The Englishman's Housekeeper (part 2)

THAT Philippine holiday pushed through but only after eighteen months. Dahlia was strongly urged by her sister to schedule her arrival for the inauguration and blessing of the Happy Kiddies School. As Dahlia had a share in its ownership, it would be good for her to be present. The opening of the kindergarten, as Aster stressed, would also be timed to coincide with the surprise birthday celebration of their aunt for her 60th.

“Auntie will be over the moon if you come for her milestone birthday,” Aster added, excited at the prospect of Dahlia returning to the Philippines as a birthday surprise to their aunt.

Dahlia readily agreed.

Fiona, meanwhile, could not agree more to have their trip delayed. So attached was the girl to her nanny that she did not really want Dahlia to be thousands of miles away, even if she herself would accompany Dahlia to the Far East.

AND, as Dahlia recounted in one of her few snail mails sent to the romance author, that long-ago visit to the Philippines went unexpectedly delightful. She had an emotional but otherwise lovely time catching up with her aunt whom she dearly missed. Her aunt looked well, as if she had not aged. She was busy, she said, with another training course after renewing her teacher’s license. Her aunt would be the administrator of the kindergarten. She might also accept an offer to teach a subject three evenings a week in the nearby secondary school.

“I thought you have retired!” Dahlia exclaimed.

Her aunt laughed. “I have retired from that job in Hong Kong, but not from teaching.”

Dahlia also had a grand time catching up with her sister and her husband Henry, who was Dahlia’s suitor before she went overseas. She was elated, seeing how happy Aster and Henry were. The couple proved a perfect fit for each other’s aims in life.

Fiona, for her part, enjoyed her holiday, timed to correspond as well with her school break. She did not remember Dahlia’s aunt as their occasional nanny in Hong Kong, but a few photos taken during their Hong Kong days were enough for Fiona to get close to Dahlia and Aster’s spinster aunt.

But, as Dahlia confided to Jessamine in her letter, that Philippine holiday was an unforgettable gift. Not only did she enjoy to the hilt her reunion with her family and became closer to Fiona, she also discovered the Jessamine Hill Romances at the local bookstores!

“That discovery took place more than ten years ago,” wrote Dahlia to Jessamine, “and I remain your most avid reader up to now. Were it not for the romantic fantasies that you wrote for the likes of me, forever dreaming only of the one love I could not have, I wouldn’t know how I’d survive. You may call me crazy, pining for this Englishman’s affection. I can’t help it. I feel in my heart that he has some tender feelings for me. I just could not understand why he appeared determined to forever hold it back. By calling me his housekeeper, it was as if he could bury deeper his feelings…”

THAT was the last snail mail sent by Dahlia to Jessamine in Manila before the latter returned to New Zealand, where she had family, for an extended spell. It was followed, although infrequently, by text messages. Dahlia either queried the usual - when her next book was due for release or just to say hello.

Jessamine tried to respond when she could. She felt sorry for Dahlia but she could not offer any advice so Dahlia could purge her feeling of dejection. Jessamine would not dream of suggesting any kind of hope because she had no idea what Basil really felt for Dahlia. Dahlia might have alluded that Basil harbored tender feelings for her, but a desperate heart could turn to fantasy to soften the torment of rejection. The writer wondered whether the fantasies she created in her romance novels had contributed to Dahlia clinging on hazy conjectures…

One day, while cleaning up her email boxes, Jessamine discovered an email from Dahlia in her spam folder. She moved it to her primary folder, intending to read it later along with around a hundred other non-urgent emails in her primary inbox. Some weeks later, she got around to reading Dahlia’s email. She said that she had sent Jessamine a letter via the usual postal service, but that she had addressed the snail mail to her Manila address instead of her Auckland address. Dahlia added, and not for the first time, that she and Jessamine should visit each other when the writer decided to come to the UK.

What a coincidence, Jessamine said to herself. She was scheduled in the next couple of weeks to travel to England after a short stop in Manila.

Jessamine managed to get hold of the letter. Before her flight from Auckland, she called her former PA, Amy, in Manila to retrieve Dahlia’s snail mail that was sent a few months ago to her Philippine address. The manager of the expat compound where Jessamine maintained tenancy of a bungalow kept all the mails of residents who were overseas, as per SOP. So when Jessamine was on layover at the Manila airport, Amy handed her the letter. The envelope was thick. The letter must be several pages long. Jessamine tucked it in her handbag, intending to read it during her long flight to England.

THE handwritten letter dripped with Dahlia’s mixed emotions as she shared with the romance writer her further heartbreak. As Jessamine saw it:

Much had happened in the Stewart household between Dahlia’s snail mails to Jessamine. Ben moved out of the family house, taking a job in London to live with his girlfriend who was also working in the English capital. Shortly after, Dahlia intended to return to the Philippines for good. This intent was precipitated when she overheard Basil and his daughter arguing about her. Fiona wanted her dad and Dahlia to attend her graduation together, as a couple.

Her dad refused. “What are you thinking? Why do you want me and Dahlia to be there as a couple?”

“You’re the two most important persons in my life,” Fiona said calmly, aware that her dad knew that he was again being pushed towards Dahlia.

“Fine. She and I will attend your graduation. But I will not give the impression that we are a couple. I don’t want anyone to mistake us as a couple. I promised your mum before she died - ”

“I heard that before, Dad,” said Fiona, her voice starting to rise, “that you made a death-bed promise not to marry again, to not even show interest in another woman. But my mother did not make you promise that!”

“No matter. I made a promise. I will honor it.”

“I cannot believe that you have no soft spot for Dahlia. I’m not that naïve.”

“Believe what you want. I made a promise which I do not intend to break!”

“You are hopelessly stubborn!” Fiona said as she stormed out of the house, angry and frustrated.

The next day, Fiona cancelled her attendance in the graduation ceremonies. Then she called her auntie in New Zealand. She informed Debbie that she would fly down under as soon as she could. She would join her maternal side of the family for a bit.

Fiona told her dad the following evening that she had booked a one-way flight to Auckland, leaving in a week’s time. And that no, she did not need money from him. “I’ll use my savings, plus I intend to get a job there. You’ll be well rid of me. No one will push you anymore to something which I reckon you wanted to do.”

Basil did not dispute his daughter’s last statement. Neither did he attempt to dissuade her daughter from leaving. Fiona was no longer a minor. It might do her good to be away and see things in another perspective. What Basil did was also leave. He flew to the Far East a few days later for an unscheduled holiday, in a huff, before Fiona’s departure.

Dahlia, meanwhile, started packing her clothes and all the stuff she had accumulated over her many years with the Stewarts. She would return to her family in the Philippines as soon as Basil returned from his Asian holiday – this was Dahlia’s plan.

Fiona – despite her brother trying to discourage her – could not be stopped with her intent.

“Why could you not wait until I return from Denmark?” asked Ben on the phone. He was in Copenhagen for two weeks’ business training. “And why did you tell me you’re off to New Zealand for at least a year the day before your flight? I’m your brother. You could have informed me about it well before you booked your flight.”

“What for?” asked Fiona. “And by the way, Dahlia is also leaving – for good.”

“WHAT?”

Fiona put down the phone. She was at the time very upset at Dahlia’s decision to leave that she could not speak. Ben rang twice but neither Fiona nor Dahlia picked up the phone.

Dahlia took Fiona to the airport the next day. Both were in tears. Fiona was aware that Dahlia overheard her argument with her dad.

“I will not stop you leaving, Dahlia. I think it’s best that you do. Find another love - ”

Dahlia started to protest but Fiona stopped her.

“I know, Dahlia. I know how much you care for my dad who is blind and stupid and stubborn. Maybe I’ll send for you in Auckland. I’ll find you someone in New Zealand, what do you think?”

The joke, for that was what it was, sounded unfunny to both.

DAHLIA had a confirmed airline seat for a flight leaving two days after Basil’s arrival. She was not able to leave though. Basil had to be taken to the hospital the morning after he arrived. He suffered from deep vein thrombosis, or DVT. And while in the ambulance, he suffered from a mild heart attack.

BASIL’s condition was in no way critical but it scared him and his family. Ben returned to England the next day and Basil’s mother, despite her frailty, travelled from London to Yorkshire to visit her son who was confined at Dewsbury General Hospital. Fiona who had just arrived in Auckland was terrified at the news. She prepared to return to the UK but changed her mind upon learning that her dad would be fine. Fiona, Ben and their grandmother collectively begged Dahlia to cancel her flight and look after Basil. She agreed.

In truth, however, as Dahlia confided to Jessamine in her letter, she would have stayed even if she were not asked to help Basil in his recuperation. That was how much she loved him.

With instructions and advice from the medical professionals who handled Basil’s case, Dahlia did well in assisting Basil in his convalescence. She made sure that he took his medicines at the right time and more importantly, she cooked and prepared his meals according to his diet regimen. The DVT happened after his long-haul flight. His age and his borderline overweight condition contributed to the DVT and also towards his mild heart attack.

Ben went home in Yorkshire every weekend on the first month of his dad’s convalescence, and every other weekend after that. He made sure that everything was being done for the recovering patient. He also made Dahlia take breaks from looking after his dad. Ben and Fiona, unknown at first to Dahlia, were in regular communication. The siblings felt that they should do what they could so Dahlia would reconsider her decision to return to her home country for good.

WHEN fully recovered, Basil decided to finally retire from his job. Dahlia thought it was best. All the travelling he did, she believed, contributed to his illness. He took up golfing, something he did during his holiday breaks in Asia. This time though, Basil played golf as often as the weather permitted. When he was not in the golf course, he went out for walks, met former work colleagues for a drink and sometimes accepted dinner invitations from them. He had even visited his mum in London twice, and also spent a few weekends with Ben and Ben’s girlfriend also in London.

Dahlia did not figure in any of those activities.

“But,” as Dahlia wrote to Jessamine:

Jessamine was aboard an aircraft on her flight to Manchester as she read Dahlia’s letter. She noticed a break in the writing when she reached the above passage. The ink used in the continuation was bluer than blue. But with the letter being multiple-pages long, she thought it was not unusual for the letter-writer writing in longhand to take a break.

Dahlia wrote that she had something important to tell the romance writer but that she could not tell her via text message or email or snail mail. It had to be face-to-face. “If you’re planning to travel to this part of Europe, do come and visit. You know my address.”

IT TOOK Jessamine nearly two weeks before she was able to schedule her visit to her “most avid reader” (but all those who sent her fan mails wrote the same thing, that they were her most avid reader!) living in Dewsbury. She first planned to make it a surprise visit but changed her mind. If she visited without notice, Dahlia might not be at home. Jessamine did not want a wasted journey. She tried to call Dahlia’s mobile number a week before, but the number could not be contacted. She tried twice more in the next few days. In vain. The number was still uncontactable. She went to Dewsbury just the same.

TWO cars were parked in the driveway. Jessamine felt relieved. At least, she thought, her visit would not be for naught. At least two people were at home.

She parked on the kerb outside the rather large house. She was mindful that her car was immediately under an established Japanese maple tree. It was nearly mid-autumn. The chill was in the brisk wind that harassed the turning leaves, with the fragile ones being blown and scattered here, there and everywhere including on top of parked cars.

As the romance writer approached the fenceless house, she noticed some movement in the net curtain on the second floor of the house, directly above what she imagined was the lounge. Someone in the household must have heard when she parked her car.

The front door opened before Jessamine could push the doorbell. It was not Dahlia who opened the door but a young woman. Wearing black jeans, black ankle boots and unzipped black leather jacket over navy cashmere pullover, Jessamine thought that Fiona looked very wintery – that, or she was dressed to go out.

“Hello,” said the young somber woman who looked a bit pale. “I assume you’re Jessamine Hill? I’ve seen your photo in a few of your books.”

The romance author nodded, smiling. “And you’re Fiona? I recognize you from photos which were showed to me by your dad, maybe a couple of years ago.”

“You’re here for my dad? Oh, how rude of me. Do come in, please.”

Jessamine wondered why Fiona would think that she was there for Basil. She followed her into the lounge where Fiona indicated a seat for Jessamine to take.

“I’m here to visit Dahlia. Not only once did she suggest in her letters to me to come visit her if I’m in the vicinity.”

“Yes, I do remember Dahlia telling me that she’d love to meet with the writer whose books had given her so much hope in love.”

But those were romantic fantasies, Jessamine would like to point out.

As Jessamine sat on the armchair, Fiona offered her tea.

“Maybe later if that’s fine.”

Fiona then sat across the visitor, and asked as if suddenly remembering, “May I know when Dahlia sent her latest letter to you?”

Jessamine explained the run-around that happened to Dahlia’s latest snail mail before she finally got hold of it. “I’d say it took about three or four months before I was able to read her letter.”

“Oh, that long.”

“Is Dahlia here, or out on errand maybe?”

Jessamine caught the catch in Fiona’s voice when she said, “Dahlia’s back in the Philippines.” Then Fiona started to tear up. “She’s not going to return anymore.”

The writer was surprised and disappointed that she missed Dahlia. Her being back in her home country would be the reason why Jessamine could not contact the former’s UK mobile number. Dahlia might now have a local Philippine number.

Jessamine was affected by Fiona’s distress as her tears welled up profusely at that point. She could understand the young woman’s affection for the woman who was her nanny for a long time and who, based on Dahlia’s letters, regarded Dahlia as family.

I’m sorry for the outburst,” Fiona said as she hurriedly dried her tears.

Jessamine said, kindly, as she stood up. “I understand. Dahlia had shared with me that you were close to each other. Anyway, I’d better get going since Dahlia’s not here. I’ll email her and tell her that too bad we missed each other.”

Fiona stood, too. “Would you want to say hello to my dad before you drive home?”

“Yes, of course. Is he around?”

“He’s out for a walk in the nearby park. He should’ve returned home for his lunch. I was going to fetch him when you arrived.”

So, thought Jessamine, she was correct in assuming that Fiona was dressed to go outside, in the cold.

“Would you like to walk with me? Crow Nest Park is only a ten-minute walk from here.”

“Sure, why not?” Jessamine, however, suggested that Fiona send a text to his dad, tell him that they would meet him and which spot in the park.

“I’ll know where to find him, where he ends up after his walk, which bench he gets stuck in reminiscing. And by the way, dad doesn’t bother bringing his mobile anymore with him these days when he’s out walking,” Fiona said as she locked the front door of their house. “He’s probably sick of me calling him and texting him to remind him of lunch or that dinner will get cold.”

“Are you concerned about his health? According to Dahlia, your dad had fully recovered from his illness.”

“His physical health, last time he had a check-up, was good. I pushed him for a physical when I got back from Auckland over five weeks ago. But my brother and I are concerned about how he handles losing Dahlia.”

Again, there was a catch in Fiona’s voice that did not escape Jessamine. They walked along the length of Crow Nest View in silence. As they turned left to Burgh Mill Lane, Fiona had composed herself again.

Jessamine said, “In her letter, Dahlia said she had accepted her situation. You’re aware of what I’m referring to, I believe? And as she did not mention heading for the Philippines, I had presumed that she no longer considered leaving the UK.”

“Being returned to her family there,” Fiona replied, again with a catch in her voice, “was not Dahlia’s decision. If only we had a legal right to her, or if she had left a will… Dad, Ben and I wouldn’t have consented to have Dahlia’s ashes be claimed by her sister.”

IT seemed to be a really long walk for the two women towards the park. Jessamine was seized with shock and grief; Fiona with continuing bereavement.

Only when they reached the main entrance of the park did Jessamine manage to speak and ask what Dahlia died of.

“She died of aneurysm six weeks ago. She told dad in the morning before he started out for a day’s walk that she had a headache, but that she’d just take paracetamol. She even prepared him a couple of sandwiches for his lunch while out walking. When dad returned by late afternoon, he found her slumped on the kitchen floor. Dead. Massive bleeding in the brain according to the autopsy…”

Fiona stopped walking as she burst into tears. Jessamine stopped, too, and tearfully hugged the grieving Fiona.

“If dad or I were in the house when she collapsed, Dahlia could have been brought to the hospital immediately. She could’ve survived. She could have… oh, I don’t really know.”

They continued to walk in the park, both oblivious to the cacophony of the gathered ducks along the edge of the man-made lake, or the people out for a walk or to walk their dogs, or the brisk wind blowing the leaves all over. Jessamine followed Fiona. She obviously knew where she was going, until they reached what seemed to be the edge of the park. They crossed past the grille gate, which was a short-cut to the crematorium.

Like most crematoria, this one had a remembrance park where ashes could be strewn on the flower beds if the family so wished. There were also remembrance plaques fastened on the edge of the concrete pathways, with the ashes of those named in the plaques not necessarily on the grounds.

“Was this where your mum - ” Jessamine started to ask, but Fiona shook her head.

“No, mum’s not here.”

“Then whose, if Dahlia’s ashes were brought to the Philippines?”

It was then that Jessamine saw, a little distance from them, a figure seated on one the benches in the remembrance park, his back to the two women. It could only be Basil, his white hair needing a trim being ruffled by the wind, his shoulders hunched as if weighed down with – bereavement?

Jessamine, perplexed, stopped walking and touched Fiona slightly on her arm, bidding her to stop as well. Fiona did. She sensed the question in the writer’s eyes.

Fiona said, “You would know. You might’ve already written about it, that of someone finally realizing or accepting that he loves the one woman who fought for his love. How many Dahlias in the world would hang on to her only love, until death? Only Dahlia. It could only be Dahlia.”

It was then that Basil turned his head to look. The sound of his daughter’s voice might have reached him, blown by the wind.

Fiona teared up, eyes looking straight at her dad but not without compassion. “He could grieve all he wanted but he could never bring Dahlia back to life. Perhaps he’ll then feel half the heartbreak that Dahlia carried with her until the end.”

Basil’s red-rimmed eyes were awash with anguish, perhaps guilt as well? And when his daughter stepped closer towards him with the romance writer, he covered his face with his palms, shoulders hunched, struggling to regain composure. He was seated on the bench facing the remembrance plaque dedicated to Dahlia. Surrounding the plaque were bunches of fresh red roses and red dahlias.

A man obviously grappling with so much sorrow and regret was what Jessamine saw, but should it move her?

A strong gust of wind blew just then. Its hum sounded ghostly, like that of a weeping woman forever begging for love, even a crumb. The cold wind blew again, further shedding the leaves off the trees, blowing and dispersing the petals off the roses and dahlias on Dahlia’s remembrance plaque.

Shuddering, Fiona fully zipped up her jacket. Jessamine further tightened her scarf round her neck and then put her hands in her coat pocket, for instant warmth.

The icy wind, if it made Basil shiver despite his puffer jacket, could barely equal the bitter chill of unrequited love suffered by the luckless Dahlia to the end.

No, there could not be instant warmth for this Englishman. (End)

Excerpted from The Romance Fantasist