But we weren't. I caught myself fantasizing a few times, pretending Diane wasn't in the picture and I was more than just the nanny and the summer fling but it was too painful to let those daydreams spin out too far. When Darach told me he had to fly to Switzerland for business I half-expected it to be good-bye, but he followed it up by telling me it was only for two weeks.
"What did you think, Jennifer? That I was just going to fly off to Europe and never see you again?"
Well, yeah, I kinda did think that.
I was very conscious of not wanting to pressure Darach, though, and not just for the old-fashioned reasons my grandmother had told me about never letting a man see you cling. He had too much stress in his life already - I wanted our time together to be happy for both of us, a respite from misery, not a cause of it.
Chapter 11
Darach left in the helicopter on a foggy Sunday morning. I tried to hide my emotions at his departure but he could see I was upset.
"Jennifer. Chin up. You're beautiful. I can't wait to see you again and it's only two weeks."
He gave me one of his slow kisses and then got into the copter, waving and smiling at me as it took off. I managed to smile back, only allowing myself a small teary-eyed moment when he was out of sight. When I went back inside for some breakfast Mrs. Clyde gave me a hug. She was a kind woman, of that there was no doubt, but she wasn't given to hugging and it surprised me a little.
"Och, don't worry Jenny. He'll be back soon. He's always flying off to Switzerland or Dubai or Sydney, it's normal. Chin up."
It was the same phrase - chin up - that Darach had used.
"He likes you, Jenny. I can see it when he's with you. You've got nothing to worry about, lassie."
By that point, in spite of what I'd been telling myself over and over again about it being the summer only, about seizing days and living in the moment and all of that Oprah stuff, I had already fallen for Darach completely. I tried not to think about it, but it was always there in the back of my mind.
Any moroseness over Darach's absence took a back seat that night, though, when Cameron came back from London and her weekly visit to the dreaded Diane. I met her on the helipad and as soon as I felt the stiffness in her small body when I went to give her a hug I knew something was wrong. She'd never been that way with me before and it made me wonder if her mother had said something to scare her. Cameron was four years old, she wasn't old enough to be wily yet and I was fairly certain she'd mentioned me to her mother. Given what I knew of Diane, it seemed fair to assume she'd said something back.
I didn't ask Cameron anything specific, though - I wanted to give her time to ask me herself if she had any questions or wanted to mention something that may have been bothering her. Looking back, it may not have been the best idea. When we walked back into Castle McLanald I noticed one of the part-time groundsmen coming down the main staircase. That was a little odd. The only rooms up there were Darach's and a series of guest bedrooms that only needed dusting and vacuuming every week or so - something the maids took care of. Our eyes met briefly but he just gave me a curt nod and kept going.
"Cameron! How was London, my wee lassie?" Mrs. Clyde greeted Cameron with enthusiasm as she always did but she was met with the same flat response I'd experienced on the helipad.
"Are you hungry? How about some toast and Marmite - it's your favorite!"
We both watched Cameron nod silently and exchanged a look of concern over her head as she sat down at the table. She ate her toast quietly and said she wanted to go to her bedroom, which was not a normal request from a child who had a keen loathing of bedtime.
"Cameron, are you alright little one?"
Mrs. Clyde was bending down to the child and holding the back of her hand flat against her forehead.
"Please," Cameron finally spoke up in a small, quavering voice. "I want to go to bed Miss Robinson."
So I took her up to her room and gave her a bath, something she usually loved. That night she just lay passively in the water waiting for me to wash her hair and then headed straight for the bed as soon as her pajamas were on. What the hell? I was about to go downstairs and ask Mrs. Clyde to call Diane and ask if Cameron had been OK over the weekend but there was a sudden sharp retching noise and I jerked my head around just in time to see Cameron racing back to the bathroom with her hand over her mouth. I ran after her, pulling her hair back and holding it out of the way as she threw up violently in the toilet. When she was finished I wet a facecloth and wiped her mouth with it and offered her a glass of water to wash her mouth out.
"Cameron? What's wrong? Did something happen in London?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm even as anger started to rise up in the pit of my stomach. Because of course something happened in London. Four-year-olds don't randomly transform into fearful zombies after a happy - or, what should be happy - weekend with family.