but it’s not really me. I try to limit my time here.  Before returning to England, I lived in Los Angeles and South America. I travelled to Brazil, Mexico, places I’d grown up imagining. I liked the Deep South…’

    ‘Wow,’ was all I could say.

    ‘…You enjoy Sophie’s company, don’t you?’

    ‘Yes, of course.’

     ‘She has few talents beyond being pretty but… I don’t choose my pets based on their talent and this one was rather… foisted upon me.’

     I was shocked by his candour and said nothing.

    ‘I wonder, would you like her as much if I told you her mother was a…’ he hesitated, trying to think of the right words, ‘a … French dancer?’

    I paused.

    ‘Is there something wrong with that?’

    He laughed uproariously.

    ‘You are quite naïve aren’t you?’

     ‘No,’ I blurted out.

     ‘I think you are. What I meant to say is… I met her in Paris. Sophie’s mother sold her body… to men… for money. She said she was a dancer, Anne, a high class one as it turned out. Once I realised Sophie was mine, she agreed to sell her to me… for ten thousand pounds.’

    ‘Oh,’ I said, trying to hide my surprise.

    ‘Well, she worked evenings; she was beautiful, exotic… Still, we all make mistakes. You’ll realise that too, as you get older.’

    ‘It’s getting late,’ I said, pretending to take this conversation in my stride though I was completely at sea. I’d decided I had better bring the interview to an end as Rochester was onto his third drink and about to tell me more secrets I didn’t want to hear.

     ‘Don’t worry, Anne, I’ll let you in on the rest of the family story on a need to know basis,’ he laughed. ‘I’m not as bad as I seem.’

    ‘If you don’t mind me saying…Mr R - ’

    ‘Nathanial,’ he pre-empted his name.

    ‘Nathanial … you are too young to be worrying about the past. You have everything: wealth, comfort…. You can be anything you want to be. You should take what is good from the past and change your future to erase the bad. We are all capable of change and of doing what is right.’

    He looked up at me incredulously in the dark.

    ‘Ah, a lesson in morality from little Miss Eyre.’ His gaze lingered on mine a moment, ‘Oh Anne, you really have a lot to learn. The past is what impacts the future and something I cannot erase.’

    There was a moment’s silence and in that gap, as he drank his port and I sipped my tea, I could have sworn I heard a faint scream. It came from somewhere beyond the walls, beyond the rooftop even. It was out of this world.

    I was startled.

    ‘What was that?’

    He looked up at me. There was another thump on the roof.

    ‘That!’ I said.

    Silence.

    ‘Perhaps it’s Sophie or Mrs Poole, the lodger. Mrs Fairfax agreed to let her stay in the upstairs rooms for the summer, she’s an old family friend,’ he added, by way of explanation. They seemed to have a lot of them.

     I hesitated at the door.

     I think you’ve had too much to drink, I thought, as I went to leave. Our conversation had been smoother than I’d anticipated, given that my employer was gruff, and slightly inebriated. And yet, I hadn’t expected someone quite so young and handsome. Still, we had reached unfamiliar territory and I was uncomfortable talking with a relative stranger as if we were friends. Suddenly, I longed for the comfort of my own bed.

   ‘Anne?’ he said, turning back as I went to leave.

   ‘Yes?’

   ‘I’m glad you’ve come to stay here.’

   ‘It’s just for the summer, Mr Rochester.’

   ‘Yes, I know. Oh, and Anne? My name’s Nathanial. My friends call me Nate and sometimes by my surname, Rochester.’ I think he enjoyed the confusion he was creating between us.

    I said goodnight and left the room.

ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Six: Mr Rochester

Chapter Six

Mr Rochester

    My employer was home that night and wanted to meet me in the sitting room after dinner. I attempted to look my most formal – proper shoes and hair swept off my face. I took a novel I was reading in case he just expected me to sit by the fire and there were too many empty pauses.

    ‘Mrs Fairfax, I’m not really used to making conversation with older men,’ I’d whispered.

    ‘Oh, Anne, he’s not that much older. He is a younger son and inherited when the older brother died. Before that he was in America living quite the bohemian life. He went to an expensive college; he wanted to be a film director. Instead, he produced some films and ran around with a very fast crowd.’

    ‘Oh,’ I said.

     ‘He’s not usually one to converse but when he does; he’ll do all the talking. Don’t worry, I doubt he’ll expect too much; just a progress report on Sophie.’

     An hour later, I was in the sitting room with Sophie, reading, while she played with her dolls.

     ‘I need a new one,’ she exclaimed as she braided the doll’s blonde curls.

     ‘Oh Sophie, I have never seen so many dolls! Your doll’s house is overflowing and so is the play room. Soon we’ll be able to fill all of the rooms in the house with your toys,’ I joked.

      The little girl looked up at me and smiled. She’d just lost her front teeth which made her look even cuter. Sophie was a naturally affectionate child, in a way I’d not been. She wrapped her hands around me, and then pulled the clip out of my brown hair, spreading the length of it across my shoulders.

     ‘Bien, good,’ she said. ‘I want to play hairdresser.’

     ‘No Sophie. Remember, tonight I’m going to be busy - for a while.’

     ‘Talking to Papa?’

     I’d already guessed the younger Rochester was her father. Nobody had ever told me; it just seemed to be an obvious conclusion to reach. Sophie was a little girl from France who was all alone in the world and had been adopted by a Rochester? Of course, he had to be her father; she was way too young to be his sister. Besides, I was pretty sure adoption regulations would never allow Nathanial Rochester to drag a child from another country just to keep her in the lounge room like a prized possession.

     As if on cue, the music coming from the drawing room stopped. I heard the rustle of feet. The owner of Thornton brushed past me as he entered the room and patted Sophie on the head like a pet. I couldn’t see his face. Sophie went to hug his leg but he pushed her off gently. He seemed otherwise engaged.

    ‘Where is the new tutor?’

     ‘I’m here,’ I said, standing up from behind the sofa and placing my novel on the table.

     Mrs Fairfax, knitting in a comfortable leather arm chair, gathered Sophie and took her to the farthest corner of the room. I’d already been warned that grown men such as Rochester had little patience with young children. I hoped he had more tolerance talking with me because what I’d already heard about Rochester put me slightly on guard.  

    The fire provided most of the light in the room; and seeing him from behind, in shadow, at first I thought Sophie had lucked out. Nathanial Rochester was a tall, dark, (his photos made him look handsome in a gruff and uncompromising way) and dominating presence. I knew he must be seriously rich, that was obvious. While most of the stately homes in Britain were downsizing, he’d left all of the chandeliers on in the hallway and most of the skeleton staff remained; some even lived at Thornton, which was unusual in this day and age.

     When the man looked up, I was unnerved to see he was the stranger I’d met in the country lane that afternoon. He even appeared to be limping from his accident.

     ‘You must be Anne Eyre. I’m Nathanial Rochester. I think we’ve met before.’

      I gave a hesitant nod.

      He smiled and gestured to Mrs Fairfax.

     ‘This girl made me swerve my car, Edwina; I nearly sprained my ankle from slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting her. What do you make of that?’

      Mrs Fairfax looked quite alarmed.

     ‘Never mind,’ he laughed, ‘those country laneways can be quite tricky.’

     ‘I hope it’s nothing serious?’

    ‘I should be fine in the morning.’ He changed the topic now that he had my attention. ‘Do you drive Anne?’

    ‘No.’ I said, truthfully.

    ‘Ride?’

    ‘No,’ I added.

    ‘Well, you’ll have to learn to drive in the country.  If you want to ride as well, you should take lessons while you are here, with Sophie.’

     I was slightly afraid of horses, but I had to agree that learning to drive would be useful.

    ‘Sophie, I bought you a present,’ he said as an afterthought.  

    ‘Merci! Merci! Bien! Oh yes, please,’ Sophie said, running over to Rochester, she took his hand. He distracted her with a huge gift he’d brought all the way from America.

    Her face lit up as she pulled the doll from the wrapper and so did Rochester’s.

    Mrs Fairfax gathered the child and said, ‘Come Sophie, it’s time for bed. You can add this to your collection up in your room.’

    ‘Bonne nuit et fais de beaux reves!’ Rochester said. I guessed he didn’t realise we’d had a pact only to speak English.

    ‘Bonne nuit,’ Sophie replied, kissing him on both cheeks. Then she looked at me and said in perfect English, ‘Good night, Anne.’

     Sophie reluctantly left Rochester, after reaching up to kiss him again on the cheek. He brushed this show of sticky affection off, but I thought it was nice to see the sweet child show such an obvious liking for someone who clearly didn’t want others to know how fond he was of her or that he was even capable of affection and emotion.

    He poured himself a drink and offered me one. I shook my head.

    ‘What have you done with Sophie?

     ‘I wrote our schedule here; you can read it if you like.’ I handed him the piece of paper, scented and pink at Sophie’s instigation. He raised his eyebrows.

    ‘Never mind, I already have. You’ve taken a lot of care with her, Anne. She’s frivolous.’

     ‘In her defence, many children are frivolous.’

     ‘And what are you, Anne? A teenage girl? Where did you learn all your child psychology?’ He teased.

     ‘From being one, from being around them,’ I said. I’d bet I’d minded more children than he had prior to his being stuck with Sophie.

     ‘Tell me what you did before you arrived here. Most of the staff who come to stay here, in the middle of nowhere have… let’s just say, something they are hiding from or running to.’

     I was embarrassed by his comment, his partially accurate assessment of me.

     ‘I was in school, like most people my age.’

     ‘I can see that,’ he said, glancing at my CV. ‘You went to a very expensive ladies’ college in London. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be summering in Europe with all your little friends?’

     ‘I needed a job for the summer and I like working with children.’

    ‘Yes, I can see that,’ he looked away. ‘The previous girl who came to us was fleeing from an abusive boyfriend. Just wondering what your story is?’

   ‘I’m eighteen years old; I have no story.’

   ‘Well, you are the only other literate female in this house apart from Mrs Fairfax – and she’s heard all of my old stories. I just thought you might be good company for me this evening. You left your sketches lying around in the kitchen - or Sophie did,’ he chuckled.

    I was alarmed and slightly irritated that he’d seen them. I would’ve preferred him to have had access to my email than to have been the first stranger to pour over my private drawings.  Sophie and I had been sitting in the meadows taking turns to sketch each other from a distance then close up, hands and feet. Then I’d turned to the meadow, drawing lush images of the surrounding estate. They were personal images, displaying more of my internal world than I would have cared to show him at this point.

    Sophie’s drawings were the colourful, childish outlines of a six year old. I didn’t want to admit it, but she had little artistic inclination, although she seemed to enjoy picking the flowers that afternoon and practising her cartwheels, I remembered that. Besides, little aptitude didn’t seem to hinder her enjoyment of art, nor did I feel it should.  We’d set up a picnic with Mrs Fairfax in the low light of the meadow; the sun had shone brightly by lunch time and we lolled on the blankets. It had been one of the nicest afternoons in recent memory.

     ‘She has no talent,’ he said truthfully.

     ‘Pardon?’ I was miles away in the firelight, thinking of the meadow.

     ‘Sophie, as I said, has not a scrap of talent; but you do. She is not academic; I know she is only six but you can tell these things about a child. She is vain and frivolous. You are neither, yet you both seem to get along so well. ’

     ‘Perhaps our differences complement each other. Sophie is one of the sweetest children I have met,’ I said in her defence.

     He smiled, a little sarcastically, I thought.

    ‘She’s manipulative like her mother, like most women. Anyway, how many children have you met recently? You’re barely more than a child yourself,’ he trailed off.

     I decided to be assertive.

     ‘Many,’ I replied. ‘For years, I was in foster care. I had loads of foster siblings who were much more difficult to handle than Sophie.’

    ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘And the school?’

    ‘When I was twelve, an unknown benefactor paid all of my expenses to attend the college until I completed my A-levels, and then I was flung out onto the street.’

    ‘Ah,’ was all he said. I noticed a new tone, almost like respect in his voice when he spoke next. The fire flickered alongside us and he turned down the large, flat screen that was left on, playing an old movie that Mrs Fairfax had been watching earlier.

    ‘I think we can turn that off. She’s probably seen it before,’ he joked.