The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (7 page)

22

I take a step towards Bertie. The snow on his green wax jacket is melting and he looks
a little less blue than before.

‘So. You only eat liquorice sticks?’

Bertie takes a step back.

‘It’s okay, Bertie. I’m not going to try an
d force you to eat.’

Bertie turns away from me and climbs onto one of the wooden benches by a long table.
He sits, then puts his elbows on the table.

‘So what’s on the menu for breakfast?’ I ask, coming to sit down next to him. ‘Liquorice first, then the milk? Or do you have the milk
then the liquorice?’

Nothing.

I look around. ‘Where do you even get food from in here, anyway?’

Then I see a little service
hatch hung with silver lights at the far end of the hall.

‘Wait there,’ I tell Bertie, heading to the serving hatch. ‘Hello?
Hello
?’

‘Hello!’ A bright face appears at
the serving hatch.

It’s a young girl with kind
blue eyes and piles of curly brown hair. She can’t be any taller than five feet, and she’s very cute. Probably about my age, but her shortness makes her look younger.

‘Oh
!’ I put a hand to my chest. ‘Wow. So there is someone here.’

The girl co
mes away from the serving hatch and through a door beside it, into the hall. ‘Yes there is! Hope I didn’t scare you. I’m the cook here. You must be Bertie’s new nanny. I’m used to seeing new faces with him now. The poor little lad has a new nanny every week.’

The girl has such a perky, smiley
face that I like her straight away. She’s so little that her thick curly hair looks extra huge. She’s wearing chef’s whites and a stripy blue apron.

‘So I’ve heard,’ I say. ‘It’s g
ood to meet you. I’m Sera.’

The girl beams at me. ‘
I’m Victoria. Vicky to my friends, so you just go ahead and call me Vicky.’ She smiles, showing little dimples. ‘I just heard you telling off Mrs Calder.’

‘She shouldn’t have talked a
bout Bertie like that,’ I say, frowning.

‘No she shouldn’t,’ says Vicky, dusting flou
ry hands on her apron. ‘But that’s never stopped her before. She’s a law unto herself, that woman. And she doesn’t take to new people all that well.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Oh, don’t feel bad pet. It’s nothing personal. I’m sure she’s no meaner to you than all the other nannies who have come and gone.’ She looks up thoughtfully. ‘Although she does
really
hate the pretty ones.’

Vicky puts a hand to the side of her mouth and lowers he
r voice to a whisper. ‘She’s desperate for her daughter, Margaret, to marry Patrick Mansfield, so any young girl around the castle is a threat.’

‘Sh
e mentioned something about Margaret,’ I say, hoping I don’t sound too interested.

Vicky nods. ‘
She stays at the castle sometimes. She tutors Bertie. And she follows Mr Mansfield around like a puppy dog. You’ll meet her later. She teaches Bertie in the evenings. And the afternoons too, sometimes.’

‘Tu
toring?’ I ask. ‘Shouldn’t Bertie go to school? He needs to be around other children.’

‘The
rich have their own set of rules,’ Vicky says, with a frown. ‘In this castle, secrets come before friends.’

‘Well, maybe I can change that
,’ I say.

Vicky giv
es a little musical laugh. ‘I hope so. Something needs to change around here. I mean, this castle is so dark and gloomy.’

I glance back at Bertie. ‘Not th
e best place for a child,’ I say. ‘Especially if he doesn’t go to school.’

‘Shall I get the little man his milk and liquorice?’ Vicky asks.

‘If that’s all he eats …’

‘Oh that’s
all
he eats,’ says Vicky. ‘Mrs Calder has tried to force lord knows what down him. And I’ve seen other nannies begging him, pleading with him. But he’s a stubborn little lad.’

‘If he only wants milk and liquorice right now, then I
guess that’s what I’ll give him.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ sa
ys Vicky. ‘I’m making pastries back here – you don’t want to try him on a chocolate croissant or an apple tart? That’s what the other nannies did.’

At the thought of chocolate croissants and apple tarts, my
stomach squeezes. Wow, I’m hungry. I’m not very good at skipping meals. But I guess I’ll just have to bear it until lunchtime.

‘No. Small steps. He’s only just met me. I
f he usually has milk and liquorice, that’s what I’ll give him.’ I head back to the table.

I notice that Bertie is so
rt of watching me as I come back, but then he twitches his head away.

23

Soon
Vicky comes over with a mug of warm milk, a plate of liquorice sticks and a hot croissant with a pot of jam.

She winks at me. ‘I know you
didn’t want anything extra for Bertie. But I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. So I thought you might want to try one of my croissants. I used to work in Paris, you know.’

I smile at her, gratefully. ‘Thank you. Really. That’s so thoughtful of you.’

Vicky grins. ‘My pleasure. No sense cooking if there’s no one around to eat it.’

I look around the empty hall. ‘Who does usually eat here?’

‘Staff,’ says Vicky. ‘The few of us left who Mrs Calder hasn’t scared away. It’s all set up to cater for guests, but … it’s such a dark, gloomy place. I don’t really see that ever working out. Oh hell. I think my tarts are burning.’

‘T
hanks again,’ I say, as Vicky hurries back to the kitchen.

I turn to Bertie. ‘She’s nice.’

Bertie’s thin hand snakes out of his coat sleeve to grab a piece of liquorice. He feeds it into his mouth, then quickly takes another, then another. When all the liquorice is gone, he glugs down the milk like it’s water in the desert.

‘Wow. You must be thirsty,’ I say.

No reply.

‘Well, what shall we
—’

Before I can finish my
sentence, Bertie leaps to his feet and climbs over the bench. He walks away from me, and I follow him.

Three staircases later, and we’re in some sort of playroom.

‘Is this your bedroom?’ I ask, spotting a bed in the corner. It’s covered with books and Xbox games.

Bertie goes to a television a
nd flicks it on, picking up an Xbox controller.

Images of fighting men come onto the screen, and within seconds Bertie is hammering the controller, issuing punches and kicks, his face curled up into a frown.

I go to the bed and pick up a few of the books.

‘Wow. You’re some read
er. You like horror?’ I turn over a few scary looking novels. ‘Do you actually read these?’

Bertie ignores me.

We sit for a while, me waiting patiently, and Bertie hammering away at his Xbox. I’ve decided that right now, my main job is just to show Bertie that I’ll stick around. That’s it.

He’s a bit of a strange one, this kid. Part of me is tempted to believe that he’s got some sort of disorder – autism or something – that makes him shut off from the world. But
if he used to talk, then that can’t be right.

M
y heart tells me that here is a child who’s been moved around from one place to another, never feeling loved, never feeling that he belongs, and crying out for someone to stick around.

And th
at’s exactly what I intend to do. Which means one way or another, I need to help him eat.

Bertie
looks so furious playing his computer game, his little face locked into a deep scowl.

And then something bad happens.

24

Bertie has been doing well at the game up until now, beating the living daylights out of the weird computer characters he’s been fighting. But then the computer gets the upper hand and beats his character to the floor.

A big ‘Knock Out’ sign appears on the screen.

Bertie stares at it for a moment, his breathing getting faster and faster. Then he leaps up from his chair and throws th
e remote control at the television. A big crack spreads up the screen.

Before I know what’s happening
, Bertie is trashing the place, making weird bleating angry noises and smashing up anything he can get his hands on.

The X
box is the first to go. He pulls it clean free of its wires and stamps on it until the black plastic cracks.

Board games go flying across the room, a
pot plant is thrown to the ground and stamped on until it becomes a gooey pile of green sap and mud, and the curtains are ripped from the windows.

It’s like seeing the incredible hulk fly into a rage, and it doesn’t take long before he turns on me – another object in his
bedroom that needs to be trashed.

Bertie flies at me, grabbing at my clothes and hair, pulling and screeching.

I grab his wrists as softly as I can, trying to keep my breathing steady.

‘Hey. Calm down. Calm down.’

I try to look him dead in the eye, but he’s squirming around so much that it’s impossible.

He’s pretty strong for such a skinny little thing, and he manages to get some good kicks in before I pick him up, move him to the bed and hold him down.

‘It’s okay,’ I say, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’

He wriggles and squirms for a good few minutes before the life finally goes out of him, and he sags into a heavy breathing pile on the duvet.

Every time he breathes out, he makes an angry little ‘mmph!’ noise though, and it takes a while before he’s quiet.

He won’t look at me. Instead, he buries his head in the duvet.

‘So losing makes you angry,’ I say, putting a gentle hand on his back. ‘Is that it?’

Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead he spins his head around, and glares at me with such hatred that it takes my breath away.

‘It’s okay to be angry,’ I tell him. ‘The trick is to figure out what you’re really angry about. Because that’s one hell of a way to lose at a computer game.’

I put a hand to my cheek and feel a mean little bruise where his fist hit me. My arms feel achy too, and I’m sure there must be a few bruises on my legs from his kicks.

‘Here’s the thing,’ I tell Bertie’s back. ‘I’m not like the others. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try and push me, I won’t leave you. I’m here to look after you. You can try to push me away all you want, but it won’t work. I don’t leave my children. I’m here with you until you stop needing me. And right now, I’m pretty sure you need me.’

Bertie rolls over. He
looks up at me with those brown-black eyes, but the anger isn’t there any more. Instead he looks sad. Very, very sad. Then he pushes me off the bed, and pulls the duvet over himself.

‘You don’t want me sitting next to you right now?’ I tell the duvet. ‘
That’s okay.’ I’m on my feet, watching the bed. ‘Well. I guess there’ll be no more computer games for a while.’

Bertie sits bolt upright, the duvet around his shoulders. The glare is back on his face, and then he’s on his feet, running out of the room.

I follow him.

25

A few staircases and corridors later, and we’re somewhere I recognize.

Agnes Calder’s office.

Bertie pu
shes the door open without knocking, and I see Agnes at her desk, frowning at some paperwork. She’s wearing thin little glasses on the end of her nose.

‘Bertie.’ She looks u
p. Then she turns to me. ‘What on earth happened now?’

‘Nothing really,’ I say. ‘Bertie lost a computer game and got angry.’

‘Oh.’ She takes her glasses off and puts them on the desk. ‘I told you he was a nasty child.’

‘He’s
not
a nasty child.’

‘
I’ve said it over and over again. A good hard slap would do him no harm at all. But in this day and age, sad to say, it’s not allowed.’

‘That’s the last thing he needs,’ I say.

Agnes frowns. ‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Everyone is too soft with him. He needs order. Firm rules.’ She waves a hand in Bertie’s direction. ‘Or this is the result. Wayward, just like his mother. Both little trouble makers.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘He needs people who care about him,’ I say, my voice stern. ‘Not more rules and regula
tions.’

Agnes
taps her glasses on the desk and ignores me. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting another Xbox?’ she asks Bertie.

To my amazement, the little boy nods. It’s the first time I’ve seen him actually respond to a question. So he
can
understand what’s going on.

‘You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,’ says
Agnes. ‘I’ll have one ordered.’

‘Wait.’ I hold up a hand. ‘He doesn’t need another Xbox.’

‘Excuse me?’ Mrs Calder says.

‘He doesn’t need another one. Is that what he does all day? Play games on that thing?’

‘Yes,’ says Agnes. ‘It keeps him occupied. Stops him making mischief.’ She spots the bruise on my face and cocks her head. ‘Is that from the little hell raiser? Because if it was, I’ll drop him in a cold bath—’

I put a hand
to it. ‘This? Oh. No. This was … I got this from something else. It wasn’t Bertie.’

Bertie turns to me, eyes wide with surprise.

Agnes frowns harder. ‘I didn’t notice it before.’

‘I had makeup on,’ I lie.

‘Well. Bertie does lash out sometimes,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘Just to warn you. That’s usually the point at which the girls leave. When he attacks them. There’s not much we can do about it. I punish him, but …. that’s just the way he was made, I’m afraid.’

My hands tighten on my hips. ‘Mrs Calder, Bertie was
not
made angry. He can be a good kid. Unless people keep telling him otherwise.’

Mrs Calder shakes her head. ‘A few days with Bertie will change your mind. You just wait and see.
’ She gives a short little laugh. ‘My guess is, with no Xbox to keep him busy today, you’ll be back in London by suppertime.’

‘
That’s where you’re wrong,’ I say. ‘I’m here to look after Bertie, and unless I’m asked to leave, I won’t be going anywhere.’

Mrs Calder raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see about that.’

‘No we won’t,’ I say, putting an arm around Bertie’s shoulder. ‘I’m staying. I mean it. No matter what.’

Bertie
shrugs me away, and Mrs Calder laughs.

‘See?
’ she says. ‘A lost cause. The only thing you can hope for is that you get some discipline into him. What on earth are you going to do with him, if he’s not playing computer games? He’ll have fits of temper, I’ll warn you.’

‘I’ll take him outside.’

‘Outside? He’s not allowed outside.’

‘He was outside before.’

‘By the kitchen garden, yes. It’s all fenced in. But he’s not allowed any further than that. It’s too wild out there, and Bertie doesn’t know how to behave. He disturbs the birds. Last time he was let loose in the woods, he tried to destroy a bird’s nest.’

‘I
’ll keep a good eye on him.’ I say. ‘He won’t get in any trouble.’

‘You’re not to take him into the grounds
, Miss Harper,’ says Agnes, her voice stern.

‘Fine.’ I plaster on a fake
smile. ‘Then I guess we’ll just have to play a board game or something.’

I steer
Bertie out of the room. He shrugs away from my hand again.

When I close the door, I realize I’m fuming. ‘She shouldn’t talk about you that way,’ I tell Bertie. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just had a hard time, that’s all.
’ I sigh. ‘I wish I knew what happened to make you stop talking. Anyway. We
are
going to play outside, no matter what she says. It’s criminal to keep a little boy locked inside all day.’

Bertie doesn’t say anything.

‘Come on,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s walk around the grounds. Burn off some of that energy.’

We take a few twists and turns
through the castle’s corridors, and then …

Oh shit.
Lost again.

‘Be
rtie, do you know the way out to the grounds?’ I ask him.

Without saying a word, Bertie starts walking.

‘Wait,’ I say, gently taking his arm. To my surprise, he doesn’t shrug me away. ‘We need to put your coat on first, right? And my coat. Do you know the way back to your room? And to the nanny’s quarters?’

Bertie doesn’t nod or anything, but he turns around and heads back into the castle.

We go up to my bedroom first, where I grab my brown sheepskin coat. Then I follow him up to his bedroom, where he silently puts on his green wax jacket.

I notice Bertie’s bedroom looks out almost over the main entrance, and give a little shudder.

Bertie’s room must be near this mysterious West Tower that everyone is telling me not to go in …

‘It’s cold in this cast
le,’ I say, welcoming the fleece on my skin.

Bertie turns and leads us back downstairs, past the great
hall and to the back door that leads into the kitchen garden.

Bertie opens it, and I see where he was playing earlier in the snow – if you can call it playing.

The snow has stopped falling now, and I can see a little of the symbols he was drawing before. They look like something you see in a puzzle book – the ones Wila likes to fill in. But I have no idea what they are or what they mean.

Something tells me to look more closely at the sym
bols, but Bertie heads towards a tall gate and rattles it.

The lock is too high for him, but not for me.

I open it, and we head out into the grounds.