27. Clara
27
Clara stepped into the doorway of a gift shop to avoid a throng of people – Heaven’s Cove was heaving this afternoon – and licked the cone of salted caramel ice cream she’d just bought.
She urgently needed a sugar boost. Juggling freelance work with making sure that stallholders knew the charity fete was still on had kept her busy all morning. But that wasn’t why her energy levels were low. It was everything else she was having to cope with at the moment – the manor sale, River being an arse, Bartie coming on strong, and now there was the added pressure of carrying a new secret about Audrey.
A huge secret that would blow people’s minds, if it turned out to be true. A secret that had been revealed by unravelling the meaning behind Audrey’s cryptic final message in her diary.
Clara swallowed a mouthful of caramel – which was hitting the spot, nicely – and, spying a gap in the steady stream of passers-by, darted across the cobbled street to sit on the sea wall.
What would people say if they knew what had really happened to Audrey since her break for freedom? she wondered, drumming her feet against the stone. What would Geoffrey and River say, let alone her own mother? Everything had become so complicated. And now that an end to the mystery was in sight, she wasn’t sure that she’d done the right thing in pursuing the truth.
She bit into the ice cream cone and tried to focus instead on people watching. A few locals who were out and about waved to her, but most of those passing by were tourists: many of them young couples wandering the narrow lanes hand in hand, and overheated children in sunhats being followed by frazzled parents.
Some villagers moaned about the annual ‘invasion’ which clogged local roads but Clara didn’t mind it. An influx of visitors made Heaven’s Cove hum with life from spring until autumn’s end and it kept the local economy going.
But sometimes she longed for winter and crisp frosty days when she could walk through the village unhindered. When Brellasham Manor was decorated for Christmas and the gardens were covered in a blanket of snow.
Would she still be able to visit the manor this Christmas, Clara wondered, or would it be a building site with its innards torn apart and every reminder of Audrey on the third floor eradicated?
She suddenly noticed a familiar figure striding along the street that edged the sea wall. Bartie was walking with a young woman in a tailored trouser suit. The woman batted her blonde hair over her shoulder and laughed at something that Bartie was saying.
Clara blinked. This was potentially awkward, after not succumbing to Bartie’s charms yesterday afternoon – another decision which Clara was not completely sure had been the right one, even though her hunch about Audrey’s final message had paid off.
She stood up, ready to flee, but immediately sat back down again. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him. That would be childish in the extreme. So, taking the bull by the horns, she waved and called out, ‘Hey, Bartie!’
His pace faltered and he waved back before wandering over.
‘Fancy seeing you here, Clara.’
‘In the middle of Heaven’s Cove. Surprising, that.’
Clara smiled at Bartie, who gave a somewhat frosty smile back and then turned to his companion. ‘Where are my manners? This is Hannah, from the development company that’s interested in acquiring the manor. Hannah, this is Clara, a friend from years ago.’
Hannah put out her hand. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Clara.’ Her voice was low and silky, her accent Home Counties.
‘Likewise,’ said Clara, shaking Hannah’s outstretched hand while acutely aware that her skin was sticky with dripped ice cream.
Hannah’s smile wavered slightly as she withdrew her hand.
‘Clara’s mother is currently the housekeeper at Brellasham Manor,’ said Bartie.
‘Oh dear.’ Hannah’s cherry-red lips formed into a pout. ‘It’s unfortunate that she’ll lose her job when the sale goes through.’
‘If the sale goes through,’ said Bartie quickly. ‘It’s all very much up in the air at the moment.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Hannah, staring at Clara’s T-shirt which was spattered with salted caramel. ‘It’s entirely up to Geoffrey what he wants to do with the manor and I’m not counting any chickens before they hatch.’
‘Hopefully, if your company does end up buying the manor, my mum won’t lose her home as well as her job,’ said Clara. ‘Did Bartie mention her cottage to you? The whitewashed one in the grounds, near the gates?’
‘Of course I did. That’s all in hand,’ said Bartie, but not before Clara had noticed the puzzled look that crossed Hannah’s face. ‘As I assured Geoffrey this morning, Hannah is very open to retaining the cottage and allowing your mother to stay there on a peppercorn rent. Isn’t that right?’
He turned to Hannah, who nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Absolutely. Peppercorn rent.’
‘Did Bartie also mention the annual charity fete that takes place in the grounds, and how important it is to the local community?’
‘I mentioned everything, just like I promised,’ said Bartie, pointing out to sea. ‘Wow! Look at that amazing boat over there.’ A large yacht was a splash of white and blue in the distance. ‘That must be worth a mint. I’ve always fancied owning a yacht.’
‘Me too. A very large one in the Caribbean,’ laughed Hannah.
Clara looked between the two of them as they began discussing the merits of sailing mega-expensive boats in exotic waters. Hannah seemed cool as a cucumber but there was something different, almost desperate, about Bartie as he kept the nautical conversation going.
‘If Brellasham Manor is turned into apartments, what sort of price do you expect them to go for?’ asked Clara, butting into their chat.
Hannah stopped conversing abruptly and turned towards her. ‘Would you be interested in buying one?’
‘I’d love to but I imagine they’ll be very expensive.’
‘They will be rather top-end, in such a marvellous location. I anticipate them being very popular with a prestigious international demographic, most of whom will likely be cash buyers. But if you can scrape the deposit together and secure a mortgage, absolutely anyone will be considered.’ Absolutely anyone. Clara was beginning to feel patronised. ‘Where do you live currently?’
‘In the grounds of Brellasham Manor. With my mum, in the cottage that you’re open to retaining.’
Hannah stared at Clara, as if she didn’t know what to make of her, and then turned to Bartie. ‘Did you say something about a Pimm’s? I’m absolutely gasping for a drink.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time’s ticking on and you’re better off leaving Heaven’s Cove before all the tourists head for home and the roads become a nightmare. So we’d better get moving and say goodbye, Clara.’
When he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, his musky aftershave tickled her nose.
‘Don’t worry about the cottage or the fete,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’m taking care of it and I’ll see you later. I’m hoping you won’t have so much work to do tonight.’
He winked before putting his hand beneath Hannah’s elbow and leading her away, through the crowds.
Clara sat back down on the wall and folded her arms. The tide was coming in and waves were splashing against the wall. Fishing boats anchored offshore were bobbing on the swell and seagulls were wheeling overhead.
It was a perfect scene but Clara felt jangled. Something was very off and she needed to find out what, right now.
Hannah had mentioned having a Pimm’s. Of course she had – Clara couldn’t imagine her downing half a pint of lager. So Bartie would probably take her to The Smugglers Haunt.
Clara hurried through the lanes, not allowing herself to think too much or she’d turn around and go home. She had always been in awe of Bartie – River was right – and loath to challenge him on anything. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that life was out of kilter.
The Smugglers Haunt, a low, whitewashed building festooned with bright hanging baskets, had tables set up outside. People were drinking and laughing in the sunshine but there was no sign of Bartie or Hannah.
Clara pushed her way into the busy pub and looked around. It was cooler in here and several people had chosen to drink out of the sun. When she went up to the bar, Fred, the landlord, glanced up from the pint he was pulling.
‘A’right, Clara? You look like you could do with a drink.’
‘Maybe in a minute,’ she said distractedly, glancing around the bar. ‘I’m looking for someone. Two people, actually. Bartie – do you remember Bartie, who used to visit Brellasham Manor when we were teenagers? – and a tall blonde woman in a green trouser suit.’
‘They’ve gone out the back. There were a couple of tables left in the garden.’
‘Thanks, Fred.’
Clara made her way through the throng to the back of the pub and out of the door into the Haunt’s walled garden. It was baking hot out here, sheltered from the sea breeze, and people were sitting at tables beneath bright parasols.
All of the tables were taken but Clara couldn’t see Bartie and Hannah. Perhaps they’d gone elsewhere for their drinks. She was about to head back inside when she remembered the table that had been shoved behind the trellis – there wasn’t much space there but Fred tried to get as many customers into the garden as he could.
The trellis, dripping with a blooming purple clematis, provided cover which meant Clara could approach it unseen. And when she peeped around it, there were Bartie and Hannah at the hidden table, sitting with their heads bent close together. A glass of what Clara assumed was Pimm’s stood in front of Hannah and Bartie had a pint, the outside of the glass dripping with beads of condensation.
Now she’d found them, Clara hesitated. They were deep in conversation and she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She couldn’t leap in and say she was feeling jangled. They’d both think she’d taken leave of her senses.
As Clara stood deliberating, Hannah sat back on her wooden bench and took a sip of her drink. Her voice was muffled by the trellis but her words could be made out clearly enough. ‘So, are you sure that the old man will go for the plan?’
Bartie smiled. ‘Absolutely, just so long as he doesn’t know the plan, of course. He trusts my judgement and, at the end of the day, will do what I suggest.’
‘What about his son? He seemed very interested in what I had in mind. Doesn’t Geoffrey listen to him too?’
‘I was hoping we’d manage to avoid River but I’m sure he was lying in wait for us in the garden. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He and his father have been estranged for years and River doesn’t want to take on the house. I don’t blame him, mind you. It’s a financial millstone, and who’d want to live in this tiny place in the middle of nowhere? Except,’ he laughed, ‘people looking for luxury apartments who have more money than sense.’
Bartie suddenly glanced up, across the garden, and Clara stepped back, fully behind the trellis. People in other parts of the garden had noticed her and Florence, one of the village’s oldest residents, waved from beneath her parasol. She looked confused by Clara’s clandestine behaviour.
‘Please don’t tell my mother,’ Clara murmured, giving Florence a wave and a weak smile. If Julie found out that she’d been spying, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe it was time to go and she could tackle Bartie later. But any plans to beat a hasty retreat were scuppered the moment Clara heard her own name being mentioned. She turned back to the trellis and peeped around it again.
‘It was all very awkward when she asked about the cottage,’ Hannah was saying. ‘You should have warned me. River asked about the same cottage, too, but then that stupid dog came bounding up and almost knocked me over so I never actually answered him. I didn’t know what he was going on about.’
‘It’s all fine,’ said Bartie, his tone soothing and conciliatory. ‘You don’t have to worry about Clara either. I’ve got that covered.’
‘Is she keen on you?’ Hannah’s tinkly laugh cut through Clara like a knife.
‘She’s completely nuts about me. I mean…’ Bartie waved a hand over his body, ‘who wouldn’t be?’ He grinned. ‘But her feelings for me are useful because they mean she’s very trusting.’
‘She’s also pretty, so you’re quite happy to go along with it, I dare say.’
Hannah wasn’t laughing any more. She pulled her mouth into a thin line and stared into her drink.
Bartie leaned forward and put his hand on top of hers. ‘You worry too much, babe. You know I can be a bit of a jack-the-lad but it doesn’t mean anything.’
Clara had heard enough and was finding it hard to breathe. River was right that Bartie wasn’t to be trusted. She’d been dazzled by his faux charm, and flattered that, after all these years, he might be interested in her. But he was simply keeping her sweet, to ensure that the house sale went through, and that it was sold to this particular woman.
She suddenly went hot and cold at the thought of how close she’d come to spending yesterday afternoon with him. Thank goodness she’d chosen to focus on her search instead. It seemed that Audrey had saved her from making a massive mistake.
Clara was about to flee the pub garden when Bartie said: ‘One thing I’m not sure about is how many homes you’re planning on building in total. I know there are the ten luxury apartments in the house, but how many in the grounds?’
‘As many as we can get away with, depending on planning regs. But I’ve had an off-the-record chat with a local planning official who seemed very keen on attracting more house buyers to the area. I think we can manage a small estate of executive four-bedroom houses, with half overlooking the sea and the rest looking towards the moors. It’ll be catnip to the buyers we’re planning to entice. The cottage will have to go, of course.’
‘Obviously.’ Bartie frowned. ‘You didn’t mention anything about housing estates to River, did you?’
‘Of course not, Bartie. I’m not a novice at this. I’m very experienced.’
‘Oh, I know that, sweetheart. That was evident from our first weekend together.’
When Bartie’s hand snaked under the table and clamped Hannah’s thigh, she giggled and took another sip of her drink.
Clara blinked back tears of sadness and rage. Not only were Bartie and Hannah in cahoots, trying to nab the manor and grounds under false pretences, he was also undeniably in some sort of relationship with her. Which made him kissing Clara even worse. He wasn’t joking when he’d told Hannah ‘it doesn’t mean anything’. Clara was simply a means to an end.
She’d heard enough. Watched by a curious Florence, Clara rushed back into the pub and pushed her way through the throng at the bar.
‘Did you find your friends?’ called Fred. ‘Were they in the garden?’
Clara nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and walked out into the street.
She turned her hot face towards the breeze coming off the sea and bit down hard on her bottom lip. She needed to let River know what was really going on, but she couldn’t face the humiliation of admitting that he’d been right all along and she’d been a total fool.