Chapter 7: Tearing

Summary: The paradise that Lara and Hillary reached in Chapter 6 is just about to go sour...but fear not, there will be a happy ending, I promise! Get your tissues ready, folks!

Later that evening, too tense to eat, Lara prowled the house. Since his rapid departure from the cellar three hours ago, she had seen neither hide nor hair of Hillary, who had made himself particularly elusive. Lara desperately needed reassurance that his feelings for her hadn't changed, but every time she tried to find him, she was told by Mrs Bainbridge that he had gone out. The kindly cook's eyes shone with sympathy for her young mistress as she saw her confusion, but she could not offer Lara any further enlightenment as to Hillary's whereabouts.

How can he bloody well have gone out? Lara thought, her emotions a mixture of panic and despair. She wanted to talk to Hillary so much that even the thought of her imminent adventure in Peru was not enough to distract her. Mindlessly, she looked over the last minute paperwork that Jacqueline Natla had faxed through, but after ten minutes of looking at the same page she gave in. Eventually, at around ten in the evening, she could bear it no longer and she ventured down to Hillary's private rooms. She knew her presence in the lower regions of the house was highly irregular, but she was past caring for protocol.

"Hillary!" Lara called as she wandered down the stairs to where Hillary resided in his small suite of rooms. She could tell that Mrs Bainbridge had long since gone home as the main kitchen was in darkness, and there didn't seem to be anyone else around.

"Hillary!" Still no answer. She called again. Nothing still. Hesitantly she padded down the corridor, passing the small kitchen annexe where Hillary cooked for himself and then the slightly larger study and sitting room where she imagined he spent his evenings. Eventually he came to the bedroom. Still no sound from within. She knocked gingerly, calling his name once more.

Slowly, trying not to feel like an intruder, Lara pushed open the door to the bedroom. It was immaculately tidy, as she had often imagined it would be, and the furniture was simple but elegant. But that wasn't what caught her attention. The open suitcase on the bed and Hillary sat next to it, his head in his hands, made her heart lurch instantly. His shoulders were hunched, and he looked totally oblivious to her intrusion.

"Hillary?" Lara questioned softly, still hovering in the doorway.

Finally, Hillary seemed to hear her.

"Lara. Was there something you needed?" His voice was tired, strained, and as he lifted his head, Lara noticed the dark lines under his eyes and the grey pallor to his skin. Was she imagining it, or did she see his hands tremble as he placed them firmly in his lap? He didn't stand to greet her.

"What's the matter?" She asked him gently.

"Everything's fine," Hillary smiled wanly. "I'm merely packing my things before I leave tomorrow."

Lara convulsively gripped the doorframe for support. This couldn't be happening. She felt her heart leap straight into her mouth and a sick feeling beginning in her stomach. "I'm sorry, Hillary," she finally managed. "Did you just say what I thought you did?"

Hillary stood up, and for one blissful, misguided moment, Lara thought he was crossing the room to take her in his arms. But alas, not: he was merely taking a few things from the chest of drawers to the right of her. "A position has opened up at Lord Montague's residence in Hampshire. I begin in two days time." His voice had the self-consciously steady edge of someone who was trying desperately not to lose his composure. "I was going to write you my resignation note while you were out in Peru, so you wouldn't be entirely shocked to see another butler in residence when you got home." He placed the few possessions from the top of the chest of drawers into the suitcase and reached back over for the final thing-an ancient hairbrush. "After all, I do feel it's better for both of us this way, don't you?"

Lara was aghast, and suddenly angry. "So you were going to just leave and not tell me?" she demanded. Marching to Hillary's side, she tore the hairbrush he'd picked up out of his hand. "Don't mind me, I'm only your employer!" She threw the brush into the case. "Or were you just planning to disappear into the night? I mean, you've only served my family for what, fifteen years? No reason to speak to me at all." She was in full flow now, all of the frustration and anger she had kept pent all afternoon and evening spilling out of her. She knew it was totally irrational to pull rank on Hillary after their experiences in the cellar, but, as she felt the ground begin to shake underneath her, it was all she had left.

Hillary turned towards her, unsmiling. "Lara, you must have known that, after all that's happened between us it wouldn't be fitting for me to continue as your servant. There are lines that should not be crossed, and I made an error of judgement." His voice was softer now, but there was no placating Lara.

"An error of judgement?" Lara shouted. "Is that what you call it? It's good, at last, that I know where I stand, and what I mean to you!" She turned angry, tear filled eyes upwards towards the man in front of her. Reflexively, quick as a flash, she tried to slap his face.

Just as quickly, before Lara's hand could connect with his cheek, Hillary grabbed it. There was a pause that felt to both of them like an eternity. Lara could feel Hillary trembling, his hands giving away what the carefully composed features did not. "Lara, please, don't do this." Their eyes met, and the electricity between them was almost palpable. As Hillary released her hand, she let it drop to her side. It was all she could do to prevent herself from collapsing into his arms and begging him to stay.

"I don't understand," Lara whispered. "Why are you leaving me now? I need you. Hilly, please."

"I must go," Hillary said. "I've abused your trust and my own position. What we did was unforgivable; it broke every rule in the book." He looked away from her, blinking furiously.

"Oh, sod the bloody rule book!" Lara replied. "I don't care if what we did was enough to send the thing up in flames. I love you, Hillary, don't you see?" She turned desperate eyes towards those of her friend and lover, forcing him to look at her once more. And then she knew. She did love him, and the thought of his leaving was enough to send her into a blind, and angry, panic.

Hillary's already pale face looked even more drained. "Lara, you don't know what you're saying," he said softly. "What we did was unforgivable; there's not one single piece of protocol left standing. My role in your life was merely to serve, as I served your father. I should never have allowed things to progress so far between us."

"No," Lara said, her voice trembling. "I won't let you take responsibility for this. I want you, Hilly, and we both knew exactly what we were doing. I can't believe that after everything that's happened you're just going to run away from me-from us."

"There can be no us, Lara," Hillary replied. "I'm sorry. I must go."

Stunned by his blunt response, Lara allowed Hillary to escort her from his room. She slowly mounted the stairs back to the main part of the house and, still reeling from the shock of Hillary's imminent departure, she wandered back into her own sitting room, sat on the chaise lounge and sobbed.

In the recesses of Croft Manor, James Hillary continued to pack his suitcase, but his own tears, as they fell silently, threatened to soak his immaculately folded clothes.

Chapter 8