33. Geoffrey
33
Geoffrey had been dreading the fete and open day, even though he knew it raised much-needed money for charities in and around Heaven’s Cove.
It was good, of course, to see so many locals enjoying themselves in the sunshine. It would be curmudgeonly in the extreme to think otherwise. But he disliked them wandering around his home, pointing at things with their mouths open. And he lived in fear of youngsters trampling all over his flower beds – which was ironic when the majority of those beds would be flattened soon enough by a bulldozer.
He threw another dart, which didn’t even reach the dartboard at the back of the stall, and gave a tight smile when the stallholder, pub landlord Fred, declared loudly: ‘Ooh, that’s a shame. No prize for the Squire, I’m afraid.’
‘I can live with that,’ Geoffrey murmured, heading for the refreshments tent. There was only so much taking part in proceedings that he could stomach, although people were being extremely nice to him. Were some of them sad to see him go? he wondered.
He looked around him, at children laughing and eating candy floss and smiling villagers he’d known for decades, and his bad mood suddenly lifted.
Clara had done a grand job, with River’s help, and the fete was proving a great success. The least he could do was to make an effort, especially as it was for the very last time. The Brellashams would leave Heaven’s Cove with their heads held high.
He decided to go back to the manor, to help show people round, and he’d almost reached the door when local eccentric Claude stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
‘Claude, I’m surprised to see you here,’ said Geoffrey, taking a step back from Claude’s dog which was shedding hairs everywhere.
‘I got invited by Clara, if that’s a’right with you, when she was asking me about dead bodies,’ said Claude, his words softened by a strong Devon accent.
Geoffrey blinked in the bright sunlight. ‘Dead bodies?’
‘That’s right. Not much idea what she was going on about but she told me to get myself along here, so I have.’
Claude hadn’t spoken to him in years, Geoffrey realised, as the old fisherman stroked a hand down his wild grey beard. Not as far as he could remember. Or perhaps it was more a case of Geoffrey not having spoken to him.
A shudder of shame went down his spine. His family had been a part of this village for generations and yet there were long-term residents of Heaven’s Cove that he didn’t converse with from one year to the next.
‘You’re very welcome here,’ he told his grizzled visitor. Too little, too late.
‘I heard you’re leaving.’ Claude gave his shedding dog a pat on the head.
‘Yes, sadly that’s the case.’
‘Staying in Heaven’s Cove, are you?’
‘No, I’ll be moving away.’
Claude sniffed. ‘That’s a mistake.’
‘Possibly, but I’ve decided to move on.’
When Claude stared at him for a moment, Geoffrey had the uncomfortable feeling that the old eccentric could see into his soul. He curled his fingers into his palms, rather disgusted with himself for being so…new age. He’d be joining the wokerati next. He wasn’t quite sure who or what the wokerati was but he knew that he wouldn’t want to be a part of it.
‘It’d be hard to see everything your family’s built up being changed,’ said Claude. ‘It’ll be strange, the Brellashams not being a part of Heaven’s Cove after so long.’ He sniffed again, more loudly. ‘Well, I wish you well though you’ll hardly be on the breadline after selling this place.’
Claude was obviously not a man to mince his words.
‘Thank you,’ said Geoffrey briskly, now wanting this conversation to end. ‘I’d better get on. I’m helping with tours of the manor. Um…would you like to have a look around?’
Claude sniffed. ‘Nope. What’s the point?’ And with that enigmatic farewell he sloped off with the dog at his heels.
Geoffrey watched him go, the flash of shame he’d felt morphing into something new. It was regret, he realised, that he hadn’t been a bigger and better part of the local community. That he hadn’t got to know its characters, like Claude, or spent time drinking in The Smugglers Haunt. He might even have made a few friends.
But he’d had his chance and he’d blown it. He’d virtually locked himself away at Brellasham Manor following the departure of his wife and son and it was too late now to make up for lost time. Claude’s parting words What’s the point? rang in Geoffrey’s ears.
With a heavy heart, he walked into the grand hallway of his home and nodded at the woman from the bakery who was gawping at his great-grandfather’s stained-glass window. He would find River and Clara, who were shepherding people around his home, and offer to help. That would show willing on his part.
Geoffrey walked through the manor, searching for his son amongst all the people who were wandering from room to room. Several locals stopped him to wish him well and the regret in his heart grew heavier with every encounter.
On reaching the ballroom, he spotted River pointing out the intricately plastered ceiling to a group of visitors. Clara was standing nearby with another small group, gesturing at something out of the window.
The room was filled with a hubbub of conversation and Geoffrey had the strange feeling that the manor had come alive. This house had been dozing for decades but now it had woken from its slumbers and was happy.
Geoffrey looked around the busy ballroom and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Fancy ascribing feelings to a pile of bricks and mortar! He wasn’t sure what was happening to him these days.
He felt sad to be leaving the manor. Of course he did. Anyone would. But, he realised, he also felt upset on the house’s behalf, as if he were abandoning it and Brellasham Manor did not approve.
Geoffrey couldn’t quite understand it. He’d long prided himself on being an unsentimental man, yet all kinds of emotions were now bubbling to the surface of his mind, like bleached bones rising from the depths of the ocean.
Most distressingly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Audrey. He’d pushed down his memories of that tragic night and had fought his sorrow by focusing on the family talent for maintaining a stiff upper lip. It’s the Brellasham Way, his father had told him in the days following Audrey’s disappearance, ignoring Geoffrey’s need for reassurance that he hadn’t been to blame. That it wasn’t his fault for not rushing to the cove to save his stepmother.
Then, a couple of weeks later, he’d packed his son back off to boarding school with a handshake and an instruction: Best not to dwell on the past. And they hadn’t. His stepmother was rarely mentioned again.
At first, Geoffrey had blamed Clara’s questions about Audrey for dredging up memories. But the truth was he’d never really stopped thinking about his stepmother, the woman he’d lost whom he should have saved, and the prospect of leaving the manor appeared to have opened the floodgates.
What he couldn’t get out of his mind, in particular, was that when developers moved in, the third floor he’d long avoided would be opened up. And the thought of that was so unsettling, he’d been having nightmares about hordes of ghosts being unleashed. It was all very distressing and not the Brellasham Way at all.
Geoffrey tried to focus on the people in front of him to clear his mind of these thoughts that served no purpose. But his mind flew back to the night of the ball in 1957, when he’d been a child peeping through the door before bedtime.
The memory was so vivid, he could picture the ball as though it were happening right now: dozens of candles were casting flickering light into the corners of the room and reflecting off the glass chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. A small orchestra was playing on a raised dais at the end of the room, next to a table groaning with food, and people were whirling around the dance floor.
Audrey was dancing with a man he didn’t recognise, her pretty yellow ballgown swirling around her ankles. While his father was in a corner, a cigar between his fingers, talking animatedly to some of the businessmen he’d invited. There was an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement; both Audrey and his father were alive, and his life was still full of possibilities.
Sadly, present-day reality was that his years were now far more limited and he would for ever be known as the Brellasham who sold this magnificent manor house and ended his days alone. If only River weren’t going back to Australia.
Geoffrey felt a sudden visceral longing for the years that were behind him and the people long gone. If only he could rewind time and avoid the mistakes that had derailed him.
He would swallow his pride and run after the car taking his wife and son away and beg them to stay. Lucia might still have chosen to go, but at least River would have known how much he was wanted and loved.
Geoffrey sniffed and tightened his shoulders. Now wasn’t the time to go harking back to the past, not when he was on show to so many people. Now was the time to smile and be grateful that the charity fete and open day was providing the house with a good send-off.
He glanced across the once-busy dance floor at his son, who looked handsome in his jeans and sweatshirt. And Clara, not far away, looked stunning today. She was wearing emerald green which shone iridescent in the light streaming through the window, and she’d swept her hair up into a bun which revealed her long neck.
As Geoffrey watched, River caught Clara’s eye and, when he smiled at her, she gave him a sunny smile back. They were still close, even after all these years and thousands of miles of separation. He wished he could say the same about himself and River, but he’d blown that too.
Geoffrey glanced at his watch, feeling tired. He was of no use whatsoever and surely no one would notice if he took himself off to his bedroom – a room that was out of bounds to the people exploring the house. The youngsters were in charge now, and this house had stood before his birth and would stand long after he had left it behind. Geoffrey Brellasham was now redundant.
Disappointed with himself for being so self-pitying, he was about to slip away when his attention was caught by a door opening at the far side of the ballroom.
A new guest had come in and Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down.
The woman, far shorter than him, was using a walking stick, and there was a young man beside her. She was simply attired in a knee-length dress made of navy fabric, and she was old. Older than Geoffrey, with white hair piled into a bun and a silver necklace at her throat. A navy bag, that matched her dress, was hanging from her shoulder.
Geoffrey had no idea who the woman was and yet there was something familiar in the way she held herself. Perhaps she was someone he’d seen around Heaven’s Cove. Another villager he hadn’t bothered to speak to.
The woman caught his eye and began to walk slowly towards him, and suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe.
It couldn’t be. The person walking towards him was a ghost unleashed from the third floor, the woman he had watched walk into the sea almost seventy years ago.
Her face was lined and her steps hesitant, but there was no mistaking the shape of her mouth or the pale blue of her eyes.
‘Hello, Geoffrey,’ she said, on reaching him. ‘Now that I’m here, I don’t quite know what to say.’
‘Is it you?’ he croaked, his breath coming in short gasps. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted River and Clara hurrying towards him.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ When the woman took hold of his hand, her skin was warm. He couldn’t understand what was happening but he knew that this was no ghost risen from a watery grave. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear boy,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry that I had to leave you.’
‘Audrey,’ he managed. Then his arms were around the woman he had mourned in silence for so long and he was pulling her towards him. Her head went onto his shoulder and he felt her body shake as she cried.
People were watching, curious about what was going on. But he didn’t care. It was a miracle. Audrey, his stepmother, was alive and the guilt he had carried for decades was sliding away.
‘Come with me.’
River’s hand was on his arm, and Clara’s on Audrey’s, and they were being led downstairs into the library.
‘We need this room,’ River said to Lettie, the red-haired woman who ran the village’s cultural centre. She’d volunteered to keep an eye on the ground-floor visitors. ‘Can you make sure that everyone stays out?’
Lettie cast a curious eye over Audrey before nodding. ‘Of course. That’s no problem.’
Still led by his son, Geoffrey walked into the centre of the library and Audrey, led by Clara, did the same.
When Clara went and closed the door, the hubbub of people outside faded away as Geoffrey and Audrey stood looking at each other. Reunited after almost a lifetime apart.