Breathless (19 page)

Later that evening, they walked along the London pavements, eating ice cream from a little shop that Wes knew about. Charlotte was enjoying this part of the evening best. She enjoyed walking beside Wes, close enough so that their hands brushed one another's once in a while, while they casually talked about anything and everything that was on their minds. But especially about theatre. Charlotte was glad that it seemed someone else loved theatre as much as she did. But one topic was still haunting her mind.

"Wes," she said, finally summoning the courage to ask. "Why doesn't anyone ever talk about your relationship with Jack? Why is everyone always so quiet on the subject?"

Wes was quiet for a moment, but to Charlotte's relief, he didn't seem at all put off by the question. On the contrary, he seemed quite pensive. "What did Topher tell you?" he finally asked Charlotte. "I'm not quite sure where to start."

"Only a little," Charlotte told him. "But I'd rather hear the entire story from you."

Wes thought for a moment, eating a bit more of his ice cream. But then he began, very quietly, very matter-of-factly.

"My father was a soldier in the Great War," Wes told her. "He was very young, but very passionate about it. He wanted nothing more than to go off to war. He was only sixteen when he enlisted. And he was immediately sent to the Battle of La Somme, in France." He looked at Charlotte. "While he was there, he fell in love with a young French woman named Sylvie."

"Sylvie," Charlotte whispered. "Just like-"

"Just like your play," Wes smiled. "Lewis named the play after my mother."

Charlotte shook her head. "I never knew."

"Not many people do. Not many people know my story," Wes told her with serious eyes, as if telling her that she had to be a special person to be able to hear it. "My mother had lived in nearby France and wanted to help the English. She offered her services to the English, to help nurse the wounded soldiers. She and my father met when he was shot in the side. They fell in love as she tended to him. When he was sent home to recover from his injuries, he insisted she come back to England with him, where she would be safe. And she agreed.

"He recovered at Helen and Lewis' home, with my mother by his side the entire time. And when he felt well enough to go back to the war, both Lewis and my mother protested greatly. They didn't want more harm to come of him. But he was adamant. This was what he wanted to do.

"He was killed in June of 1918. They brought his body back home, but it was so badly disfigured that it was barely recognizable. I don't think it would have even been brought here if it weren't for Lewis, who had insisted so much. My mother was a complete mess. She didn't want to do anything or go anywhere. But it was becoming painfully obvious by the day that she was pregnant. I was born on November 11th-the very day that armistice was called and the war ended. And I think that must have just added salt to her wounds, to have her fatherless son born on the day the war that killed him ended."

Charlotte shook her head in sympathy. "I wouldn't have been able to bear it. But at least she had Helen and Lewis to help her through everything."

"But that's one of the worst parts of the story," Wes told her with a grim smile. "My mother adored Lewis. But she fiercely hated Helen." Seeing Charlotte's shocked face, Wes nodded. "Helen was the closest person my father ever had. She was born mere months before him. They did everything together and grew up side by side. And when he wanted to go to war, Helen supported him. She
encouraged
him. And when he wanted to go back the second time, she still stood by his side. When he was killed, my mother blamed her for everything, saying he wouldn't have gone if Helen hadn't encouraged him to. And she may have been right. But Helen never forgave herself after that. No matter what she did-dedicated performances to him, hung his portrait over her hearth, named her own son after him...it never seemed like enough. She still hates herself over it."

"But then how did you ever come to live with the Careys?" Charlotte asked. "If your mother hated her so?"

"Because she was the only one my mother could turn to, and know that she wouldn't be refused." Wes looked down at his feet. "I was only six months old when my mother caught the Spanish Flu. She knew she couldn't take care of herself, or me for that matter. She went to the Careys looking for help. They took her in. She lasted only a week before she succumbed to it. And then the Careys took me in as their own."

"Before Jack was even born?"

"Before Jack was even born," Wesley repeated. "So you see, Charlotte. He was never the spoiled only child that everyone makes him out to be. On the contrary, he took on the role of the playful, frisky, second-born who could never amount to enough in everyone's eyes, because he was in the shade of two great shadows."

"Of yours?"

"And Topher's," Wes added. "You wouldn't think it, would you? But from a very young age, Topher excelled in school. He could have gone to any school in the country for University. He was accepted to Cambridge, you know. But the scholarship wouldn't cover all of the costs, and although the Careys gladly offered to pay the bill, he couldn't accept it. He wanted to be a self-made man like his father had been, not someone who had to rely on others to get where he wanted to be in life." He sighed. "And then there was me. Not particularly extraordinary at any certain thing, but well-behaved, well-mannered, diligent in school, friendly, careful. But when Lewis and Helen expected these same things of Jack...I don't think he could handle those expectations. So he rebelled. But the problem was that he didn't just rebel against his parents, he rebelled against his life. He was just as smart, just as quick as Topher, and could be just as charismatic as I could. But he hated being compared. So he made a new name for himself.

"As the years continued, he continued to push away from his parents, while I held on. I needed them. Especially since I always felt the absence of my own parents. So naturally, as time went on, Helen and Lewis began to feel they had a more close relationship with me than with Jack."

"But Jack didn't like that," Charlotte said quietly, remembering what Topher had told her.

Wes smiled at Charlotte knowingly. "Despite his rebellions, Jack gets surprisingly jealous. And he was jealous of me, for the attention I got from his parents. So when I went to University, it was agreed that I give them some...space...to maybe make things better between them and Jack. But I'm not sure if it all was worth it," he chuckled. "Because I'm not so sure that he's ever changed."

"So..." Charlotte said slowly. "You've never really had a good relationship with Jack?"

Wes shook his head. "Never. I always loved him like a brother, but I don't think he ever liked me. We could never talk to each other. And even now, it's odd seeing him. He's like a stranger, who I've lived my entire life with." He frowned and shook his head again. "But I'm not willing to give up Helen and Lewis. They're all I really have left. I can't lose them now, because of my cousin." And then he was silent.

Charlotte looked at Wesley. She had never seen him so quiet, so upset. All she wanted to do was comfort him, to tell him that someone was there for him. But she couldn't find the words.

"I'm glad," she finally told him. "I'm glad that I, out of everyone who could have, is paying this tribute to your mother, in the play that's named after her." Wes looked up at her. "She probably wouldn't even care," Charlotte said with a laugh, shrugging her shoulders, "that some silly little French girl who has barely a care in the world will be playing her role...but I'm glad."

"I'm glad, too," Wes said with a smile. "And I think you're wrong. I think she would be very glad that you're playing the role. And I also think she'd find it funny that history is repeating itself," he said with a coy smile.

"What?" Charlotte laughed.

"That her very own son is so intrigued by a young French girl, just like my father was."

Charlotte blushed, but her smile grew uncontrollably. She looked down at her feet, trying to hide her grin.

But then, softly and gently, she felt Wes take her hand in his, slipping his fingers between her own. She looked up at him in surprise, in genuine happiness, and found him looking down at her with the very same expression. And in that moment, everything felt right. In that moment, it didn't matter that he had a tragic family life, or that her brother was still in France. For she had found someone who made her feel like she had never felt before.

He was still the perfect gentleman. He walked her up to the door and said goodbye, said that he had loved the time they had spent together, and gently kissed the back of her hand, looking up at her with his sincere brown eyes. He didn't try to kiss her on the lips. He seemed as if he didn't want to spoil anything, after their perfect night.

Charlotte could have leapt with excitement, with joy. Wes just made her feel perfect, as if she was doing everything right. She ran up the stairs gleefully, dancing and swirling all the way, imagining that this must be exactly what all girls felt like when they were in love.

Love.

That stopped Charlotte right in her tracks. Could she be in love with Wesley? She had barely known him for two weeks. Could that even be possible? Could all of the
Romeo and Juliet
myths be possible?

Charlotte pondered this as she made her way to her room, but something stopped her. There were strange sounds coming from Jack's room. Curious, Charlotte crept toward his door, telling herself that it was alright, after he had snooped in on her telephone call that evening. She peeked through the crack in the door, and caught the strange sight of Jack, sitting in his desk chair, with her own friend Celia nearly on his lap, as they kissed passionately.

Charlotte bit her lip. She wondered what it must be like, to kiss someone that fiercely, with such passion. She wasn't mad at Celia. She wasn't angry with Jack. She was just surprised. Quietly, Charlotte backed away from the door and went to her own room, with these strange and new feelings clouding her mind all at the same time.

"But Leighton, what else can I do?" Charlotte cried, outstretching her arms. She took Emilie, who, in costume, looked like a dirty little street rat at the moment, under her arm. Charlotte couldn't imagine she looked much better, herself. Her costume for this part of the play consisted of a torn, dirty old-fashioned dress. Her face was splattered with grime, and her wig looked a wreck. Had she looked like this in real life, she would have felt embarrassed to even speak to Wesley. But she was acting a part, just as he was acting stingy and arrogant as the spoiled rich boy Leighton, dressed in a fine three piece suit with pinstripes. "I need to find a way to survive. I need to find a way for Colette to be safe and warm and happy."

"Hold, please," came the call from the stage manager.

Charlotte sighed. It was the night before the show opened, and it was proving to be the most tedious of tech week. It seemed after every other line she spoke, the stage manager would call for all the actors to hold their places, so that the crew could adjust lights or props. It was all very tiresome. The entire week had been stressful and difficult. Charlotte had barely gotten sleep between the late rehearsals and school, and was feeling very cranky and exhausted from the fatigue. She could tell Wes felt badly for her, for he kept casting her pitiful looks with his big puppy dog eyes, and had even brought her some pastries to reward her for the long week. And on top of everything, Charlotte was getting sharp pains in one of her teeth, causing her to flinch in discomfort.

"Are you alright?" Wes asked, concerned. He ignored the stage manager's protests, and walked up to Charlotte, taking her by the arm.

"I'm fine," she insisted, not wanting to delay the rehearsal even further.

"She's not," Emilie stated to Wes. "She's been cringing every time she talks. I think her mouth hurts."

Wes looked at Charlotte seriously. "What's hurts, Charlotte?"

Charlotte sighed. "It's just one of my teeth. I'm fine. We have more important things to worry about."

"Oh, really?" Wes asked, obviously amused. "There are more important things to worry about than the health of our leading actress? I don't think so. Helen," he said, beckoning for her. "Charlotte has a toothache. Don't you think she should go have it looked at before opening night?"

Charlotte was ready to protest, not wanting to cause Helen any further stress, but to her surprise, Helen nodded and said in a very motherly tone, "Absolutely, Charlotte. We can't risk your health just because of tech week. I'll tell Mr. Danube straight away and we'll get you to a dentist."

"Oh no, Helen," Charlotte protested. "I couldn't possibly ask you to leave rehearsal. Then Mr. Danube will be short of two lead actors."

"There are understudies, Charlotte," Helen told her logically.

"No," Charlotte shook her head. "And I don't want you leaving to take me, either," she told Wesley, who was about to offer. "Just have a car come take me to the dentist. I'll go by myself. I'll be fine."

Helen thought for a moment. "I have to agree with you, darling. We shouldn't cause Mr. Danube any more stress. Or Lewis, for that matter," she added, glancing at her husband who sat in the front row of seats, scribbling in his notebooks. "I'll have Jack come by with the car and he'll take you. No excuses," she said sternly to Charlotte.