An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance Page 13

  “Okay, you can open them now,” he said, his voice low and subdued.

  Between her opening lashes, she saw a grand white-pillared building, in front of which taxis were dropping people off, whilst others were congregating in evening attire.

  “I was right about the meal,” she grinned cheekily.

  “Not quite, that’s later.”

  She watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved some tickets. Reassuringly he placed his arm around her waist, his hand resting on the top of her thigh, and walking up the three steps they entered the building.

  “I wanted to make the night special, for you to do things you’ve never done before, this being the first.” His expression, like his words, appeared to hold many meanings.

  They stood in a vast marbled foyer in varying creams and beiges. It was cool, and footsteps echoed as people moseyed around. Some stood in a queue before a glass-fronted partition, where tickets were ripped and then handed back.

  They headed up the nearest staircase, dressed in a rich-red carpet, its ornate banister of a floral design embellished with a gold trim.

  “I’ve reserved our own private box for this evening,” Ruben said, pulling back a floor-length curtain.

  “I could get quite used to this,” Heather said, kissing him excitedly, before sitting herself down.

  She felt more than a little privileged as she peered down to the mass of heads below.

  “Back in a sec,” Ruben said, softly touching her shoulder.

  Heather hardly noticed his absence, engrossed with the comings and goings of people seating themselves in the boxes, lower balconies and stalls. She felt a draft as the curtain opened.

  “Here,” Ruben said, passing her a small pair of binocular-style opera glasses and a cold beverage.

  “Ruben, the suspense is killing me. What are we watching?”

  “Madame Butterfly. Heard it’s really good,” Ruben replied, sitting beside her.

  She could feel the intensity in his eyes; it was as though he could hardly draw them from her.

  “Heather, you look so beautiful.”

  She smiled, her face glowing, filled with utter exuberance. She took his hand as the orchestra began to play. The curtain rose, revealing the first scene. The binoculars hardly left her eyes; she was captivated by the arias, the beautiful dresses of the geisha girls. Her fingers tightened around Ruben’s as her emotions were overwhelmed by the portrayal of this enchanting love story. Though it was spoken in Italian throughout, this did not bother Heather, as her heart felt every emotion acted out before her.

  Ruben appeared to find her as fascinating as the opera, and during the final scene, he watched intently as tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over like tiny pearls, encompassed by shallow breaths on reaching the tragic finale.

  The orchestra played on during the final curtain call, while the whole auditorium was on their feet with a crescendo of hands meeting and cheers. When the musicians had laid down their instruments for the final time, they walked backstage in single file to the audience’s mounting applause. As the applause died down, Ruben stood gentlemanly-like, pulling the chair from beneath her and taking her arm. She seemed quiet as they walked down the stairs, still very much lost in the love story, but words weren’t needed; her face said it all.

  The summer evening was now cloaked in darkness as they walked out to their awaiting car, its soft top now closed for their journey home. Heather wearily laid her head on Ruben’s shoulder, relaxing to the purring sound of the engine. She was not tired in a sleepy way, but more from a feeling of contentment. Lost in his arms and her own daydreams, she envisioned how their lives could be. A perfect fairytale wedding, holidays abroad, and more trips to the theatre. Her dreams were starting to feel real, and her feelings for Ruben she couldn’t quite put into words, but she knew she’d never felt such intensity for anybody before. It all felt so comfortable and nice, and she realised she was falling in love with him.

  Heather opened her eyes to the familiar cattle grid, and felt a slight disappointment.

  “I thought you were taking me for a meal,” she said, looking up.

  “You’re getting rather ahead of yourself, I’d say,” he teased. “But yes, I am. Don’t ask questions, but you won’t be disappointed.”

  As she opened her mouth to speak, she was silenced by Ruben’s words.

  “Well, you weren’t earlier, were you?”

  She could hardly see through the darkness as they drove on through the gardens, bypassing the manor in its nightly attire. Open flame torches, creating a lighted pathway, leading between vegetable patches towards the lake, soon awaked the darkness. The tendrils of an overhanging weeping willow concealed Ruben’s surprise – a candlelit table on the water’s edge. Heather smiled up at Ruben, who in turn cupped her face between his hands and lowered his head. She felt his velvety lips, and closing her eyes she responded. Pulling away slightly as she heard the car door open, she heard him thank the chauffer and saw him place a little something in his hand to show his gratitude. A perfect romantic setting, she thought, stealing a glance at the open flame torches and their dancing welcome. They sat holding hands across the table, gazes fixed on one another.

  “Thought this would be a lot more intimate than a restaurant.”

  “You thought right,” Heather replied.

  Hearing muffled footsteps, she turned.

  “Hello,” she said, surprise in her voice.

  She grinned upon seeing Sami’s familiar face. Dressed perfectly for the occasion, he passed her a menu, before removing a serviette from the table and placing it over her lap. After doing the same for Ruben, he stood, giving them a chance to browse.

  “Thought I’d stick with the Italian theme,” Ruben boasted, beckoning Sami to open the champagne before glancing back at the menu. “Ladies first,” he insisted.

  “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, g
irl!”

  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.