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‘In the grounds of Brellasham Manor. With my mum, in the cottage that you’re open to retaining.’
Hannah stared at Clara, as if she didn’t know what to make of her, and then turned to Bartie. ‘Did you say something about a Pimm’s? I’m absolutely gasping for a drink.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time’s ticking on and you’re better off leaving Heaven’s Cove before all the tourists head for home and the roads become a nightmare. So we’d better get moving and say goodbye, Clara.’
When he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, his musky aftershave tickled her nose.
‘Don’t worry about the cottage or the fete,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’m taking care of it and I’ll see you later. I’m hoping you won’t have so much work to do tonight.’
He winked before putting his hand beneath Hannah’s elbow and leading her away, through the crowds.
Clara sat back down on the wall and folded her arms. The tide was coming in and waves were splashing against the wall. Fishing boats anchored offshore were bobbing on the swell and seagulls were wheeling overhead.
It was a perfect scene but Clara felt jangled. Something was very off and she needed to find out what, right now.
Hannah had mentioned having a Pimm’s. Of course she had – Clara couldn’t imagine her downing half a pint of lager. So Bartie would probably take her to The Smugglers Haunt.
Clara hurried through the lanes, not allowing herself to think too much or she’d turn around and go home. She had always been in awe of Bartie – River was right – and loath to challenge him on anything. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that life was out of kilter.
The Smugglers Haunt, a low, whitewashed building festooned with bright hanging baskets, had tables set up outside. People were drinking and laughing in the sunshine but there was no sign of Bartie or Hannah.
Clara pushed her way into the busy pub and looked around. It was cooler in here and several people had chosen to drink out of the sun. When she went up to the bar, Fred, the landlord, glanced up from the pint he was pulling.
‘A’right, Clara? You look like you could do with a drink.’
‘Maybe in a minute,’ she said distractedly, glancing around the bar. ‘I’m looking for someone. Two people, actually. Bartie – do you remember Bartie, who used to visit Brellasham Manor when we were teenagers? – and a tall blonde woman in a green trouser suit.’
‘They’ve gone out the back. There were a couple of tables left in the garden.’
‘Thanks, Fred.’
Clara made her way through the throng to the back of the pub and out of the door into the Haunt’s walled garden. It was baking hot out here, sheltered from the sea breeze, and people were sitting at tables beneath bright parasols.
All of the tables were taken but Clara couldn’t see Bartie and Hannah. Perhaps they’d gone elsewhere for their drinks. She was about to head back inside when she remembered the table that had been shoved behind the trellis – there wasn’t much space there but Fred tried to get as many customers into the garden as he could.
The trellis, dripping with a blooming purple clematis, provided cover which meant Clara could approach it unseen. And when she peeped around it, there were Bartie and Hannah at the hidden table, sitting with their heads bent close together. A glass of what Clara assumed was Pimm’s stood in front of Hannah and Bartie had a pint, the outside of the glass dripping with beads of condensation.
Now she’d found them, Clara hesitated. They were deep in conversation and she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She couldn’t leap in and say she was feeling jangled. They’d both think she’d taken leave of her senses.
As Clara stood deliberating, Hannah sat back on her wooden bench and took a sip of her drink. Her voice was muffled by the trellis but her words could be made out clearly enough. ‘So, are you sure that the old man will go for the plan?’
Bartie smiled. ‘Absolutely, just so long as he doesn’t know the plan, of course. He trusts my judgement and, at the end of the day, will do what I suggest.’
‘What about his son? He seemed very interested in what I had in mind. Doesn’t Geoffrey listen to him too?’
‘I was hoping we’d manage to avoid River but I’m sure he was lying in wait for us in the garden. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He and his father have been estranged for years and River doesn’t want to take on the house. I don’t blame him, mind you. It’s a financial millstone, and who’d want to live in this tiny place in the middle of nowhere? Except,’ he laughed, ‘people looking for luxury apartments who have more money than sense.’
Bartie suddenly glanced up, across the garden, and Clara stepped back, fully behind the trellis. People in other parts of the garden had noticed her and Florence, one of the village’s oldest residents, waved from beneath her parasol. She looked confused by Clara’s clandestine behaviour.
‘Please don’t tell my mother,’ Clara murmured, giving Florence a wave and a weak smile. If Julie found out that she’d been spying, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe it was time to go and she could tackle Bartie later. But any plans to beat a hasty retreat were scuppered the moment Clara heard her own name being mentioned. She turned back to the trellis and peeped around it again.
‘It was all very awkward when she asked about the cottage,’ Hannah was saying. ‘You should have warned me. River asked about the same cottage, too, but then that stupid dog came bounding up and almost knocked me over so I never actually answered him. I didn’t know what he was going on about.’
‘It’s all fine,’ said Bartie, his tone soothing and conciliatory. ‘You don’t have to worry about Clara either. I’ve got that covered.’
‘Is she keen on you?’ Hannah’s tinkly laugh cut through Clara like a knife.
