The Lavender Garden (27 page)

“Hmmm,” was the reply. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about what’s gone on up at that house, and I shan’t be telling tales to you, neither. All I can say is that their grandmother would be turning in her grave. I stayed for as long as I could, like I promised her, but I couldn’t take no more. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I just hope you know what you’ve taken on, marrying him. None of my business though now, is it, love?”

“I’ve already learned it is a difficult situation.”

“And that’s not the half of it, I can tell you.” Norma rolled her eyes. “You settling in all right?”

“I’m getting used to it, yes, thank you,” Emilie answered politely.

“Well, if you ever fancy a cuppa, my cottage is the last one on the left as you go out of the village. Pop down and see me sometime, love, let me know how you’re getting on.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

“Right then, good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” As Emilie climbed onto her bike, she missed the glint of sympathy in Norma Erskine’s eyes.

•  •  •

In the following couple of days, Emilie painted the bedroom she and Sebastian shared a soft pale pink. She went off into Moulton and bought a thick duvet and sheets, finding the ancient blankets currently
on their bed itchy and uncomfortably heavy. She’d taken down the old damask curtains and purchased lengths of voile to hang, which maximized the light that filtered in wearily from outside. Then she searched the house for less dreary pictures to hang on the walls.

She had checked in on Alex later that evening, giving him her mobile number and telling him to call her if he needed anything. Sebastian’s angst at the weekend had made her determined to stay as uninvolved with his brother as she could. Having put the finishing touches to the bedroom, Emilie went downstairs to find herself something to eat. The house telephone rang and she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello. Is that Mrs. Erskine?” asked a female voice.

“No, I’m afraid she has left.”

“Oh. Is Sebastian there?”

“No, he’s in France.”

“Really? In that case, I’ll get him on his mobile. Thanks.”

The phone went dead. Emilie shrugged and went back to eating her supper.

•  •  •

“I’ve found a very nice girl to clean for you,” said Emilie later in the week, finding Alex at his computer.

“Fantastic.” Alex looked up and smiled at her. “Who is she?”

“She’s called Jo and she lives in the village with her family. She’s taking a gap year before she goes off to university and wants to earn some extra money.”

“Well, at least it’ll make a change that she’s under sixty.”

“She’s coming in tomorrow afternoon to meet you. Please be nice to her, won’t you?” Emilie begged.

“Of course, Em.”

Emilie could see the different screens that were flashing up continuously on Alex’s computer.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trading.”

“Trading? You mean on the stock market?”

“Yes. But don’t you dare tell my brother. He wouldn’t approve at all. He’d probably accuse me of gambling and confiscate my computer.”
Alex stretched his arms in the air and put them behind his head. “Fancy a cup of tea?”

Feeling guilty she hadn’t gone near him in the past few days, Emilie agreed. “I’ll make it,” she added, heading for the kitchen, which she noted with satisfaction was neat and tidy. “Do you take sugar?”

“One, please.”

While she waited for the kettle to boil, Emilie had a surreptitious glance in the fridge to make sure it was well stocked. And it was. So far, so good . . . Alex had been true to his word and was behaving. Emilie sighed in relief and put two mugs, the pot, the sugar bowl, and some milk on a tray.

“Take them through to the sitting room,” Alex indicated. “I could do with a break from this screen.”

Emilie did so and Alex wheeled himself through.

“How did you learn to trade?” she asked as she poured the tea and handed him a cup.

“Trial and error, actually; I’m completely self-taught. It’s the perfect way to earn a living if you don’t get out much. And for insomniacs, whatever time of the night, there’s always a market opening somewhere in the world.”

“Do you have success with it?”

“More and more, yes. I’ve been doing this for almost eighteen months, and I’m over what those in the trade would call beginner’s luck. I made some errors to start with, but as a matter of fact I’m doing rather nicely these days.”

“It’s something I know nothing about.”

“Well, it keeps my brain active and it’s beginning to pay quite well too. So, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Not getting too bored all alone in your mausoleum?”

“I’ve been painting the house.”

“That’s good.” Alex nodded. “Thought I might see you occasionally.”

“I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Well, how about you stay for supper? I’ve just had some fantastic foie gras delivered from the farm shop.”

“I have many things to do . . .”

“So he
has
told you to stay clear?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Okay.” Alex sighed, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry.”

“Emilie, for God’s sake,” Alex burst out, “it seems utterly ridiculous that here we are stuck out in the middle of nowhere together and eating alone in separate parts of the house.”

“Yes,” she agreed eventually.

“Good. I’ll see you at about seven thirty. And I won’t tell if you won’t,” he added with a wink as she stood up and walked toward the door.

•  •  •

Before she went back to Alex’s flat later, Emilie tried Sebastian’s mobile. It was on voice mail, so she left him a message, feeling guilty she wasn’t telling him about having supper with his brother tonight. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left the house on Monday morning.

“Come in, come in!” Alex was stoking the fire in the sitting room. “I’ve just had some excellent news! One of the fledgling oil companies I invested in ages ago has just struck lucky off Quebec.”

“I’m very happy for you.”

“Thanks!” Alex looked elated. “White or red?” He indicated the two bottles on the coffee table.

“Red, please.”

“Where’s Sebastian, by the way?” he asked as he handed her a glass.

“In France.”

“You really are a bit of a grass widow, aren’t you? Perhaps you should suggest you travel with him?”

“I have,” Emilie said, sitting down on the sofa, “but he says he would be far too busy and I don’t wish to bother him while he works. Maybe next time.”

“Well then, have you given any thought to what you might do with yourself up here in Yorkshire while you’re stuck here waiting for hubby to return home?”

“Not really. I’ve been busy so far, and besides, this situation is only temporary.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is. Cheers.” He took a sip of his wine.

“And what about you? Will you always stay here, do you think?”

“I hope to, yes. I love this house, I always have.”

“Then why did you spend so much time running away from it when you were younger?”

“Now that, again, is another story.” Alex regarded her. “And one, given the circumstances, that we best avoid.”

“Please, at least tell me why, even though there seems such . . . animosity between you and your brother, you’re still prepared to share the house with him? And what if Sebastian can’t continue to keep it? The house needs so much work, and—”

“Emilie, don’t push me, please. I suggest we move on to neutral territory forthwith. We made a pact, remember?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. There are obviously many things I don’t know, and I find the situation hard to comprehend.”

“Well, I’m not the one to fill you in.” Alex gave a wistful smile. “Now, shall we eat?”

After the delicious foie gras, which reminded Emilie so much of home—it had been one of her father’s favorites—she made coffee and they retreated back to the warmth of the fire in the sitting room.

“Don’t you get lonely here, Alex?”

“Sometimes, but I’ve always been a bit of a loner, so I don’t miss company as much as others would. And, as I don’t suffer fools gladly either, there aren’t many people I would choose as a supper companion. Present company excepted, of course. But wouldn’t you agree you’re a loner too, Em?”

“Yes. I’ve never had many friends, but that’s because I haven’t felt comfortable in any circle. I found the girls I knew at my private school in Paris spoiled and silly. But at university, because of my surname, most people seemed to be uncomfortable with me there too.”

“I can’t remember who it was that said before you could love anyone else, you had to love yourself. It sounds to me as if we’ve both struggled with that knotty problem. I certainly have, anyway.”

“Well, as you pointed out to me once so accurately, I felt like a disappointment to my mother. It was difficult to ‘love’ myself, as you put it.”

“I didn’t have parents in the first place, so I can’t use them as an excuse,” Alex said with a shrug.

“Yes, Sebastian told me. Surely, the fact that you had none is partly to blame? Do you ever hear from your mother?”

“Never.”

“Do you remember her at all?”

“I have the occasional flashback, mostly to do with smells. A joint, for example, always makes me think of her. Maybe you’re right and that’s why I partook so wholeheartedly in drugs.” Alex grinned. “It was in the genes.”

“I can’t understand why anyone would wish to be out of control.” Emilie shook her head adamantly. “I hate it.”

“Emilie, all us addicts are doing is running away from ourselves. And reality. Anything that eases the pain of being alive helps. The sad thing is, some of the most interesting people I’ve known have been addicts. The brighter you are, the more you think; the more you think, the more you realize just how futile life is and the more you want to run away from the pointlessness. The good news is, I’m over all that now. I’ve ceased to blame other people for my problems. It’s a road to nowhere. I’ve stopped being a victim and started taking responsibility for myself. The moment I did that a few years ago, a lot fell into place.”

“Well, it’s terribly sad that you and Sebastian grew up without a mother or father. Although”—Emilie sighed—“when I was younger, I used to fantasize that my parents had adopted me. Then I could imagine my real mother might have loved me, or at least liked me a little. I was so lonely, yet there I was, living in beautiful houses with every luxury I could ever want.”

“Most people want what they can’t have,” commented Alex soberly. “The day you wake up and realize that’s a totally pointless desire, and look to what you
do
have, is the moment you start on the path to relative contentment. Life’s a lottery, the dice are thrown, and we all have to make the best of what we’ve got.”

“You’ve been in therapy?”

“Of course.” Alex grinned. “Who hasn’t?”

“Me.” She smiled.

“Well done you. Mind you, I then realized I was becoming addicted to that too, and so I stopped. A lot of it doesn’t work. It tells you why you’re messed up, and that normally means there’s someone else to blame. Which, of course, gives you an excuse to behave as badly as you
want. One therapist actually told me I’d every right to get angry. So, for a year, I did. It felt great”—Alex sighed—“until I realized I’d upset and alienated everyone I cared about.”

“I never got angry,” Emilie mused.

“You didn’t do so badly when you slapped me across the face in the kitchen a little while ago,” Alex pointed out with a smirk.

Emilie blushed. “You’re right.”

“Sorry, that was disingenuous, but I was trying to say that the occasional bout is healthy. However, it should never be a permanent state, like it was with me for a while. We humans, eh, Em?” Alex shook his head. “What a complex, messy lot we are.”

“You seem to know yourself very well,” Emilie said with genuine admiration.

“Sure do, and I also realize that I’ll never cease to surprise myself, either. I’ve turned from an angry drug addict into an anally organized control freak who gets upset if his routine is disturbed. But then, maybe that’s the only way I can cope. All I can control
is
myself. And I don’t want to ever risk going back down the slippery path to addiction.”

“I truly admire your discipline,” said Emilie with feeling. “Alex, do you mind me asking if there’s ever been someone you were close to?”

“A woman, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“There have certainly been countless women I’ve been ‘close to’ physically, but nobody has ever lasted very long. To be honest, Em, I wasn’t fit to hold down a relationship with anyone in the past.”

“But now you’re stable, do you think you’d like one?”

Alex looked at her for a moment. “With the right person, yes. I think I’d like it very much.”

“Well, maybe you’ll find her one day.”

“Yes, maybe I will.” Alex glanced at his watch. “Now, I’m going to be very rude and kick you out, as I need to check on my oil shares. It’s after midnight and the markets will be opening in the Far East.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late.” Emilie stood up. “Thank you for the company and the foie gras.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Em.”

“I’ll bring Jo, the cleaner, through when she arrives tomorrow.” Emilie paused by the door. “You know, Alex, I only wish Sebastian could see you like this.”

“My brother sees me how he wishes to. And I react accordingly. Good night, Em.”

“Good night.”

Lying in bed twenty minutes later and enjoying the transformation she had wrought in the room, Emilie mused on the evening.

She had felt relaxed with Alex. Perhaps that was because none of the complexities of a relationship were involved. She liked who he was when he was with her. However, that they got on so well would not please her husband—even though it should—so she would have to be careful.

Emilie sighed. If only the brothers could forgive and forget the past, whatever it contained, life could be so much more tranquil at Blackmoor Hall.

S
ebastian arrived home at the end of the week, looking exhausted. When Emilie tried to talk to him over supper, he was distant. When they climbed into bed later, she asked him again if he had a problem.