Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

Rosemary

The Rosier Family Estate (England).

Late Autumn, 1967.

Two days pass. And then, finally, he happens across her once again.

Toinette. Alone and leaned up against an old stone wall located roughly halfway between the family's mansion and the row of greenhouses.

As the grey light of the early morning softly plays all around them, he throws caution to the wind and comes to a stop right beside her, taking advantage of the fact that they've found themselves alone, at least for the moment.

As she stares back at him uncertainly, Toinette rises up and off the wall. Bundled in an elegant long coat, sensible boots, and a thick woollen scarf, she's well dressed for the chill of what promises to be a definitively colder day.

"Good morning, Toinette."

Toinette.

Not Mrs. Rosier.

But Toinette.

"Wesley. Good morning."

Hesitating, he glances around once more before he brings his full attention back to her and smiles softly. Because he's begun to see her clearly. He's starting to fully realise her situation. After what he'd observed the other day, his eyes have been opened in a way they weren't before.

Receiving his subtle cue, his olive branch, she smiles back shyly, her eyes reflecting a mixture of both warmth and relief.

His hands in the pockets of his winter work coat, Wesley nods at her as he digs the toe of his boot idly into the gravel path beneath them, "Out early this morning, I see."

"Mr. Rosier departed the estate early today for an especially important meeting with an old school mate of his. And on occasions such as this, I like to take full advantage of the day."

"And your son?"

"My Evan's with his tutor already. Regretfully, he'll be occupied with that all day long. Achille's quite unflinchingly rigid about that."

"I see."

Then, her voice falling to a low whisper, she murmurs barely audibly, her voice tinged with self-conscious guilt, "If I could, I'd pull him. But it's absolutely forbidden. I'd be creating a situation for Evan to be punished, you understand?"

Wesley wasn't expecting such a detailed reply nor such outright candour, and it's difficult to hear. Especially difficult given how completely powerless he is in this situation he's stumbled so blindly into.

Knowing he can't do anything to truly help, he flounders as he tries to offer comfort, "I'm ... sorry ..."

That sounds pathetic

It's just so awkward -

Nevermind so completely shocking, the whole business -

Smiling back at him sadly, Toinette begins to subconsciously mirror his motions, the toe of her own boot now dragging its way lightly back and forth against the gravel, "Thank you Wesley."

Then, in an attempt to politely anticipate that he'll probably wish to be on his way, that she's burdened him enough as is, Toinette begins to step back, "I hope you have a productive day today, Mr. Jensen."

Suddenly inexplicably flustered, Wesley steps forward quickly and calls after her, "Toinette."

"Wesley?"

Unable to help himself, he gestures past the largest greenhouse, to an empty row awaiting the day's planting, "I'm to be over there, working. Perhaps, as the lady of the estate, you would follow me and give me your official opinion on my progress?"