‘Yeah, I hope so. I won’t be here for too much longer.’
River brushed his fringe from his face, something he used to do all the time as a teenager. Clara swallowed, feeling a pang for the past when life was less complicated and they were still friends.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before the meeting about the manor being sold?’ she asked, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice.
‘I assumed my father had already told your mum, and I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me anyway. You didn’t seem overly happy to see me again.’
You know why, thought Clara. But she wasn’t about to have that conversation here, where people might overhear them. She might not have that conversation at all before he returned to Australia. What was the point?
‘Do you know much about Audrey Brellasham?’ she asked instead.
River blinked at the change of subject. ‘Who?’
‘The woman in this portrait. Your dad’s stepmother, who drowned in 1957 after walking into the sea.’
‘I’ve not heard much about her although I know it was a terrible tragedy. Why do you want to know?’ When Clara paused, weighing up how much to share, River added: ‘We used to tell each other everything, back when we were kids. You can still trust me, you know.’
Clara raised an eyebrow because it was trust that River had shattered after leaving the manor for good. But the secrets she was carrying were beginning to drag her down.
‘Have you ever been up to the third floor?’ she asked, nodding towards the locked door that led to the rooms above.
‘The ghostly rooms upstairs? Nope. I presume they’re still out of bounds?’
‘That’s right.’
‘My father’s always respected his father’s wishes that no one should ever go up there. Edwin must have really loved his wife and been grief-stricken to shut off the entire floor.’
‘Maybe.’
This time it was River who raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe? What exactly are you getting at, Clara?’
‘Don’t you think the whole thing is a bit strange and there’s more to it?’
‘Not really. I suppose Edwin wanted to avoid seeing anything that would remind him of the tragedy. And, as well as being grief-stricken, there was more stigma around suicide back then so another good reason for Edwin to distance himself from the whole thing. Why are you bringing all of this back up?’
Clara took a deep breath. ‘I found something, in my gran’s possessions after she died.’
Confusion flitted across River’s face. ‘What did you find?’
‘This. Audrey’s diary from 1957, the year she went missing.’
She pulled the book from her pocket and handed it over to River. He stared at the diary for a moment, as if it was likely to explode, and then he began to leaf through the gold-edged pages.
‘This is amazing, Clo,’ he said, looking up from Audrey’s flowing writing. ‘But why did your grandmother have it?’
Clara ignored the use of her nickname, even though hearing it from his lips again took her by surprise.
‘I reckon Gran went into her bedroom on the third floor, after Audrey disappeared, and took it. She was seen coming out of her room and accused of stealing the diamond necklace that went missing at the same time as Audrey, but she must have been there for the diary. And the scrap of paper I found in the back of the diary – the one you picked up for me at the cove – was written by Gran and contains a coded message, though I haven’t worked out what it means yet.’
‘Woah!’ River held up his hand. ‘Hang on a minute. Lost diaries, stolen diamond necklaces, coded messages…what on earth are you going on about? I feel like I’ve been catapulted into an episode of Sherlock.’
Clara slowed down her breathing and her words. She was starting to gabble.
‘The diary contains strings of numbers that make no sense, and the piece of paper also contains similar numbers. I can tell by the writing that the numbers in the diary were written by Audrey whereas the numbers on the piece of paper were written by my gran, who didn’t steal any necklace, by the way. The numbers must mean something, and Gran was using them to send a message to Audrey.’
‘Before she took her own life.’
‘Yes.’ Clara paused, a half-formed idea flitting in to her mind. ‘If that is what happened and how she died.’