The Englishman's Housekeeper (part 1)

IT would not be the first time for Jessamine Hill to have a stranger appear on her doorstep wishing to say hello and often, also requesting for an autograph. The stranger could be one individual or a small group of strangers, like how fans fancied seeing the person they admired in the flesh.

Jessamine was not a celebrity in the usual sense of the word. During those days in the Philippines, however, local romance novelists were looked up to as notable figures of pop culture. As additional book sales could not hurt, the romance novelist entertained her readers (or the mere curious cats) who got past the security in the gated expat compound where she lived.

But, for Jessamine to see a distinguished-looking male standing outside the gate, smiling from ear-to-ear in the late morning sunshine, was a surprise. Wearing long shorts, printed polo shirt and leather sandals, he looked at home in the tropics. He had a mop of thick, untamed, platinum-blond hair, bright-blue eyes staring back at Jessamine in amusement under his equally untamed thick white brows. He was maybe a couple of inches below six feet, heavily built, appeared to be in his 50s, with a pleasantly wrinkled face, and a casual demeanor of someone who had seen it all.

“Good morning,” he said as soon as he saw Jessamine step outside the front door, which was about six meters away from the chest-high grill gate.

“Hi,” she said, sounding tentative, trying to not appear overly reserved, as she approached the gate.

“Your neighbor, Bob – “ he started to say but paused.

He must have quickly discerned the puzzlement in the writer’s facial expression.

He continued to say, “I was hoping he had mentioned that I’d come to call on you this morning.”

Bob was the American retiree who lived in the third bungalow, right side from the gate of the compound. He was a new friend of Jessamine’s family. But what has Bob to do with this man?

“I’m Basil, by the way, and you are the romance novelist?” He spoke with a slight Yorkshire accent.

There was no point in denying. Her recent books had her photograph on the back page.

That’s when Amy, who stood behind the writer after summoning her to the door, whispered anxiously. “Bob’s maid asked me last night to tell you that his friend from the UK will see you today. Something about you signing your books. I forgot to tell you first thing this morning, sorry.” Amy was Jessamine’s live-in assistant.

Only then did Jessamine notice the carrier bag in his left hand. The bag had the familiar red-and-white stripes design, with the logo of a local bookshop chain. It made her wonder whether he had popped in at the nearest branch as soon as it opened at 10:00 a.m. before calling.

“I was wondering if you can sign a few of your books?” he said, indicating the content of the carrier bag in his hand.

“Would you like to come in?”

He did.

In the lounge, Basil was invited to take a seat. He apologized profusely for the intrusion as he sat.

“Bob warned me that you’re a very private person, and may not appreciate visits from strangers on short notice.”

Indeed! Jessamine said to herself.

“But I have to travel back to Manila in two hours, stay there overnight for my flight back to England tomorrow morning, so I took this chance to have you sign some of your pocketbooks.” He unloaded the half-dozen paperbacks from the carrier bag, putting them on the coffee table.

Amy, in the background, took the cue and fetched Jessamine’s favored purple sign pen.

“It’s for my housekeeper back home, Dahlia. She’s also a Filipina, has been in England for a long time now,” Basil explained as Jessamine took the pen from Amy.

“You’re Dahlia’s favorite romance author,” he declared with that delighted twinkle in his eyes. “She’d rather read your book aside from tending the garden than go out for walks or attend get-togethers with her friends. As soon as she hears that your books are available in the Philippine shop in Manchester where she goes to, she’d ask me to drive her there, pronto. And,” he paused, looking very pleased, “you’ve no idea how pleased Dahlia would be when she sees this surprise present for her. Autographed pocketbooks by her favorite writer!”

“Oh,” was all Jessamine could say, shyly.

Jessamine felt awkward whenever she received compliments in her face. But not Amy, by extension. Jessamine caught her assistant beaming with satisfaction. She was standing a few feet behind the armchair occupied by Basil, eyes on her boss. Amy must be waiting for the go-signal on whether or not to offer refreshment to the visitor. She did, nevertheless, on her own, asked him – apparently spurred on by the visitor’s sycophancy.

Picking up the paperbacks one by one to sign, Jessamine ignored the conversation between Amy and Basil about the latter’s tea preference. Black, green, herbal? With milk? With lemon? With sugar?

As the writer signed her books, she wondered what the relationship was between Basil who, it turned out, was 53 years old, and Dahlia who, Jessamine would learn later, was in her 40s. As there was no mention of Basil’s wife, and with Jessamine being Jessamine - forever thinking of plots to develop for future writing projects - she was curious if there might be a germ of story between this Englishman and his Filipina housekeeper. Of course, in Jessamine Hill Romances, her heroes were no older than 31, and her heroines no older than 28. But, whoever said she could not alter the ages of her characters to conform to a romantic novel formula?

Two days later, the romance novelist received a text message from Dahlia who thanked her lavishly for the autograph. Basil, Jessamine imagined, must have just arrived in their house in England and handed the signed paperbacks to Dahlia, who then sent her thanks to the author via SMS. (As a marketing ploy, Jessamine’s publisher printed her other mobile phone number on the inside back cover for readers wanting to give feedback directly to the writer.)

That SMS started the acquaintanceship between this romance writer and the Englishman’s housekeeper.

OVER the couple of years that followed, Dahlia sent Jessamine occasional text messages (How are you? When’s the next book in your series coming? Did you have to kill off Lorenz (a character in one book)? I have an embarrassing request but please, please consider using my name and Basil’s in your next romance novel, please?), infrequent and short emails about her personal life, and every now and then, snail mails including greeting cards.

With Dahlia sharing bits and pieces about her life, and with snatches of conversations with Bob about Basil, Jessamine managed to uncover what the relationship was between Basil and Dahlia.

DAHLIA and her elder sister, Aster, were orphans. Their parents died in a vehicular accident when they were in secondary school. Both were adopted by a spinster aunt who was an assistant principal in a local elementary school. Teachers, even assistant principals, did not earn enough in their home country for a comfortable living – much less send two nieces to the university. Their aunt decided to apply as a domestic helper in Hong Kong for a British expat couple to afford her nieces’ education.

Dahlia and Aster took up courses in Education – elementary education for Dahlia and special education for Aster. They graduated within a year of each other, got their diploma, took their teacher’s licensure exam that they both passed with decent scores, and got their teaching license. Dahlia immediately got a teaching post; her sister chose to work at a call center. Two years into teaching at the village primary school, Dahlia was then persuaded by her aunt to work for another British expat in Hong Kong as babysitter to two young children. They were Basil’s children by his wife, Farrah.

However, Dahlia was not exactly happy with having agreed to her aunt’s suggestion.

“I do not want to work as a nanny,” she said to her elder sister.

“Think of the money,” Aster said. “You’ll earn three times as much in a month than what you currently earn, plus board and lodging is free.”

Dahlia just bit her lip. She did not know how her sister would react to her plan.

“Is it Henry, your boyfriend? Don’t want to be away from him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dahlia blurted out, annoyed. Henry, a childhood friend, worked for the mayor’s office and was Dahlia’s long-time suitor. “As a matter of fact, I gave him an ultimatum last week to stop bothering me. He’s wasting his time on me. I cared for him only as friend, that’s all.”

Aster looked disappointed. She liked Henry. She saw him as hardworking, responsible, and with a bright future. But Aster did not veer off the topic. “So, why are you reluctant to fly to Hong Kong and work?”

“I’m planning to enroll for a Master’s degree in Education as soon as I saved enough for the tuition.”

“That’s news to me.”

“I have dreams, and being a nanny is not a dream for me!”

Aster looked testily at Dahlia before saying, “I have dreams, too. Know what my dream is? I want our aunt to quit working as a domestic helper, she who sacrificed her life to feed us, clothe us, and give us good education. She’s no longer supporting us financially, true, because we’re now both working. But she’s saving up to have this crumbling house renovated. For us! This is why I took this job at the call center where I get paid more than if I worked as a teacher. I’m saving, too, for a small business so I can send for auntie. I want her to stop working as a housemaid. She’s not getting any younger, or perhaps you’re so selfish and do not care about her working as a housemaid?”

Dahlia was stung by her sister’s speech.

But her sister was not done yet. “Being a babysitter was not your dream, fine. I can accept that. But did you think being a servant to strangers was a dream nurtured by our aunt, who gave up her school position so she could provide for the two of us?”

The emotional blackmail worked.

Dahlia started working on her travel and overseas employment documents the next day.

HER first six months as nanny to the Stewart children, Ben, aged five, and Fiona, aged three, went by quickly. It helped that her aunt, who worked for another expat couple, lived just two floors below the residential building in Central Hong Kong. Dahlia did not feel quite homesick owing to her aunt who was always there to guide her. It also helped that the Stewart couple were kind and understanding. The couple, who had known Dahlia’s aunt since they moved to Hong Kong from England two years ago, employed the aunt as part-time cleaner on most Saturdays. The aunt was also asked, at times, to babysit for a few hours on Friday evenings when the Stewart couple went out for dinner with other expat friends.

With the Stewarts having a live-in nanny, Farrah was able to return to work. The wife worked for HSBC in Queen’s Road; Basil was regional sales director for Asia of one of the biggest academic book publishers in the world. Its Asian headquarters was also in Queen’s Road in Central. Farrah worked long hours; Basil even longer. He was always travelling two to three days at a time – to Manila, to Bangkok, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Taipei and all over Asia excluding mainland China.

The Stewart children took to Dahlia easily. It could be attributed to how well her aunt looked after Ben and Fiona. The aunt might have been firm with the two, but she was always fair and the two knew it. With Dahlia, however, Ben and Fiona bonded with their nanny without effort. They had fun, childish fun, like mimicking each other’s accent or when Dahlia taught them board games, or when they went to the zoo or botanical gardens occasionally. If Ben and Fiona saw in Dahlia’s aunt a strict nanny, the two saw in Dahlia a sort of elder sister, a playmate, or a minor mother figure. Dahlia was always there, unlike their parents who loved them without a doubt but were more focused on their jobs.

Then Farrah was diagnosed with late-stage ovarian cancer. She experienced no symptoms in the early stages, hence, it got undetected. The Stewarts decided to return to England where Farrah would get the best medical attention. The couple decided that it was best if they brought Dahlia with them to the UK. They spoke to her about this plan but did not confide about Farrah’s grave illness.

Dahlia declined to come with the Stewarts to England.

She was anxious being in a foreign country that was so far from her home. It was different in Hong Kong which was only two hours away by plane to Manila. She also had her aunt there and several compatriots working in the city. England, meanwhile, was in another continent, and no auntie to serve as her emotional anchor.

When the Stewarts announced to their children that they would return home in Europe, Ben and Fiona accepted it with detachment. It was expected. Ben, who had started school, had not yet formed close friendships with the other pupils. Fiona, meanwhile, had only one question:

“Is Dahlia coming with us?”

When her parents said no, Fiona’s sudden burst of tears which turned to screams reverberated throughout their flat.

“I’m not going if Dahlia is not. I’m not! I’m not! I’M NOT!”

In the end, the Stewarts spoke to Dahlia and her aunt, confided why the family had to fly as soon as possible to the UK.

“If Dahlia would come with us to England to care for Ben and Fiona,” said Farrah, almost imploring, “then Basil and I need not worry as I undergo various treatments. I may need to be confined in the hospital for days, I don’t know… Please, Dahlia?”

Basil remained quiet. He could not speak as he tried to rein in his agony.

Dahlia and her aunt were stunned. They knew what late-stage cancer meant. The aunt burst into tears, her sorrow for the family self-evident. In anguished whisper, she said to her niece, “Go. Please. For the kids.”

With tears in her eyes, Dahlia nodded. She remembered her pain when her own mother (and father) passed away. If she could help in any way to lighten the family’s load, she would. She had become attached to the Stewart children and their dad – but Dahlia quickly shoved away the latter thought. She could not, could never, entertain affectionate thoughts for her married employer.

Within the month, the Stewarts with the children’s nanny flew to England.

Less than a year later, Farrah passed away.

NOTHING as tragic as Farrah’s death happened in the Stewart family in the next 20 years. They moved on from their grief. They had help in this. There was Debbie, Farrah’s younger sister who, in the first two years, frequently visited her niece and nephew to see how they were faring. Farrah’s parents visited as well, until the couple went ahead with their long-ago plan of retiring to milder climes, in New Zealand. Basil’s mother who recently married again after a few years of widowhood visited, too, to check on how her son and grandchildren were doing. For some reason, however, she failed to connect with Ben and Fiona. She thought they were taciturn. They thought she was boring. The number of her visits to her grandchildren soon shrunk.

And of course, there was Dahlia.

Quietly, faithfully, she held the family together not only after Farrah’s death but way before it. If she was only a “housekeeper” to Basil, Ben and Fiona thought differently. The siblings, but especially Fiona, regarded Dahlia more like a substitute mother. The two might not have realized that in the beginning as they were still very young, but that was what Dahlia did for the Stewart children. She mothered them as if they were her own. She loved them as Ben, but especially Fiona, loved her back dearly.

Dahlia was there, providing comfort and consolation when Ben and Fiona’s mum was in and out of hospitals. Dahlia was there, after their mum’s death and when Basil started his frequent business travels outside England. True, he refused to be based again permanently in the Far East for his job, stating that he would hand in his resignation if the company would insist on him being thousands of miles away from the UK. The company did not insist. Basil was a valuable sales director. He was promoted instead as vice-president for sales in Europe and the Far East. This meant that he would be away for business regularly, from two nights to two weeks, away from his children. He accepted this compromise with his company because he was confident in Dahlia’s commitment to looking after his growing-up children well.

When the Stewart children were in middle school, Debbie paid Basil a visit at home one day. He had returned home from his office early to sort out what he would bring for his business meeting in Germany the next day. Ben and Fiona were in school.

Dahlia was in the back garden, had just removed the clothes from the clothesline, the fresh laundry folded and piled neatly on the laundry basket, ready for ironing. But as it was a nice summer’s day, she decided to instead tend the garden. The marigolds and the roses and the dahlias needed a ton of dead-heading. The ironing, she thought, could be done later. But first she had to change into her usual gardening clothes so off she went back to the house, by way of the kitchen.

That was when she overheard (which she later wrote about in one of her infrequent snail mails to Jessamine) the conversation between Basil and Debbie. The two were talking in the kitchen where Dahlia had to pass through to go to her room.

Debbie was saying, “You are blind! How could you not see Dahlia’s affection for you?”

Dahlia, stunned upon hearing her name, stopped in her tracks. She was on the second step of the six-step stairs into the kitchen when she heard what Debbie was saying. The kitchen door facing the garden was wide open. Eavesdropping, Dahlia knew, was rude and wrong but she wanted to know why she figured in Basil and Debbie’s conversation.

“And what is your point, Debbie?” Basil asked, calmly.

“My point is for you to do something about it. She cares for you. How could she be so devoted to looking after you and your children if she has no feelings for you? I’ve seen the way she looked at you, when you’re unaware.”

Basil sighed, audibly.

Debbie added, “Mum and dad and I will have peace of mind in Auckland if Dahlia becomes Ben and Fiona’s stepmom. It will be our – mine, mum’s, dad’s - assurance that my niece and nephew are firmly and officially under Dahlia’s care.”

“I’m the father of your niece and nephew. Surely, you and my in-laws trust me in looking after the welfare of my own children?”

“But you are always away, on business trips traipsing over the continent and in Asia!”

“This job puts food on the table. It gives security to my children’s future.”

“That’s not what I meant, Basil. What I’m trying to say is that when I depart from England to join mum and dad and my boyfriend in New Zealand, we will all be assured that even when you’re away from them, Dahlia is here for them. She always is, you may say. But how can we be sure? Her love for your children – and you! – would give me comfort for Ben and Fiona’s sakes even when I’m thousands of miles away.”

Silence.

Debbie, after Basil’s non-response, said, “My sister made me promise in her deathbed to do whatever I can for the well-being of your children. And I think that, given Dahlia’s feelings for you, you could acknowledge that and give it legitimacy.”

“What do you mean, legitimacy?”

“Oh, Basil, do I need to spell it out?” Debbie sounded frustrated. “Marry her!”

“I cannot marry again, Debbie.”

“And why’s that?”

“I promised your sister before she passed away that I will not get married again.”

“I do NOT believe that she would make you promise that. I knew my sister.”

“No, she did not,” Basil admitted with another deep sigh. “But, even if you were right that Dahlia cares for me and even if, for the sake of argument, I had some feelings for her, I will not marry my housekeeper.”

Dahlia, after hearing that, nearly tripped over herself in her haste to turn and run back to the garden, into the garden shed, to cry her heart out.

DAHLIA did not join the family for dinner that evening. She retired to her room after cooking and setting the table for three.

Fiona, as soon as she realized that Dahlia was skipping dinner, popped into the latter’s room, worried that she might be ill. She found Dahlia seated by the dresser, eyes swollen from crying. The girl, upset, approached Dahlia in quick steps and hugged her.

“What’s the matter?” Fiona asked.

“Nothing,” Dahlia lied. “I … I probably just miss my family back in the Philippines.”

Scattered on the dresser, in front of Dahlia, were photos of her sister Aster and her husband of two years. There were also photos of their aunt who had finally returned to the Philippines for good, having retired from her job in Hong Kong. A few other photos showed the progress of a small kindergarten school being constructed. It was Aster and her husband’s family business plan. Dahlia had contributed her savings towards the construction, hoping that the children in the community would get a better start in their early education development.

Fiona had already seen those photos. She always wanted Dahlia to share with her whatever news the latter had from her relatives. Fiona was that attached to Dahlia, who had not returned to her home country in all the years that she was with the Stewart family.

“Are you thinking of going back to the Philippines?” Fiona tried to hide her concern.

Dahlia nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart was actually saying ‘no’, she did not want to return to home. She could not imagine being so far away from Basil, even if he regarded her as just a housekeeper. But her heart was also crushed and broken. She wanted to get away, even if briefly, from the desolation and hopelessness of her unreturned love.

WHEN Fiona sat down for dinner that night, she announced to her brother and dad:

“Dahlia plans to visit her family in the Philippines and I am going with her.”

Basil said, surprised, “She hasn’t notified me about that.”

“Why, are you going to stop her from leaving?” Fiona asked, hopeful.

“I can’t stop her doing that,” Basil said in reply to his daughter.

Ben was curious. “Why do you want to go with her, Fiona?”

Before Fiona could reply, their dad quickly made a suggestion, intending to dissuade his daughter. “We can schedule a holiday, the three of us, anywhere here in Europe or even in the US when Dahlia is in the Philippines.”

“I want to go with Dahlia.”

“That may not be a good idea, Fiona. You’re not used to the heat and high humidity and the traffic and pollution in Southeast Asia.”

“I want to go with Dahlia,” Fiona said with emphasis, her tone not unlike when they were in Hong Kong and she was four and demanded that Dahlia come with them to England. “I want to make sure that she’ll return to us, here. She could not make me fly back to England alone, me, a twelve-year-old, could she?”

(To be continued)

How much longer can Dahlia endure her heartbreak from unrequited love?

Is Basil that stubborn and blind to his housekeeper’s devoted love?

Will Fiona – or Jessamine Hill – play a role in the Englishman and his housekeeper’s happy ending?

Excerpted from The Romance Fantasist