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At this moment, I couldn’t feel more contempt for myself, and I’m dizzy as the painful emotions consume me and grip my throat like a tight band. I let her slip through my fingers—seat on the board—or not. I’ve been in a stupor—focused on appeasing my family and fearing their disapproval, and now it’s too late. She’s gone.
The coffee cup is cold, so she must have been gone a while, and I curse that I didn’t leave Greystone earlier. Daisy was having a brilliant time with the family, and I could easily have left earlier, but I wanted to make sure she was settled before leaving her there for the week. It’s the first time she’s wanted to stay over at Greystone without me, and apart from the very occasional week with her mother, she’s not been away from home as long as that before.
Where the hell has Nat gone?
The question runs through my mind repeatedly like a relentless ticker tape. It’s Sunday, so I can’t call the agency until tomorrow, and they are the only ones I can think of who might have a forwarding address. Racking my brains, I try to remember names of friends she’s mentioned. There have been a few of Daisy’s friends’ nannies, she’s hung out with at local kids’ activities, but no one special jumps to mind. Tricky Dicky’s face looms in my mind again, and I force myself to consider she may have taken the job he wanted to talk to her about.
I’m ashamed of the way I behaved. Nathalie didn’t deserve to be bossed around like that. I told her to not even consider it, claimed her as my own in the most primal way in the park, and then retreated into my shell in a panic about how to handle my feelings.
A chill runs through me, and I shake myself into motion and walk to my room. I can’t rally my limbs to move fast like they normally do, and when I open my bedroom door, memories of the night she lay in my arms attack me and I sink onto my bed and my head falls into my hands.
It was warm when I left Hampshire, but there’s a bite to the air now, so I pull on a sweatshirt like I’m sleepwalking.
I’ve been like a lame horse all this time, even though I fell for her immediately. I’ve held myself back from letting myself feel what I want to feel for her, and I’ve been so scared of disappointing Grandfather I’ve ignored my own needs. And hers.
As I stare out the window, wondering what to do, I experience another startling flash of clarity.
I must risk it all if I’m going to have any chance of winning her back.
Why didn’t I see it before? The feeling keeps rolling over me and I know I must face the disapproval of my family if I’m ever to stop living my life according to my grandfather’s rules. I see how ridiculous it is now.
I call Nathalie and hold my breath whilst I wait to see if she’ll pick up. There are only a few places I can think of that she would go. There’s the centre, as well as her friend Juliette, who is a translator, but I don’t have her address. Her name stuck in my head, and I recall she lives in Knightsbridge, but that’s about it. I can ask my assistant if she has a number for Nat’s sister in Paris.
But surely, she wouldn’t leave London without seeing me first?
Nathalie’s phone rings and rings. It strikes me that if she doesn’t answer when I call, then she’s unlikely to respond to me reaching out via her sister, so that’s pointless. That’s the second time I’ve called since she messaged earlier, and she hasn’t picked up or messaged me back. The phone clicks into voicemail and I blurt out: ‘Nathalie. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I’ve behaved like a fool, but I love you. Please call me or come home so we can talk.’
The centre should still be open, and there’s a chance she went there, so I jump in the car and race out the drive, tapping my hand on my thigh as I wait for the traffic lights to turn green. I can do without another run in with Tricky Dickhead, but the centre is my only tangible lead, so I must see if she’s there.
Easing my legs out of the car, I hurry to the main entrance and push the buzzer. I introduce myself over the intercom and ask if I can see Nathalie. There are some jumbled voices, and I can’t make out what they’re saying.
‘Hello?’ I repeat. ‘I’m a friend of Nathalie’s and I need to speak to her urgently, please.’
There’s a silence and then a familiar voice booms over the speaker. ‘She’s not here, Rochester, and even if she were, it’s none of your business.’
I restrain myself from making a rude gesture at the camera where I guess he is gloating—it is a children’s centre, after all, and I have gained some restraint since we were at school.
‘Come on, Dicky, I say. I need to get in touch with her. If you care about her at all, let’s put our differences aside. Please tell me if you know where she is.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, even for a mighty Rochester. For once, you can’t bend the rules. We have data protection for our people, and if you don’t know where she is, then it’s not my place to tell you. Your position holds no sway with me. I suggest you leave her alone.’
‘Thanks for nothing. Charming as ever,’ I mutter, and cover the distance to my car in a few strides. He has always had the ability to infuriate me, and today is no different. That wanker has not lost his touch.
I consider hiring a private investigator. But what will I tell them? The nanny resigned her post and I want them to find her? It sounds ridiculous even to me in my current state. She’s gone because she wanted to go, and there’s a letter explaining why.
She’s gone because you’re an utter twat, and you treated her so poorly.
No one except me is going to think the situation warrants an emergency search, even if I throw money at them. I shelve the private investigator idea for now and keep it as a backup in case I can’t find her through other means.
The thought of her disappearing forever out of my life makes me shake.
My gut tells me she’s not in the centre and she’s not with Tricky Dicky. He’s the type who wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing my nose in it if she was there. And if she’s taken a job with him, I doubt he’d be able to stop himself from bragging, especially after our almost punch up.
Possibilities of places she may have gone roll through my mind like a torturous conveyor belt. Her friend in Knightsbridge seems a likely place for her to have headed to this evening. Of course, she could have checked into a hotel, but why would she when her best friend lives in London? I’m angry at myself for not paying attention and asking more questions. I didn’t want to be intrusive, and it didn’t seem important at the time. She’s stayed over at her friend’s flat once, as I recall, but that’s all I know. A hazy memory floats into my mind that Juliette is connected to the French embassy, somehow, so that’s a lead.
I can call them to get her address, but they’ll be closed on a Sunday. And knowing how embassies operate, I’ll be lucky if they answer on Monday.
I try to calm down by telling myself she’ll be in London at her friend’s, and I’ll get an address for her tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be in touch when she sees my missed calls.
