Page 58 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

‘No, it’s my own copy, from home.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘Yes, it’s one of my favourite novels.’

Bartie turned the book over and peered at the back cover. ‘Marries widower Maxim de Winter…moves into an isolated old house…haunted by a dead wife.’ He dropped the book onto the floorboards. ‘Yeah, sounds great but not as engrossing as spending the afternoon with me, surely?’ He got to his feet. ‘So what do you say, Clara?’ He frowned. ‘Clara?’

Clara blinked. ‘Sorry.’ She tried to focus on the man standing in front of her. ‘I was distracted.’

‘Distracted by my dazzling good looks, no doubt.’ Bartie laughed and held out his hand. ‘Come on, Clara. Let’s have a lovely afternoon together.’

Clara looked at his hand and then at the battered paperback she’d read many times as a teenager. She’d loved it, just as Audrey had.

‘Sorry, Bartie,’ she said. ‘I need to finish my work, so I’m afraid you’ll have to mug up on Brellasham Manor on your own, or with River and Geoffrey’s help.’

‘Really?’ Bartie’s smile was fading. ‘You know that I wasn’t really talking about revising for tomorrow’s visit, don’t you?’

Clara nodded, her feelings horribly mixed – there was relief that she hadn’t misread the situation, and disbelief that she was turning Bartie down. Her teenaged self would be horrified.

But something Bartie had said had sparked an idea that she couldn’t wait to check out. If she was right, and Audrey hadn’t perished that night, she might know exactly how to find her.

Can a flower bloom in the snow? Only time will tell. Audrey’s final message was suddenly making far more sense.

26

GEOFFREY

Geoffrey trailed round after Bartie, feeling rather useless in his own home. Bartie had taken charge the moment his developer contact – a very attractive woman named Hannah – had arrived from London that morning.

He’d shown her the first and second floors, outlining the manor house’s better points and skating over the patches of damp that were visible on some walls.

‘We’ve experienced a lot of rain in the county recently,’ he’d told her, even though Devon, like the rest of the country, was basking in a prolonged heatwave. Geoffrey wasn’t sure if he was impressed by Bartie’s chutzpah or disapproved of him lying. Hannah had simply nodded and moved on.

Now, they were scrutinising the ground floor and Geoffrey was looking forward to the whole visit being over.

‘This is the drawing room which, as you can see, is a good size with high ceilings,’ Bartie was saying. ‘The old fireplace could be retained as a feature or I imagine it could be removed, and that wall could be knocked through into the small study next door, if you’re looking for a more open-plan vibe.’

‘Planning permission would be key, naturally,’ said Hannah, adjusting the jacket of her moss-green trouser suit. ‘But I can see that this house has a great deal of potential.’

‘My family used to congregate in this room after Christmas lunch and unwrap presents in front of the fire,’ said Geoffrey, a sharp memory of young River ripping off paper and squealing with delight coming to mind.

‘How sweet,’ said Hannah, pushing her long ash-blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘The Brellasham family stories attached to this building could add to its marketability as a luxury apartment development. People love to think they’re buying a slice of history.’

Geoffrey harrumphed, not sure he wanted his family hawked around as a marketing tool. But Bartie and Hannah were too busy chatting to notice, and he really had little choice.

He needed to sell Brellasham Manor, and at least a sale organised by Bartie would preserve some of what he held dear – his beloved gardens, the unspoiled cove and, if possible, his housekeeper’s cottage. It would give him some comfort to know that the Netherways were still close, keeping watch over what had once been his family home.

‘Are you all right, Geoffrey?’ Bartie popped his head back through the doorway. ‘I’m showing Hannah the front hallway and then she’s keen to have a look at the grounds.’

‘She seems like a very switched-on young woman.’

‘She is, and she’s very good at her job. We’re in safe hands with her, I promise.’

‘Would she definitely preserve the look of the house, from the outside?’

‘Of course.’ Bartie laughed. ‘Not that she’d have much choice. She’d never get planning permission to alter the external fascia of such an impressive-looking and historic building. Even with all my planning contacts, that would never be granted.’

Was that all that would stop her? Geoffrey wondered. ‘And what about the gardens?’ he added. He was asking questions he’d asked before but it seemed important to have them answered again.

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