Breathless (3 page)

Mrs. Gates' walked briskly, just like her son, as if they had to make good time. Charlotte followed her down a long hallway with framed portraits and up a back staircase.

"Mrs. Carey tried to make your room as comfortable as possible," Mrs. Gates told Charlotte as she led her to a doorway and produced a key. "But upon such short notice, she fears it may not be up to her usual standards. Nevertheless, I'm sure you'll be pleased with her work." Mrs. Gates gave Charlotte a reassuring smile before opening the door to her new room. Charlotte couldn't help herself-she grinned in happiness.

Her new room was painted a buttery yellow, with heavy cream curtains hanging from the large windows. Her bed, set in the corner, was dressed in a flowered comforter and had a wicker headboard. Also in her room there was a white writing desk and bookshelf, and a wicker table set, perfect for breakfast. In front of the largest window was built a white window seat where she could read or just look down at the London streets.

"And your washroom," Mrs. Gates continued, opening an adjoining door. The washroom was equally wonderful, with her own tub and set of mirrors. Charlotte could hardly wait to take a bath in the gleaming porcelain.

"I hope you find your room to your liking?"

Charlotte nodded earnestly. "Oh, yes! It's absolutely beautiful!"

Mrs. Gates smiled. "I'm glad. I should be getting back to making supper, but if you need anything be sure to ring for me." She gestured to a little bell attached to the wall by Charlotte's bed. "Our system is a bit outdated, but we don't mind. There is a young maid who comes to clean in the afternoons, but other than her, Topher and I are the only servants around the house." After seeing Charlotte's surprise, she continued, "There used to be many more of us. After the war started, many of our manservants went off to the military and our maids went to the country. We're the ones who stayed behind."

"And your husband?" Charlotte asked interestedly. But at once she regretted asking. Mrs. Gates face saddened at the question.

"My husband died years ago, in the same accident that killed Topher's sister Anna."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Is that what injured Topher's leg, as well? Is that what makes him limp?"

Mrs. Gates looked a bit surprised by Charlotte's questions. "Yes," she finally answered. "His leg was crushed in the accident. He's lucky he can walk at all. But he's still so sad he can't become a soldier like..." she stopped and cleared her throat and Charlotte knew they were finished talking about that.

"The Careys have requested supper at seven o' clock," Mrs. Gates said in a newly cheerful tone. "Topher will bring your luggage up to your room. If your clothes have been mussed by your travels, leave them the basket in your washroom and I'll wash them tonight. Mrs. Carey ordered you a few things in case you weren't able to bring many clothes from Paris. They're here in the wardrobe," she said, opeining the doors to the tall wooden closet. "You'll find everything in there."

"Thank you," Charlotte said to Mrs. Gates as she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Charlotte looked around her new room with a small smile. She pulled off her coat and hat and set them on the bed together, smoothing her cream colored dress with her hands. It was nice, she decided, but it was so Parisien. It would be nicer to wear something English for her first supper in England.

She walked to the wardrobe and looked at the clothes Mrs. Carey-Helen-had ordered for her. There was quite a selection of dresses hanging, as well as skirts and blouses; shoes were set on the bottom shelf and hats and gloves at the top. Most of the dresses' skirts were narrower than they were in France, Charlotte noticed, and shorter as well. She bit her lip, trying to decide what to wear before finally selecting a modest but classy black dress from the wardrobe, and little shiny heels to go with it.

After dressing, Charlotte went to her coat and pulled from the pocket a photograph she had stuck in there before leaving Paris. Clutching them in her hands, she walked over to the mirror which hung above her writing desk. Smiling to herself, Charlotte stuck the photograph of Luc in the corner of the mirror's frame. It was her favorite picture of him. He was about thirteen or fourteen years old and on the beach of their favorite vacation spot. He was kneeling beside a sandcastle, grinning, squinting into the sunset with his hair blowing in the summer wind. Oh, how she missed him already.

Charlotte looked past the photograph to her own reflection in the mirror. She took a deep breath.

"This is a fresh start," Charlotte whispered to herself. "This is a brand new beginning, without the frustrations and hurt that built up over so many years. This is a new chance to be happy, to have everything I wanted. This can be the beginning of a new life, a wonderful one that I had always wanted for myself, but could never have." She glanced over at the photograph of Luc. Oh, how she wanted him to be there with her.

"I promise," she whispered, touching the photograph gently. "I promise I'll make you proud. I promise I'll be a better Charlotte than I ever was. I promise, Luc."

Charlotte quietly walked into the dining room, looking about at her surroundings. The dining room was painted a deep red and decorated with golden frames and trinkets. It reminded Charlotte of a king's palace from one of her books. The large, heavy oak table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen and a half chairs. Charlotte could only imagine the dinner parties her mother could have held in a room such as this.

The Careys sat together at the table, the man at the head and the woman to his left. He looked up as Charlotte entered the room. He was even more handsome than in her mother's photograph, with sparkling brown eyes and chestnut hair, combed to the side. He looked kind, but his thick glasses gave him a certain air of intelligence.

"You must be Charlotte," he said kindly, his voice smooth as butter. He gave her a smile. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. I'm Lewis Carey. This is my wife, Helen."

Helen's photograph had not done her justice, either. Her blonde curls were styled to perfection and her blue eyes were bright and alert. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Charlotte had ever seen, even including her own mother.

"We're so glad to have you with us," Helen said in a baby soft voice, soft and sweet. Although they shared a profession, Helen's voice sounded nothing like Charlotte's mother's, which had been strong and unsettling.

Helen looked Charlotte up and down, as if examining her. "Oh, Charlotte. You look just like your mother. Beautiful."

Charlotte was surprised at this. "Thank you," she finally replied, finding her voice. "I haven't heard that very often. My brother Luc looks just like my mother. Everyone always says so. They say I look more like my father."

"Oh, you do," Helen replied quickly. "You have his hair and his eyes. But you remind me so much of Marie. How she acted, how she moved. When she was your age, of course."

"You knew my mother when she was my age?" Charlotte asked in surprise. Her grandparents had died long before she was born, and her mother had no brothers or sisters who could speak of how she had been when she was young. "What was she like?" Charlotte asked, greedy for details.

"Why don't you come sit?" Lewis asked, pulling the chair on his right for her to sit. "We can explain everything."

Charlotte went to sit beside Lewis at the table and smiled gratefully as he served her a plateful of the dish they were eating. Across from her, Helen clasped her hands on the tabletop, her delicate bracelets clattering against each other. Charlotte was at once glad she had dressed so nicely for dinner, noticing the Careys' elegant attire.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Lewis asked, gesturing to the cut-glass pitcher.

"Yes, please," Charlotte replied. She looked up at Helen. "Helen, how did you meet my mother?"

Helen cast a quick glance at Lewis before telling Charlotte in a very serious voice, "I met her when I was nineteen years old. I was cast in my first big theatre tour, performing
A Midsummer Night's Dream
in France. I played Helena, and your mother Hermia. We grew very close during our time together that year. I was heartbroken when we were parted. But I had been cast in one of Lewis' plays here in London, and your mother chose to stay in France with the man she loved-your Father."

"My mother stayed behind to be with my father?" Charlotte asked in surprise. She had never imagined that her parents' relationship might have begun so romantically, like something from a novel.

"Oh, she was quite taken with your father," Helen said with a smile. "He was still a medical student at that time. He came to a performance one night in Paris and absolutely fell in love with Marie. He begged to be let backstage to meet her. At first she was a bit taken aback, but finally agreed to go on a date with him. And they fell in love."

"I never knew," Charlotte remarked thoughtfully. She couldn't imagine her conservative father begging to be allowed to meet an actress, or her mother going on a date with a stranger she knew nothing about.

Helen nodded with a smile. "They seemed to be the perfect couple. Anyway Charlotte, when I moved back to London, your mother and I attempted to maintain our relationship. I would visit your mother and father in France and we had wonderful times together. But then, when I married Lewis and settled down," she smiled sweetly at Lewis and took his hand, "and your mother had her own children, we began to drift apart. But I have always considered her one of my greatest friends and there was no question in my mind when I received her letter, asking if me and Lewis would care for you during the war." Helen reached across the table and gently took Charlotte's hand. "We really are glad to have you here, Charlotte. Your mother was so wise to send you when she did. She loves you very much."

Charlotte felt her eyes fill with tears. She shook her head. "No. She doesn't. At least she probably doesn't anymore. I said some terrible things to her and Papa before I left." The guilt had been weighing on her ever since she had left France. She couldn't believe that she was here in London, safe, in a beautiful house with maids and a chauffeur and everything she could have possibly wanted. But meanwhile, Charlotte couldn't even imagine the kind of trouble her parents and Luc could be in at that very moment.

"Oh don't cry, darling!" Helen jumped from her seat and went to embrace Charlotte. "You're safe now. And your parents are smart people-they will keep themselves, and Luc, out of trouble. And as soon as they're able to, they will join us here in England."

"We're doing everything we can to make sure they're able to come," Lewis insisted, looking at Charlotte with his calm, serious eyes. "We're going to take care of your family, Charlotte."

"I miss them so much," Charlotte cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Especially Luc, my brother...he's my best friend...he's the only..."

"Oh I know, dear," Helen murmured, clasping Charlotte tighter. "I know how brothers are. They're like a part of you, aren't they?" Charlotte just managed to nod as she tried to wipe her face clean.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Lewis asked concernedly. "Anything we can do to make you feel any better?"

Charlotte shook her head again. "You're already doing so much," she cried.

"How about this," Helen proposed, brushing a loose strand of hair from Charlotte's face. "How about we go on a bit of an outing tomorrow, just you and me? We can take a shopping trip in the city, have lunch together..." Helen looked very solemnly at Charlotte. "Charlotte, I know I'm not your mother and I could never replace her, but I'd really love for us to have a relationship. I've always wished for a daughter, and Lewis has, too. I'd so love to have this relationship with you."

It now dawned upon Charlotte. She now realized that this was the true reason for the fashionable clothes, the glamorous room, the elaborate dinner...Helen had wanted a daughter of her own, to spoil and dote upon. But compared to what Charlotte was used to back home-spending countless nights alone, reading herself to sleep while her mother performed night after night, hardly casting a glance at her daughter when she finally returned home-maybe pretending to be Helen Carey's daughter for a while wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it seemed to be what Charlotte had always wished for, what she'd always dreamed of on the nights when she'd cry herself to sleep.

"That sounds wonderful, Helen," Charlotte replied truthfully, smiling.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" Lewis asked again. Charlotte imagined he could have been a wonderful father for someone. She wondered why the Careys had never had children, while her own parents had. The Careys seemed so much more parental than Charlotte's parents ever had been. "Anything we can do to make you feel more at home? We do want this to be like your home, Charlotte."

"My cat, perhaps?" Charlotte asked hopefully. "Could I keep him? I brought him from France. My parents thought he might make me feel more at home here. He's good and sweet, I promise! I know everyone seems to have the superstition about black cats, but-"

"Actually, black cats are meant to be very good luck around these parts," Lewis told her with a smile.

"Lewis has always wanted a pet, but we never had the time to train one," Helen said. "Your lucky cat is probably a blessing in disguise for our family. Of course you can keep him."

Charlotte grinned and began to eat her dinner, feeling lighter than she had in years. For once, everything seemed to be as she had always dreamed it, as if straight out of a book...