CHAPTER THREE

Red Haired Replacement

I met Mable at lunch. She was a beautiful piece of work. Her hair was brown like mine, but it had been touched up with way more highlights. She wore an extremely messy bun, navy nail polish, smoky eye shadow, and even though she worked as a cook, she drove a yellow Mercedes. I met her in the kitchen.

“You’re Beth?” she asked when I came in.

“And you’re Mable?”

She nodded and continued chopping chives.

“Nice car,” I said pleasantly.

I expected her to say something curt like, ‘It’s my husband’s’, or ‘Christian lets me use it when I have to go back and forth from the house three times a day’, or ‘It costs a fortune to maintain’, but she didn’t say those things. What really came out of her mouth was, “It was my birthday present to me three weeks ago. You’ve got to take care of yourself sometimes.”

She placed the haddock in front of me with a flourish and packed up the leftovers to take home with her. “If you want anything special in the fridge, just write it on the back of the menu and I’ll get it when I go shopping tomorrow.”

I saw she had left a menu for me to approve on the table and heard the front door click. She was already gone. I got up and looked out the window. She was walking down the front steps, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes.

I ate up, but I wasn’t two bites in before the house phone rang.

With one word, “Hi,” I knew it was Christian.

“Hi.”

“How are you settling in?” he asked pleasantly.

“Fine.”

“And your trip went well?”

“Yep. Thanks for the basket. The food you picked was fantastic.”

“Good. And how do you like your room?”

No sense lying. “I wouldn’t know. I slept in your dog room.”

“My dog room? What dog room?” He laughed.

“You know, that little room with the old couch, the bike, and the ancient wool blanket.” I left out mentioning the fashion magazines.

He groaned. “You shouldn’t sleep in there. Why aren’t you sleeping upstairs?”

“It was really nice of you to have a room prepared for me, but you could have asked me what I like.”

He sounded surprised. “You don't like it?”

“I like it fine. That's not the problem. I wanted to make up the room myself. You've already done everything.”

“Well, feel free to change anything you like,” he said obligingly.

“You won't feel hurt if I rip the whole thing out and change every last detail?”

“Uh...” he said.

That was the first time I ever heard him say the word 'uh'. He always knew exactly what to say. He never stuttered.

“I'll leave it alone,” I suddenly decided. “You made it for me and I'll leave it alone.”

“Not perfectly alone, Beth. It needs to be lived in.”

“Yeah, I want to live in your house,” I said, my words heavy with an internal meaning that didn't come through in my voice. “Why are your books locked up?”

“Because they're valuable. Each volume is a collector’s item worth thousands of pounds. They are not for reading. Many of them are first editions and if you touch even one of them I’ll send you to public school next semester,” he quipped.

“You sell them to pay my tuition?” I gasped.

“Don’t assume, but the sale of a few of them would pay for an entire year of your schooling—eighty thousand dollars or so. Anyway, I’m teasing. Enjoy your lunch and I’ll see you this weekend.”

I withered when he hung up the phone.

The rest of the day bordered on boring. I kept 'almost' running into Charles. After lunch, I tried to tour the yard, but he was working in the flower beds. It looked like I was trying to bump into him when I didn’t want to see him at all. Hiding in the library wasn’t much better. He kept coming in. I didn’t realize there were plants in the library until he came in to water them. In the end, I went back to the dog room and didn’t leave until it was time for dinner, which I ate completely alone.

The next day ran nearly the same, except by that point I had decided on a strategy to avoid Charles—pick a spot and stay in it. Charles came in to water the plants in the library three times before I figured it out. I wasn’t accidentally running into him; he was the one who was stalking me. I hoped I was imagining his interest. Maybe I was wrong and house plants in Scotland needed to be watered carefully, drop by drop, with an extra small watering can.

The next day, he finally chirped up. “Are you really this reclusive? Is that why you came here?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?” he blurted. “There has to be a reason why a promising young woman such as yourself came to the middle of nowhere to read. Are you getting over a painful love affair? Did you come here so you could lick your wounds privately?”

I ran my tongue along the outside of my bottom teeth. “Not exactly. I'm not 'getting over it'. I’m experiencing that painful relationship right now.”

“And being here makes it less painful?” he asked anxiously.

“No. Being here makes it more painful,” I said, surprised at my own forthrightness. I sighed. “It’s just that sometimes it’s better to feel what you feel, don’t you think?”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“You sound like a soppy singer.”

I flicked my hair out of my face and went back to reading. My book was trite by the way, but everything is when you’re essentially stuck in the waiting room.

“Why don’t we become friends?” Charles asked, carefully approaching and reading the cover of my book.

“Christian would love that,” I said coldly.

“If you’re so against the idea, why did you hug me the other day?”

“Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” I asked, feeling heat assail my cheeks.

“No.”

I glared at him. I never hated a person for having freckles before. I had freckles, but every spot on his face, every curve on his body that didn’t belong to Christian was hateful. I wanted to be with the Christian who was faking being Charles Lewis so he could be with me—so he could be a teenage boy and kiss me in front of everyone. How come he couldn’t be Christian? I wilted. The clueless loser in front of me didn’t deserve to be despised.

I bit my lip and went back to reading. I had to tolerate him until I could get an explanation from Christian.

“So, what did Christian tell you about me?” Charles persisted.

“Please ask him yourself,” I said in a small voice. “I’m not good at explaining and I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of you. He’s coming this weekend. You can talk to him then.”

After I said that, Charles stopped trying to talk to me and went back to his work. I should have been lonely, but I wasn’t. With Charles gone, I got to thinking and hoping. I felt blind about the masquerade unfolding before me. I just needed a hint. What could I find out if I could unlock the master bedroom on the second floor? I wasn’t good at picking locks or intrigue by myself. I needed Trinity.

I picked up the house phone. That was where I made my first mistake. My cell phone was upstairs, but I knew there was nothing wrong with charging Christian with a long-distance call. He paid all my bills anyway, so I picked up a phone on a side table and dialed her number.

Trinity was spending the first month of her vacation in Muskoka at one of her parents’ vacation homes. She was planning to spend the second month in Paris brushing up on her French. You’d think that would be a dream vacation, but her parents were going to be in Rome for both months. Her step-sister lived in Paris and she only was taking her out of pity. When I called Trinity, she was sitting on the back porch looking down on the unbelievable beauty of the lake country, all the while swatting mosquitoes. She was never without her cell phone.

“I can’t believe I’m only hearing from you today, Beth-the-bum. Your phone has been dead since you took off. Did you know?”

I frowned. Actually, I didn’t know because I found my cell phone boring. It had plenty of juice the last time I tried it, but I didn’t have internet access and without it, the phone quickly lost its appeal.

“Sorry,” I said, “but now you’ve got the house number here and it’s not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

“I’ve been thinking of coming to see you for a weekend when I’m in Paris. Do you think Charles would mind?”

I nearly bit my tongue out. That was right. She thought that this house belonged to Charles. I had to think of a lie. Half-truths and half-lies made great cover-ups. “Trinity, my life is so screwed up. I didn’t meet a random guy in Calgary.”

“What?”

“Charles is Christian’s gardener. He sent him to get me because he couldn't get away. I’m staying in Christian’s house. That’s why he let me come here.”

Trinity loudly popped her bubblegum. “That man is so skewed. So, he left you there to fool around with his gardener? I love it. I wish my parents would die and leave me to some sexy businessman.”

“Except, aren’t you eighteen in six months? What good will it do you then?”

“Touché. Anyway, how are things going with Charles? Still romantic? Is he good with his tongue?”

“As of this moment, my plans surrounding him are off. It’s safe to say that we won’t make a good couple no matter what Christian thinks. I’m mad at him for even suggesting it.”

There was a weird sound almost like a cough on the other end of the line.

“Trinity?”

“That wasn’t me,” she defended.

Then there was a click.

“Crap. Someone has been listening on my end of the line,” I said hotly.

“Who?”

“Charles. He’s the only one here, except I thought he was outside. I’ll have to call you back.”

I hung up the phone, just as Charles burst into the library. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“You like listening in on private phone conversations?” I asked smoothly. That rich, snobby voice was so handy. My disdain could always cover up all my other emotions, including embarrassment.

“What? I picked up to make a phone call.” His face was as red as his freckles.

“Well, when you heard the line was in use, you obviously should have hung up immediately. What’s your excuse?”

“You were talking about me! I had a right to hear what you said.”

“No. You didn’t. We could have been talking about anyone. Just because we were talking about a man named Charles, it was ridiculous of you to assume it was you.”

“Were you talking about some other Charles then?”

I shrugged indifferently.

“You little liar!” he said without hesitation.

That took my breath away. I had never been called a liar in my whole life, even when I lied outright. I was so angry, it felt like my ability to talk was lost in my fury.

“You were too talking about me,” he said forcefully, putting his face close to mine. “You just won’t admit it.”

I hated him. His cheeks were pudgy and the muscle in his jaw looked weak. I wanted to slap his face. I almost did, but he moved away from me and headed toward one of the conservatories saying horrible things all the way.

“You’re just angry that I didn’t fall for you when you threw yourself at me the other day,” his voice echoed across the room as he walked out.

I couldn’t let him go like that. I got off the couch. I had to make him understand how wrong he was, but even though my feet stomped across the library carpet, I couldn’t think of what to yell at him.

“I don’t like you,” was all I managed to come up with by the time I caught up with him by the pool.

“Of course, you don’t. Not after I called you by your right name—a liar. Why would you tell your friend you met me in Calgary? I’ve never even been to Canada. What are you covering up, little liar?”

I snapped. I picked up his watering can and dumped the whole thing out on his head in one splash. Not that it had much water in it. It was a small watering can.

“I’m not a liar,” I said coldly, as water ran down the end of his nose in a stream. “You heard the wrong part of the conversation. Don’t assume you know what’s going on. It’s rude.” I dropped the watering can while he stood there stupefied.

I turned around and tried to make a dignified exit back into the library. No such luck. Charles came up behind me and hefted me up off the ground.

“What are you doing?” I squealed.

“Just so there’s no mistaking—I didn’t accidentally push you into the pool,” he said as I fought him. “I picked you up and threw you in deliberately.”

“No!” I screamed.

And just as Charles was about to dump me bottom-first into the pool, a smooth voice at the door interrupted him. “Perhaps I should have expected this.”

Charles didn’t drop me, but instead turned his whole body, so both of us could see Christian standing in the door frame.

“What are you doing?” he asked Charles.

“Uh?” Charles sputtered.

“Put me down, you groundhog!” I practically spat.

Charles lowered my feet to the concrete. As soon as I got traction, I rushed to Christian. His expression was concerned as he took in the details: my flushed face, Charles’ wet shirt, the redhead’s heaving chest.

Christian, himself, looked collected. He was the adult in the room, and I felt it as he said, “Why don’t you head upstairs, Beth? I’ll be up to talk to you in a minute. I just want to have a quick word with the gardener.”

I stepped past him, and Christian closed the door to the conservatory behind me with a slap. I didn’t hear what he said to Charles. I was in too big of a hurry to do exactly what Christian told me to do. I was halfway up the stairs before I remembered that I wasn’t doing that anymore. I paused and thought of returning, but the sound of an outside door closing stopped me. He had already finished talking to Charles.