Page 23 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Pushing the book into her bag, she returned Bartie’s wave and steeled herself for the awkwardness to come.

11

RIVER

‘There she is,’ said Bartie, as they reached the cove. ‘Hey, Clara!’ he called across the sand. ‘I wondered where you’d been hiding.’

Clara, sitting on the rocks, her auburn hair blowing in the sea breeze, glanced over her shoulder. She seemed startled by their arrival but returned Bartie’s wave.

He was already walking towards her, undoing another button on his shirt as he moved across the warm sand, and River followed behind.

Sunbeams were dappling through the trees at the cove’s edge and River realised that he was literally walking in his cousin’s shadow, just as he always had metaphorically.

‘What are you reading?’ asked Bartie when they reached Clara.

She finished stuffing a small white book into the handbag lying next to her and looked up. ‘It’s nothing. Just a notebook.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What are you two doing out here?’

‘Looking for you.’ Bartie smiled at Clara. ‘We were worried about you. We thought you might be upset after hearing Geoffrey’s news. Isn’t that right, River?’

River nodded, though he didn’t think that worry about Clara was Bartie’s sole reason for seeking her out.

Clara sniffed, her face pale. ‘I’m shocked about it, to be honest, and my mum is distraught. It’s all come out of the blue.’

Poor Mrs N, thought River. He’d assumed his father would have told her before the big announcement but shock had ricocheted across her face as Geoffrey had imparted the news to everyone.

‘I can see why your mum would be upset after working here for so long,’ Bartie sympathised, his hands on his hips. ‘And you must be upset, too, because you’re both going to lose your home. It’s such a terrible shame, the whole thing.’

Bartie sat down next to Clara. He was so close their arms were touching but she didn’t move away.

‘Poor Geoffrey has been struggling with the situation for a while,’ he told her, pulling sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on. He looked even more like a leading man in shades, thought River ruefully. ‘But Geoff didn’t want to burden anyone with it at first. Not even River, here, which is understandable seeing as he was ten thousand miles away. But I was honoured when he reached out to me and asked for my help. That’s when I suggested that River should be involved.’

River scuffed his feet into the sand. That wasn’t exactly what had happened. Bartie had heard on the grapevine from his mother – a second cousin of his father’s – that Geoffrey was having financial difficulties, and it had been Bartie who had contacted Geoffrey to offer his services.

In the meantime, River had received a letter from his father, outlining his dilemma with the manor and asking him to visit. So his trip to England was already planned by the time Bartie got in touch with him. But it seemed that his cousin wasn’t about to let truth get in the way of a good story.

‘It’s really kind of you to help him,’ said Clara, turning to Bartie, who brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

‘I’d do anything to help Geoffrey, who’s always been like a second father to me.’

River rolled his eyes because Bartie was laying it on a bit thick. From what he’d gathered, his cousin had hardly visited over the last few years. But then he, himself, had never visited at all.

River turned his face to the sea and focused on the puffs of white cloud scudding towards the horizon. The sky here was china blue, less vibrant than the bright blue he was used to in Australia. It was prettier, more delicate. A lot like Clara, sixteen years on. She’d grown into an attractive woman. The freckles were still there, scattered across her nose and cheekbones, which he was glad about. He’d always liked her freckles though, back then, she’d complained about them bitterly.

He glanced over his shoulder at Bartie and Clara, who were deep in conversation, Bartie seemingly engrossed in whatever she was telling him.

Did this constitute ‘having a crack at her’? River feared that it did and turned his attention back to the sea. He’d always felt protective towards Clara but they were no longer great friends and it wasn’t for him to look out for her. Perhaps she welcomed Bartie’s attentions anyway. She’d hung on his every word back when they were teenagers.

‘What do you think, River?’ Clara asked suddenly.

He turned. ‘About what?’

‘I was asking Bartie if selling Brellasham Manor really is the only option. It seems a bit nuclear.’

‘And what’s Bartie’s opinion?’

‘He reckons the house costs too much to run and is a lost cause. But surely there are ways of making money. You could open the house to visitors. Market the place and get tourists in. Do tours. Set up a café and a playground for little kids. Hold weddings, and events like the annual village fete that’s happening soon.’ She winced. ‘If it’s still happening soon.’

‘I’ve been racking my brain for various ways to boost income,’ said River, ‘but they all involve strangers at the manor and my father would never agree. He’s always guarded the house jealously and the annual village fair is about as far as he’ll go.’

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