Page 22 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Outside, a chaffinch was calling, and there was the distant hum of a lawnmower. But time was reeling backwards for Geoffrey.

‘She was standing at the water’s edge with her back to me and I could hardly make her out. I remember it was getting dark and a storm was coming in. I watched her for a while, and then she began to walk into the waves, fully clothed.

‘She was walking quickly and, by the time I’d got to my feet, I could only see her head and shoulders above the water. I called out for her to stop and she turned towards the house for a moment. But she couldn’t hear me, of course, and she began to move away, further out to sea.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Clara.

‘I ran to find my father, who accused me of seeing shadows, until he couldn’t find Audrey in the house. Then he believed me but it was too late. She’d been swallowed by the waves by the time we got to the cove. It was dark and had started to rain so visibility was poor. My father got local people out searching in boats and along the shore but her body was gone, pulled out to sea by the current.’

Geoffrey’s shoulders slumped. He had watched something unfold that he couldn’t fathom. Something that he still didn’t understand.

Clara took a step towards him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’

But time suddenly held no meaning for Geoffrey. He was a child again, being sent back to boarding school soon after the loss of Audrey. His father had mourned his wife for a while but had soon married again. He wasn’t a man prone to displays of emotion.

Just like me, thought Geoffrey, suddenly seeing himself through the eyes of this young woman in front of him, who, somehow, was bringing up memories that he’d buried deep. But he couldn’t focus on them or he would be lost.

He couldn’t afford to relive the heartbreaking moment when Lucia and River had driven away from him and this house for the last time. He couldn’t dwell on the years of togetherness that he and his son had lost since.

‘Why are you so interested in my stepmother?’ he asked, his tone harsher. ‘You mentioned her the other day when you saw her photograph in the library.’

‘I’m not quite sure.’ She hesitated. ‘The truth is I feel a kind of…connection to her.’ A connection? With a woman she never knew who had died almost seventy years ago? Geoffrey noticed that Clara was blushing again, as she well might. ‘I’m really…I mean, I’m sorry,’ she stumbled. ‘I know that probably sounds ridiculous.’

‘It does, rather.’

Clara’s expression hardened. ‘I’m interested in her life, that’s all. But I am sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark.’

Geoffrey held her gaze for a moment, then looked away, past the voile curtains that were billowing gently in the breeze coming through the windows.

‘Perhaps it’s a good thing that Audrey is still remembered sometimes. However, I’ve learned that it’s best not to focus on negative events of the past. It’s far better to let sleeping dogs lie. And now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a lot to do, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

He stood up and strode through the room, past Clara, and let the door bang shut behind him.

How did other people cope with emotions? he wondered. How did they deal with tragedy and heartbreak? He’d learned from an early age to push his emotions down. It was either that or end up like his father. Though it was clear that, business acumen aside, he’d turned out just like his father in many ways.

Geoffrey walked through the hall to the grand stone porch and stood on the front steps that led down to the gravel drive.

He tried to still his mind by focusing on the trees bending in the breeze. The gardens brought him solace – they always had, from an early age – but soon those gardens would belong to someone else, along with the cove where Audrey had walked into the sea.

Geoffrey breathed in and out slowly and pushed his emotions down until he felt like himself again. There was such a lot to organise and he couldn’t afford to fall apart. He had coped with adversity at the age of nine and, later, when his wife and son had left him, and he would cope again.

Clara knew she should be working. She should be arranging flights to Geneva for the business team who had hired her freelance services. But she was currently at the cove, sitting on the rocks that jutted out into the ocean. The sea was lapping around her bare feet but she barely registered the chill of the water.

Her mind, instead, was filled with snapshots of what had just happened in the drawing room: speaking her mind, Geoffrey apologising, his surprise that her grandmother had been accused of theft, then his bombshell that he’d seen Audrey walk into the waves that night.

Clara looked around her, at the seagulls wheeling overhead and the sun-warmed sand. Today the cove seemed benign, as if nothing bad could ever happen here. But, once upon a time, Audrey Brellasham had stood right there, at the water’s edge, and made the decision to keep on walking.

What a terrible thing for a young child to have witnessed, and it haunted him still. Geoffrey had tried to hide it but she’d glimpsed strong emotions beneath his perpetually cool façade.

Clara pulled the diary from her bag and ran her fingers across its leather binding. She should give this book to Geoffrey, whatever her mother said. It would upset him but he deserved to read his stepmother’s words.

She turned to the last entry: I’m cruel to leave Geoffrey. He won’t understand my actions at first or that his life will continue well without me in it. But Edwin will care for him, I’m sure of it. That’s the only reason I feel able to leave this life.

Perhaps knowing that some of Audrey’s last thoughts had been about him would bring him comfort.

‘Hey, Clara!’ Bartie’s voice drifted across the cove and Clara turned quickly. He and River were walking towards her across the sand.

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