Chapter 22
22
JONATHAN
I squint at my page. The sun’s well and truly gone now and the overhead light isn’t quite bright enough to read by. Which is a pity because it’s so cozy here, in the plush armchair by the window with a blanket draped around my shoulders. I close my book with a sigh. I was just getting to the good part. Not like I haven’t read all the Austens to death, but Persuasion will always be one of my favorites. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...
I yawn, stretch, check the time. It’s a little after nine. Maybe Ray’s still in the kitchen. I can make us a cuppa, find out if they’ve heard back from Davy. Possibly gossip—just a little—about how different Adam was today and how I saw him smile.
I’ve made it halfway up the passage when the unmistakable shriek of an upset Enrique splits the air. It’s coming from Alisha’s room. Before I reach her door, it blasts open.
Enrique darts out and races up the passage, screaming and tearing off his clothes.
“Shit.” I curse under my breath.
“Piss actually,” Alisha says, from her doorway. She has a bunched-up bedding in her hand and there’s a damp spot up her side.
“Shit,” I repeat again, with feeling.
That elicits a smile, albeit a pained one.
“Here, let me.” I take the stripped bedding and make a mental note to order some of those waterproof sheets and mattress protectors for her.
“You don’t have to—” Alisha tries to protest, but I have the sheet already.
Enrique’s disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. I can hear him sobbing beyond the door.
“Please don’t be mad at him,” Alisha says.
“Why on Earth would I be mad at him? You’re the one who got caught in the crossfire.”
She shrugs.
“I thought you said swearing was bad,” a voice says behind me. Mal is standing in his doorway, with his arms folded.
“Yes, it is. Naughty me. Why are you up?”
“Uh, ‘cause I heard the screaming?” He says, like he’s pointing out the obvious.
“Go back to bed. Everything’s fine.”
Ben’s door opens. “What’s going on?” He rubs at his eyes with his fists.
“Enrique peed the bed,” Mal provides.
“Gross!”
“As if you’ve never done it.” Mal gives him a savage grin and Ben flushes scarlet. Did Alisha deal with that incident too? No wonder she’s always exhausted.
“Alisha, see if Enrique will let you in to clean up. I’ll deal with this.” I indicate the bedclothes. “You two, if you go back to bed, I’ll bring you some cocoa.”
Ben’s eyes light up. Mal starts to protest that he’s fully awake now and not going to be able to sleep, but the offer of hot chocolate must be too good to resist, because he retreats into his room.
Alone with Alisha, I say. “In future when this happens, please wake me. I’m here to help.”
“You’re not going to say anything about him being in my bed?”
“He’s four. We should just be grateful he’s not a set of twins. My sister, Charlotte, has twin girls and she simply could not get them to sleep in their own beds. She read the books, spoke to psychologists, even did a short course. Everything. Eventually her husband had to move into the twins’ room to get enough sleep to make it through the work day. They really like to toss and turn, don’t they? And sleeping diagonally—what’s with that?”
That elicits a small laugh, but she sobers quickly. “It’s against the rules, you know? Children of the opposite sex are not allowed to share a room. Same as how adults are not allowed to sleep with kids.”
“In foster care?”
“Yeah.”
I can see why those rules would be in place. But when you’re four, all alone on a dark night in a strange place, and your only security in the world is a few doors over, I can’t imagine it’s easy to play by the rules.
“Maybe that would be my concern if I didn’t know you and hadn’t observed the nature of your relationship. But right now, my concern is you.”
“Me?”
“You can’t be sleeping well in that narrow bed with a small human kicking and elbowing his way through the night?”
She drops her gaze. “It’s fine.”
No, it isn’t. She’s sixteen. She deserves to be cared for too. At the very least to have a good night’s sleep. But I don’t say that. What I say is, “It may be fine, but it’s not good. Let’s try get him to spend more time in his own bed, okay? Our little project. A conspiracy, if you will.”
“A conspiracy?”
“Two people working together towards a common goal under the cover of night? A conspiracy.” I offer her a smile.
She doesn’t immediately agree. That’s okay.
“Go check on him and clean off. I’ll sort out the bed and the cocoa.”
I leave her, but she calls after me.
“Jonathan?”
I turn.
“Thanks”
I smile in response and she smiles back.
I’ve just passed the piano when I hear the laughter. Giggling, really, and not children’s giggling. Adult voices. I hover at the top of the stairs as Geoff and Adam come into view. They’re walking close, heads bent together. Geoff’s hand is at the small of Adam’s back. Geoff says something and Adam chuckles in response. My stomach plunges and my veins run cold as they start up the stairs and Geoff nips at Adam’s ear, playful and unmistakably intimate.
And that is the exact moment that Adam notices me. Standing in front of them, holding a bundle of soiled linen. I want to evaporate, simply cease existing. My god, this is mortifying on so many levels.
Geoff follows his gaze and wrinkles his nose.
“Sorry, I—” I force myself to start down the stairs. “—I was heading to the laundry. Don’t mind me. Completely ignore me, in fact.”
Geoff seems perfectly content to do just that. He takes Adam’s hand and starts up again, but Adam stays anchored in place. “Problem?”
I thought they were both plastered, what with the giggling, but he sounds sober enough now. “Oh, it’s nothing. A little bedwetting incident.”
He drops Geoff’s hand. “Who?”
“Enrique. And unfortunately he woke the others, but I have the situation in hand. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Geoff repeats to Adam, pointedly. “Come on. Teach has it handled.”
“Did he have a nightmare?” Adam asks.
His concern surprises me. “I’m not sure, but usually bedwetting is a result of deeper than usual sleep, not disrupted sleep. Alisha’s calming him. I’ll make them some cocoa and I’m certain everything will be well enough in a few minutes.”
“Beast?” Geoff prompts.
Adam waves distractedly in his direction. “Yeah, go on up.” To me, he says, “Do you need help?”
That warms me a little, despite the gnawing jealousy. “No, no. It’s my job to see to their needs overnight, remember? You go have fun.”
Adam frowns. “You’ll need more hands. For the cocoa.”
Now he does sound a little tipsy. I think. It’s hard to tell.
“It’s really okay. Please don’t worry about it.”
Geoff’s still hovering. He folds his arms and all but starts tapping his foot with impatience.
“I’ll be up in a bit,” Adam says, without looking at him.
“Really?” Geoff says. “You’re really doing this? Now?”
Adam shuts his eyes. “This will only take a few minutes.”
“Fuck that,” Geoff says and he stomps his way up the rest of the stairs.
Adam trails me into the laundry and picks out clean bedclothes from the storage cupboard. I load up one of the machines and put it on a wash and dry cycle. Neither of us mentions Geoff.
At length, Adam says, “I thought maybe he had nightmares because of me.”
I turn, halfway through adding detergent. “Why?”
He’s closer than I expect. There are only a few inches between us. I’m suddenly all too aware of how small the laundry room is.
Adam shrugs. “‘Cause of today. Maybe.”
He must be referring to the fantasy game. It was Enrique who slayed him eventually, climbing right up onto his back to ‘stab’ him with a stick.
“Oh please. You were wonderful today.”
I can practically feel the warmth of his body as he flushes with pleasure at my compliment. I can see now, at this distance, that his eyes are bloodshot, and I can smell Scotch on his breath.
I turn back to my task, ignoring the prickle along my spine in response to his proximity and the unwelcome pull of desire low in my stomach. He’s with Geoff. No doubt about that now. Whatever happened earlier, it wasn’t what I thought. “If anything, all the excitement today tired him out and he slept more deeply as a result.”
“Do you really mean that?” Adam asks, voice so very near my ear.
“Yes, one of my nieces was a chronic bedwetter and that’s what the psychologist says. They grow out of?—”
“I meant about how I was. With them.”
Wonderful. “I did. I…” I turn to find he’s moved even closer. We’re close enough to kiss. His eyes are scanning my face and my breath catches.
He’s drunk and clearly horny.
I slide out from between him and the machine. “We should get back to them.”
Adam follows after me, with clean linens draped over one arm.
Upstairs, Alisha’s got Enrique calm, clean and dry back in his own room. They’re a little surprised to see Adam with me, but not too startled after spending the better part of the day with him.
He made himself a mug of cocoa too and he sits with them to enjoy it while I go deliver the remaining two drinks and sort out Alisha’s bed.
Ben is still awake, peering over the covers.
“Here you go, as promised.” I pass him the mug and he wraps both hands around it and blows on it in case. (It isn’t too hot. I made sure of that.)
“Is Enrique okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.”
Ben’s wispy blond hair’s grown a little in the time I’ve been here and it hangs in his eyes when he leans forward to sip his drink. On impulse, I reach out and brush it aside. He leans into the touch. It makes my throat go tight.
Despite Mal’s earlier grumbles, I find him passed out on top of the covers. I set the cocoa on the bedside table and carefully pull the extra blanket from the foot of the bed over him, tucking it securely around him. He seems so very small here like this. My heart squeezes. I leave the cocoa on the table so he knows I kept my promise.
Once the other two are tucked into bed, I expect Adam will head back to Geoff. But as I try to say goodnight, and express my thanks for his assistance, he takes my elbow and says, “I want to show you something.”
He leads me back downstairs and at first I think he’s taking me to the ballroom, with its stunning painted panels. But he takes me right to the end of the right-hand passage, to the very last door. The locked one, that’s directly beneath his rooms. He pulls a small bunch of keys from a pocket and unlocks it.
“The contents are quite valuable. Didn’t want them to be discovered by small explorers who might unwittingly cause damage.”
The door creaks as he pushes it open. The space beyond is completely dark, but the smell that rushes out to greet us is musty, old, paper . Instantly familiar. He flicks on the lights and my breath leaves my body. A library. The most beautiful library I’ve ever seen.
Books line every wall, and the stacks are made up of elaborate serpentine shelves, in white and gold, somewhere between rococo and art nouveau. The floor is wooden, but a deep burgundy, navy and gold runner stretches the entire length.
There must be hundreds of books here. At the far end of the room, there’s a reading area with two cream Chelsey Sofas and an electric fireplace that must be wired into the lights, because it popped to life automatically, offering all of the coziness of the real thing with none of the hazard to the books.
“You like it?” Adam asks.
“It may just be the most amazing place I’ve ever been.”
His hand brushes mine and he slips the key into my palm. “Figure you might enjoy a retreat now and then. Somewhere pretty and quiet.”
I turn to face him as my fist closes around the key. He’s still standing so close. “You’re certain?”
“Yeah. It’s all a bit wasted on me. Lloyd was the intellectual.”
“You went to Columbia.”
He raises his eyebrows, an expression I’m becoming increasingly fond of. I guess he’s surprised I know that, when I know so little about his time in the limelight. “Yeah, but I studied Sports Management . And I scraped by with a great deal of help from my very smart friend, Philip.”
“It still counts. And, as much as I appreciate this, maybe we should have this conversation again when you’re sober. You may regret it come morning.” I try to press the key back into his palm, but he takes my hand instead. His hand is so large and warm, enfolding mine. It’s all I can do to stop myself from shivering.
“I have another way in,” he says softly.
He leads me by the hand to the other end of the room. On the far wall, beyond the reading area, there’s a copy of Fragonard’s The Swing in a gilded frame. Even if I hadn’t seen the original at The Wallace Collection, I’d know it was a copy because it’s at least three times the size of the original and stretches taller than me. It’s bordered by two standalone bookcases. Adam pulls out a book from the right hand one and it swings gently outward, revealing a steep set of stairs. A hidden door! Am I gaping?
Adam grins. “Servant’s stairs. From the original house.”
“They lead to your bedroom? I mean, to the west wing?”
“To my bedroom.”
Where Geoff is probably waiting for him.
“You should go up,” I suggest.
His face falls. I suppose he was expecting more of an outward reaction to his amazing secret entrance. It is incredible, beautiful. But the reminder of Geoff is enough to dampen even this.
“You’re probably right.” He drops my hand. “Night, Belle. Enjoy the books.”
It feels abrupt and not enough after the day we’ve had. Not nearly enough.
“Good night. And thank you.” Enjoy Geoff.
He gives a little bow before heading up the stairs, pulling the secret entrance shut behind him.
I linger in the library a while, exploring the collection, which ranges from rare first editions to modern classics. Everything’s a little dusty and I make a note to set aside time to come in here and clean. This collection was curated with such care, it’s the least I can do to maintain it while I’m here.
I breathe in the smell of the books, run a finger along the spines of Lloyd’s Austen collection and try not to feel melancholy.
“Wish we could have met,” I say out loud. In any other room, the echo of my words into an empty space would feel wrong. But here the sound is absorbed by the books. It makes me feel like someone’s listening. “Although that might be awkward, given the way I’m currently feeling about your husband. I hope you’re not a jealous ghost.”
I find an old, worn copy of Wuthering Heights. It’s a green hardcover with a bleak artist’s rendition of the moor on the front and a dozen dog-eared pages. Clearly loved. “I guess we both have a thing for tortured heroes.”
I gather up a few more books and take a seat on one of the sofas. The fire is deliciously warm.
“Wonder what you thought of Geoff.” I let my mouth twist on the name. Alone here with Lloyd’s memory, there’s no reason to pretend. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to enjoy classical music or art nouveau architecture.” God, I’m so pretentious. I sigh. “I’m sure they have a lot in common. Boxing et cetera. Maybe he’s excellent in bed.” I immediately regret starting that train of thought. I do not want to imagine what might be happening upstairs right now.
I’m not even sure what to call what I’m feeling. It’s like there’s a bunch of crumpled up autumn leaves in my chest all jagged and crackly and dying, when it should be springtime. I should be basking in the high of shared wine and his genuine concern for the children and this marvelous gift. Instead, I’m envious, I’m disappointed.
This isn’t my first stupid crush. My life is a series of unobtainable men, of bullies who’d sooner hit me than kiss me and jocks who only had eyes for cheerleaders until the lights were off. I stayed in the closet as long as I humanly could, because the alternative was giving them all just one more reason to make me an outcast. I was already a foppish nerd, did I want them to add gay to the mix? Now here I am at twenty-four and the closest I’ve gotten to romance is giving sneaky blowjobs to drunk ‘straight’ boys in empty lecture theaters and a secret tumble or two from men who’d deny knowing me the next day.
No, this isn’t my first absurd infatuation. But it is the worst. It’s the worst because I don’t just want Adam to notice me, to touch me, to desire me. I want endless days like today with these children. This borrowed family on borrowed time. Alisha who so badly needs someone to lean on for once. Mal who desperately needs someone to believe in him and not give up on him. Ben whose only chance is to be given space to overcome his anxiety and his grief. And Enrique, who’s only ever trusted one person before and is slowly starting to trust me. The image of him climbing all over Adam plays behind my eyes. Trust us .
When I arrived at this estate, I had no clue what I wanted beyond saving Dad. My whole life has been entwined with my family, my father, my siblings. I never once stopped to consider what I really wanted for myself. And now I’ve found it. And it’s something that I know I can never have.