12. ARIES
12
ARIES
T he next couple of weeks pass in a flurry of activity. Lucie and I spend a lot of time at various parks—Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, the Princess Diana Memorial playground. It’s non-stop. Mondays and Tuesdays are rest days for me, but I’m exhausted by the time they roll around.
I speak to Mum every few days. I’m trying not to worry too much, but she sounds weaker, as though it takes more effort to maintain a conversation.
Alec and I have settled into a decent friendship, especially after our Friday night out, where he took me to a loud and sweaty club just off Leicester Square. And then the eggs…
Egg-gate. Maybe that’s what I’ll call it . Even though I was drunk, I can still remember smearing those raw eggs all over Mr Hawkston’s chest. And then the reiki afterwards. Eek . Maybe it should be reiki-gate. I can’t decide which part of the encounter was worse; all of it was bad. Not at the time, of course. Then, I was enjoying myself. Or rather, I was enjoying him . But now, in the cold, sober light of day, I’m embarrassed. Not because I think I did anything wrong, per se, but because it’s all so weird. How can we have a normal working relationship going forward? Maybe we can’t … we never did, really, now I think of it. It’s just as well I’ve barely seen him since then.
Until now. He sent me a message earlier, asking me to pop into his office, and here I am, standing outside, heart thudding. Nervous .
I knock on the door and his low, deep voice responds, “Come in.”
The familiar buzz of attraction fizzes in my veins as I step into the room, catching sight of him behind that huge desk.
“Aries.” His eyes flick up to me from the periodical he’s reading. He lays it on the desktop and fully focuses on me. I stand awkwardly. He gives no indication he wants me to sit down, so I don’t. My hands begin to tingle and I try my best to ignore it. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“Excellent. I wanted to speak to you about Saturday.” Momentary confusion must show on my face because he adds, “Charlie’s Speech Day at Marsden College.”
I recognise the name of the school. It’s world famous, mostly because extended members of the Royal family and previous Prime Ministers were educated there. “It’s a whole day event. There’s the picnic, the boat race, and then the speeches and prize-giving.” Wow, this sounds fancy. “You’ll be in charge of Lucie all day. We’ll take the car. Alec will prepare the picnic in the morning.”
“Right.” This is all new to me, but I go along with it in case it has been mentioned and I’ve forgotten.
Mr Hawkston goes quiet and a warning prickle crawls up my spine. Whatever he’s going to say next, he’s not happy about it. “Gemma will be there.” It takes me a second to register who he’s talking about, which he must notice because he adds, “My ex-wife.”
Of course. The beautiful blonde woman from the internet photos. “Will she be picnicking with us?”
“No. She has a new partner, and he has kids at the school too. She’ll be with them.”
“Oh.” That sounds awkward. “Is Charlie friends with her partner’s kids?”
Mr Hawkston pins me with a stare, his gaze dropping from my face down the full length of me, then back to my face. “I don’t know. They’re older. Charlie hasn’t mentioned them.”
Something about this conversation strikes me wrong, but I have no idea what it is. Why didn’t he ask me to sit down? And why does he keep looking at me like that? Maybe the awkwardness isn’t about Gemma or the boys. Maybe it’s about me. Or what happened with the eggs and the reiki. Before I can stop myself, I start talking.
“About that night, in the kitchen—”
“No.” I take a step back from his desk, surprised by the vehemence in his voice as he cuts me off. “Don’t say a word.” He breaks eye contact to dip his head, and I wait, the whoosh-whoosh of my pulse pounding in my ears as he takes a few breaths. Finally, he looks at me again. “No,” he repeats, softer this time. “Just no, Aries. Don’t do this to me.”
He sounds tormented, as though he’s approaching some kind of breaking point, and he thinks I’m the one who’s pushing him there. But that’s not all I hear in his voice. There’s a hopeless resignation there too, suggesting that he doesn’t believe he has the power to stop me. That whatever it is I’m doing to him, it’s inevitable…
My brain must be crumbling, because I can’t work out exactly what he’s referring to, and worse, I feel like I can’t question him on it. I press my lips together to stop myself from asking, but it doesn’t work.
“Do what?” I mutter, but even as I say the words, arousal swirls between my legs and I know that whatever he’s agonising over, it has something to do with this weird feeling that keeps sneaking up between us. This attraction . “What did I do?”
He props his elbow on the desk and drops his forehead into his hand, rubbing it agitatedly back and forth. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “I cannot keep having these conversations with you.” He’s changed his tune . What shifted? He drags his eyes to mine where they lock on. “I’m your boss. Go and do your job. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s enough. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
He waves the back of his hand at the door to dismiss me, and I clench my fists to restrain the urge to retort. If he won’t talk about what’s happening between us, then that’s fine by me. I’ll do my best to ignore it too.
But as I let myself out, I’m aware of an inner knowing that something is going to break soon, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it.
Saturday comes around faster than I can believe. Despite Mr Hawkston’s odd behaviour at our last meeting, I’m having such a good time working here—hanging out with Lucie—that time is flying.
I’m wearing my smartest clothes—a white cotton blouse and a full length floral skirt. Definitely more tourist-in-Tuscany than Speech Day at England’s most prestigious boarding school, but it’s the best I can do. Apparently, people wear hats to this event, like a proper English wedding. I don’t have one, but Lucie has been telling me all morning how beautiful my hair is, so I’m feeling pretty good. There’s nothing like compliments from a four-year-old. And who needs a hat when you have actual red hair that’s so thick I need super strong hair bands just to wrestle it into a ponytail?
The car is quiet as we ride up to Marsden College. We’re all in the back, facing one another like the inside of a black cab. I’m next to Lucie in her car seat, and Mr Hawkston is opposite us. He’s wearing a suit, but he’s barely looked up from his mobile phone. Clearly, my comments about severing the human connection were ignored. Perhaps he doesn’t want a connection.
Or maybe he is that important. Maybe this is still a workday for him, much like it is for me.
I pin my hands between my knees, trying to stay as still as possible. I’m nervous about meeting Charlie, Mr Hawkston’s teenage son. Mrs Minter alluded to the fact that he’s got himself into a bit of trouble in the past, but didn’t give me details. And if what Alec said about the Hawkson’s marriage being that unhappy is true, then I’m sure the kid has been through a lot. Acting out a little wouldn't be surprising.
My heart is also hammering from being so close to Mr Hawkston for such a long time. It takes about an hour to reach the school and the car is full of the scent of him… expensive, rich, with notes of cedar and sandalwood and a host of other things I don’t know the name of. I don’t know if the scent itself is a good one, or if it’s because it’s his, but it turns me on.
I laugh inwardly at the idea that I thought I could ignore my attraction to him. It’s so intense that just being near him has the slow thump of a pulse beating between my legs.
Holy hell, this is inappropriate. His daughter is right here in the car. But even so, I can’t push it away. I can’t order my body not to feel whatever it is I’m feeling for him.
I wonder if he’s feeling the tension too, but there’s no way of knowing for sure. He’s barely paid me any notice.
Lucie falls asleep, but still, Mr Hawkston doesn’t look up from his phone. The longer this journey is, the more tense I feel.
Finally, he slides his phone into his pocket and stares out of the window. “You’re responsible for Lucie,” he says without looking at me. “Keep her out of trouble. She’s never been to Charlie’s Speech Day before.”
“Okay.”
“My ex-wife will be here.”
Clearly, it’s troubling him. “I know. You told me.”
“Don’t know why she’s coming. Gemma doesn’t give a fuck about the kids. Never did.”
I frown, and my mouth unhinges as I let out a tiny gasp, my gaze shooting to Lucie. Still asleep, thank goodness . But even so, how can he speak about his child’s mother like that in front of her?
“She’s asleep.” Mr Hawkston throws the words at me as though he knows exactly what I was thinking, but it doesn’t deter him as he mutters, “And her mother is a bitch.”
Okay, that I can’t ignore. “Shhhh. Her subconscious is wide awake.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Her subconscious knows it’s true.”
I fold my arms over my chest. I’m not about to argue with him while Lucie is in the car. He shakes his head as if to say, ‘ You have no idea ’. It’s either that or ‘ you’re ridiculous ’, and I can’t decide which is more unsettling. Neither of us speaks for a long time.
“You’re quiet,” he says, eventually. It’s funny how he’s always asking me to stop talking, but then whenever I do, he wants to hear me speak again. He’s conflicted.
I don’t oblige him and in the silence, Lucie snores. Mr Hawkston looks sideways at her, makes a grunting noise, and goes back to his phone. “Did you find that friend you were looking for?”
“Friend?”
He holds eye contact. “Yes. When you arrived, you said you didn’t know anyone in London. Have you found people?”
The air hums between us and I wonder if he’s remembering that very first conversation we had, where I expressed the hope we’d get to know one another. And not as boss and employee. I guess that won’t happen now, because we’re stuck in these roles.
But then, given what his ex-wife looks like, I’m not sure he’d go for me anyway.
“I’ve been spending a bit of time with Alec. That’s who I was out with the night...” I begin to blush, knowing he doesn't want to be reminded. “The eggs. You know…”
Something flashes in his gaze, and he mutters a curse under his breath. “I remember.”
Heat flashes through me. Awkward. “He’s such a great chef,” I continue, sticking to a safer topic of conversation. “The snacks he makes over in the staff house are delicious. Amazing. And the accommodation… That staff block is so nice. So generous.”
Mr Hawkston shifts in his seat, and a surly look crosses his face. “It’s not generous. It’s part of their remuneration. I’ve generally found staff work better and harder if their other needs are taken care of.”
The way he talks about ‘staff’ makes me wonder if he sees other humans as actual people or useful animal types he can herd and control. Give them greener grass, and they grow better wool type thing…
“Gemma will expect to see Lucie today. I don’t want you to leave them alone together.”
The change of topic gives me whiplash. It’s clear Mr Hawkston is worried, given the way he keeps circling back to the topic of his ex-wife. Geez . This sounds unpleasant and like it’s beyond my job description. He must read my uncertainty because he says, “Just keep her in your sights, okay?”
“Absolutely. Yes. I can do that.”
The car rolls into the quaintest, cutest town, all narrow streets and Georgian terraces. I gawk like a tourist, nose pressed up against the glass. A few minutes later, we park up on the school fields and I get out. The air is warm and smells like freshly cut grass.
The view that greets me is like a scene from a chocolate box. The buildings, some of them at least, are ancient, like something out of Oxford or Cambridge. A spire pokes above the tree line; a church beyond the fields, just out of sight. The school is so grand, and the modern buildings are sleek and ultra-stylish, slotting into place neatly alongside the ancient ones.
Mr Hawkston gets out of the car too, unfolding himself elegantly, like an actor walking onto a set. He barely glances at the view, like this is all so normal for him. But it’s not for anyone who isn’t used to hanging out in high society. I did actually Google—check me out and my smartphone skills—the school fees here, and it’s something crazy for one kid… more than I would earn in an entire year. Several years.
Lucie is still sleeping, and I’m not sure what to do with her. It’s too hot to leave her in the car, so for a moment, I just stare at her cute snoozing face, a tendril of hair by her mouth blowing back and forth with her steady breaths.
I sense a presence by my side and know the millisecond before I turn that Mr Hawkston is there.
“I’ll get her,” he says, and I step out of the way so he can unbuckle his daughter and carry her out.
Around the car, staff are laying out tables and chairs. I didn’t realise he’d brought staff, but I see more of them getting out of another nearby car, carrying picnic stuff over to us. There’s a table and tablecloth and champagne on ice. And the food coming out… how many people is Mr Hawkston feeding here? There are platters of shrimp and smoked salmon and canapes. “Did we drive here in convoy?”
Lucie still in his arms, Mr Hawkston nods. “Something like that.”
He’s cradling Lucie like she’s the most precious thing in the world. It’s adorable. He might be a bit sharp with her sometimes, but it’s obvious he loves her. He carefully sets her down, still asleep, on one of the picnic blankets. And then he brushes that little tendril of hair that’s stuck to her lips behind her ear.
“Drink?” someone offers me.
Mr Hawkston sticks out his hand and takes it. “Not for her. She’s working.”
He takes the champagne himself, smiling lopsidedly at me like he feels a bit bad for taking my drink. Does he care what I think? I wouldn’t expect him to make any concessions and I wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t. I am working, after all. But that tiny smile—a wordless ‘ I’m sorry ’—warms my heart a touch.
I sit with Lucie on what turns out to be the softest picnic rug ever. Cashmere? Nothing like the scratchy woollen one I had as a kid.
While the staff set up our elaborate picnic, I glance around the field, full of highly polished cars, shining like the staff have just finished waxing them. Mixed in, there are a few rustier old estate cars, where the families are sitting on tartan picnic rugs spread out on the grass and tucking into packet sandwiches. It’s amazing to me that even at the most elite boarding school in the country, there’s still a hierarchy.
I don’t know where Mr Hawkston fits in, but I figure it’s somewhere near the top, at least on account of the show he’s putting on and the amount of people who are coming over to say hello and to join him for champagne. He’s surrounded by other couples, men and women, who appear to be hanging off his every word.
Mr Hawkston is polite and attentive to everyone, and I imagine this is how he works the room at corporate events. It’s a side to him I definitely haven’t seen before. He’s smiling and joking and entertaining these people… and it’s glorious to watch. He’s yummy. Totally in control. It blows my mind that I’ve seen this composed, gorgeous man entirely naked. I’ve smeared raw egg over his pecs, and the memory makes my heart beat a little faster.
And yet, there’s something about his actions that seems performative, as though everything he’s doing is for effect. He must feel my gaze because he glances over. Our eyes meet for only a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough to shatter the facade, as though he’s granting me a glimpse at the real man beneath. I’m instantly greedy for more of his attention as every hair on my body stands upright and heat spreads outwards from my chest.
I look away, willing my body under control. Stop being ridiculous. He’s your boss. I stroke Lucie’s hair as she sleeps, and try to concentrate on her.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice distracts me from Lucie.
She’s pretty, dark-haired, and wearing a yellow suit and a huge hat that casts a shadow over her fine bone structure. She’s peering down at me, and I squint, using my hand as a shield to block the sun. She smiles and crouches opposite me, holding out her hand.
“I’m Kate,” she says, but this means nothing to me, so I stare blankly and she adds, “I’m an old family friend of Matt. Nico”—she nods her head towards a handsome man who looks a lot like Matt—“is my boyfriend.”
Nico’s looking at me with interest, in the way people do when they’ve heard something about you that colours their view. I don’t want to think what Matt might have said to him.
“I’m Aries. Lucie’s nanny.”
“I know,” Kate replies, her beautiful smile giving nothing away. “This must be terribly dull for you. All this old school stuff. Nico loves it. Thinks this place made him the man he is today.” A light chuckle spills from her lips. “Can’t wait to see Charlie in the boat race though. That’s always exciting. Anyway”—Kate strokes Lucie’s cheek and then stands, focusing back on me—“it was good to meet you. Tell Lucie I said hi when she wakes up.”
Kate wanders back to Nico and when she reaches him, they share a chaste kiss, but he slides an arm around her waist and pulls her a fraction too close. As though, despite the fact that they’re in public, he wants her as near as possible, and she doesn’t resist. He whispers something against her ear, and she laughs. The way they interact is adorable. It looks like true love. After a few minutes, the two of them say goodbye to Mr Hawkston and wander off.
It’s not long before Lucie opens her eyes and looks up at me. “Hello, Ariel,” she says, blinking in the sunlight.
“Hey, sweetie. It’s lunchtime. You want me to fix you something?”
She stretches and sits up cross-legged. She looks over to where her father is talking to everyone, watching as the adults pick up what look like smoked salmon blinis.
“Smoked salmon, please,” she says. “But not with the cream. Or those little black things.”
Crap. Does she expect me to pick the canapes apart for her? “Black things?”
“Yeah, the stinky fish eggs.”
Ah. Caviar. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I edge up to the elaborate table that Mr Hawkston’s staff have set out. There’s silver cutlery and actual breakable plates. Whenever I had a picnic, the cutlery was plastic and the plates were paper. Maybe plastic if whoever brought the crockery was extra organised.
I grab a plate and pile it with three or four blinis. Then, checking no one’s looking, I start taking them apart, scraping off the caviar and sour cream. I don’t want to waste it though... I mean, scraping caviar and leaving it at the side of the plate? That’s tantamount to a crime.
So I eat it. Stealthily, checking Mr Hawkston’s back is turned as I do it. I feel like a criminal stealing gold or something, but it’s bloody delicious. I’m working as fast as I can and fortunately, everyone is too busy socialising and trying to get Mr Hawkston’s attention to notice what I’m doing.
I’m licking my fingers and trying my hardest to keep the mess discreet, when I sense a presence right at my elbow.
“Has the nanny got a taste for the finer things in life already?” It’s a woman’s voice, and it sends a shiver up my spine because it’s so dismissive, so derogatory , that I feel violated. “I suppose living with Matt does that to a woman.”
I spin, dismantled blini in one hand, to find a beautiful blonde woman staring at me. I know exactly who she is. Gemma, the ex-wife. She’s even more beautiful than the pictures. Every feature is freakishly symmetrical, like I’m looking at an optical illusion. Straight nose, big blue eyes, cupid’s bow pink mouth. She looks like Blake Lively , if someone tweaked all her features so the angles mathematically aligned. My breath catches at the sight of her, but her expression is vicious, and the judgment in her eyes blisters my skin.
“Oh, Mrs Hawkston—”
“Please. Don’t call me that. I go by my maiden name now. Von Arsworz.”
I don’t know what the hell she just said, but it sounded a lot like arse-warts. I don’t dare risk repeating it, so I smile inanely as Gemma looks me up and down, her nose scrunched in a disdainful sneer.
“Aren’t you pretty. Where’d he find you then? One of those clubs? Bad girl gone good, are you? You look just the type.” She waves her hands over my breasts, as if my larger-than-average cup size is what makes me ‘bad’.
My brain is struggling to catch up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Is he fucking you yet?” Gemma smirks. “That would be just like him. To screw the nanny. It would be efficient. Someone right on his doorstep so he doesn’t have to take any time off work.”
I am completely, utterly, speechless. This woman is a bitch with a capital B. But even so, heat rises up my cheeks, fiery humiliation creeping across my face. Mr Hawkston and I might not have had sex, but I’ve seen him completely naked. And hard. And I am sorely tempted to tell her, just to see how she’d react.
I’m still staring at Gemma when I notice Mr Hawkston’s attention on us. He still has half a glass of champagne in one hand, but his gaze is trained on me and he’s coming over.
Gemma hasn’t noticed. “So, is he?”
“Is he what?” I ask.
“Don’t act stupid. Is my husband fucking you?”
“Ex-husband.” Mr Hawkston’s deep voice demolishes Gemma’s rant. Her hand tightens on the stem of her champagne glass and her shoulders squeeze together.
He ignores her, instead leaning towards me and tapping the side of his lips. It takes me a moment to realise he’s letting me know I have food on my face. Again .
“May I?” he says, and, because I’m stupefied, standing between the two most gorgeous human beings I’ve ever seen, I nod. Mr Hawkston reaches over Gemma’s shoulder to swipe his thumb across the edge of my lips, picks up a trace of caviar and then sucks it off his thumb.
My heart shudders and heat flushes my body. He just ate food off my face . He’s holding my gaze like he is fucking me, or he might, or he means to… I feel it right down to my clit. It’s wholly indecent.
I’m completely in shock, but not as much as Gemma is.
She spins on her heels to face him, her mouth wide, but before she can speak, Mr Hawkston blasts his attention onto her, glaring.
“Whom I choose to sleep with has nothing to do with you anymore.”
Gemma huffs. “Oh, you bastard. You’re a sly piece of shit, Matthew Hawkston. Employing a nanny that looks like that and then parading her about in front of everyone. Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Aries is a valued member of my household staff.”
“Oh, Aries, is it?” She sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. Mr Hawkston says nothing and Gemma spits out, “I’m taking Lucie to my picnic. We’ll see you at the boat race.”
She storms over to where Lucie is sitting on the rug, yanks her up by the arm and drags her to her feet.
“Mummy, ow.” Lucie rubs at her arm.
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Gemma waves dismissively at Lucie. “That didn’t hurt.”
Lucie looks like she might cry, and my heart breaks to see it. Lucie, attempting to heal the rift, reaches out to Gemma for a hug.
Gemma swipes her hands away. “Don’t touch. This suit is Catherine Walker . Your hands are grubby.”
Lucie withers, and Gemma grabs her elbow and ushers her away.
Mr Hawkston glances at me, and without waiting to be told, I stumble after them, balancing the plate of dismantled salmon blinis in one hand.
“Aries,” Mr Hawkston calls.
I turn to see every trace of desire or whatever the hell it was he was looking at me with earlier has gone. The man is a master of deception. He’s performing for everyone all the time.
A hollowing sensation occurs in my stomach that I recognise as disappointment, but there’s something else there too. Anger . He used me to piss off his ex-wife… I want to tell him what I think of that behaviour, but he pins me with a serious, almost threatening glare, and my annoyance vanishes as nerves begin to churn in my gut. “Don’t let Lucie out of your sight.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, saluting him with my free hand in an attempt to dispel the tension, but Mr Hawkston doesn’t smile, and my nerves only get worse.
I turn and run after Gemma and Lucie, still holding the plate of smoked salmon like an over-exuberant waitress, while trying to shake off the curious foreboding sensation that hovers at the edge of my awareness.
What could possibly go wrong on a day like today?