Page 57 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

River was jealous, Clara decided anew. Jealous of Bartie’s looks and charismatic personality that made him irresistible to women. How many women? asked the annoying little voice in her brain. What if River is right?

Determined not to dwell on what Bartie’s motivations might or might not be, she went back to looking online for Audrey. She agreed with River that news of his stepmother might be too much for Geoffrey to handle, and she felt great sympathy for him. But it couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t know what Clara was doing. Chances were she’d never solve the mystery anyway. In fact, the more she searched for clues online, the more she realised what a herculean task it was.

It’s hopeless, Clara thought, pushing the laptop away from her. Like searching for a needle in a haystack, when there might not be a needle at all. There was no proof that Audrey had survived that night and, even if she had, she could have taken on any name to avoid being discovered.

Can a flower bloom in the snow? Only time will tell. The last coded message in Audrey’s diary – the one written on the day she made her escape – sounded in Clara’s mind. But she still had no idea what it meant.

The ballroom door suddenly creaked open and Clara froze when footsteps sounded on the wooden floorboards.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ It was a male voice. Bartie’s, and he sounded annoyed. ‘What’s she playing at?’ There were more footsteps and then she heard him bellow down the corridor. ‘Clara! Where are you?’

She hesitated before calling out, ‘I’m here.’

‘Where?’ He appeared around the corner and his face broke into a wide grin. ‘Aha! There are you. Are you hiding from me, Miss Netherway?’

‘No.’ Clara’s cheeks were turning pink. She could feel the burn which was both annoying and pathetic at her age. She’d had her share of boyfriends but there was something about Bartie, the memories of her crush on him as a teenager, that made the years fall away.

‘Then why are you tucked away out of sight and sitting on the floor?’

Clara closed the laptop lid. ‘I’m enjoying some peace while I get some work done.’

‘Can’t you work at home, in a chair?’

‘I can, but my mum keeps popping in and out which wrecks my concentration.’

‘Phew! You’re avoiding your mother. I thought you were avoiding me for a minute.’

Bartie raised an eyebrow and grinned to make it clear that he hadn’t thought that at all.

‘What are you up to?’ Clara asked, still feeling flustered.

‘Apart from looking for you? I’m making sure I’m au fait with everything about the manor, ready for my contact’s visit tomorrow morning.’

‘Can’t River help you with that?’

Bartie wrinkled his nose. ‘Nah. Between you and me, I don’t think River is one hundred per cent on board with this sale.’

‘I don’t think that’s fair. I’m sure he wants whatever’s best for his father.’

‘Probably. Possibly. But he’s changed a lot since we were last all here together, don’t you think?’

‘I guess so, but haven’t we all?’

‘True, but some of us have changed for the better.’ Bartie leaned forward and gently brushed a strand of hair from Clara’s burning cheek. ‘You’ve definitely changed for the better, and yet I still feel that I know you so well. It’s strange and rather lovely.’

He crouched down on his haunches and gazed into Clara’s eyes. ‘If you’ve got your work done, why don’t you help bring me up to speed with everything I need to know before tomorrow? All the info I’ve got about Brellasham Manor is printed out and spread across my bedroom floor.’

Clara hesitated, her eyes still locked on Bartie’s. It was both flattering and exciting to be sought out by Bartie and propositioned by him.

He was propositioning her, wasn’t he? He’d mentioned his bedroom and his gaze was positively flirtatious but doubts had started creeping in, not helped by River’s appraisal of her fanciability. Very annoyingly, his warning about Bartie was sounding at the back of her mind.

When Clara shook her head, to dislodge River’s words, surprise registered on Bartie’s handsome face.

‘No?’ He gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I can’t believe you’re giving me the elbow.’

‘I’m not. I mean, I’m probably not. Sorry. The thing is…it’s just River…’

‘River? I really don’t want to talk about River!’ said Bartie, breaking eye contact and frowning. ‘Perhaps you’d rather be reading your book.’ He picked up the battered paperback lying near Clara. ‘Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. Did you get it from the library here?’

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