Bernadette Azizi - Undying

I don’t ever recall my mother standing still.

“Mother, nothing is happening, I do not have an appetite, that is all.”

“Charles Barton has come to see you almost every day since the Campbell’s tea party, why will you not see him? It’s upsetting.” Her eyes widened and I knew what her expression meant: she was due for one of her fits.

“I have no interest in him, I loathe him.”

“Hush Victoria, any sensible lady would be honoured to have Charles Barton at their doorstep. But you are annoyed. If he should call on you again today, what am I to say? My excuses have been exhausted!”

“Will you not try telling the truth today? Tell him I despise him,” I replied.

My mother left enraged but I don’t want him, I want nothing to do with Charles Barton, his very name makes me cringe. Why won’t he leave me alone?”

As I slowly walked to my window, the deepest emptiness filled me, and the fear that this sentiment may never disappear frightened me. If only Charlotte were back from her vacation to Bath and was here to speak sense to me and shake me out of my bizarre behaviour.

My mind seemed to be constantly occupied with nothing; I wanted to leave, I longed to be somewhere, I wanted Charles Barton to go back to the cavern that he had left and most of all… I… I wanted Jonathon Bates.

Finally it was said. The one notion that has been occupying my thoughts since the day we met. I want him and only him. How was it possible that an impression so strong can be made in only a few moments? Even though I am ready to put aside all my pride and forged notions to be with him, why did he leave that day so quickly? Why did he say he would visit again and did not. Why did I have to meet him if I could not have him? I cannot believe that it has been almost two weeks since we first met at the Campbell’s. And with my confession came what I dreaded most — another visit from Charles Barton. The bell rang as it had done every day for the past two weeks in the late morning. Could Jonathon be at the Barton’s dinner party tomorrow evening or will I be forced to tolerate such boredom and torment without any allies? But today will be different, for today I will not hide from Charles Barton. I will give him the answer to the question that I know he wants to ask, and I will take pleasure in my reply.

“Excuse me miss, a Mr Jonathon Bates is here to see you,” a servant announced from my doorway.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A Mr Jonathon Bates, Miss,” he repeated.

“Ah, um, I won’t be a moment,” I stammered.

“Very good Miss.”

“Excuse me, Miss? My apologies for interrupting, but the scenery is quite beautiful here,” the driver interrupted.

“Oh, OK, thank you,” I said, quickly closing my laptop. I couldn’t thank the driver enough; the village that we were going through was incredible! There were consistent terraces down every laneway. There was a scene of elegance and history around every corner. Private little gardens had pedal bikes parked out the front, leaning on iron rails. The one thing to distinguish these homes from each other was the colour of door the occupants had chosen.

Not long now…

For some reason, it was at that point I started thinking about the sleeping and living arrangements.

Will I be the only female teacher? Where will I sleep? Will I be surrounded by men? How will I cope with that?

Questions that had never crossed my mind before now seemed exceptionally important to me. Living on the school grounds with the majority of the teachers being male was going to be quite a challenge. Being an only child and then living with my unmarried aunt after my parents died, I had now come to realise that I was throwing myself in the deep end. At least I was arriving on a Saturday, and with a public holiday on Monday, I would have a few days to get over the flight, settle in and find my way around the college. I looked back out my window, the countryside continued to impress me. We drove over arched stone bridges and little creeks that were flowing with crystal clear water, edged with tall reeds and pretty spring flowers. Passing through some quaint villages I saw that they were mixed with little old cottages with thatch roofs, prestige homes and in the distance grand-looking stone castles. The sun still hadn’t shown itself, but a few locals were out and about.

Turning off the main road, I felt as if we were getting close. The loose gravel on the road suggested that this road was private and not regularly used. On the horizon, I could now see the building that I hoped was the college.

“Are we here?” I asked, a little anxious.

“Yes, we most definitely are.”

As the car came to a halt, the driver offered to take my bags in for me, which I declined. I didn’t want to be rushed; I wanted to admire the building for a while.

How long have I been standing here for? Strange, I don’t even remember the driver leaving or saying goodbye. Maybe he did. That’s embarrassing. I must have been so taken by the grounds.

They were exquisite.

I closed my eyes and took in a long and deep breath. With a smile forming involuntarily, I looked at the magnificent building before me that was to be my home for the next 12 months. I did not want to rush this moment. The college was colossal.

It was built entirely of sandstone, cathedral style, with gargoyles and sculptures adoring every corner and turret. Stunning stain-glass windows ensured privacy within and added an array of colour and beauty against the golden brown walls. The architecture was absolutely amazing and the symmetry and size of the building in height and width was breathtaking. The formal gardens surrounding the building almost outshone the building itself: mature trees and shrubs cut into perfect angular and round shapes, several shades of green lawn carpeting the grounds. So typically English!

Not a soul was in sight, so I gathered that everyone must still be asleep. Upon closer inspection, I could see that there were three separate buildings on the grounds of the college. They were all joined on the bottom level by a glass walkway and the overall shape resembled a horseshoe. An immaculately groomed grassed area lay in the centre, stretching out for miles. It looked like a fortress. In the centre of the lawn was an incredible marble fountain. It was adorned with sculptures of mythical creatures with water sprouting from different parts, creating an extravagant water feature. Around the fountain were dark cobblestone walkways that lead to the buildings. The college was magnificent. In the centre, a large wooden board carved with the coat of arms and gilded in gold leaf on a claret-coloured backing representing the school emblem, stood proud and high in front of the building.

I noticed from the first building to my right, a dim light was shining. It was coming from one of the windows and I wondered if I was been watched.

Suddenly a voice rang out.

“You’re here, you’re here. Please, you must get out of the cold! Oh, I do apologise. I wasn’t expecting you for another half an hour.”

A strange looking lady was walking very quickly towards me.

“Oh dear!” she exclaimed as she came to a complete stop, gasping for air. She was on the heavy side and short, with dark curly hair and porcelain white skin with a big smile plastered across her face, she wore an unflattering white dress with red stripes. A little red cardigan tightly covered her shoulders and matching shiny red ballet flats protected her feet from the cold.