The Man In The Mirror

“It’s in Madam’s room. She keeps a framed picture of him hidden in her dresser.”

My mouth opened in comprehension. “Ah …”

Carrie nodded meaningfully. “It makes me think sometimes that maybe she still loves him, and her messing around is all an act, but I don't know what to think when it comes to this household.”

“Will you show me the photo?”

She looked doubtful. “I don’t know I’d have to smuggle it out and …”

“Where is her room?”

“She used to be in the big room next to Zackary’s, but she moved to the East wing last year since she kept waking the boy up with all her noise.”

“Why not just take me there now?”

Carrie glanced at her watch. “Now might not be a good time …”

“She just went out an hour ago. It’ll be ages before she gets back,” I said hopefully.

“True, but what if she comes back?”

“It’ll only be for a second and we can hear the car come up the road anyway,” I coaxed persuasively. “We’ll be out in no time.”

With a sigh, she made a gesture with her hand to indicate I should follow her. We hurried up the staircase. Mrs. King’s room was every bit as grand as I had expected. It was decorated in white from her curtains to her beddings, and then with accents of a deep red in the vase of roses that sat by the corner and the settee by the window.

“See that pure white bedspread,” Carrie said as we hurried over to a French style dresser on the other side of the room.

I looked over to the bed. It was covered in white fur. “Yeah?”

“It’s made from the white bellies of little squirrels. Hundreds of them.”

“Ugh.”

“It’s in here,” Carrie said, as she dug through one of the bottom drawers, and produced a small framed photo of a man with thick dark hair and gray eyes.

I felt my breathing stop.

I stared at it, unable to speak, and didn’t even know that I had taken the picture from Carrie and was holding it in my hand. In the photo he was laughing, a drink in one hand, and the other across the top of the bench he was sitting on. I wondered where it was taken and just how much of this man his accident had killed?

“He’s a handsome devil, isn't he?”

“Are you sure this is him and not one of her lovers?” I asked, raising my head to look at her.

Carrie pulled a face. “Hmm … I never thought about that. Oh well, maybe it’s not him then.”

With one last look at one of the most intensely handsome men I had ever seen in my life, I gave the picture to back to her and watched as she quickly returned it to the drawer.

For some reason I found tears in my eyes and before Carrie could notice them I turned away. But the voice did indeed fit perfectly with the man: calm, and seemingly larger than life. At least that part of him had remained.

“We need to leave now,” Carrie said. I nodded in agreement.

We exited the room and parted ways. I returned to my room. The room was filled with beautiful blue light from the moon. I love moonlight so without switching on the lights I put the baby monitor on my bedside table, took off my glasses, and released my hair from its tight bun. Lost in thought I walked to the bathroom. Unzipping my unglamorous dress, I dropped it into the wash basket.

Then, I switched on the bathroom light and ran the bath. I came back into my room in my underwear to get my book. I picked it up from the bedside table and was suddenly aware of a movement by the window.

I couldn’t stop the startled scream that jumped out of my throat. The curtains moved and Mrs. King took a step forward. There was something menacing about her. Something mad. This woman was dangerous.

“I …What—,” I began. I was shocked to find her in my room.

“Lose the stuttering,” she said calmly to me.

Her calmness had a strange effect on me. I was suddenly keenly aware and completely calm too. I was at a disadvantage in my underwear, but I was not afraid of her. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking what you were doing in mine?”

I felt the first frisson of fear. She must have seen us come out of the room, or more likely go into it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would mind. I was just making sure I knew where it was in case I needed to get there in an emergency.”

“Mmmm.”

“Did you want something from me, Madam?”

She stepped closer and the light from the bathroom fell on her face. I was convinced then, that she was truly dangerous. “You’re quite the telecaster, aren't you?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Are you trying to drive a wedge between me and my husband, little fat girl?”

My mouth opened in shock, but before I could say a thing, she interrupted me.

“Save it,” she snarled. “From now on you can take Zackary out to play, but only after his tutoring sessions. Thereafter you must wash him down meticulously and ensure that he is spotless. Make sure his fingernails are clean. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I responded automatically. Being caught off guard in my underwear had robbed me of my confidence. I just wanted her out of my room.

“You better keep your eye on him and immediately report any scrapes or accidents. If he gets sick you'll have to answer to me.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Remember,” she took a step closer to me.

She was so malignant I had to resist the instinctive human impulse to step back from danger.

“One false move and you’re out of here.” Throwing a last triumphant look at me she sauntered out of the room. The door closed. I could still hear the water running in the bathtub. Soon it would be full.

I knew I should go and turn the taps off, but I just stood there shaking with a combination of shock and fury. I knew I had fat thighs, but … Shit. What a bitch. No one had ever spoken to me like that in my life. If anyone had dared I would have fought back, and told them to fuck off.

I should have fought back. I’d always been a fighter, I couldn’t understand why I didn’t. I was no coward. I should pack my bags and get the hell out of that mad-house. I knew I should. I had unknowingly stepped into a viper’s nest. It wouldn’t be quitting if I did. Anyone could see the best thing to do in this situation was to get the hell out as soon as possible. It was a lost cause. If I told April she would send her husband’s helicopter to come get me, but I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

I walked to the door and locked it. After that I headed towards the bathroom. Turning off the taps, I took the rest of my clothes off and got into the warm water. Silky water swirled around my thighs. I stroked them slowly as if they had feelings and she had hurt them. My mind was blank. I didn’t understand why I had allowed her to get away with talking to me like that. Why it was so important for me to stay. Was it because of the boy, the father, or because I knew she had declared war? She had deliberately come into my room and acted like she was a mad and dangerous foe to frighten the living daylights out of me. She expected me to leave after this.

But not so fast, Madam. I don’t scare that easily. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.

I got out of the tub, and naked, walked over to the window. Clouds had obscured the moon, but there were a great many twinkling stars in the sky, but my eyes looked for only one thing in the darkness. The lights in the room facing me were turned off, and I wished more than anything that he would appear in the window just like I had been certain he had on my first night here.

There was no sight of him and no call on the intercom either so I got into my pajamas and slipped into bed. The last thing I thought of before falling asleep was not the way Mrs. King had humiliated me, or how pathetic she had made me feel, but of a mysterious man with gray eyes, and how his beautiful eyes had remained passionate and intense, even though he was caught in a moment of laughter.

Chapter 15

Charlotte

I awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. I had a job to do. I was going to do it to the best of my ability. As stipulated by his mother in the memorandum of his care, I primped Zackary to perfection. One day soon I was going to stop this nonsense and teach him to dress himself. It was ridiculous that a child his age couldn’t dress himself.

His little socks matching his tie and his blond hair combed back neatly, we went to breakfast. I watched as he solemnly ate up Tuesday’s breakfast (scrambled eggs and homemade sausages), and was quite struck at the lack of resemblance between him and his father.

He was wearing a ridiculous stark white dress shirt which I couldn’t help but secretly hope he would ruin by the end of the day, and a pair of dark slacks that I was sure had had more care given to its tailoring and fit than even my most precious outfit.

He looked stiff and uncomfortable, even as he ate, his gaze restlessly moving and watching the transfer of food between his plate and lips. Poor kid was on lookout for stains on his clothes.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out and ruffled his hair. He looked up at me, surprised and questioning. I grinned at him. He didn’t return the grin. Placing his fork down, he smoothed his stubby fingers through his hair and sleeked it all back in place. Then he reached for the napkin on his lap, wiped his hands, and continued with his meal without ceremony.