Page 17 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

‘Thank you all for coming this morning,’ he said, unclasping his hands. He winced. ‘I do believe I’ve said that already. Anyway, it’s wonderful to have my son, River, here, and Bartholomew – Bartie – too, of course.’

He cleared his throat again. ‘You all know and love Brellasham Manor, as do I. This house has been home to my family since it was built, more than two hundred years ago. However, unfortunately, that is the problem.’

He glanced at Bartie, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. ‘It has become increasingly expensive to manage the upkeep of this house, especially as it is so close to the sea and is battered by ferocious weather every winter.

‘You all do a marvellous job in keeping this house, and me, running. You have done over the years.’ Geoffrey looked at Clara’s mother and gave her a faint smile. ‘But frankly, it’s all becoming too much.’

People in the room had started exchanging glances. Clara looked at River, trying to read his expression, to anticipate what was coming next. But he was staring resolutely ahead, his face neutral. Was his father stepping aside so that he could take over as ‘lord of the manor’?

Geoffrey turned his palms towards the ceiling. ‘Basically, the situation cannot continue as it is. It’s taken me some time to come to terms with that fact but’ – he swallowed – ‘it’s now time to move on and pass this house into other hands. It’s time to sell Brellasham Manor.’

A collective gasp echoed around the room and Clara’s stomach did a flip.

Geoffrey held up his hand to staunch any comments from the floor. ‘Obviously, I don’t want to sell this house but I have come to understand that it’s the only way forward. It’s time to pass it on to a developer who can make this house work, as a new type of accommodation. Bartie has some ideas about that. It seems that the manor could be transformed into a number of luxury apartments.’

He raised his hand again to quell a hum of dissent from his audience. ‘I realise that this will come as a shock to you, and leaving this house will be’ – he paused – ‘difficult, but it appears to be the only option.

‘I will, of course, keep you informed as I appreciate that your livelihoods will be affected, and for that I am sorry.’ He stopped and studied his feet for a moment, before raising his head. ‘But we will do our best to ensure that none of you are left in the lurch. I’m afraid that needs must and, while I may not like it, I learned from my father, who never shirked from doing what was necessary, that hard decisions sometimes have to be made.’

He sat down, his audience now stunned into silence. Clara blinked, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard. Luxury apartments – meaning swanky homes that locals like her could never hope to afford.

Clara loved this house. It had been a part of her life since she was born, and the thought of not being able to walk its rooms, or dangle her feet in the stone fountain on hot days, or sit on the sand and gaze at the ocean, took her breath away.

Then, she felt guilty because both Geoffrey and her mother faced losing far more – though it was hard to feel as sorry for Geoffrey as it was for her mum. It was devastating, of course, that he would have to leave a home that had been in his family for generations. But the money from the sale would mean he could live out his days in comfort.

Whereas, her mother would lose both her home and her job – a job which had helped to keep her life turning over following the death of her husband. She would have to find rented accommodation somewhere else and, if new work was hard to come by, her finances would take a battering.

When Clara reached across and clasped her mother’s hand, Julie squeezed her fingers. She’d gone pale and was blinking, as if she might cry.

Being the housekeeper here was more than a job to her. The Netherway family had been a part of Brellasham Manor for so many years. They’d maintained the grounds, kept its occupants fed and – Clara thought of the diary in her bedside table, and its strange sequences of numbers – they’d kept its secrets safe.

‘There will be time for questions later,’ said Geoffrey, speaking from his chair. ‘But first, let’s hear from Bartie, who, along with River, will be managing the sale.’

All eyes turned to Bartie, who slowly got to his feet and smiled at the upturned faces in front of him.

‘Hi, everyone. I’m related to the Brellasham family. What’s our connection, Geoffrey?’ He turned to Geoffrey, who was staring at his hands clasped in his lap. ‘First cousin twice removed? Second cousin once removed? Something like that.’

He turned back to his audience, with his easy grin that lit up his handsome face.

‘But I’m also a successful entrepreneur who dabbles in property and I have a variety of contacts in the development market. So, when I heard that Geoffrey was enduring stressful financial challenges, I said I’d be happy to help him seek a viable solution.

‘We all know that this house is wonderful but it’s also, not to put too fine a point on it, a money pit. Damp is an ongoing problem, utility bills are increasingly onerous, and the roof, despite patch-ups here and there over the years, has increasingly fallen into disrepair. It’s now reached a state where most if not all of the roof needs to be replaced and that’s no easy feat. We have to use expensive slate tiles, which means the bill is likely to be eye-wateringly high.’

He smiled again which seemed jarring in the circumstances. ‘In short, I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done other than sell the house. And I’m here to help ensure that Geoffrey receives the best possible price, while also preserving the special feel of this amazing house that has been a haven to me ever since I was a child.’

It might have been a haven when he was a teenager, but Clara didn’t think he’d been back here for a good few years. Perhaps she was wrong and her mum hadn’t mentioned his more recent visits.

Phillip, the manor’s part-time gardener-cum-handyman, raised his hand, as if he was at school.

Bartie glanced at him. ‘Yes? Did you have a question?’

‘Yeah, I do. I can see why Geof…Mr Brellasham is finding the house a handful. Not meaning to be rude but he’s getting on a bit.’

‘That is quite rude,’ muttered Julie, but Phillip continued unabashed.

‘To be honest, I have enough trouble making ends meet and I live in a cottage – I’m in the old harbour master’s place by the lifeboat station.’ People around him nodded. ‘But why doesn’t the son take the house on?’ He glanced over at River. ‘Sorry, I can’t remember your name, mate. Storm, or something?’

‘It’s River,’ said Bartie, twisting his mouth in amusement. ‘I think River feels that…Actually, why don’t we hear from the man himself? River, over to you.’

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