Just as I turn to head back to bed, the ghostly white female figure standing in the doorway makes me jump, so much so that Ialmostlose hold of the glass, but still manage to spill a great deal of water all over myself.
“Oh madam!” says Helena. “I really didn’t mean to make you jump. I just heard a noise and my bedroom is only a little way down the hall. Is everything okay? Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I’m fine,” I offer, but my face must be telling a very different story.
“You certainly don’tlookokay,” she replies, stepping towards me and rubbing my arm gently.
And all of a sudden, I just can’t hold it in anymore.
I feel my body crumple as I begin to sob, and to my surprise, I quickly feel Helena’s arms wrapping tight around me, pulling me into her in a warm, comforting hug.
“There, there,” she murmurs, stroking my hair as I sob even harder against her shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
When I’ve eventually finished crying, she smoothes the wet strands of hair from my face and then says with a kindly smile, “Now listen. I’m going to make you another one of those hot chocolates you like so much and then you’re going to tell me just what’s the matter, okay?”
I nod, smiling shyly.
Once she’s made the chocolate, we both sit at one of the counters in the kitchen on a couple of stools, illuminated only by the moonlight, the steaming glass of chocolate cupped in my hands, and she says, gently but firmly, “Now what’s got you so worked up? Is it Marcus?”
I look up at her, assessing her kindly face, realizing that maybe for the first time in my life I reallycanopen up to her.
“I don’t know, Helena,” I sigh. “It’s all kind of complicated. I guess itisto do with him, but there’s a lot more stuff too, stuff from my past ...”
“Forgive me if I’m being a little forward here,” she continues, “but I’ve known Marcus for a great number of years – both as a boy and as a man – and it hasn’t escaped my attention in recent times that his, well, moreunusualtendencies have become rather gossiped about in certain circles. You can’t work in this house for very long, without realizing that Marcus has a few, how can I put it, curious bedroom proclivities. Isthatwhat’s causing you distress, my girl?”
I fight back a blush as I shake my head. “No, that’s not quite it,” I sigh. “If you want to know the truth, I’ve actually reallyenjoyedthe, um,thingsthat Marcus and I have done this week ... No, it’s not quite that.”
At this, she places her hand gently over mine, squeezing my fingers, as if to tell me that whatever I say here will be among friends.
“Okay,” I continue, “if you must know, for some reason this week has stirred up a lot of messed up stuff from my childhood. My dad left when I was young, and my mom ... Well, she did her best to raise me, but she was also into drink ... and drugs. And she had a string of good-for-nothing boyfriends too, one of which in particular ...”
I pause, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes again.
“Oh poor dear,” Helena sighs, putting her arm around my shoulders now. “Take your time ...”
“I don’t even want to say hisname,” I murmur. “He was horrible. He beat my mom ... and me. He ruined my childhood. I’m just glad he’s dead. He OD-ed when I was seven. But now it feels like he’sback. I keep dreaming about him ...”
“My dear,” Helena says gently, “I think that you and Marcus might have more in common that you think. You see, I’ve been a part of this family since he was just a baby, and his parents were rather distant, I suppose you could say I was something of a mother figure to him. But my influence and protection could only go so far. And, well, Marcus’s father? Cruel doesn’t go halfway to describing it ...”
I feel a sudden rush of tenderness for Marcus then, imagining him as a scared little boy.
“I think you need to have a good long talk with our Mr Whitelaw,” Helena adds with a tender smile. “Don’t you?”
“Maybe,” I mumble, sipping my chocolate.
But how can I explain to this kind old woman that our whole relationship is built around acontract– and that I still suspect that when this damn week’s over, I’ll be tossed out like last week’s trash ...
Twenty-Eight
Marcus
ThankGod it’s finally Saturday, I think, the moment I wake up. No more work, and even better than that – I finally get to spend a whole day with Jennifer.
I turn over in bed, expecting to find her there lying next to me, and then I remember again that strange dream she had, the one that seemed to shake her up so much, and how she left in the night, while I was still half asleep.
I push myself out of bed and quickly grab a shower in the en-suite, before throwing on some comfy casual clothes – just jeans and a t-shirt – and then heading off into the house to find out where she’s got to.
First I try her room, but after knocking a couple of times to no reply, I decide to try the lounge, or perhaps the Livingston Suite.
