Chapter 4
4
F lora didn’t have a plan.
With every step she grew angrier at the woman, Sylvia, who had sent her away so easily, had taken measure of her in minutes and handed down rejection. With every step the rain seemed to fall a little harder. It wasn’t fair, and felt, more than anything, like she had been mistaken for someone else. She belonged at Lavender Acres, Rainshadow, whatever it was called, and Sylvia was an outsider who barely knew the place, barely knew the island. The unfairness of it was like bile in her mouth that she couldn’t spit out.
As she drew closer to Rainshadow, the foolishness of what she was doing occurred to her. She knew, very likely, that she was about to humiliate herself, and the humiliation was one more log she could toss onto the bonfire of her self-esteem. She didn’t care. She wanted it. She craved the utter pain and release. She jogged up the twisting drive, her boots crunching in the wet gravel, up the path to the main house, and hopped up the steps, skipping a few. It was only after she rang the doorbell that a voice in the back of her mind screamed for her to run, run, run. She stood firm, willing her feet to stay planted on the doorstep. When the door swung open and Sylvia stood gazing at her, she immediately regretted her stupid, childish choice. The look on Sylvia’s face was, first, utter, unabashed surprise, but it shifted like clouds drifting in front of the moon. There was anger, obvious and unmistakable, but Flora was certain there was also a shimmer, a little electric current, of fear. She was, thought Flora, a pampered house cat afraid of a wild, feral animal who had darkened her door.
“What are you doing here?” Sylvia hissed, her cold eyes boring into Flora with an unsettling intensity. She stepped forward, over the door’s threshold, almost menacing Flora. Maybe Sylvia wasn’t such a house cat after all.
“I…” Flora tried to take a breath, but it felt like her lungs were too small. She steadied herself, but still couldn’t look at Sylvia when she spoke. “You were wrong about me.”
“You need to leave!” Sylvia snarled, making Flora flinch.
“No,” Flora said, standing up straight, “you have to hear me out. I walked all this way?—”
“Of your own volition! I’m telling you now, for your own good, for your own sake.”
“Who do we have here?”
A friendly, resonant voice from the hall behind Sylvia. A man’s voice, a voice that seemed to have an English accent. There was something soothing about the voice, like whoever it belonged to was, at the very least, polite and considerate.
Sylvia seemed to know it was too late, but she still said, “Nobody, darling. I’ll be back in the dining room in one?—”
A man emerged, peeking over Sylvia’s shoulder, his face pale, striking. His lips pursed in surprise for a moment, then he smirked at Flora, causing her to shudder. “Doesn’t look like nobody, darling. In fact, it looks rather distinctly like a somebody.”
The light, charming kindness in the man’s voice made Flora relax a little. She also hoped, perhaps desperately, that she might have an in. When her eyes met his, she felt a sudden jolt. The eyes, his eyes, were a silvery blue.
“Please,” he said, smiling at her, “come inside out of that miserable weather.”
“No,” said Sylvia. “Flora was just leaving.”
Flora was stunned that Sylvia knew her name. She was nearly paralyzed with anxiety, but she forced herself to speak. Her eyes were closed, but her voice was clear. “I’m not leaving. Not until you hear me out.”
“Come back tomorrow, during the day,” Sylvia whispered, and there was a razor in her voice, sharp with meaning.
“No, no, no,” the man said. “I can hear you, Sylvia. Come now, inside, both of you.”
Sylvia looked at her viciously then, a look so hot with threat her face nearly glowed. She didn’t say “You will regret this,” but she might as well have.
The house was so different than it had been when it was Lavender Acres, both familiar and disorienting. It was eerie. Where there had been cozy, overstuffed couches there were now sleek velvet sofas and black leather accent chairs. Where, once, the walls had been hung with framed cross-stitches that said “Bless this mess,” there were now dramatic black-and-white photos and ancient-looking oil paintings in heavy gilt frames.
The man led them to a dining room where, on the black lacquer table as shiny as patent leather, there was an open bottle of wine and one plate, fine china with an intricate floral and gold pattern. There was only one glass of wine, half-drunk, and on the plate there was only cheese, brie, Flora guessed, some dark purple grapes, and a half-loaf of French bread.
“You were eating dinner,” Flora said. “I didn’t mean to?—”
Sylvia sighed and rolled her eyes.
“No, please don’t be sorry,” said the man. “I’m Ethan. Sylvia called you Flora?” He looked at her with those silvery-blue eyes and put his hand out. Flora caught sight of his muscular forearm, peeking out from his rolled sleeve. His skin was as porcelain as the white shirt he wore, so white she could see the delicate blue veins on his solid wrist.
She took his cool hand and he squeezed hers, firm, strong, but gentle.
“Yes. Flora.” He said the name like he liked the taste of it in his mouth. His voice was low and patrician.
She finally really looked at him, taking him in. His hair was warm, honey blond and curled messily, his face was distinct, full, with almost feminine lips, high cheekbones, and large, lively eyes. They seemed to light up when he looked at her.
“What brings you to us, Flora, on this dark night? You’re quite a surprise, but a welcome one. I’ve been wanting to meet the neighbors. Though you look rather damp.”
“I wanted to talk to Sylvia about a job.”
Sylvia shut her eyes and seemed to physically recoil from the words.
“A job?” Ethan looked at Sylvia. “She wasn’t the right fit, darling?” As Ethan asked the question, he drew closer to Sylvia, and Flora could see that Sylvia was quite a few years older than him.
“No,” Sylvia said, her voice a coiled snake. “She’s not the right fit.”
“You should give me a real chance,” Flora interjected. “I’m great with horses, and I really love it here!”
“You’ve spent time here before?” Ethan asked.
Flora nodded. “I worked here for a long time, on the lavender farm, and with the horses.”
“You’re good with horses?” Ethan asked, his distracting lips, full and boyish, turning up at the corner.
“Not as good as Sylvia,” Flora said, nodding to the other woman. “She’s an incredible horsewoman.”
But Sylvia only scowled at her, and Flora couldn’t help but notice the deep groove between her dark, arched eyebrows. She looked at least a decade older than her partner.
“But Sylvia didn’t think it was a good match.” Ethan looked at Sylvia.
“She’s too young,” Sylvia said, and her voice was throaty and thick. “My horses are not toys for some amateur to play with.”
Ethan looked at her cooly. “So you will keep working from dawn until dinnertime? We can’t have that, Sylvia, you promised me you would not work so hard. You said things would be different here.”
“I’ll find someone,” Sylvia said through gritted teeth.
“Not on the island,” Flora said, looking at Sylvia now. “I have as much experience with horses as anyone you’ll find.”
“It must have been very difficult for you to come here tonight. It required a great deal of tenacity.”
“Or stupidity,” Sylvia grumbled.
“Darling,” Ethan said, chuckling a little. “Why would you be unkind to someone who has come to help you?”
“No,” Flora said. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just had to plead my case, just once.”
Ethan drew close to her and put one strong hand on her shoulder. “You can come back tomorrow,” he said. “If Sylvia can’t use you, I’ll leave you instructions. Come in the afternoon, around sunset?—”
“No,” Sylvia said, suddenly animated. She stood up and pushed her way between Ethan and Flora, forcing Ethan to take a step back. “She will be my employee, not yours. Come in the morning tomorrow. I’ll find something for you to do.”
Flora suspected that Sylvia just didn’t want her, a younger woman, working for her husband. Simple jealousy. She didn’t care. Her whole body felt lighter, like she might float right off of the floor to the ceiling. She had never expected this surprise visit to be anything but a humiliating disaster. Still, she had felt compelled, like she had to walk, had to ask. It had paid off spectacularly.
She had a job.
A job at Rainshadow.