13. River
13
River stepped into the library and ignored an urge to turn tail and step straight back out again.
His father was sitting in the leather armchair, next to the window that overlooked the gardens. A flash of bright blue sea was visible through the trees.
‘River,’ he said, his face solemn.
‘Father,’ River replied.
A silence fell across the room now the two of them had ascertained that they knew who each other was.
‘Um, I was looking for Bartie,’ said River when the silence began to stretch.
‘Bartholomew was here. We had a good chat, but he’s gone off now to ring his office or do whatever it is he needs to do, to make sure that wheels are in motion regarding the sale.’
We had a good chat. His words cut through River, who had long suspected that Geoffrey would rather have Bartie as his son.
Perhaps Clara suspected the same thing, especially now that Bartie had grown into a successful businessman handling ‘high-level mergers’. Whereas he, beneath his Australian tan and broader shoulders, remained the same old unconventional screw-up. His work as a software developer wouldn’t set the world on fire and, to be honest, he was only averagely good at it.
‘I think the announcement this morning went as well as could be expected,’ his father said, adjusting his gold cufflinks.
‘I think so, too, though it was a huge shock for everyone, including Mrs N.’
His father glanced up and caught his eye. ‘Indeed. I’ve apologised for not giving her prior warning.’
Had he? His father apologising was a first.
‘So,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Did you sleep well last night?’
‘Yes, thank you. Though it’s strange being back in my old bedroom.’
‘I expect it is. Truth be told, it’s rather strange having you back in the house. You and Bartie back together. Just like the good old days.’
The good old days? Had he forgotten arguing with his then wife and berating River about his exam results? Or that Bartie had once shut River in the windowless coal cellar and left him there for hours?
Bartie had claimed it was just a joke, and Geoffrey had told River to grow up and stop being over-sensitive after his shouts were eventually heard and he was rescued. But, even twenty years on, River still shivered at the thought of those hours spent trapped in the dark.
Being back at the manor house was strange and discombobulating, like stepping back to a time when he’d been confused and unhappy. He hadn’t set foot in the place for almost two decades and yet…He’d realised last night, as he lay in bed thinking about it all, the prospect of this grand, solid house being sold felt like someone was standing on his chest.
He’d believed that Brellasham Manor had faded into obscurity during his time abroad. But now he understood that the knowledge it was trundling on, unchanged for decades, had given him a feeling of stability. Perhaps he’d always assumed subconsciously that he would return one day.
River swallowed. ‘If you’ve got half an hour to spare, perhaps you and I could have a chat and a catch-up. It’s been a while since we properly talked.’
‘We talked at dinner last night and it’ll be dinner time again soon. There’ll be plenty of time to chat then,’ said Geoffrey briskly.
‘Yes, but Bartie will be there as well. I was thinking that maybe we could have a word now, just the two of us.’
An emotion flickered across Geoffrey’s face and was gone. It looked like fear but River knew he must be mistaken. Why would his father be frightened of him? He was more likely annoyed by River’s apparent ‘neediness’ in wanting to talk.
The door suddenly banged open and Bartie bounded into the room.
‘Well,’ he announced. ‘Good news! The developer contact I mentioned to you is very interested in buying Brellasham Manor. So interested, in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were to match the market rate for the property immediately, or even exceed it if we exerted a little pressure.’ He tapped his nose. ‘If you know what I mean.’
River didn’t know what he meant. Thumbscrews, perhaps?
Geoffrey murmured, ‘That is very good news,’ though his face told another story.
Leaving this place which his family had called home for generations would kill him, River realised, before inwardly berating himself for being overly dramatic – something else his father could not abide.
‘It’s early days,’ Bartie continued, ‘but a very good start that could come to fruition relatively swiftly. It’s going to need a lot of work on my part, but that’s something I’ve never been afraid of and, of course, I want to do the best for you and the manor.’
Geoffrey smiled. ‘It’s very good of you, Bartie. I would ask Mrs Netherway to make us a pot of tea but she sent me a message some hours ago saying she’d gone home with a headache. She promised to come back to cook dinner but I haven’t seen her.’
‘If she’s still not feeling well, I can cook for us,’ said River, wondering how his father was going to manage after the sale without the help he was used to. He doubted that Geoffrey knew how to boil an egg.
‘That would be—’ Geoffrey stopped mid-sentence when Mrs N rushed into the room, with Clara at her heels. ‘Ah, you’re back, Julie. I assume that your headache has gone?’
‘No, not really,’ said Mrs N, tapping her foot over and over on the carpet. She was a ball of nervous energy. ‘It’s still pounding away because I can’t relax.’
Clara stepped forward. ‘Mum, I don’t think—’ But she was silenced by an imperious wave of her mother’s hand.
‘No, Clara, it needs to be said and I won’t relax until it has been.’ Mrs N turned to his father, her foot still tapping. ‘I understand that my daughter took it upon herself to castigate you for not telling me about selling the manor before this morning’s meeting.’
Had Clara given his father a telling off? River bit back a smile at the thought. Bartie’s grin was less well hidden.
‘Well,’ Geoffrey harrumphed. ‘She did have a word with me.’
‘Then she shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.’
‘Mum, you don’t need to say sorry,’ said Clara, her cheeks flushed.
She glanced at River as if seeking his support, but Geoffrey was already speaking.
‘Your daughter’s right. There’s no need to apologise, Julie. As I told you earlier, I should have been more sensitive to your situation.’ River felt his mouth fall open and he quickly closed it again. ‘Actually, Clara and I ended up having an interesting chat.’
When Geoffrey glanced at Clara, River frowned. What was that look the two of them had just exchanged? As though they had some kind of understanding.
‘Anyway, I hope your headache will now ease,’ Geoffrey continued. ‘However, if you feel unable to cook dinner, my son has offered to take over your duties.’
River tried hard not to be offended by the disbelief and horror that registered on Mrs N’s face.
‘Absolutely not. I wouldn’t dream of not cooking your meal,’ she spluttered, silencing her daughter’s protestations with another wave of the hand. ‘I’m heading for the kitchen right now and dinner will be at the same time as usual.’
She bustled out of the room but Clara remained, shifting from foot to foot.
‘Actually, while I’m here, I was wondering if you had a minute?’
She was looking at River but Bartie stepped forward. ‘I always have time for you, Clara, and your entertaining mother. How did she know we’d be in here?’
‘Everyone seems to gravitate towards the library because it’s the most comforting room in the house.’
River glanced at the shelves filled with books, the faded Persian rug that covered the floorboards, and the leather armchairs whose seats had become squashy with age. He found this room, that smelled of sandalwood polish, comforting too.
Outside, the sun was glaring, giving the green of the lawns and the blue of the sea a fever-dream vibrancy. River had been back to Brellasham Manor in his dreams. He’d dreamed of the echoing rooms with high ceilings and the cove with waves lapping at the sand. He’d dreamed of Clara.
‘Earth to River!’ Bartie’s voice was loud.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’ River asked, feeling foolish.
‘I was telling Clara that plans are progressing regarding the sale of this place. She needs to know because of how much it will affect her and her mother.’
‘Thank you. It would be good to be kept up to date.’ Clara pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘But actually, I wanted to know if the charity fete and open day is still going ahead, only there are a lot of arrangements still to make if that’s the case.’
‘I don’t imagine it’ll still go ahead.’ Bartie looked at Geoffrey. ‘What do you think? There doesn’t seem to be much point, and do you really want to be overrun with people when you’re trying to organise a move? People won’t be aware of the situation.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ said Clara. ‘I imagine your news has already spread around Heaven’s Cove like wildfire. It’s hard to keep anything quiet around here.’
‘Small villages really are a hotbed of gossip, aren’t they?’ said Bartie, curling his lip. ‘Small towns, small minds, I’m afraid.’
Clara frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s fair. Local people like to be informed about what’s going on in their area because they care about where they live.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Bartie quickly. ‘I wasn’t trying to diss the village. Of course people are interested, and I’m sure the fete would be good fun. But I’m just not sure that it would be a good use of our resources at the moment.’
‘It doesn’t use many of the manor’s resources, other than this place being the venue on the day. The event is organised by a village committee which I belong to, and, as I live here on site, I oversee the final arrangements. Everyone gives their time for free because it’s for such a good cause. A number of local charities benefit from the money raised.’
‘Which is all very admirable,’ said Bartie, ‘but I still think it’s best if the fete is cancelled, now that we’re focusing on selling the manor. And I’m sure Geoffrey and River agree.’
Clara turned to River. ‘Do you?’
River hesitated because it was clear that the fete meant a lot to Clara and to local people.
‘Not necessarily,’ he said, ignoring his cousin’s groan of exasperation. ‘These leads you’re following are going to take some time, Bartie, even if everything pans out as you’re expecting. So where’s the harm in letting the fete go ahead as usual? It can be a swan song, if you like. A final goodbye from the Brellashams to the village that’s been their home for so long, and it’ll raise money for charity, which has to be a good thing.’
‘The harm is that it risks us taking our eye off the ball when there’s a lot to be done regarding a potential sale. Plus, it seems somewhat bizarre to be hosting a happy event, with everything that’s currently going on.’
‘I’m sure Clara will be doing the lion’s share of any work involved in the fete, and there’s no harm in spreading a little happiness, is there?’ River turned to his father. ‘But it’s up to you, of course.’
Geoffrey waved his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered with such an inconsequential issue. ‘Yes, let it go ahead.’
Bartie’s mouth set into a thin line but then he smiled. ‘Of course. You’re absolutely right, and I’m focusing too much on the sale. The Brellasham family have been a part of the local community for years, and the fete would be a fitting end to their association with the village. In fact, as penance for taking such a strong line against it initially, I’d like to help with any remaining arrangements, if I can. Maybe you and I could have a chat about what’s planned, Clara? Somewhere away from the manor, for a change. Is The Smugglers Haunt still open?’
Clara nodded, seemingly unfazed by Bartie’s swift change of heart, as River pictured the pub in Heaven’s Cove where he used to down half-pints of lemonade. It was impossible to drink a sneaky beer when the landlord knew full well that he was only in his mid-teens.
‘We could meet there tomorrow lunchtime to discuss your plans,’ Bartie was saying. ‘Or what about a picnic instead? Everyone loves a picnic in this beautiful weather. I’ll provide the food. We could meet at the beach in Heaven’s Cove.’
‘We could, but it’ll be heaving with tourists.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame, ’cos I’d love to meet up. I was hoping to surprise you with my packed lunch.’
Did River imagine it or did Bartie wink at Clara? The man was shameless. Everything was in turmoil but he was still trying to get off with Clara, using pathetic innuendo. She’d definitely see the funny side and tell him where to get off.
But instead, Clara, eyes widening slightly, said: ‘I suppose we could try Heaven’s Cove green, near the church?’
Bartie smiled. ‘Excellent idea. Lunchtime tomorrow? Does one o’clock suit you?’
‘It does.’
‘Great! Then it’s a date.’
Clara turned towards him. ‘What about you, River?’
The shadow of a frown crossed Bartie’s face. ‘Yes, River,’ he said very deliberately, ‘what about you?’
River knew that Bartie was expecting him to bow out. To leave the coast clear for him to unleash his charms on Clara, who, judging by her lack of reaction to his cousin’s innuendo, seemed to have lost her mind over the last sixteen years. But Bartie’s seduction technique wasn’t why they were here at Brellasham Manor.
‘That time sounds fine to me,’ said River. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
Geoffrey went into the drawing room after everyone had left and pulled open the bottom drawer of the Victorian dresser that sat in a corner. The dresser was polished to within an inch of its life but no one ever delved into this drawer, which was filled with books deemed too tatty for display in the library.
They should be disposed of and no doubt would be during his move from the manor. As would the dresser that would dwarf any room in a smaller property. It would never fit into sheltered accommodation. He would never fit into sheltered accommodation, either, but he supposed that was the ultimate fate for a man with no wife and no children to take care of him. River would soon be heading back to Australia and so much would remain unsaid.
Geoffrey sighed and pushed his hands beneath the books until he reached a small tin box that had once held toffees. Inside were the photos he had squirrelled away as a boy, while his father was burning pictures on a bonfire, along with images from his own marriage that had not lasted.
He rarely looked at them. In fact, he never looked at them. But today he had an urge to open the tin and drown in the past. Clara’s interest in Audrey had brought up memories that were refusing to lie quiet and still.
Geoffrey flicked through the photos, his heart fluttering at the images long unseen. He spent several seconds studying a photo of Lucia with their newborn, who, she’d insisted, must be called River. She was a beautiful woman, glowing with maternal pride at the bundle in her arms. He had been so proud the day she brought their son home from the hospital. So determined to look after the both of them for ever. And look how that had turned out.
Pushing that photo back into the tin, Geoffrey turned his attention to a picture of Audrey and his father, Edwin. This one must have been taken during their early courtship, at some kind of dance. Audrey, much younger than her husband-to-be, looked radiant in a dress with a tight bodice and full skirt. She was gazing up at him with adoration in her eyes as he placed a protective arm around her waist. It was sad but Geoffrey never remembered them going out dancing after they were married and Audrey had moved into the manor. Except for the ball held here in 1957, and that was swiftly followed by the tragedy of her death.
His mood dipping, he began to leaf more quickly through the images before deciding to stop dredging up the past and put the photos away. What was the point of all this pain?
‘Hello. Where are you?’
River’s voice drifted into the room from the hall.
Startled, Geoffrey dropped a handful of photos which scattered across the floor.
‘Damn!’ he muttered, getting onto his knees and sweeping the photos into a pile which he crammed back into the tin. He pushed it back beneath the books and closed the dresser drawer quietly. River had gone into the library looking for him but it wouldn’t be long before he was discovered.
‘Come on, Grayson,’ he said to the golden retriever which was slumbering on the sofa. ‘Time to go.’
Geoffrey slipped out of the open French windows and walked with the dog across the grass, towards the moors which rose up behind the house. He felt guilty for deliberately avoiding his son but the thought of a heart-to-heart chat filled him with dread. When they’d met up over the years, it had always been in a public place at his instigation – a busy restaurant or the bar of an airport hotel, where deep conversation was unlikely. But here, in the peace of memory-laden Brellasham Manor, it would be different.
And while Geoffrey knew what he should say to River, he also knew that he never would. He never could. So it was better, right now, to avoid spending time alone with his son at all.