The Perfect Couple

I’ve been working at Fox House (the house not only has a beautiful sweeping drive, but a name too!) for a little over a month and I can’t lie, it’s not just the incredible house that has me skipping into work every day. Rupert is… well, Rupert is just about the perfect man from what I’ve seen of him so far, which to be fair isn’t a huge amount, but enough to make me not mind the commute into work every day. He’s good-looking, that goes without saying, but he’s also a nice guy. He doesn’t leave too much of a mess (no more than a typical guy, and nothing like the scale of untidiness that I saw when I first came), he’s polite (he leaves me notes with lots of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ dotted through them when he wants me to do certain things), and judging by the letters he leaves lying on the kitchen worktop he donates to charity a lot, especially to a children’s charity, which made my heart skip a beat in a good way. The only tiny, little thing that makes me feel a bit awkward is the idea of his wife.

He hasn’t mentioned her again since the day I came for my job interview, and I don’t feel as if I can ask about her. There are no photos of Caro anywhere in the house, something that strikes me as odd. I could understand that perhaps Rupert doesn’t want her photos on display downstairs, that maybe it is too painful, but I thought that he might have one in his bedroom, but there’s nothing. All he keeps on the bedside table is a small lamp, a water glass and a battered copy of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. On the other side of the bed – Caro’s side – the nightstand is bare, apart from a matching lamp.

Stealthily, even though I know I am the only one in the house, I perch on the side of the bed and give in to the hum of curiosity that buzzes through me when I think about her, taking care not to rumple the pristine white duvet as I slide open the drawer on Caro’s side. It is crammed full of things, and I hold my breath as I dip in and pull out a slim date diary. I gingerly open the cover, flicking through the expensive cream pages but they are all blank. I put it on the bed next to me and turn back to the drawer. Pens, hair clips and the plug from an iPhone charger lie jumbled among tiny perfume sample bottles and I lift one out and raise it to my nose. It smells of nectarines and sunshine and has ‘Jo Malone’ written down the side of the bottle. Pushing it back into the mess of the drawer I see a half-empty packet of contraceptive pills, and something low in my stomach flips, the idea of Rupert and Caro tumbling around together, naked, right here in this bed makes me feel hot and uncomfortable. I stand, fumbling with the handle of the drawer, when a sharp ring pierces the air, making me slam the drawer closed with a bang.

‘Shit,’ I whisper under my breath, raising a trembling hand to my hot cheek. Taking a deep breath, I glance round the room, satisfied that I haven’t left anything out of place. ‘Coming!’ I call, as the shrill doorbell rents the air again, and I hurry down the stairs to the ornate, oak front door.

There is a woman standing on the doorstep, chic and glamorous, and clearly not expecting to see me answer the door.

‘Hi,’ I smile, ‘can I…’

She pushes past me with barely a glance, calling down the hallway towards the kitchen. ‘Rupert? Darling, are you home?’

I wait a moment, letting the fizz of irritation in my veins cool a little before I follow her into the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the Italian tiled floor. ‘He’s not home. Can I help you?’

‘Oh.’ The woman turns to me, and I catch an expression that I can’t read flit across her face. It’s definitely not friendly though. ‘Where is he? It’s Saturday, I thought he’d be home.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not too sure,’ I say, even though Rupert left me a note yesterday, asking me to make sure his rugby kit was clean, as he was planning on playing this morning. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ I fix a smile on my face.

‘Who are you?’ She flicks her eyes over me in an attempt to look me over without me noticing. I fight the urge to smooth down my blonde hair, to tighten my ponytail and brush the dust from my jeans. Instead I smile at her, showing off my perfect white teeth (they cost my mother’s second husband a fortune), and apologize for not introducing myself.

‘I’m so sorry – how rude of me. I’m Emily.’ I hold out a hand, but she ignores it, instead tapping her chin as if thinking.

‘Emily? Oh, of course.’ She smiles at me now, and I get the feeling I imagine a tiny gazelle feels when a lion is sizing it up, ready to pounce. ‘You must be Rupert’s new cleaner.’

‘Housekeeper,’ I say, keeping my tone neutral, ‘well, Rupert isn’t home, so if you wanted me to pass on a message…’ I trail off, hoping she’ll take the hint.

‘Oh, just tell him that Sadie was here. I’ll catch up with him later, it wasn’t anything important.’ She runs a hand over her already immaculate black bob and tucks her Hermès bag under her arm. Everything about her oozes money – from the tight-fitting designer jeans to the expensive scent that follows her. It reminds me of the nectarine perfume I found in Caro’s drawer. ‘How are you getting on here? Are you enjoying the job?’ Her tone is distinctly warmer now she knows I’m just the housekeeper.

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Oh, good. Rupert did need someone to take care of him after Caro… died. We were all so worried about him; I’m just so thankful that he took my advice and got you in. He isn’t very good at taking care of himself – he was just devastated after what happened with Caro.’ Sadie throws herself dramatically into a kitchen chair, and I realize that she isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ I ask. ‘Although if you’re planning on waiting, I’m not too sure how long Rupert will be.’

‘Oh, OK. Peppermint,’ she says and I turn to the kettle, mustering up the courage to mention Caro’s name. ‘This place looks marvellous now you’ve given it a once over. Caro was always very house-proud.’

There. She’s dropped Caro’s name twice already in the past two minutes. Surely it won’t look odd now if I ask her about Caro? I’m itching to know about the woman who lived here, and I don’t feel I can ask Rupert.

‘She’s made a lovely home. Caro, I mean,’ I say, placing a steaming mug in front of Sadie.

‘Yes. She had a wonderful eye for interiors, and I always told her she should do something professional with it, but she was more about saving the world than decorating.’ Sadie lets out a little laugh, tinged with pain. ‘Caro was very lucky – she had it all really. Such a waste.’ She looks down at her cup, and I think for a moment she might burst into tears.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be very hard on all of you.’

‘Yes, it is. Especially Rupert, obviously. They were the perfect couple. I wasn’t at all sure that he’d cope without her, and it was touch and go for a while, but he’s been so brave. I’m not sure he’ll ever move on, though. Caro was the only one for him.’

‘I’m sure.’ I get the feeling that Sadie is warning me off, even though I am just the housekeeper. ‘I should get back to work. I’ll let Rupert know that you stopped by.’

Sadie opens her mouth as if to say something, before thinking better of it and getting to her feet. ‘It was nice to meet you, Emily. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’

Relief floods through me as Sadie closes the front door behind her and I am alone again. I head back upstairs, intent on putting away the last of the laundry, but pause outside the spare room. Sadie’s words ring in my ears, ‘they were the perfect couple’, and my heart aches for Rupert. Caro may have been the only one for him, but I wonder if he ever gets lonely. Silently, I push open the door to the spare room, my body gravitating towards the huge wardrobe that houses Caro’s clothes. Her scent wafts out as I open the door, and I suppress a shiver. It feels as though she is in the room with me, a ghost of what was before. I glance down at the row of shoes that sit neatly under the hanging dresses, a mix of Converse trainers – still a brilliant white, unlike the faded grey-white pair of my own that sit at the bottom of the stairs – and flat gladiator sandals that must have been a favourite as the ends bear the faintest imprints of her toes, an oddly intimate glimpse into her life that makes me feel vaguely sad, and finally several pairs of sparkly sandals, with heels so high she must have barely been able to walk in them.

Sinking down onto the plush carpet, I pull out a pair with silver straps and a dragonfly buckle on the side. Hardly daring to breathe I slip my feet into them, the straps pinching as they are ever so slightly too small. I stand, wobbly on the spindly heels, and steady myself as I am assaulted by a flashback – myself, at around ten years old, trying on my mother’s high heels as she prepared to go out for the night with the man who would eventually become my stepfather, and her second husband.

‘Look at me, Mum! I look just like you!’ I wobble towards her, as she slicks red lipstick around her mouth, pouting and smacking her lips together in the mirror.

‘Hey, be careful!’ Finally, my mother turns to look at me as I stagger my way across the threadbare carpet towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Don’t you snap those heels. I want to wear those tonight.’

I slip the shoes off and hand them to my mother, unsure as how to she could possibly manage to spend the whole night upright while wearing them. I blink back tears at her harsh tone, and when she hears me sniffing, she turns to me, her face softening.

‘Silly thing, don’t cry.’ She pulls me towards her, and I snuggle into her shoulder, the silky fabric of her dress cool against my skin. I breathe in her heavy perfume, something thick and cloying but it doesn’t matter, she smells like my mum. ‘I just need to wear those killer heels tonight. John won’t know what’s hit him, and before you know it, we’ll be a proper family.’ She spins around with me in her arms and kisses my face until I shriek and giggle. ‘Honestly, little one,’ she sobers now, sitting me down on the bed as she puts the finishing touches to her make-up, ‘you don’t want to live here forever, do you? If John and I get married we can get out of here, go and live in his big house, all of us together. You want Mummy to be happy, don’t you?’ She shoos me into bed, and then I hear the click of the lock on the front door and the clacking of her heels down the path towards the man she thinks will turn our lives around.

Now, I slide the shoes off and place them back exactly where they were, not wanting Rupert to know that I’ve been in here. My mother did snare John, but that was years ago, and now she’s living in Florida with her fifth or sixth husband – I forget which number she’s on now – but she lives in a huge house and doesn’t have to think about money. Just like Caro. From the little that Sadie said about Caro earlier, she lived a charmed life right from when she was young. I stroke the arm of a fur coat, the pelt thick and glossy. It feels remarkably real – if it’s a fake, then it’s a good one. How would it feel, I wonder, to have all of this? To live the life that Caro lived?

The thunk of a car door closing outside brings me back to myself, and I slam the wardrobe door closed, half of me regretting that I didn’t take the time while I could to quickly try on the silky fur, the seductive feel of it luring me in, even though I am against real fur, while the other half of me feels grubby at the very thought of trying on a dead woman’s clothes. Peering out of the landing window, I see Rupert getting out of his car, his face ruddy and his hair sweaty as he pulls his gym bag from the boot.

‘Hi.’ I stop at the bottom of the stairs, as he bursts through the front door.

‘Oh, sorry. I thought you would have been gone by now.’ His face flushes and my heart skips a beat.

‘I just had a few things to finish off. I’ll get off now, get out of your hair. If you leave that bag by the washing machine, I’ll get it sorted on Monday.’

Rupert pauses for a moment, as if he wants to say something, before he gives me a small smile. ‘Thank you. For today, I mean, not the gym bag. I really appreciate you coming in on a Saturday.’

‘It’s no bother.’ I slide my feet into my trainers. ‘A woman called Sadie came over earlier – she said she’ll catch up with you later.’ I smile, even though the thought of Sadie and her chilly manner is like grit under an eyelid. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘Emily…’ Rupert says, and I wait, my heart thudding hard in my chest. ‘Oh, never mind. Have a good weekend.’

I nod and make my way down the path towards the gate, sure I can feel his eyes on me every step of the way.

Chapter Five

Rupert finds himself sliding out of the office on time a week later, something he hasn’t done for months since Caro died. He tells himself that it’s Friday night, of course he should be leaving on time, that it’s the weekend and no one else is doing any overtime – in fact, Michael – Caro’s father and Rupert’s boss – left at lunchtime, as he often does on a Friday.

An hour later, Rupert drives through the gates of Fox House, and is relieved to see that there are still lights on inside. Emily must still be here, even though she is usually finished by four. Adrenaline fires through his veins and he has to take a deep breath before he gets out of the car. He can’t lie, he is looking forward to seeing her, in a way that he hasn’t looked forward to seeing anyone since Caro died. He takes his time getting out of the car, giving himself time to get his breathing back to normal – it’s ridiculous, the idea that he feels nervous at the thought of seeing his housekeeper. As he puts his key into the lock and twists the door open, his heart stops in his chest. Music. He can hear music, something that hasn’t happened in his house in over a year.

Slowly, he closes the door behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Someone is playing the piano. Caro’s piano. The sound of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake’ filters out into the hallway and Rupert has to lean against the wall to steady himself. He knows if he looks into the living room, he will see Caro sat on the tiny piano stool, her back straight and her attention fully focused on the keys as she runs her hands over them. Tchaikovsky was always her favourite, and ‘Swan Lake’ was the tune she played whenever she’d had a bad day or felt less than happy. She’d play it right through to the end, as Rupert waited patiently, letting the music run over him like water. When she’d finished, he would go to her and pull her into his arms, trying his hardest to make her feel better, to let her know that whatever she thought, whatever she was feeling, she mattered.

Don’t be ridiculous. Caro is dead.

As the music dies away, Rupert pushes himself away from the wall and forces himself to walk on leaden feet into the sitting room. As he enters, Emily jumps up from the piano stool, a flush turning her cheeks a hot red.

‘Rupert!’ Her eyes are huge in her face, and she covers her mouth with both hands. ‘Oh, Rupert, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you home yet.’ She turns to the piano and closes the lid, pushing the stool back into place, keeping her back turned to him.

‘I didn’t realize you played the piano,’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her.

‘I learned at school. I’ve tried to keep up with it, but I’m very rusty. I don’t have a piano where I live now,’ Emily replies, brushing her hair away from her face and looking anywhere but at him. ‘I couldn’t resist it. I’m sorry, I should go.’

She trails her fingers over the closed lid before she moves past him, and Rupert catches her by the arm. ‘Emily, there’s no need to apologize. It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Caro used to play, and the piano hasn’t been used since she died. I should have called and told you I would be leaving work on time.’

‘Oh no, you don’t need to do that.’ Emily shakes her head, smiling slightly. ‘I should get going. I’ve left you dinner in the oven.’

Rupert realizes now that he can smell something delicious on the air, and his stomach gives a low growl.

Emily laughs and her whole face lights up. ‘You’re hungry, then? I’ve made a beef bourguignon. There’s a bit too much for one person, but if I leave you a tub, you can just pop the rest in the freezer.’ She is leading him along the hallway towards the kitchen as she speaks, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Rupert breathes in the scent of meaty stew, a clean lemony scent beneath it, and feels a pang, as though finding something he didn’t realize he had lost.

‘There’s enough for two?’ he asks.

‘Well, yes.’ Emily pulls the dish out of the oven, and Rupert notices that there is an open bottle of red wine breathing on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s a bit difficult to make a beef bourguignon for one. But like I said, you can just freeze whatever is left over…’

‘Why don’t you stay?’ The words are out before Rupert has even had a chance to think through the consequences. He looks down, worried that Emily might think he’s overstepped the mark.

‘Stay?’

‘Yes. Only if you want to, of course. It would be nice to have some company for a change. It gets pretty lonely eating on my own every night. Oh, unless you’re busy, that is?’

‘No. No, I’m not busy.’ Emily smiles, and Rupert’s stomach does another flip. ‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure?’

‘Of course. Here, let me.’ Rupert takes the hot dish from her and places it on the table, as Emily brings out plates and cutlery. Rupert grabs two wine glasses and the open bottle of red and pours them both a large glass.

‘Cheers.’ He leans forward and chinks his glass against hers. ‘So, Emily Belrose, housekeeper extraordinaire. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself? You’re in my house every day and I feel as though I barely know you.’

‘There isn’t much to tell.’ Emily ladles a spoonful of stew onto his plate. ‘I live in Swindon, not far from the High Street, with my flatmate. Above a kebab shop, believe it or not. It’s not my dream home, but it’ll do until I can find somewhere better.’

‘Oh?’ Rupert’s heart sinks in his chest a little – does she mean flatmate, or boyfriend? He tries not to think that way, but this is the first time he’s had any flicker of interest in anyone else at all since Caro died.

‘Yeah, Mags and I have lived together for about a year now – I had a bad break-up and Mags kind of saved me.’ Emily gives a tiny laugh, but there is a strange expression on her face, half sadness, half fear.

‘I’m sorry.’ Rupert sips from his wine, holding the stem of his glass tightly so he doesn’t lay his hand on hers. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it? I always thought I liked my own company, but now I guess not so much.’

‘It does suck a bit.’ Emily looks down at her plate as she pushes the meat round and round without eating. ‘My break-up is nothing, though, compared to what you must have gone through.’ She looks up at him expectantly, and Rupert clears his throat.

‘It’s been tough, yes. It came as a huge shock when Caro died, that’s for sure.’ He pauses for a moment, unsure whether to say what he really wants to. ‘It was partly a relief too, though.’

Emily says nothing, just tilts her head on one side.

‘Caro was… she was difficult to live with.’ Rupert lays his fork down, his appetite gone. ‘She was bi-polar. I never knew which Caro would be here when I got home. That’s why the piano playing took me by surprise. Caro would always play that song when she was low. I knew if she was playing that, I was in for a bad night with her.’

He is quiet for a moment, as he is assaulted by the memory of Caro crying, her mascara smudged black around her swollen eyes, the slamming of the bathroom door before the lock rammed home and he had no choice but to wait outside, murmuring through the door that he loved her, that if she would just come out… or the times he would come home from work, the house cold and dark as she lay huddled under the duvet, refusing to speak to him.

‘Oh my God, Rupert. I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry.’ Emily lays her hand on his, and squeezes, the warmth of her palm scorching his cold fingers. Rupert looks up to see she has tears in her eyes.

‘It’s not your fault – you couldn’t have known.’ Rupert keeps dead still, not wanting her to take her hand away. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by anyone other than Sadie or Miles, or his family. ‘When Caro died, I was devastated, I didn’t know how I would go on. But there was the tiniest part of me that felt relief, that there would be no more pain, no more suffering for either of us. Does that make me a terrible person?’

‘God, no. Rupert, you must have been a wonderful husband to be able to cope with her mood swings. I had a stepfather who was bi-polar; I understand exactly what you mean.’

‘I miss her dreadfully,’ Rupert says, ‘but I think I’m finally ready to start living again. Sadie told me I needed to move on, get myself sorted out, and if I’m honest, the best thing I could have done was to take you on.’

Emily nods, but slides her hand away. ‘I am very much enjoying working for you, Rupert. If you must know, I feel like working for you has given me a second chance. Now, pass me your plate.’

Rupert hands her his plate, a deflated feeling pushing all the breath out of him. He came on too strong. Emily clearly just looks at him as an employer; she hasn’t been having the same kind of thoughts he has. And why should she? He’s the one who has got used to coming home to a cooked meal, a tidy house, a lemon-fresh scent filling every room after Emily’s hard work. He’s come to enjoy arriving home, knowing that even if Emily has finished for the day there will be a small lamp left on so that he doesn’t come home to a cold, dark house.

He feels like he has to break the awkward silence that fills the room, as Emily stands in front of the sink, running the tap, her face reflected in the glass of the window that looks out into the back garden. ‘Leave those,’ he says, ‘you’re off the clock now. I invited you to stay – the least I can do is wash the dishes.’

Emily laughs, raising her eyes from the bubbly water to the window, when she lets out a gasp, the plate in her hands falling into the sink with a crash. ‘Rupert!’

Rupert crosses the room in two strides, standing close behind Emily, who is looking out into the garden, her face pale. ‘What is it?’

‘There was someone out there, in the garden.’ Her voice wobbles and Rupert wrenches open the back door, the security light pinging on and illuminating the lawn down towards the trees at the bottom fence. The damp February air is chilly as he steps out, causing goosebumps to rise on his forearms through his thin shirt. At least, he tells himself it’s the cold air, not the sinister shadows at the bottom of the garden. He quickly scans the garden, but he can’t see anybody lurking in the bushes. ‘There’s no one out there.’

‘I saw someone,’ Emily says, her arms folded tightly across her body. ‘I’m sure there was someone standing at the bottom of the garden, watching us.’

‘A fox, maybe?’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her. Her shoulders shake a little as she tries to stop herself trembling.

‘I don’t think so. It looked like a figure, a person.’

‘It really scared you, didn’t it?’ Rupert steps closer, blocking Emily’s view of the garden.

‘Yes. Sorry. I… I definitely thought I saw something. Someone.’ She swipes at a stray lock of hair with a shaking hand.

‘There’s nothing out there now. I promise. How about I pour us some more wine? If that’s all right with you?’

‘I’d like that. I don’t really feel comfortable riding my bike home just yet.’ Her eyes flick towards the darkened window and Rupert wonders if she’s still imagining someone lurking in the thick, inky shadows. ‘Maybe we could move into the sitting room? No offence, but these kitchen chairs aren’t exactly designed for comfort.’

Rupert laughs, squashing down the memory of the argument he and Caro had had over the chairs – his argument being the exact same as Emily’s, that the chairs were a statement rather than something designed to be sat on in comfort, but it was Caro’s money that was paying for them, so he didn’t really have much of a choice.