A/N: Thanks to AC and Blue-eyed-girl aka Gracie for reviewing. You are making me really happy.
Now this chapter is speeding it up a little bit.
Enjoy :-)
Caledon Hockley, son of the late Nathan Hockley and Miss Olivia Pelham, had had a good life from the start. He was an only child, his mother loving him dearly and his father treating him like a little crown prince. He learnt from the beginning that he was superior to everyone. The servants opening the door from him, worshiping the floor he was walking on and later on the ladies fainting in a row, if he was just smiling at them.
Cal knew of his attraction to women, playing out his charms.
His mother had died young, aged around thirty, leaving Cal alone with his father. Nathan hadn't spent much time with his son afterwards, relying on nannies and servants. When Cal was eighteen and it became clear to where his path was leading to, Nathan had hired a man, named Spicer Lovejoy, to protect his son from all evil, but more to spare him the likes of being in the press with the wrong rumour.
'I don't want my son to be labelled with libel and slander,' Nathan had told Lovejoy.
Being that Nathan had been more out than at home and Cal having none other to do, but to waste the money his father earned– Nathan wouldn't let him lift a hand in the company – Cal quickly became a well-known playboy.
With the faithful Lovejoy close behind, to be sure that his status wouldn't be shattered, Cal was turning the night into the day. By the time he was in his twenties and studying at Harvard, like his father and grandfather had done before him, Cal had the reputation of being a lazy drunkard. There had been times, when his father's men following his every move, had had to basically carry him home.
Nathan realized that he had to do something. At first he had appealed to Cal to think about the family name.
'Your great-grandfather has founded this company. He's worked himself to death with his own hands. Now, I won't let my son destroy his great efforts,' Nathan had scolded him, only to be laughed at by Cal.
Nathan had slapped him and called him ungrateful, but the problem remained. Cal's friends, so to say, weren't much help either. They were just as pampered boys as Cal was, having more cash than a person could spend in a lifetime and very much free time.
Nathan had talked it over with Lovejoy, who seemed to be the only one at that period, who had had a good rapport with Cal. They had agreed that Cal needed something to distract him from his friends and to make him feel necessary. Reluctantly Nathan had given him a place at his firm.
But that hadn't been the end.
At University everything had continued the usual. About this time Clarissa had come into the picture and Cal, in his ever so forceful manners, had instantly decided that he wanted to marry her. Nathan had been shocked.
His son should be marrying this stupid little nothing, who had probably slept with the whole of the Harvard boys?
'Over my dead body.'
However, Nathan had understood that Cal had to find a decent wife and that soon, before his reputation was even more going down the drains.
Easier said than done!
The first two had rejected and Nathan couldn't even blame them. There were other rich bachelors as well, acting more civilized than his son.
How to do it for Cal to become the most sought after bachelor in high society?
That task hadn't been easy and couldn't have been done overnight. Somehow, however, after many father-son talks, with Lovejoy too speaking out what he thought, Cal did become a proud member of the Hockley family and a representative to the company.
A few money to the right journalists or the right institutions here and there had done the rest…
It was at one of the Harvard festivities that he had first met her.
'My name's Caledon Hockley, Miss…?'
'Rose Dewitt Bukater,' the girl had shyly smiled up at him.
It had been her mother, Ruth, who had started to talk with him. Rose only standing nervously aside…Ruth must've known about his past, but didn't mention a word. On the other hand Rose had no idea what she was getting herself into and was only happy to be courted by the most eligible man as she was told. It made her feel special, outshining her rivals.
What girl could say no to Caledon Hockley?
"Come to bed, Cal," Clarissa's voice rang up interrupting his thoughts.
She was still there, despite the many persons in his life wanting to get rid of her - his father, Ruth, even Lovejoy had once spoken out against her.
Cal glared at her.
Clarissa knew how to conquer a man, giving him a winning smile in return.
You can't live without me - her eyes seemed to tell him and he looked at her, defeated, bending his head down, knowing she was right.
He touched the picture in his hands, his index finger moving across the outlines of her body. He clearly remembered the day it was taken. A hot summer's day in July, underneath the famous apple tree her father had planted.
"Ah, really, Cal, are you still thinking of her?"
Cal didn't answer her at first.
Back then Rose had been happy and cheerful, laughing and flirting with the photographer – him.
"Today would be my wedding day," he choked out his voice wretched.
So much had changed since then.
When had she started to despise him?
The minutes tickled away, as Ella was moving towards the window, watching the raindrops falling one after the other.
Tick – tack – tick –tack – tick…
Ella's head was moving up and down in rhythm, trying to count them. Her hand reached out into the cold night, her sleeve soaking wet, when she withdrew it again.
"Everyone, who doesn't need to be out now, can be glad," she joked hoping to ease the situation.
She didn't. Ella froze, when looking at her. There was something scary about her and her eyes were looking into nothing, like she hadn't got any hope left.
"Why are you still here?"
"You've no idea how cruel life can be," the girl got out staring at her image in the mirror.
"I know that none of us belongs here. Now come on, let's go…."
Ella tried to make her stand up, but the girl kept on sitting, heavy as a stone. Ella shook her head, not understanding a word.
"Please don't make me…"
"She's got…I can't just walk out of here…she…," she stopped obviously not wanting to cry in front of her.
Ella felt sorry for her and wanted to hug her, but at the same time, she didn't want to draw her further away.
"What shall you teach me?" Ella asked further, though she already knew, not able to stand the silence.
Not surprisingly she didn't receive an answer.
Tick - tack - tick -…
I should've told Mr. Dawson.
The girl sat there quietly, not muttering a word. Ella was sure that she unaware of her watching her. She had moved into the background once more. Somehow the darkness outside was more comforting than the lights indoor.
The situation here was eerie.
"Why did you tell her your name was Rose?"
Ella turned to her instantly. She should've seen that one coming.
"You were lying," she stated.
"And if so?"
"I've no problem with that, but why this name of all?"
Ella chuckled with her shoulders as if not understanding her. She was looking at her with fiery eyes, as if looking through her.
"I don't mind you not telling the truth, but why are you here then?"
That was a very good question indeed.
The other one was seemingly not interested in any answer and began brushing her hair.
"I guess it was just the first name I could come up with," she said lying again. "Why does it sound familiar to you?" she added.
Maybe by shocking her a little bit, she would get further. At least it made her turn around; looking at her like Ella had just uncovered a secret.
Her face was enlightened by the lamp behind her, her hair hanging loosely around. Ella tried to picture her with another hair colour, a new dress and…suddenly it all came back to her. Now she knew why she had looked so memorable from the start.
The girl kept staring into space, Ella wishing that she could read her mind.
'What a lovely day that'll be, Rose. You and Mr. Hockley are going to be married on May 5th.'
This was today. How different times had become.
Her mother had beamed with excitement and couldn't at all understand Rose's reluctance.
'I do hope you look a little bit more cheerful on your wedding day. Cal should've a happy bride.'
Rose had forced a smile, though wanting to throw up.
'Remember, it has been your own choice.'
It was both her mother's voice and her memory connecting together now.
Actually when had her attitude towards Cal altered?
When had she begun to hate him?
"I have no idea what you're talking about. My name's Lygia," she stated firmly, but her eyes said something else.
Slowly her image had miraculously transformed into that of her fiancé and she took one of the brushes lying aside slamming it into the mirror. She never wanted to see his face again, with that smug smile of his, not in reality and not in fantasy in a looking glass.
Ella was shocked by the outburst of the otherwise composed figure in front of her. When she had come to her senses again, she started to carefully pick up the shards from the floor and the desk.
I've indeed found the right one.
Jack's clothes were drenched, when he finally arrived at the supposed institute.
"Care to have the night of your life, Sir?"
Jack was too shocked to answer immediately.
"I'm not here for that."
The girls giggled, seemingly knowing better, while Jack pushed his way forward.
"I'm going to make you happy, Sir."
"No, me…she's not worth it, Sir," another one said struggling with her colleague.
Suddenly another figure showed up, causing the girls to become silent instantly.
"Get away from him, you hyenas…," she shoved them out of the way. "Come on, Sir, you surely want to change your clothes beforehand."
"No, I…I shouldn't even be here," Jack managed to tell her, muttering out one word after the other.
Somehow this woman was very frightening.
"I completely understand your problem, Sir. Of course you have a wife sitting at home, waiting for you," she began slightly touching his shoulder, as if they were best friends already.
Jack felt uncomfortable.
"But…"
"We're very discreet here, Sir. I can assure you not a word will get abroad. Now, follow me, so you can dry up your clothes."
Due to her firm grip on his hand, Jack found no time to protest.