Page 5 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Echoes of the tragedy were still reverberating down the years, thought Clara, trying the locked door again, in case it had mysteriously unlocked itself in the last few seconds.

It remained resolutely closed, so she turned again to the portrait.

‘What happened?’ she murmured. ‘Why did you walk into the waves that night?’

Her eyes met Audrey’s direct gaze which, immortalised on canvas, kept her secrets safe from beyond the grave. What secrets did she have?

The only person who might know more was Geoffrey but they had never spoken about his tragic stepmother. In fact, they’d never spoken about much, really, even though Clara had known him her whole life.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs broke into her thoughts and she jumped back from the portrait as her mother hurried along the landing.

‘Come on, Clara. What are you doing mooning over that painting again when River will be here any minute? You spend far too long, these days, staring at that picture. You’re brewing an unhealthy obsession with a dead woman.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Clara, feeling caught out because her mother had a point. She had spent a lot of time, recently, wondering why a woman with seemingly everything would drown herself. Though perhaps the only ‘reason’ was poor mental health which could affect anyone, whatever their circumstances.

‘Grayson ran into the kitchen table and two plates fell onto the tiles and smashed,’ said Julie, leading the way down the stairs. ‘That dog is a menace. But I’ll have to clear up in a minute because I’ve heard on the grapevine that River’s car has been seen in the village.’

‘Do you have people standing on watch?’ asked Clara, raising an eyebrow.

Julie glanced over her shoulder. ‘What have I told you about sarcasm? Belinda was in the bakery and she spotted River’s car going by and gave me a call.’

‘How on earth did she recognise him? She didn’t move to the village until after he’d gone to Australia.’

‘She looked him up on the internet and found a photo of him fire-fighting in the bush or something.’ Clara smiled, well able to imagine Belinda, the biggest gossip in Heaven’s Cove, stalking the returning prodigal son online. ‘Anyway, look sharp because River will be here any second and Geoffrey wants us to line up in the hall to greet him.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.’

‘Well, Geoffrey thinks it is,’ said Julie, shepherding Clara into the large, square hall where a little group had already gathered.

The front door was wide open and sunlight was streaming in across the Victorian floor tiles.

Geoffrey was standing on the doorstep and lined up behind him were Phillip, the gardener, Jean, Geoffrey’s part-time PA, Martin, Geoffrey’s solicitor, and, bizarrely, Patricia, the chiropodist who came out to the manor house to tend to Geoffrey’s feet. Julie joined the end of the welcome line and gestured for Clara to do the same.

Rolling her eyes at the fuss, Clara stood where she was told and watched as a midnight-blue car came into view. It crunched across the gravel and came to a halt outside the front door.

A man in smart jeans and a green sweatshirt stepped out of the driver’s seat and Clara felt suddenly as though time was dislocating.

The man in front of them, brushing long, fair hair from his eyes, was undeniably River. He had the same oval face and wide smile. But he was taller and broader with a short, neat beard. His teeth were bright against his golden tan.

She glanced again at the car because someone else was stepping from it. A man in a charcoal suit who looked familiar. And Clara’s heart missed a beat as she realised that it was Bartie.

3

RIVER

The house looked exactly the same. River wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. An impressive new extension? A neon ‘welcome home’ sign flashing above the porch? But Brellasham Manor was just as he remembered it from sixteen years ago, when he’d looked over his shoulder as his mother drove them away for the last time.

And now, he was back. His stomach began to churn and he felt his shoulders stiffen as he drove closer to the house that he sometimes saw in his dreams.

Beside him, Bartie was leaning towards the windscreen. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Old Geoff has organised a welcoming committee. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s killed a fatted calf for you.’

When he laughed, River wished that he’d made this trip alone. It was going to be awkward enough, without his cousin’s asides. But Bartie had insisted on coming too and, initially, River had been pleased to have company on the long drive from London. Returning to a house which held so many memories was never going to be easy.

His father, hard to miss in brick-red trousers and a tweed jacket, had taken a step forward and was peering at the car. He was flanked by two stone pillars and a large dog River didn’t recognise.

A line of people was just visible through the wide-open front door. Bartie was right about the welcoming committee, and now he would have to smile and make small talk, when all he wanted was for this awkward arrival to be over.

River swallowed as the car wheels crunched over gravel. Memories of that sound, as he and his mother drove away, were punching into his brain, disorientating him and dragging him back to the past.

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