Page 67 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Clara smiled. ‘It was Winter, after Maxim de Winter, who’s a main character in one of her favourite books, Rebecca. Bartie read out the blurb on the back of the book and, when he mentioned his name, it all fell into place. Can a flower bloom in the snow? Violet Winter.’

River sat in what Clara assumed to be stunned silence for a moment. Then he said slowly, ‘O-K. Let’s say Audrey did make it to the boat and she did choose Violet Winter as her new name. Where is she now?’

‘Well.’ Clara swallowed. ‘That’s the thing. I think I might have found her. At first, searching for Violet Winter took me to loads of horticultural websites, which was frustrating. Anyway, I drilled down a little deeper and I found a Violet Winter who’s living in a care home for older people. She was mentioned in a local newspaper article about an event held at the home.’

Clara thought back to that moment of revelation. Her muscles were aching from sitting on the hard ballroom floor, but all pains were forgotten when she read the article and Violet’s name leapt out.

‘That’s amazing, Clara, but there must be other Violet Winters of around the same age Audrey would be now if she’d survived. I expect some of them are living in care homes, too.’

‘But probably not in a care home in Dorking.’

River’s jaw dropped. ‘Where she was born. Do you think she went back home?’

‘Maybe not at first but perhaps she wants to end her days somewhere familiar, where her life began. What do you reckon? I’m sorry to land all of this on you but it was such a huge secret to keep and, to be honest, I don’t know what to do next.’

Clara waited, hardly daring to breathe as River went quiet. If he told her to forget Audrey and move on, this time she would. For his and his father’s sake, she would let the matter rest now she believed that Audrey had been found. The enigmatic woman in the portrait had survived that traumatic night and hopefully forged a happy new life for herself, far from Edwin’s fists. That was enough.

River suddenly took hold of her hand as stars scattered across the inky sky twinkled high above. ‘I think, Clara, that there’s only one thing to do next, and that’s to go to Dorking and see if Violet Winter is the woman you think she is.’

29

RIVER

River was pacing up and down the hallway, across the Victorian floor tiles that were gleaming after a Mrs N polish. He ran a hand through his hair, which was still damp from the shower, and pulled down his Sydney Opera House T-shirt.

He wasn’t looking forward to the next five minutes, and only hoped that Clara would arrive in time to help take the heat.

Would she turn up at all? he fleetingly wondered. After all, she hadn’t bothered on the day he left this house for Australia. Though perhaps that had been for the best. His father and Clara watching him and his mother disappear down the gravel drive would have been too much for his adolescent self to bear.

‘She’ll be here,’ he murmured, keeping an eye on the stairs in case Bartie put in an appearance. He was probably still in bed, dreaming up another amoral get-rich-quick scheme.

River felt his whole body tense at the thought of Bartie’s double dealings and his manhandling of Clara. He’d been prepared to hit him last night if he hadn’t let her go and, though River wasn’t a violent man, a part of him wished he had taken a swing.

‘I’m not late, am I?’ Clara hurried through the front door, which was flung open to let in a warm breeze. ‘Mum’s a bag of nerves about what’s going to happen once her job and home are gone and she needed to let off steam. It was hard to get away.’

‘No, you’re fine,’ River assured her. She was wearing a pink summer dress and white sandals which accentuated her tan. He smiled at her. ‘Thanks for coming, especially if your mum needed you.’

‘That’s all right, though I can’t say I’m looking forward to this.’ Clara nervously fiddled with a shoulder strap on her dress. ‘Your dad’s going to be really upset.’

‘I know, but it’s better that he knows the truth. It would break his heart to find out about Bartie’s deception once the grounds have been turned into a building site. So’ – he felt his shoulders tense – ‘shall we beard the lion in his den? What?’ he asked when Clara grinned.

‘Nothing. It’s just that’s what you used to say when we were teenagers and you had to speak to your dad about something difficult.’

‘That was how it felt then, and how it feels now. Come on. Let’s get it over with, shall we?’

He resisted the urge to grab Clara’s hand before going to the door of his father’s study and rapping on it sharply. There was a barked ‘Come in,’ and, with a final glance at Clara, he pushed it open.

His father was sitting at the walnut desk that had been placed near the window. A Tiffany-style lamp sat on the desk, along with a leather blotter, two fountain pens, and a small laptop with its lid closed.

‘You both look very serious, and it’s rather early.’ Geoffrey swung from side to side in the leather chair behind his desk. ‘Is this a delegation?’

‘Not as such, but we need to talk to you about something important,’ said River, choosing not to faff about with small talk. The sooner this was done, the better.

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. ‘That does sound rather serious.’

‘It is, and I don’t think there’s a way of broaching it without upsetting you.’

His father began rolling one of the fountain pens under his fingers, back and forth across the blotter. ‘Is it do with Bartie, by any chance?’

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