An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance (13 page)

“The Freesdon calamari
looks very tempting. Yes, Sami, think I’ll start with the calamari,” Heather
said, her eyes wandering to the main courses. “Hmmm, the beef stroganoff to
follow please...” She paused for a moment. “Not sure about dessert. I’ll decide
later, I think.”

“You won’t be needing
dessert,” Ruben said. “I’m the afters you’ll be sampling upstairs later.”

Seeing the intensity in
his eyes, Heather blushed, imagining what was on his mind. Ruben ordered the
same starter, choosing a chicken dish for his main.

Totally engrossed in
one another, they sat chatting as they ate, sipping champagne. Against the
backdrop, the lake’s silvery sheen picked up darting fireflies, dancing flames
and the moon’s rippling reflections. After the main dish had been served
Edison, their chef for the night, joined them. He stood far enough back from the
table that his presence was not intrusive to the couple, resting a small violin
under his chin. As his bow glided across the strings, soft melodies rose into
the night sky. Ruben stood, and moved his chair next to Heather’s. With stolen
gazes and warm kisses, the two sat back, drinking in the ambience of their
romantic setting. Sami cleared the table, and joined his brother to provide the
vocal accompaniment, his serenade to an old Italian classic. Heather and Ruben
almost choked on their champagne, huddled together and giggling quietly, trying
not to offend his attempt at a tuneless rendition, as violin and voice
performed in two very different keys. Their footsteps disappeared into the
distance as the final notes were played; a fading melody, leaving the couple to
share their intimate moments alone.

“Definitely the
highlight of the night,” Heather giggled.

“Think he should stick
to waiting tables,” Ruben answered sarcastically, though he looked rather
amused. He stared out at the lake. “Fancy a dip, girl?”

The night was warm, and
it just felt right. As ‘girl’ passed his lips, it provoked a heated anger, with
Beth’s forgotten presence rearing its head once more, marring what up until
then had been a perfect evening.

“Ruben, I’d much prefer
it if you didn’t call me girl.”

Ruben frowned. “Why
not?”

“No reason, just please
don’t.”

“Is it just your way of
avoiding an answer to my question?”

“No, of course not. Don’t
be daft,” Heather said, grabbing his hand, not wanting to dampen the mood after
seeing the disappointment on his face.

“Okay, no worries,”
Ruben mumbled, shrugging his shoulders, as if dismissing his former suggestion
of a dip.

The mood soon lifted as
the torchlight died to a mere flicker, and they sauntered through the shadows
hand in hand towards the manor. The darkened hallway was lit by a twinkling
mass of kaleidoscopic stars that orbited the walls and ceiling, as if nature’s
beauty had entered with them, yet this beautiful imagery was the work of a
small rotating light projector. Heather stood in awe.

“Ruben, it’s...”

Her words were lost as
she was swept up in Ruben’s arms and carried towards the stairs. She lay her
head against his shoulder as they ascended into its waltzing illusion. Turning
slightly, and looking down to the hallway below and through the arched doorway,
Heather saw illuminated silhouettes appear before her, lost in a sequenced
dance; an unwelcome familiarity, a faint orchestral ensemble, their swaying
bodies lost in obscure melodies. Eyes closed and losing the strange visions,
she felt safe in Ruben’s arms. She did not want to play any part in the manor’s
ghostly games this time round.

Stealing a quick
glimpse, she saw that all was well, and with an inward sigh her arms tightened
around Ruben’s neck as he stepped onto the landing.
No, please, not again
,
she thought, as manifestations took shape in the hallway, more shadowy than the
previous silhouettes, their forms that of a man and a woman proceeding up the
stairway, lost from view momentarily as Ruben turned towards the bedroom. Stark
reality then hit as the grandfather clock started its melodic ticking, the
hands jolting in reverse, five past one, its eerie replay from which Heather
couldn’t escape.
Not this room
, she thought, feeling her body tensing.

Ruben must have picked
up on her reaction, and said, “Not having second thoughts, are you?” as he
lowered her to her feet.

“No, of course not,”
she replied, her smile masking her anxiety. She paused at the door. “Couldn’t
we use another room, though?”

“You won’t be saying that
when you look inside,” he said.

Taking her hand, he
placed it on the handle and pushed it down slowly.

“I didn’t spend all
afternoon getting things ready in here to use another room. Now, look in there
and tell me you don’t like what you see.”

An aisle of perfumed
tealights opened up before her, giving the illusion of cats’ eyes staring up
towards the bed. An oval tray lay on loose folds of the embroidered bed cover,
its centrepiece a warming fondue, from which rich scents of chocolate oozed
into the air, masked slightly by an underlying fruity tang.

“I promised you
dessert and I always keep my promises,” he said, fluttering kisses
against
her neck. He removed his jacket. “And this time we won’t be disturbed,” he
murmured, his breath against her ear.

She watched him as he
lay back on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to
join me?” he asked; his voice sounded playful.

She tiptoed between
flitting candlelight, and he reached out his hand towards hers. As their
fingers entwined, he pulled her close into the inviting warmth of his body.
Resting her head back on a soft feathered bolster, she stared up dreamily into
his eyes. He turned, and Heather allowed him to tease her with fruity dips and
heart-shaped marshmallows. Her mouth parted as he brushed warm chocolate across
her tongue.

“I want you,” he
whispered softly, his lips crashing down in a long lingering kiss.

Heather closed her
eyes. With one hand he unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it from his torso.

“Turn over, let me undo
you,” he said.

Stroking her arm, he turned
her slightly. Hearing an eerie creak, Heather jumped and breathed in deeply.

“Sorry, did I catch
you?”

“No, Ruben.”

Her zip half undone,
his hands wandered to her shoulders, pressing his thumbs below her shoulder
blades, the circular movements of his fingers a sensual massage Heather relaxed
into. She felt his warm tongue massaging her neck, then his fingers beneath her
dress, releasing the zip further. As Heather peered seductively under her
lashes at Ruben, her eyes widened upon seeing a ghostly figure of a woman at
the bottom of the bed, its shadowy figure watching them. Her body froze,
stiffening against Ruben’s touch, and she felt the bed dip as Ruben grabbed her
arms and looked into her eyes.

“Heather, what is it?
Just let go, you don’t need to be scared.”

“Can’t you see it?” she
gasped.

“See what?”

She could feel a
presence beside her, intimidatingly close, and a raspy voice spoke.

“Join me, Anna.”

The apparition moved
closer, and Heather could feel herself pushing Ruben away, fighting his advances.

“Ruben, get off, stop.”

Ruben leant up on his
elbows. “What’s wrong?”

She’d been here before;
it was like a flashback to a scene she’d seen previously, but it was much
clearer now; the gunshot, feathers flying. A face, clear and defined.

“Oh my God!” Heather
was now visibly shaking.

“Heather, what? Tell
me! What is it?”

“Frank,” she gasped.

“You bitch, you
ungrateful bitch, and I’ve done all this for you!” Piercing anger was in
Ruben’s eyes as he sat up, slamming his fists down on the bed.

The apparitions were no
more as his fists made contact, disappearing into obscurity.

“Ruben, you don’t
understand. I saw Frank, he was lying next to me.”

“I’m sick of your shit
and childish games; I thought you were a woman! Is it your way of getting back
at me for calling you Beth?” He paused. “No, you’re not that clever. It’s all
making sense now. You slept with him, didn’t you? Soon as my back was turned
you couldn’t wait. Well, for the record, girl, you weren’t the only one... Let’s
just say we’re even.”

“What do ya mean,
even?” She sobbed.

“Last night I wasn’t
alone, far from it, but then Beth’s all woman, and I’m only here with you now
coz she won’t have me back.”

“How could you?”

“Don’t waste your tears
on me, save them for Frank. You’re pathetic,” Ruben hissed, buttoning up his
shirt.

“Please don’t go,”
Heather pleaded, reaching for his hand. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

“God, Heather, I’ve
tried; you’ve had your chances. Well, no more.” He stormed towards the door.

“Please, Ruben, I love
you...”

Ruben turned, his eyes
cold. “Well, I’ve never loved you,” he said, and the door slammed behind him.

Heather sat feeling
uneasy. Why wouldn’t Frank and the ghosts of Freesdon Manor leave her alone? Or
did they only exist in her head? Gazing down at the tealights, she was
overwhelmed by sadness. Calling out Frank’s name had ruined everything, but
maybe Ruben already had since he’d slept with Beth; the glass, the pink
lipstick, the make-up at his apartment ... it was all becoming clear. But it
didn’t matter now. Beth was just an obstacle that, given time, she could see
herself getting round, and Frank, well, there really was no Frank.

“Ruben, wait,” she
cried, jumping from the bed.

Heather opened the
door, and was greeted by a subdued natural light.

“Ruben, Ruben!” she
cried, darting to the staircase, glancing past the banister to the floor below.

She stood momentarily,
scanning the hallway. With urgency in her cries, she raced down the stairs. She
knew she must catch up with him and explain, or try to at least. 

~•••~

“Y’ lost, miss?”

Heather’s eyes widened,
and she felt overwhelmed by a cold shiver. In unwelcome recognition, she saw
Anna, the maid, with that same ghastly white face and darkened eyes. Heather
ran blindly from the house and into the gardens.

“Good gracious, girl!”

Heather tripped and
fell to the ground.

“Please be so kind as
to explain the nature of your urgency.” 

Without a second to
think, her reply was no more than an automated response.

“Sorry, I...” Heather sat
frowning.

Nothing made sense.
She’d left the bedroom in the middle of the night, moments later Ruben had
disappeared into God knows where, and now she was sitting outside the manor in
broad daylight, looking up at an old woman talking in riddles.

“Ruben, where’s Ruben?”
Heather demanded, jumping to her feet before wiping away her tears. “And who
are you anyway?”

“I take great umbrage
at your tone,” the woman said.

Heather saw the woman’s
expression harden, her features almost shrivelling up in displeasure.

“I am Lady Haunchwood.”
The woman’s posture and intonation became informal. “Pray, is this not a
question I should be asking you?” Her voice was haughty, her words uninviting.
“Will you not introduce yourself?” she enquired, sharp tongued.

Her interrogating eyes
took no short cuts as they perused every inch of Heather. Lady Haunchwood was
an unpleasantly spoken elderly woman, with hard lines on her face.
Quite
manly in appearance
, Heather thought. Her dark hair was partially hidden by
some strange-looking hat, and the little hair that was visible was worn in
tight finger-sized ringlets, and framed a tired face. Her dress, more than a
trifle odd, was a high-necked fitted white gown, with an overly long
embroidered shawl draped around the shoulders.

Feeling somewhat
belittled, Heather told her her name, her eyes transfixed on the elderly woman.

“Heather?” she
questioned, leaning forward, her eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Heather, Heather
Richardson.” There was a growing agitation in her voice as the words rolled off
her tongue.

“Ah, Miss Richardson.
You are obviously foreign to these parts. Your parentage, child? On what estate
do you reside?”

Momentarily Heather
stood in silence, confused by the unheard-of phrasing.

“I don’t understand... I
must be dreaming. What’s happening to me?” she sobbed. “Ruben, the maid, Frank
... Frankie...” Her muffled words were not meant to be conversation, but were just
muddled thoughts and feelings she could keep inside no longer.

“Forgive me, Miss
Richardson; I was not aware of your acquaintance to the master. You must be ill.
Come inside, I absolutely insist. I shall send word for the doctor
immediately.”

“I don’t need a
doctor,” Heather scowled. “I just need Ruben, my family. Out of my way!” She
stormed past and into the house. “Ruben! Ruben!” she screamed, her voice echoing
through the hallway.

“Miss Richardson, I am
most seriously displeased. I will not tolerate this unruly behaviour!” Lady
Haunchwood hollered, bustling in behind.

“Beg y’pardon, mam,
it’s the miss, she’s taken ill,” a voice interrupted.

Heather turned, taken
aback by how many different faces somewhere between living and dead Anna seemed
to wear, though now she seemed very much alive. Heather’s eyes wandered to the
elderly lady, who appeared quite shaken by the maid’s words, Heather’s presence
clearly an unnecessary afterthought.

“I shall go to her
immediately. Would you be so kind as to call for a doctor?”

“Yes, mam, right away.”

Anna hurried through
the hallway, and when she was gone Lady Haunchwood regained her composure.
Footsteps echoed past Heather and on up the stairs. Heather stood alone in her
home, though it didn’t feel like home, with people in it that didn’t exist.
Shakily she sank down onto the bottom stair, feeling sick to her stomach, but
too upset to cry. She didn’t raise her eyes to the sound of the front door as
it opened, but managed a slight upward glance at the approach of footsteps.