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‘He might change his mind if it would save the place and mean he could stay here.’
‘It wouldn’t,’ said Bartie bluntly. ‘The amount of money needed to bring Brellasham Manor up to scratch in the first place, so it’s fit for tourists and weddings, is substantial. And that’s money that Geoffrey doesn’t have. So I’m afraid selling is the only option. I wish there was something else that could be done.’
‘Me too,’ said Clara, her face glum. ‘There are so many memories in that house. So many echoes of people long gone.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Bartie, frowning slightly. He clearly thought Clara was being over-dramatic but River knew what she meant. As a sensitive teenager, he’d sometimes imagined history seeping from the walls.
He looked behind him, at the gardens and manor library just visible through the trees. He’d arrived yesterday, glad at the thought of being shot of this place for good. Hopeful that bad memories of the house would disappear when it was sold. But already his feelings were more mixed.
Back in Australia, the manor had seemed almost dreamlike. A place he’d once known that was mired in tradition and an outdated class system. In a younger country, enjoying the sunshine and a new start, he’d felt that it had nothing to do with him any more.
But he couldn’t deny the increasing pull he was already feeling to this house, to Heaven’s Cove and to the people who lived here.
Bartie’s phone suddenly rang and he pulled it from his trouser pocket, glanced at the screen and winced. ‘Sorry, I need to take this. Honestly, I’m only out of the office for a few days but they can’t cope without me.’
He took hold of Clara’s hand, held it to his lips and kissed the pale skin on the inside of her wrist. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again, Clara. Such an unexpected pleasure. I hope we can spend more time together, now we’ve renewed our friendship.’
Good grief, it was all so cheesy. River waited for Clara to roll her eyes or even raise an eyebrow, but instead she smiled up at Bartie and nodded. His legendary charm appeared to be working.
Bartie got to his feet and hurried away, speaking animatedly into his phone. The words ‘high-level mergers’ drifted back across the sand towards them.
Once Bartie was out of sight, River cleared his throat. This was awkward. It shouldn’t be. He and a former childhood acquaintance were simply enjoying the view – they’d sat here together enough times in the past, chatting and laughing. But that was then and a lot had changed since.
‘How do you think your father’s announcement went?’ asked Clara, gazing at the waves rippling towards the shore.
‘As well as could be expected, I guess,’ said River, who had found the whole event stressful. Everyone in the audience, including Mrs N, had been visibly shocked by the news and several had looked at him hopefully. As if he might be their knight in shining armour who would save the day.
Phillip, the gardener, had put their thoughts into words. Why doesn’t the son take the house on? And River had seen the disappointment on their faces when they’d realised the truth: he wasn’t here to save Brellasham Manor. He was here to help his father and Bartie sell it.
‘Do you want Brellasham Manor to be sold?’ asked Clara. She’d always been forthright and that obviously hadn’t changed.
River pondered his answer because the situation was complicated. He didn’t want the house. He never had. And he and his father had a relationship that was challenging. River had little in common with the austere, often cold man who had played only a minor role in his life since adolescence.
Geoffrey had made some efforts to keep in touch, and River, too, had sent birthday and Christmas cards plus the occasional email. However, he’d never been sure that his father liked him that much, whereas his father’s love for the manor house was evident. How ironic, thought River, that the old man appeared to love a pile of bricks more than his flesh and blood.
‘Or would you rather have the money?’ asked Clara when a silence stretched between them.
River stared at the girl to whom he’d once opened his heart. She’d known him so well once upon a time but now she didn’t appear to know him at all.
‘After we left here, Mum took me to live in what I suppose you’d call a commune, in the Australian outback. Money didn’t feature in our lives then and it hasn’t much since. I haven’t needed it to be happy. So, no, I wouldn’t rather have the money from this house.’
Clara held his gaze for a moment before looking away. ‘Have you been happy?’ she asked quietly.
River nodded. ‘Mostly. What about you?’
‘Mostly.’ She swallowed. ‘You know that my dad died last year.’
‘Yes. I was sorry to hear it. Your dad meant a lot to me.’
Clara blinked and pursed her lips. She looked like she was fighting back tears, and River had an urge to put his arms around her. To let her rest her head on his shoulder and weep for the parent she’d lost.
But he’d given up the right to comfort her the day he’d let her go.
A piece of paper, caught by the breeze, suddenly danced across his feet and River bent to pick it up.
‘Is this yours?’ It was a small scrap bearing a string of numbers.
Clara’s eyes opened wide as he handed it over. ‘Oh, yes. It must have fallen out of my book. Thanks.’
