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If River’s homecoming was being treated like a royal visit, Clara would play along. But she didn’t have to like it.
2
CLARA
Gathergill’s Mini Mart did stock Gorgonzola! Which meant River would be welcomed home with smelly cheese, and she would escape the displeasure of her mother. Clara pushed the pungent package into her bag, stepped out into the June morning and pulled the supermarket door closed behind her. A salty breeze was blowing through the trees, and seagulls were screeching on the village green as they fought over an empty crisp packet.
Clara walked through the village which was preparing for the daily influx of tourists. Cobbled streets were being washed clean, shop fronts made ready and freshly caught fish laid out on ice in the fishmonger’s window.
Dotted here and there were posters for the Brellasham Manor Charity Fete and Open Day. The annual event raised a lot of money for local good causes and was keenly anticipated by the locals of Heaven’s Cove – partly because it was the only day of the year when they were allowed to wander around the grand house.
Clara had once suggested that River’s father, Geoffrey, open the manor to paying visitors throughout the year. It seemed a shame that its impressive rooms and perfectly proportioned architecture went unseen. But he’d baulked at the idea of ‘strangers invading the place and gawping’ so she’d let it drop.
It was about time the Brellasham family shared their good fortune, she decided as she reached the ruined castle that sat overlooking the sea.
The castle keep, a square tower of red-tinged stone, rose into the sky and, around it, stone walls, eight centuries old and now fallen into disrepair, marked the boundary of the castle that had once been home to hundreds of people.
What were they like? Clara wondered. These shadowy people who once lived and loved here. Did they have day-to-day worries that sometimes seemed overwhelming? Were their mothers a nightmare too? Talking of which…Clara glanced at her watch and frowned. It was already eight o’clock so she’d better get a move on.
Hurrying down the dip in the land, that had once housed a moat, she set off at a brisk pace.
The weather had been glorious recently, with unseasonably high temperatures, and only puffs of white cloud were scudding across the sky this morning. It was going to be another beautiful early summer’s day. The perfect day for a long-awaited homecoming.
Clara sniffed, suddenly weary of her bad mood. River’s return was nothing to do with her, and he’d probably disappear again soon. But her mother was happy about it, and that was enough. Anything that lifted her mum’s spirits had to be a good thing.
Clara walked on through the village, thinking about her father, who had died twelve months earlier. Then, she tried very hard to focus, instead, on the cobbled street in front of her and the fresh smell of the sea.
It still hurt when the gaping hole left in her life by her father’s absence suddenly yawned wide. Some days it threatened to swallow her, but today she needed to be focused on other things – on people returning, rather than people who were gone for ever.
Clara walked on, along the lane that left Heaven’s Cove behind. Few tourists ventured past the edge of the village and along this narrow track that led towards the moors.
They didn’t know what they were missing, thought Clara, listening to sheep bleating in the fields beyond the high hedge, and a stream tinkling over stones. There was a sense of peace about this place that she loved. A permanence that made her feel grounded.
Clara undid her jacket, feeling warm in the sunshine as a butterfly flitted past. Spring was done and summer had arrived with a bang. Another summer of…who knew what? She could guess. The next few months would bring more hours spent helping Mum at the manor house, intermittent freelance work as a virtual PA – and awkward first dates in The Smugglers Haunt, that led absolutely nowhere.
Finding Mr Right seemed increasingly unlikely and Clara was becoming jaded. It was hard not to be when she met so many Mr Wrongs. She was starting to think the problem was her and she’d never find a man with whom she could imagine settling down. Not that she needed a man to make her life complete, even if her mother didn’t agree with her.
Her mood was dipping again, and she deliberately pulled her shoulders back as she reached the tall metal gates of Brellasham Manor.
Beyond them lay the gravel drive that River’s car would crunch along in a short while. What would he be like after all this time? she wondered. Would he even remember her, the girl with whom he’d been friends so long ago?
She walked along the drive that was edged with tall poplar trees and past the small cottage where she and her mother lived. Then, she turned a corner and caught sight of the manor house.
She’d seen it hundreds of times before, but this first daily sighting always made her heart leap because the house was just…perfect.
Made of pale red stone, Brellasham Manor sat in the shelter of moorland that rose up behind it.
To look at, the house seemed perfectly balanced with large windows on either side of a stone porch that was held aloft by four stone pillars. A walled kitchen garden sat to the right-hand side of the building, and to its left the lawn fell away, down to the sea. The small, private cove was almost hidden from the house by a line of trees.
On days like today, the sea was a beautiful blue. But Clara had walked on that beach when the water was dark and rough. And it always made a shiver run down her spine.
This bay, far smaller than the public beach that gave Heaven’s Cove its name, was where Audrey Brellasham, the lady of the manor, had drowned almost seventy years ago, when she was younger than Clara. Her body had never been found – it was swept out to sea and lost for ever. But in winter, when the wind roared and waves crashed onto the sand, Clara couldn’t help imagining that, one day, her bones might wash up on the shore.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a lolloping golden retriever that wound its way around her legs, almost knocking her over.
‘Hey, Grayson.’ Clara bent down and tickled behind the dog’s ear. ‘What are you doing out here on your own, boy?’
Grayson trotted ahead as she made her way around the back of the house to what Geoffrey Brellasham, the current ‘lord of the manor’, referred to as ‘the tradesmen’s entrance’.
