The Lavender Garden (26 page)

“Good. Then there isn’t a problem, is there?”

“No. There isn’t,” stated Emilie firmly.

“Right, let’s move on, shall we?” Alex suggested.

After that, the evening had been nowhere near as relaxed as the night before. A tension had hung in the air. Alex had left after he’d eaten, and Emilie took a cup of cocoa up the stairs with her.

There was no reason to doubt her husband’s motives, Emilie thought as she climbed into bed and sat upright against the pillows, nursing the cocoa. However they had originally met, they’d fallen in love and subsequently married.

She lay in bed, reading through Sophia’s poems, written so sweetly and honestly, wondering again why her father had never talked of his younger sister. She’d only initially discovered Sophia’s existence by chance when, as a child, she’d noticed a painting on the wall of her father’s study in Paris. It had been of a beautiful young woman, golden hair flowing down her back, turquoise eyes smiling as she stroked the Persian cat resting on her knee.

“Who is that, Papa?” she’d asked.

There’d been a long pause before he’d answered. “That was my sister, your aunt Sophia, Emilie,” Édouard had finally replied.

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

“She’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“How did she die, Papa?”

“I do not wish to talk of it, Emilie.” And then Édouard’s face had closed.

And perhaps at that moment, as Emilie thought back across the years, she had glimpsed tears in his eyes.

•  •  •

The following morning, taking her courage in both hands, Emilie had braved the drive into Moulton and stocked up on provisions for the coming weekend. Sebastian was arriving in York on the nine o’clock train that evening and had said he’d be with her by ten. Emilie went into her husband’s arms when he arrived home, feeling glad to see him.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been fine.” She pulled him toward the kitchen. “Do you like it?”

Sebastian looked around the newly painted room. “Yes, what a difference,” he said admiringly. “How on earth did you move that dresser by yourself?”

“Alex helped me.”

“Alex?” Sebastian’s face darkened. “What was he doing in the house? He’s not been bothering you, has he?”

“No. He’s behaved perfectly well. I have many things to tell you, but we can talk about them tomorrow. Are you hungry? I made some soup earlier and bought some bread.”

“Lovely.” Sebastian sat down. “And a glass of wine, if we have any.”

“We do.” Emilie proffered the half-empty bottle that Alex had brought in the night before and poured Sebastian a glass.

“This is very good,” he said approvingly. “Surely you didn’t get this in the local store?”

“No, Alex brought it in. So”—Emilie moved on quickly, determined not to spend the rest of the evening talking of his brother—“how was London?”

“Well, as I told you on the phone, things are a mess, but I’m getting there. I spent most of today renewing contacts with the clients on my database. It looks like I might have to go to France next week, actually. The client who took me there when I first met you is still interested, and I think I may have sourced a Picasso for him in a château near Menton.”

“That isn’t far from Gassin,” said Emilie eagerly. “Perhaps I could come with you?”

“A nice idea, but not worth it, as it’ll be a flying visit. Besides, I thought you said you were going over yourself to France in a week or so?”

“I am. I just miss it.” She sighed.

“I’m sure you do.” Sebastian reached for her hand. “It’s hardly been the most auspicious start to your sojourn in England. I promise you, darling, when the spring comes, this whole place lights up. And I must say, it’s rather lovely to have you here to come home to. This soup is delicious. It’s going to be a dry weekend, apparently, so I thought we’d go out tomorrow and I can show you a few of the local beauty spots.”

“I’d like that.” Emilie smiled. “It’s strange being here without you.”

“I know, and living here in England is a big change for you. But as I said a few days ago, it’s only for a few months—a year at most—before we can make some more firm plans about where we’ll settle. And I would have thought that, after the past few weeks, it might be rather nice for you to simply have a break and look after your new husband.”

“If he’s here . . .”

“Emilie.” Sebastian sighed, a note of irritation in his voice. “I’ve said I’ll do my best, but I’m afraid we’re both going to have to put up with less than ideal circumstances while I get my business back on track.”

Emilie berated herself for being selfish. “Of course—and maybe after my success here in the kitchen, I could think about painting some of the other rooms to brighten them? Like our bedroom, perhaps?”

“Feel free, anything that cheers the old place up is fine by me. I warn you, once you start, you won’t be able to stop, but it’s lovely that you want to make the effort. Now, I’m exhausted. Shall we go to bed?”

“Why don’t you take yourself upstairs for a bath and I’ll tidy up down here?”

“Thanks.” Sebastian stood up. “It really has been a hard few days.”

Emilie heard Sebastian mount the stairs and then the sound of the ancient pipes groaning as he ran the taps. She immediately left the kitchen and walked along the corridor to Alex’s flat, feeling guilty she had not yet told her husband his brother was alone without a carer, but
not ready to face the trauma of his knowing. She knocked on the door and a voice called from inside, “Who is it?”

“Emilie. Can I come in?”

“The door’s not locked.”

Alex was sitting in a chair by the fire, reading. He smiled at her as she came in. “Hello.”

“Hello. I just came to check that you were okay.”

“No, as you can see, I’m blind drunk and about to die by choking on my own vomit,” he quipped. “I presume you’ve told Seb I’m without a minder?”

“No, not yet. He’s very tired and I didn’t want to stress him. I’ll suggest to him tomorrow that you’re not in need of full-time care. And if he does still insist you must have someone to look after you, I’ll say you’re capable enough to have someone come in part-time to help domestically. After all, it will save him money.”

“Em, I . . .” Alex raised an eyebrow at this comment then shook his head. “Nothing. Thank you for batting on my team. It makes a change around here.”

“Yes, but much of it will be down to you to prove to Sebastian that you need little more than domestic support.”

“Of course, and admittedly, I’m not too handy at scrubbing floors or making beds. It’s normally me who ends up inside the duvet.” Alex smiled. “But I promise I’ll try to be a good boy. Anyway, I appreciate your help. Good night.”

“Good night.”

•  •  •

Emilie broached the Alex subject as she sat with Sebastian in a cozy pub high up on the moors the following day. Sebastian’s face was thunderous as Emilie informed him of the latest carer’s departure, but she added quickly that, in her opinion, Alex was capable of doing much more for himself and they should give him a chance.

“Emilie”—Sebastian sighed—“we’ve been through this before. It’s very sweet of you to try and help, but I just don’t think you understand how volatile Alex is. What if he goes on another binge? Or has an accident getting in and out of his chair?”

“We threaten him with another full-time carer if he does. Perhaps”—Emilie persisted—“if he had more independence, he wouldn’t get so frustrated. And if we installed a panic button in the main house, at least we would know he was safe.”

“So, actually, you’re saying
you
are prepared to take the responsibility for his welfare? Because”—Sebastian sipped his pint—“I’m simply not going to have time in the next few months to pander to my brother’s every whim. And let me tell you, from past experience, there’ll be many.”

“Alex has asked me for nothing so far. In fact, he’s helped me paint the kitchen and cooked me supper.”

“Has he, indeed? Well, he’s obviously launched a full-scale charm offensive on you. Sorry, Emilie”—Sebastian shook his head—“I’ve seen it a thousand times before. I’ve warned you how manipulative he can be. And he certainly seems to have won you over completely. Perhaps he’s aiming for you to take care of him. Alex has always enjoyed stealing anything that was mine,” he said, pouting like a child.

“Really, Sebastian!” Emilie was shocked at her husband’s childish reaction. “I sometimes think that you two are as bad as each other. Of course it isn’t like that. I know it’s not for me to interfere, but can I suggest we try it Alex’s way for a while? He craves independence, and maybe he’ll be easier to handle if he gets it. Should we not give him at least a chance to prove himself?”

After a long pause Sebastian said, “All right, I surrender. If that’s what you want, then fine. But don’t you see, Emilie? He’s managed to win you round already, and I’ll look like a curmudgeon if I refuse.”

“Thank you.” She placed a comforting hand on his and squeezed it. “I would simply like for things in the house to be calmer than when I arrived. Especially for your sake, because I love you. Now, do we have time to drive across to Haworth? I would so love to see the vicarage where the Brontë sisters lived.”

•  •  •

That evening, while Sebastian was sequestered in his study on his computer, Emilie went to see Alex, who was eating his supper in his kitchen.

“Sebastian has agreed to my suggestion.”

Alex’s face showed his relief. “Then you’re a miracle worker and I salute you. Thank you, Em, really.”

“I’ll try to find you domestic help in the next few days, but if there’s anything you need me to do in the meantime, then please, you must ask.”

“Sit down and keep me company for half an hour?”

“I can’t, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for Sebastian and me.”

“Of course. Well then”—Alex turned his attention back to his own supper—“have a nice evening.”

“Thank you. And you.”

Sebastian was already in the kitchen when she entered it. “And where have you been? I was calling you.”

“To check on Alex, and he’s fine.”

“Good.”

He was unusually quiet all through supper. “Are you all right, Sebastian?” Emilie asked as she cleared away the dishes. “You seem . . . unsettled. Is there anything wrong?”

“No, nothing. Well, to be honest, yes. Come and sit here.” Sebastian patted his knee.

Emilie did so and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Tell me.”

“Okay . . . this will sound churlish and juvenile, I know: the fact is, I don’t want to share you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look what’s already happened. Alex has managed to charm you into convincing you he doesn’t need anyone to care for him. As he’s on his own now, you’ll feel dutybound to check in on him, like you have this evening. He’s already luring you in, getting your attention, probably complaining about his cruel big brother and telling you all sorts of lies about me.”

“Sebastian, that’s simply not true. Alex never talks of you to me,” Emilie said firmly.

“Well, I’m not comfortable with it at all, Emilie. I’m not always going to be here, and I can imagine the number of cozy tête-à-têtes he will coerce you into having with him. I know you think I’m overreacting, but you have no idea what he’s like. As I said earlier, he might try to steal you away from me.”

“That will never happen.” Emilie stroked Sebastian’s hair. “It’s you I love. I’m only trying to help.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. And I also know how stupid I sound, but Alex is so manipulative. And I don’t want him to destroy our wonderful relationship.”

“He won’t, I promise.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a good idea bringing you back here”—Sebastian sighed—“but given the circumstances, I can’t see that at present we’ve got any other choice.”

“You know I—
we
can afford an apartment in London, Sebastian. Then we could be together there and—”

“Emilie,
you
said it:
I
.” Sebastian’s face was taut with tension. “I’m fully aware that my wealthy wife could buy and sell a small country without denting her fortune, but give your husband his pride. I need to do this for myself, however hard it is on us.” He tipped her face up toward his. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry to be difficult, but I never want anyone to think I married you for money.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Good. Bed?”

•  •  •

Sebastian left on Monday morning to go to London and then on to France. As the morning was bright, Emilie found an old bicycle in the barn and decided to cycle down to the village shop. Parking her bicycle against the wall outside, she went in and waited in the line of locals to speak to the woman behind the counter.

“May I place this on your advertisement board?” Emilie handed over a postcard, advertising for a cleaner.

The woman took it, read it, and then looked up at Emilie, interest suddenly alive in her eyes. “Yes, it’s a pound a week. So are you the new wife Mr. Carruthers has brought home from France?”

The Yorkshire accent was strong and Emilie struggled to decipher the woman’s words. News obviously traveled fast around these parts, and Emilie knew her own accent was clearly French.

“Yes, I am. I will pay for two weeks,” she said, digging the coins out of her purse.

“Right-oh.” The woman nodded and took the postcard from her.
“Doubt you’ll be getting much response though. I’d try the local paper if I were you.”

“I will,
merci
—I mean, thank you.”

Emilie left the shop and was walking back toward her bicycle when a woman came hurrying out behind her.

“Mrs. Carruthers?”

Unused to being addressed by Sebastian’s surname, Emilie didn’t for a few seconds realize the woman was talking to her. “Yes?”

“I’m Norma Erskine. I was the housekeeper for many years up at Blackmoor Hall. I handed in my resignation just before you arrived.”

“Yes, Sebastian told me.”

“He came round the other day to ask me to come back, but I said I’d be having no more of it and he couldn’t persuade me otherwise.”

Emilie studied the woman: plump, short, with lively, warm eyes. “I’m so sorry Alex upset you,” she apologized.