Page 79 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Geoffrey walked through the manor, searching for his son amongst all the people who were wandering from room to room. Several locals stopped him to wish him well and the regret in his heart grew heavier with every encounter.

On reaching the ballroom, he spotted River pointing out the intricately plastered ceiling to a group of visitors. Clara was standing nearby with another small group, gesturing at something out of the window.

The room was filled with a hubbub of conversation and Geoffrey had the strange feeling that the manor had come alive. This house had been dozing for decades but now it had woken from its slumbers and was happy.

Geoffrey looked around the busy ballroom and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Fancy ascribing feelings to a pile of bricks and mortar! He wasn’t sure what was happening to him these days.

He felt sad to be leaving the manor. Of course he did. Anyone would. But, he realised, he also felt upset on the house’s behalf, as if he were abandoning it and Brellasham Manor did not approve.

Geoffrey couldn’t quite understand it. He’d long prided himself on being an unsentimental man, yet all kinds of emotions were now bubbling to the surface of his mind, like bleached bones rising from the depths of the ocean.

Most distressingly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Audrey. He’d pushed down his memories of that tragic night and had fought his sorrow by focusing on the family talent for maintaining a stiff upper lip. It’s the Brellasham Way, his father had told him in the days following Audrey’s disappearance, ignoring Geoffrey’s need for reassurance that he hadn’t been to blame. That it wasn’t his fault for not rushing to the cove to save his stepmother.

Then, a couple of weeks later, he’d packed his son back off to boarding school with a handshake and an instruction: Best not to dwell on the past. And they hadn’t. His stepmother was rarely mentioned again.

At first, Geoffrey had blamed Clara’s questions about Audrey for dredging up memories. But the truth was he’d never really stopped thinking about his stepmother, the woman he’d lost whom he should have saved, and the prospect of leaving the manor appeared to have opened the floodgates.

What he couldn’t get out of his mind, in particular, was that when developers moved in, the third floor he’d long avoided would be opened up. And the thought of that was so unsettling, he’d been having nightmares about hordes of ghosts being unleashed. It was all very distressing and not the Brellasham Way at all.

Geoffrey tried to focus on the people in front of him to clear his mind of these thoughts that served no purpose. But his mind flew back to the night of the ball in 1957, when he’d been a child peeping through the door before bedtime.

The memory was so vivid, he could picture the ball as though it were happening right now: dozens of candles were casting flickering light into the corners of the room and reflecting off the glass chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. A small orchestra was playing on a raised dais at the end of the room, next to a table groaning with food, and people were whirling around the dance floor.

Audrey was dancing with a man he didn’t recognise, her pretty yellow ballgown swirling around her ankles. While his father was in a corner, a cigar between his fingers, talking animatedly to some of the businessmen he’d invited. There was an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement; both Audrey and his father were alive, and his life was still full of possibilities.

Sadly, present-day reality was that his years were now far more limited and he would for ever be known as the Brellasham who sold this magnificent manor house and ended his days alone. If only River weren’t going back to Australia.

Geoffrey felt a sudden visceral longing for the years that were behind him and the people long gone. If only he could rewind time and avoid the mistakes that had derailed him.

He would swallow his pride and run after the car taking his wife and son away and beg them to stay. Lucia might still have chosen to go, but at least River would have known how much he was wanted and loved.

Geoffrey sniffed and tightened his shoulders. Now wasn’t the time to go harking back to the past, not when he was on show to so many people. Now was the time to smile and be grateful that the charity fete and open day was providing the house with a good send-off.

He glanced across the once-busy dance floor at his son, who looked handsome in his jeans and sweatshirt. And Clara, not far away, looked stunning today. She was wearing emerald green which shone iridescent in the light streaming through the window, and she’d swept her hair up into a bun which revealed her long neck.

As Geoffrey watched, River caught Clara’s eye and, when he smiled at her, she gave him a sunny smile back. They were still close, even after all these years and thousands of miles of separation. He wished he could say the same about himself and River, but he’d blown that too.

Geoffrey glanced at his watch, feeling tired. He was of no use whatsoever and surely no one would notice if he took himself off to his bedroom – a room that was out of bounds to the people exploring the house. The youngsters were in charge now, and this house had stood before his birth and would stand long after he had left it behind. Geoffrey Brellasham was now redundant.

Disappointed with himself for being so self-pitying, he was about to slip away when his attention was caught by a door opening at the far side of the ballroom.

A new guest had come in and Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down.

The woman, far shorter than him, was using a walking stick, and there was a young man beside her. She was simply attired in a knee-length dress made of navy fabric, and she was old. Older than Geoffrey, with white hair piled into a bun and a silver necklace at her throat. A navy bag, that matched her dress, was hanging from her shoulder.

Geoffrey had no idea who the woman was and yet there was something familiar in the way she held herself. Perhaps she was someone he’d seen around Heaven’s Cove. Another villager he hadn’t bothered to speak to.

The woman caught his eye and began to walk slowly towards him, and suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe.

It couldn’t be. The person walking towards him was a ghost unleashed from the third floor, the woman he had watched walk into the sea almost seventy years ago.

Her face was lined and her steps hesitant, but there was no mistaking the shape of her mouth or the pale blue of her eyes.

‘Hello, Geoffrey,’ she said, on reaching him. ‘Now that I’m here, I don’t quite know what to say.’

‘Is it you?’ he croaked, his breath coming in short gasps. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted River and Clara hurrying towards him.

‘Yes, it’s me.’ When the woman took hold of his hand, her skin was warm. He couldn’t understand what was happening but he knew that this was no ghost risen from a watery grave. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear boy,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry that I had to leave you.’

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