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RIVER
The irony was he’d been looking for Clara, tramping all over the manor house and grounds to find her after turning tail and running from her and Bartie on the picnic rug earlier that afternoon. But now that he had found her, he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak to her after all.
She was sitting with her back to him, high on the moors, with her knees pulled up under her chin. The sun was still beating down but a straw hat was shielding her from the glare.
River ran a hand through his hair. He should have worn a hat too. A gentleman never goes out in the afternoon sun without a Panama. That’s what his father had told him when he was growing up, along with Boys don’t cry. He’d also promised: One day this will all be yours, which, as it turned out, was really ironic.
His childhood memories were coming back now he was at Brellasham Manor. He’d blocked them out in Australia – they were a painful reminder of a life that was no more, and of people who were gone for good.
But now memories, good and bad, were flooding back, triggered by a smell of damp in the drawing room, and the clatter of pans from the kitchen – or the sight of Clara sitting with her back to him on the wild moors they’d once roamed as children.
Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his misgivings and started walking towards her.
She glanced up when he reached her, squinting under the brim of her hat.
‘Have you escaped?’ she asked simply. Just as she used to almost twenty years ago, when he’d been running from his parents’ constant bickering.
He nodded. ‘Is it OK if I sit down?’
‘Of course. It’s a free country.’ She glanced at him. ‘How did you find me? That is, if you were looking for me in the first place. Or were you just out for a walk?’
‘Both,’ lied River. He looked out across the scrubby grass and huge slabs of granite that littered the countryside. They were high up here, and the sea was a glittering swathe of blue in the distance. Far below them, the roof of the manor house was just visible, and the whitewashed walls of Mrs N’s cottage. ‘I thought I might find you here. The moors and the castle ruins in the village were always your favourite places.’
‘They still are,’ said Clara. ‘Look at that view. It’s so vast, so wildly beautiful, it puts life into perspective somehow.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Does that sound pretentious?’
‘No, I know what you mean and I can’t imagine you ever being pretentious anyway.’
‘I do hope you’re not implying that I’m chippy.’
River grinned. ‘As if I would.’
When they lapsed into silence, broken only by the chirping of birds and the rush of a warm wind, he stole a glance at her. She was wearing navy blue shorts and a strappy yellow T-shirt and sandals. Her skin was a light golden brown, apart from her cheeks, which were flushed from too much hatless sun at lunchtime. She looked amazing.
‘How was the picnic?’ River asked when the silence went on for too long.
Clara’s cheeks flushed a brighter pink. ‘Bartie and I had a good time. It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.’
River opened his mouth to say that, actually, he had gone along at one o’clock as arranged, only to see that Bartie and Clara were there already, enjoying a passionate kiss. Then he closed his mouth again. What Clara got up to was none of his business and she wouldn’t thank him for meddling in her affairs.
But he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Were she and Bartie having a fling? Bartie was certainly angling for a short-term relationship, and maybe that was what Clara wanted too. She’d always had a bit of a thing for him. No wonder his own adolescent kiss had been poorly received.
‘River?’ Clara was staring at him. ‘You’re miles away.’
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I said, did your phone call go well this morning?’
River frowned. ‘Yeah, it was OK.’ He’d rung his mother earlier, to tell her he was still alive, but that was all.
‘Good,’ said Clara, waving away a fly that was dive-bombing her. ‘I expect you miss her, being so far away.’
‘Um. I do, yes, and I know she misses me.’
‘I bet she does.’
‘But I’ll see her again soon, so that’s good.’
‘Yeah, of course.’ Clara picked a blade of grass and rolled it between her fingers. ‘How do you feel about Brellasham Manor, then? Have you missed it?’
