18. River
18
The irony was he’d been looking for Clara, tramping all over the manor house and grounds to find her after turning tail and running from her and Bartie on the picnic rug earlier that afternoon. But now that he had found her, he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak to her after all.
She was sitting with her back to him, high on the moors, with her knees pulled up under her chin. The sun was still beating down but a straw hat was shielding her from the glare.
River ran a hand through his hair. He should have worn a hat too. A gentleman never goes out in the afternoon sun without a Panama. That’s what his father had told him when he was growing up, along with Boys don’t cry. He’d also promised: One day this will all be yours, which, as it turned out, was really ironic.
His childhood memories were coming back now he was at Brellasham Manor. He’d blocked them out in Australia – they were a painful reminder of a life that was no more, and of people who were gone for good.
But now memories, good and bad, were flooding back, triggered by a smell of damp in the drawing room, and the clatter of pans from the kitchen – or the sight of Clara sitting with her back to him on the wild moors they’d once roamed as children.
Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his misgivings and started walking towards her.
She glanced up when he reached her, squinting under the brim of her hat.
‘Have you escaped?’ she asked simply. Just as she used to almost twenty years ago, when he’d been running from his parents’ constant bickering.
He nodded. ‘Is it OK if I sit down?’
‘Of course. It’s a free country.’ She glanced at him. ‘How did you find me? That is, if you were looking for me in the first place. Or were you just out for a walk?’
‘Both,’ lied River. He looked out across the scrubby grass and huge slabs of granite that littered the countryside. They were high up here, and the sea was a glittering swathe of blue in the distance. Far below them, the roof of the manor house was just visible, and the whitewashed walls of Mrs N’s cottage. ‘I thought I might find you here. The moors and the castle ruins in the village were always your favourite places.’
‘They still are,’ said Clara. ‘Look at that view. It’s so vast, so wildly beautiful, it puts life into perspective somehow.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Does that sound pretentious?’
‘No, I know what you mean and I can’t imagine you ever being pretentious anyway.’
‘I do hope you’re not implying that I’m chippy.’
River grinned. ‘As if I would.’
When they lapsed into silence, broken only by the chirping of birds and the rush of a warm wind, he stole a glance at her. She was wearing navy blue shorts and a strappy yellow T-shirt and sandals. Her skin was a light golden brown, apart from her cheeks, which were flushed from too much hatless sun at lunchtime. She looked amazing.
‘How was the picnic?’ River asked when the silence went on for too long.
Clara’s cheeks flushed a brighter pink. ‘Bartie and I had a good time. It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.’
River opened his mouth to say that, actually, he had gone along at one o’clock as arranged, only to see that Bartie and Clara were there already, enjoying a passionate kiss. Then he closed his mouth again. What Clara got up to was none of his business and she wouldn’t thank him for meddling in her affairs.
But he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Were she and Bartie having a fling? Bartie was certainly angling for a short-term relationship, and maybe that was what Clara wanted too. She’d always had a bit of a thing for him. No wonder his own adolescent kiss had been poorly received.
‘River?’ Clara was staring at him. ‘You’re miles away.’
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I said, did your phone call go well this morning?’
River frowned. ‘Yeah, it was OK.’ He’d rung his mother earlier, to tell her he was still alive, but that was all.
‘Good,’ said Clara, waving away a fly that was dive-bombing her. ‘I expect you miss her, being so far away.’
‘Um. I do, yes, and I know she misses me.’
‘I bet she does.’
‘But I’ll see her again soon, so that’s good.’
‘Yeah, of course.’ Clara picked a blade of grass and rolled it between her fingers. ‘How do you feel about Brellasham Manor, then? Have you missed it?’
‘I did, at first. Then it all kind of faded as I built a new life in a foreign country.’
‘What did you and your mum do when you first arrived in Australia?’
‘I think I mentioned that we lived in a couple of communes, which were, basically, people living off the land and sharing produce.’
‘Your mum always was a bit of a hippy.’
‘That’s true. She still is, only now her cause is saving the planet. She’s become something of an eco-warrior.’
Clara smiled. ‘Yeah, I can see your mum doing that.’ She paused. ‘So, were the communes all right?’
River nodded. ‘I guess so. Mostly I remember them as being unbearably hot.’
‘I bet.’
‘But then Mum got a job in Sydney after a couple of years so we moved to the city and we’ve been there ever since.’
‘So were you too busy building your new life to give a monkey’s about the people you’d left behind?’
River suppressed a smile. This was awkward but it reminded him so much of young Clara, who would say exactly what was on her mind. He’d presumed she would develop more of a filter as she got older, but apparently not – and, in spite of the awkwardness, he was glad of it.
‘I did give a monkey’s. I…’ He swallowed, remembering how isolated and lonely he’d felt at first. ‘I did miss Brellasham Manor.’
And you, he wanted to say, but an image of Bartie lying on top of Clara, his hand snaking beneath her T-shirt, sprang into his mind.
So he said instead, ‘But I didn’t realise just how much I’d missed the manor and my father until I came back.’
‘How long do you think you’ll stay?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, distracted by the flecks of amber in her eyes. Had they always been that beautiful colour? ‘I was going to book a return flight but I haven’t got round to it yet.’
‘Right.’ Clara nodded and stared to her right, at the moors stretching away into a smudgy purple haze. Then, she suddenly turned towards him. ‘I forgot to say, Bartie has had a brilliant idea about Mum’s cottage. He said the gardens and grounds will remain intact so he’s going to do his best to get the developer to allow us to stay on.’
‘Is he now? That’s great.’
River raised an eyebrow because it had been his idea, actually, but saying so might make him sound petty. And the most important thing was that Clara and her mum could stay put once the manor was sold. That was all that mattered.
So, remembering why he’d been looking for Clara in the first place, he moved on.
‘I wanted to ask if you’re still trying to find out information about Audrey.’
‘Why?’ Clara’s gaze turned on him. ‘Do you want to tell me again not to bother? Only apparently Audrey was never seen around Heaven’s Cove, even though her husband was out and about, lording it up, and Claude reckons a body would usually wash up after someone had drowned.’
‘Claude?’ River blinked. ‘Scary Claude?’
‘He’s not so scary once you get to know him properly. He’s just a one-off.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said River, remembering how he’d avoided the fisherman with wild hair who glared at teenagers and always had an air of melancholy about him. ‘But I’m not here to tell you not to bother. I’m here to give you this.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded marriage certificate and the photos he’d found on the drawing room floor. ‘I thought they might be useful.’
Clara took them and studied them intently for a moment. ‘Where did you get these?’ she asked, lifting her face towards him.
‘I found them in the house. I thought Audrey’s maiden name might help if you’re searching online for her. And the photos are interesting.’
Clara peered at the picture of Audrey in the library. ‘What book is she staring at so intently? It looks like the dictionary that’s on her lap in her portrait. Don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. Possibly.’
Clara put the photo down. ‘Thanks for these, but I thought you were against me delving more into Audrey’s past.’
‘Yeah, well, I changed my mind.’
‘Why?’
Because if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.
‘I just did,’ he said.
Clara pushed her hand into the pocket of her shorts, bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. River remembered that expression, which usually preceded one of Clara’s wilder ideas.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She said nothing for a few moments and then pulled something from her pocket. ‘Guess what I’ve got.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Now don’t freak out,’ she said, which had always been one of her more disconcerting phrases, ‘but I’ve got hold of this.’ She unfurled her fingers to reveal a key with a long brass barrel and elaborate curlicued head.
‘Is that…?’
‘Yep. It was hanging in the store cupboard, behind a load of tins and boxes. I knew there must be a key to the third floor somewhere because Glenda, the cleaner, is allowed up there occasionally.’
‘Can’t Glenda tell you all about it?’
‘Afraid not. She’s totally tight-lipped, as if she’s signed the Official Secrets Act or something.’
‘Does your mum know you’ve got the key?’
‘No, and I’d like it to stay that way, please.’
River sighed. ‘I’m not going to tell on you, Clara, but is it a good idea to break into Audrey’s suite of rooms?’
‘Break in is rather a loaded phrase, don’t you think? I’m not so much breaking in as having a quick look to try and solve a mystery and I thought, seeing as you’re interested now, that you might like to come with me.’ She got to her feet and brushed grass from her backside. ‘No one will ever know, and you’ll be back in Australia soon anyway.’ She walked a few steps before looking back. ‘Are you coming?’
River sat for a moment, deliberating what to do. On the one hand, his father would be furious if he ever found out, but on the other, it was just like the old days when he and Clara would go off in search of adventures.
And he really did want to know what was on the mysterious third floor.