In the evenings, he played guitar on the deck and called me out to join him, trying out song after song on me until he hit on one I knew the words to and could sing along with. My voice was only
serviceable, but he seemed not to care. He even brought out a second guitar and taught me a few chords, my fingers struggling to reach the right frets on the guitar’s thick neck. Though he still worked out in the mornings, he skipped his afternoon sessions in the music room to push Maddy on her swing or to have splash fights with her in the swimming pool. Whenever he spent time with Maddy, he invited me along. He even joined us in the breakfast room for dinner. I had never spent so much time in his company and — sadly enough — had never loved him so well.
The day before the rehearsal show, I tried to keep Maddy out of his hair, thinking he must have last-minute details to attend to. He spent much of that day wandering through the house, talking on his cell phone, and working through the logistics of the show and the tour that would follow it. I learned from Lucia that the band would be arriving en masse to meet him at the XL Center the next afternoon. I assumed Bianca Ingram would be there to bask in her boyfriend’s big night, but I didn’t want to ask. As long as I didn’t know for sure, I could hang on to one last smidgen of happiness.
I tried to put Maddy to bed early that night, but she was in a tizzy. It was, after all, her father’s first major concert in as long as she could remember, and she was full of questions. “How many people will be watching Daddy?” she wanted to know. “Will they be looking at me?” It took three stories to get her to sleep, but once she was out, I went for a walk on the grounds. As I passed by the window of Mr. Rathburn’s office, I heard him on the phone, conferring with someone about the stage setup and the procedures for letting fans into the general admission pit. The thought of tomor
row night’s show, and the likely presence of Bianca Ingram, made me sad. The prospect of the tour taking Mr. Rathburn far away made me even sadder. I didn’t feel up to polite conversation, so I walked on.
The sun was just setting, the sky above the guesthouse streaked with fuchsia and orange. The air was redolent with new-cut grass and freshly laid mulch. I walked past the pool house, toward the line of arbor vitae that made a lush screen to hide behind. Nearby, butterfly bushes rippled in a row, their purple flowers giving off a delicious scent. I walked around the wall of slender trees, slipped off my shoes, and felt the cool evening grass on my feet. I was wishing I’d brought my paints and brushes — it had been a while since I’d found time to paint — when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. There, coming around the trees, was Mr. Rathburn. I was seized by an impulse to hide, standing still enough to be unnoticed until he had passed by. But, no, he had seen me and was heading my way.
“I thought I saw you slip out of the house,” he called as he approached. “What are you doing back here?”
“Just going for a walk. I’m going to head back now.”
“Back to the house?” Now he was standing just inches from me. “On a beautiful night like this? There’s no reason to go in just yet. Why don’t you walk with me?”
I tried to think of a believable excuse. Failing that, I was silent and walked beside him. We took the path that led down toward the pine grove. In the clearing stood an enormous horse chestnut tree with a wooden bench beneath it. Mr. Rathburn paused there. For several minutes neither of us spoke.
He broke the silence. “I sometimes forget how gorgeous it is back here. As much as I love touring, I’m going to hate to be away from all this. What about you, Jane? Do you like it here? At Thornfield Park, I mean.”
“Of course I do.” Hadn’t he been listening the other day when I’d blurted out my confession that Thornfield Park felt like my only home?
“It’s too bad you’re thinking of leaving,” he said. “Maddy and Lucia will miss you.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“I’m thinking of that conversation we had a while ago,” he said. “You said I should look for a new place for you, so that’s what I’ve been doing.”
The news hit me like a punch in the stomach, but I stayed on my feet. “Does that mean you’re getting married, Mr. Rathburn?”
“I guess it does.”
I had to look away from his face. I bent down as if to scoop up a couple of the horse chestnut burrs that littered the grass. I touched one, and it pricked my fingers. When I could trust myself to speak, I dared only a single word. “Soon?”
“Very soon.” He thrust both hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his toes. “I might even propose before the tour begins. Bianca Ingram’s not the kind of woman who waits around for a ring. If I don’t tie her down soon, she’s liable to find herself some crown prince or a movie mogul, don’t you think?” He turned around. “Why won’t you stand up straight and look at me? And quit playing with those seedpods when I’m trying to talk with you… especially about something so important.” His tone was
petulant, as if
I
were the one hurting
him
. “Remember, leaving was your idea. And you’re right; sensible as always. Bianca wouldn’t be very happy to have you around the place.”
“Yes, Mr. Rathburn.” I wanted to warn him about the hardness I’d observed in Bianca Ingram’s character, but what good would it do? I was too late. Maybe he would have listened to me a few weeks ago. He’d even asked my opinion of her. Why hadn’t I spoken up then?
“As I promised, I’ve been on the lookout for a new position for you. I remember you saying you wished you could travel…”
“I said that?”
“You said you wouldn’t be here if you could afford to backpack across Europe, remember? I’ve been thinking that the least I can do is make that wish come true. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m acting in your best interest, that’s all. What would you say to Ireland?”
“Ireland?”
“I have a friend — you may have heard of him; he had a few hits around ten years ago — Duncan Webb. Does that ring a bell? He and his wife have a house outside Dublin, and they have five daughters. Can you imagine that? A lot of kids, but nothing you can’t handle.”
“It’s so far away…”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? You’re not going to wimp out on me, are you, Jane? An independent young woman like you. You’ll be fine on the plane, and Duncan will send someone to pick you up at the airport.”
“It’s not the traveling. It’s the distance… all the way across the ocean.”
“The distance from what, Jane?”
“From America, and from Thornfield Park. And…”
“Well?”
“From you, Mr. Rathburn.”
I said this almost involuntarily, and as I spoke, the tears I’d been holding back trickled out. Even so, I did my best not to sob. “It’s so far away,” I repeated.
“We’ll see each other again. When the band plays Dublin, I’ll send you a ticket. I know you’re not my biggest fan, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jane? The best seat in the house?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Not the same as what?”
I couldn’t think of a reply.
“We’ve become real friends, haven’t we, Jane? Not just boss and employee, I mean.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Here, have a seat.” He sat down on the bench underneath the tree’s wide canopy and scooted over to make room. “After tonight, I’ll be so busy getting ready. We’ve got so much to talk about — the tour, my wedding, your trip to Ireland.” I sat beside him. He continued. “How do you feel about me, Jane?”
It struck me as a strange question. I said nothing, because what could I say?
“Because I’ve had a strange feeling about you, ever since I first saw you…”
“When you almost flattened me with your car,” I supplied mechanically.
“Right. Even as I was giving you shit and you were standing up
to me in that quiet, stubborn way you have, I had this feeling about you… that we were, you know…”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I really, really don’t.”
“Kindred spirits,” he said. “Maybe that sounds all New Agey and cheesy, but it’s how I felt. How I feel. Like we were meant to take care of each other. That as different as we are, we’re weirdly alike.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“But what if… what if you were…” I wanted to ask him what if he was right, what if there was such a thing as kindred spirits, and we fit that description? But I couldn’t get the question out. I broke down and began to cry, sobs racking my body. “I wish I’d never come to Thornfield Park.”
Mr. Rathburn moved a bit closer on the bench but didn’t touch me. “Because you have to leave?”
Emotion won out over reason. “Yes. Of course. I love Thornfield Park. It’s the only place I’ve felt… valued. And that’s because you’re here, Mr. Rathburn. You could have treated me like an employee, but instead you’ve been a friend to me. No,
more
than a friend. And now I have to leave you.”
Mr. Rathburn’s voice softened. “Maybe you don’t have to leave.”
“But I do. I couldn’t live here with you and your new wife, and watch myself become nothing to you… because that’s what would happen, and I couldn’t stand it. Do you think because I’m… ordinary… that I don’t have feelings?” I could hear my voice rising, carrying across the field, but for once I didn’t care what the world thought of me. “Because I do have feelings, and if I were beautiful
and talented and famous, I’d make it as hard for you to leave me as it is for me to leave you.”
“Of course I know you have feelings.” And Mr. Rathburn stunned me into momentary silence by throwing his arms around me and pulling me to his chest. As I had the day he’d hugged me good-bye before sending me off to New York, I felt his heart pounding against mine. “Jane.” And then, before I could speak again or even think, he pressed his lips to mine.
An electric shock passed through me. For a moment I let him kiss me, but then I pushed him away. I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I had ever suspected that Mr. Rathburn had feelings for me, I’d long since convinced myself I’d been wrong, so why was he kissing me? “No,” I said. “You’re a married man.”
He looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe not yet, but you will be… soon… and to Bianca Ingram — of all the women you could have chosen! She may be some kind of famous beauty, but if you can’t see that she’s not good enough for you, then you’re not as smart as you pretend you are.” I struggled to free myself from the circle of his arms. “Let me go.” He released me, and I scrambled to my feet.
“I’ll let you go if that’s what you really want,” he said. He looked up at me from the bench, his gray eyes bottomless and warm. “But I wish you would come back and rest your head right here.” He patted his chest. “And let me love you the way you deserve.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” I took a step backward, then another. “You’ve already made your choice. I’m not going to come between you and your fiancée.”
“No. Of course not.” He fell silent for a moment. “Sit down next to me. Please. I won’t touch you again if you don’t want me to.”
I remained standing. For a moment, neither of us said a word, a mockingbird’s song the only sound. I still couldn’t stop the tears from running down my face. I rummaged in my pockets and found a tissue.
Some time passed before he spoke. “What if I told you that I’m not engaged to Bianca, that I never had the least intention of proposing to her?”
“I wouldn’t believe you,” I said. “You’re… you’re sleeping with her, right?”
“No,” he said. “Maybe the old Nico Rathburn would have.” He thought a moment. “The old me
definitely
would have. But no, I’m not sleeping with her.”
“But she wanted you. Anyone could see that. Why not?”
He rose and reached me in a single stride. “Because you’re the one I want,” he said, pulling me close again. “You’re the
only
one I want. Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Don’t you trust me, then?”
“Not one bit.”
I shut my eyes and inhaled his familiar scent. It would be too easy to just give in and let him hold me, to let him do whatever he wanted to. And why shouldn’t I? Except, of course, that the closer I let him get, the harder it would be to leave him, as I knew I soon would have to. I forced my eyes open.
“How do I make you believe me?” he said. “Bianca Ingram
didn’t want me, not really. All she wanted was to butter me up and get me to lower my guard. She wanted to get the best, most intimate photo spread she could pull off, so she flirted with me. Maybe she would have slept with me if that was what it took. I’ve been with a lot of women, Jane. That doesn’t come as any great shock, right?”
I shook my head.
“After a while, even a guy like me wants to be wanted for more than just his money and his power. Do you believe me now?”
I still wasn’t sure I did. “Some of them probably want to sleep with you for your music,” I told him.
“Maybe so. But that’s still not the same as wanting me because they know and understand me and like me even though I’m a flaming asshole,” he said. “Jane, you
get
me. And I think I get you. Now can you fucking well believe me?”
“But
me?
” I asked, for the first time allowing myself to entertain the possibility that he might, just might, mean some of what he was saying. “I’m not even pretty.”
He bent and kissed my forehead. And then he pulled the ponytail holder from my hair, brushed back the strands that fell free, and kissed me on my neck. I felt my body turn to liquid beneath his lips. “Jane, Jane, Jane,” he whispered. “Who made you believe you aren’t pretty?” And then, more distinctly, “Can’t you tell how much I want you?” I opened my mouth to speak and he pressed two fingers across my lips. “No matter what you do, you’d better not call me ‘Mr. Rathburn,’ ” he warned. And he lifted his fingers to let me speak.
“Nico,” I said. And he kissed me again, his hands in my hair,
and then on my waist. His lips were gentle at first, then more insistent. Then he released me. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. When had it gotten so dark out? With one finger he traced my profile, from my forehead, down my nose, to my chin, then down my throat to the top button of my blouse. Looking me straight in the eyes, he undid the top button. Then, when I didn’t object, he undid the next one.