14. Clara
14
Clara turned away from the portrait of Audrey. River had just reached the top of the stairs and was walking along the landing towards her.
‘Have you seen my father?’ he asked, his feet making no sound on the thick carpet.
‘Afraid not. Do you need him urgently?’
‘No. I was hoping to have a chat with him but he seems to have disappeared again. I’m beginning to think he’s avoiding me.’
That was very possible, thought Clara, who had once been convinced that Geoffrey was going out of his way to avoid her too. But she wouldn’t add to River’s suspicions.
‘I expect he’s just gone for a stroll with Grayson to try and clear his mind,’ she assured him. ‘There’s a lot going on and he usually goes to the moors when he wants some peace and quiet. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘Thanks for backing me about the fete, by the way. It’s a tradition that people in Heaven’s Cove look forward to every year, and it won’t be held next year, of course, so…’
Clara tailed off as the fact that this would be the last ever Brellasham Manor Fete properly hit her. This house had been a part of local life for so long, but soon it would be carved up into expensive apartments. And the cottage she shared with her mother, which was old and in need of repair, would probably be razed to the ground.
‘You’re welcome,’ said River, peering at her closely. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. It’s just been a long day.’
‘You can say that again.’ River’s mouth turned up at the corner. ‘Did you really tell my father that he’d behaved like an arse?’
‘Not in so many words but’ – Clara grinned – ‘sort of, yeah. He took it quite well, considering.’
‘Which is surprising. My father isn’t a man who handles criticism well.’
‘I think he’s changed a bit over the years,’ said Clara, surprised to find herself standing up for Geoffrey, but she couldn’t shake the image of him as a child watching a woman he loved walk into the sea. Trauma like that must change a person.
‘Maybe. I wouldn’t know. We’ve hardly exchanged more than a few words since I arrived.’
‘Hopefully you’ll get a chance to talk soon.’
‘Yeah, I hope so. I won’t be here for too much longer.’
River brushed his fringe from his face, something he used to do all the time as a teenager. Clara swallowed, feeling a pang for the past when life was less complicated and they were still friends.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before the meeting about the manor being sold?’ she asked, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice.
‘I assumed my father had already told your mum, and I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me anyway. You didn’t seem overly happy to see me again.’
You know why, thought Clara. But she wasn’t about to have that conversation here, where people might overhear them. She might not have that conversation at all before he returned to Australia. What was the point?
‘Do you know much about Audrey Brellasham?’ she asked instead.
River blinked at the change of subject. ‘Who?’
‘The woman in this portrait. Your dad’s stepmother, who drowned in 1957 after walking into the sea.’
‘I’ve not heard much about her although I know it was a terrible tragedy. Why do you want to know?’ When Clara paused, weighing up how much to share, River added: ‘We used to tell each other everything, back when we were kids. You can still trust me, you know.’
Clara raised an eyebrow because it was trust that River had shattered after leaving the manor for good. But the secrets she was carrying were beginning to drag her down.
‘Have you ever been up to the third floor?’ she asked, nodding towards the locked door that led to the rooms above.
‘The ghostly rooms upstairs? Nope. I presume they’re still out of bounds?’
‘That’s right.’
‘My father’s always respected his father’s wishes that no one should ever go up there. Edwin must have really loved his wife and been grief-stricken to shut off the entire floor.’
‘Maybe.’
This time it was River who raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe? What exactly are you getting at, Clara?’
‘Don’t you think the whole thing is a bit strange and there’s more to it?’
‘Not really. I suppose Edwin wanted to avoid seeing anything that would remind him of the tragedy. And, as well as being grief-stricken, there was more stigma around suicide back then so another good reason for Edwin to distance himself from the whole thing. Why are you bringing all of this back up?’
Clara took a deep breath. ‘I found something, in my gran’s possessions after she died.’
Confusion flitted across River’s face. ‘What did you find?’
‘This. Audrey’s diary from 1957, the year she went missing.’
She pulled the book from her pocket and handed it over to River. He stared at the diary for a moment, as if it was likely to explode, and then he began to leaf through the gold-edged pages.
‘This is amazing, Clo,’ he said, looking up from Audrey’s flowing writing. ‘But why did your grandmother have it?’
Clara ignored the use of her nickname, even though hearing it from his lips again took her by surprise.
‘I reckon Gran went into her bedroom on the third floor, after Audrey disappeared, and took it. She was seen coming out of her room and accused of stealing the diamond necklace that went missing at the same time as Audrey, but she must have been there for the diary. And the scrap of paper I found in the back of the diary – the one you picked up for me at the cove – was written by Gran and contains a coded message, though I haven’t worked out what it means yet.’
‘Woah!’ River held up his hand. ‘Hang on a minute. Lost diaries, stolen diamond necklaces, coded messages…what on earth are you going on about? I feel like I’ve been catapulted into an episode of Sherlock.’
Clara slowed down her breathing and her words. She was starting to gabble.
‘The diary contains strings of numbers that make no sense, and the piece of paper also contains similar numbers. I can tell by the writing that the numbers in the diary were written by Audrey whereas the numbers on the piece of paper were written by my gran, who didn’t steal any necklace, by the way. The numbers must mean something, and Gran was using them to send a message to Audrey.’
‘Before she took her own life.’
‘Yes.’ Clara paused, a half-formed idea flitting in to her mind. ‘If that is what happened and how she died.’
River snorted in disbelief. ‘So, what do you reckon? My grandfather murdered his beautiful young wife and buried her body under the apple tree in the garden?’
‘Or upstairs on the third floor.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ River pushed the diary back into Clara’s hands. ‘Edwin Brellasham wasn’t the easiest of men by all accounts. As far as I can gather, he wasn’t a great father either. But I’m sure he didn’t go around killing people.’
‘OK.’ Clara winced at her overactive imagination and tendency to speak without properly thinking things through. Geoffrey had been clear about what he'd seen. ‘Sorry. That was a step too far. But don’t you think it’s strange that Audrey has been almost airbrushed out of Brellasham family history?’
River jabbed his finger towards the painting. ‘There’s an enormous portrait of her right there in front of you.’
‘Which your grandfather refused to display. It was only put up, after he died, by your father, who was badly affected by Audrey’s death. I mean, he saw?—’
Clara stopped and bit her lip.
‘You mean he saw what?’ asked River.
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Clara.
Geoffrey’s admission that he’d seen his stepmother that fateful night had been raw and unexpected, and Clara didn’t feel right sharing it with anyone. Not even his son.
River frowned and folded his arms. ‘You’re getting too caught up in all of this, Clara. It’s not some conspiracy theory you can solve. Audrey was a woman with mental health issues. What happened back then was terribly sad and, yes, it’s a bit odd that the third floor is still kept locked and boarded up, but that will all change when this house is sold and the developers move in.’ He paused, looking pained. ‘Everything will be opened up.’
‘And any evidence will be destroyed.’
‘Evidence? Listen to yourself, Clara. You’re looking for confirmation of a crime that never happened. You need to get on with organising the fete that you’re so invested in and let the past stay where it should, in the past. This is all plain…stupid.’
Clara was winded by his telling off, and River’s face softened. ‘Look,’ he said, reaching out his hand and briefly touching her arm. ‘I don’t mean to be harsh but there’s so much going on in the here and now, why fixate on a woman who’s long dead? OK?’
Clara nodded. Perhaps he had a point and she was becoming obsessed, as her mother had warned her.
‘Does my father know about the diary?’ River suddenly asked.
‘No. My mum thought it would upset him to see it, and she didn’t want rumours about my gran being a thief – allegedly a thief – resurfacing.’
‘I can see what she means but I think he should have it, don’t you? Audrey was his stepmother, after all.’
‘Yes, I know you’re right. He deserves to have it and I will give it to him, though I might wait for the right moment, seeing as he’ll probably kick off about my gran taking the diary in the first place.’
‘It’s always best to pick your moments, I find, when dealing with my father. He’s not the easiest of men, either. Or the most understanding when people, like me, don’t measure up to his high standards.’
River tried to smile but it was so filled with pain, Clara felt a rush of protectiveness towards him.
‘He can certainly be tricky.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘He can certainly be tr?—’
‘Oh, please!’ interrupted River. ‘I thought we were both grown-ups now.’
But he laughed, which warmed Clara’s heart.
‘Anyway.’ River twisted his mouth. ‘I’d better go in search of my missing father, and I’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow at the picnic, if not before. I imagine Bartie’s looking forward to it.’ He paused, a frown on his face. ‘Do you know much about Bartie these days? You know…about what he’s been up to? What he’s like?’
‘Not really. I hadn’t seen him for years until he arrived with you. Why?’
River shrugged. ‘No reason.’ He hesitated but then pulled himself up tall. ‘Right. Don’t stand here staring at that picture. It makes you seem weird.’
‘Understood,’ said Clara, turning her back on Audrey.
But she turned towards the painting again as soon as River was out of sight. River had been dismissive about the whole thing, and perhaps she was being obsessive, but she couldn’t get this woman out of her head.
‘OK, Clo, that is obsessive,’ she told herself, giving a sardonic smile.
She rattled the door handle to the third floor once more but the door remained locked, as she’d known it would be.
Who knew what lay undiscovered above their heads? The only way to find out, she realised, was to get hold of the key and find out for herself. Before the developers did their worst and stripped the whole place bare.