Echoes of Grace

by Caragh Bell

  Echoes

  of Grace

  Caragh Bell

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, organisations and incidents portrayed in it are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published 2018

  by Poolbeg Press Ltd

  123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle

  Dublin 13, Ireland

  E-mail: poolbeg@poolbeg.com

  © CARAGH BELL 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Typesetting, editing, layout, design, ebook © Poolbeg Press Ltd.

  1

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-78199-8045

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  About the Author

  Caragh Bell lives in West Cork with her husband and five children. When she isn’t writing romance novels, she teaches English and French to teenagers.

  She has previously written the Follow Your Heart Trilogy: Indecision, Regrets and Promises.

  You can connect with Caragh on Facebook (Caragh Bell-Writer), on Twitter (@BellCaragh) or on Instagram (@caraghbellwriter)

  Also by Caragh Bell

  The Follow Your Heart trilogy

  Indecision

  Regrets

  Promises

  Published by Poolbeg

  Acknowledgements

  This book was such a joy to write.

  Thank you to Dan McCarthy, the ‘Dan’ in the dedication. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

  To Fódhla, Aoibhe, Lughan, Oscar, and Feidhlim. I’m so lucky to be your mother.

  To Mum and Dad for your constant love and support. You’ve helped me through so much. I appreciate it every day.

  To Kathleen and Eugene. I couldn’t have asked for nicer parents-in-law.

  To Louise, Ian and Freyja. The planned ones!

  To Gaye, Paula, Kieran, David, and all those at Poolbeg. Thanks for all your help and advice.

  To all my colleagues at school for your encouragement, especially those at my table.

  To Daniel O’Driscoll for believing in me.

  Finally, to my husband John. Here’s to the next chapter . . .

  For Dan

  PART ONE

  Cornwall 2002

  Chapter One

  The rain beat against the window pane, causing rivulets to fall down the old lattice at tremendous speed. The Big House of the estate had weathered many a storm; for over three hundred years it had faced the wrath of the Atlantic, its grey granite stones defiantly protecting its inhabitants within. Its sheer size was enough to stop any wind in its track. The fourteen-bedroomed mansion stood regally on the cliff’s edge. Today, its strength was being tested; the sky was dark-grey and the sea a murky green with waves crashing against the rocks of the Cornish shoreline.

  Aurora picked up her Barbie and bent the doll’s rigid body into a sitting position. Then she carefully placed it on a dining-room chair in the banquet hall of her large doll’s house. The little girl’s dark-brown hair fell down her back, the long tresses tied with red bows. Her large brown eyes, fringed with black lashes, dominated a pretty heart-shaped face and her slim frame was dressed in an old-fashioned plaid frock, chosen as always by her nanny that morning.

  ‘Now, Princess Grace,’ she said sternly to her doll, ‘eat your broccoli so you’ll grow to be big and strong.’

  The doll stared into space, her back straight and her blonde hair carefully pulled back into a ponytail. Aurora always christened her dolls ‘Grace’. It was the name of her dead mother. The game never varied either: Princess Grace, the beautiful blonde heroine, was rescued from her lonely tower by a handsome prince. She had lived all of her life alone and was desperate for company. Then her prince would arrive and take her away in his red Barbie Ferrari to a new life.

  Aurora sighed. She was just so bored. Being nine was hard enough without being bored stiff as well. Her father, though attentive, was just too old to play. He was nearly sixty-two and constantly complained of a bad leg. ‘Not today, my darling,’ was the habitual reply when she begged him to play ball with her or take her to the beach. He was always sitting in his study, writing on paper and frowning. He refused to have a TV in the house and so she had to content herself with making up stories and singing to her teddies. Maggie, her nanny, would explain that her father was writing plays and must not be disturbed. Aurora understood that he was famous. Her teacher at school always talked about the great playwright Henry Sinclair, but Aurora had no interest in reading his books. The words were too long and she didn’t understand any of it.

  Her older brothers lived in London, not that it made a difference. In fact, they tended to ignore her. They were the product of Henry’s first marriage – their mother Marcella had died of breast cancer fifteen years before. They had no interest in their half-sister, from what they deemed Henry’s unsuitable marriage. Nor did they lament Grace’s death – her dark beauty and mane of wild hair had made her unconventional and they resented her association with their upper-class father. In their eyes, she had pounced on Henry when he was grieving for their own mother and, despite being almost thirty years his junior, had trapped him into marriage by getting pregnant with Aurora. To top it all off, she had been an actress – in their opinion a two-bit singer. This, for George and Sebastian, was just lurid icing on the ghastly cake. Her death during childbirth had been tragic and they had helped their father through his loss, but it definitely was in their favour when it came to inheritance and the estate.

  Aurora got to her feet and stretched. Her tummy rumbled so she bounded down to the big kitchen where Maggie was rolling out pastry for an apple pie.

  Maggie was an elderly lady of about sixty-five with a shock of white hair. She was small and wiry with sallow skin. Her wise eyes were as blue as the sky and her hands were rough from manual work throughout the years. She had worked for the Sinclair family since the age of fifteen, just like her mother before her. She still cycled around the Cornish countryside as she had never learned to drive.

  ‘Alright, little ’un,’ she said lovingly as Aurora took some orange juice out of the fridge. ‘Daddy ’as visitors comin’ today.’

  Aurora drank thirstily and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. ‘Is it that Gloria lady?’ she asked, her brown eyes wide.

  ‘It is, my lovely,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s the third time this month. She must like your daddy to drive all the way from London.’

  Aurora tilted her head to one side. ‘Are they kissing, Maggie?’

  Maggie started. ‘I don’t know about that, my darlin’. Don’t be worryin’ about things like that.’ She started to slice cooking apples into the waiting pie dish. ‘Your father needs friends, that’s all. It’s lonely down ’ere without company.’

  Tell me about it,thought Aurora, frowning.

  She was still too young for boarding school so her father had hired a tutor to teach her every day. He was a stuffy man of fifty-five, a Latin scholar with a love f
or the classics, and so Aurora was an expert on Dionysus and Ariadne, but had problems with basic mathematical problems.

  Oh, how she yearned to play with children her own age! There was only Freddie, Maggie’s nephew, who visited on weekends. He was a farmer’s son from the village and was a whole year older than Aurora. He had sandy-brown hair, a ruddy complexion and sea-blue eyes. He took her to the beach sometimes and explained in his Cornish drawl about periwinkles and sea-monsters. He related tales of smugglers and pirates and showed her the dark caves beneath the cliff where treasure was supposedly hidden.

  Aurora adored Freddie. Not only was he a year older and infinitely more sophisticated, he was also kind and didn’t mind that she was a girl. They had become firm friends and she craved his company. His visits were more frequent in the winter, as the summer and harvest were busy times at the farm. He would arrive around noon and they would run off down the road, making the best of the limited daylight.

  ‘Freddie,’ said Aurora once, as they sat on the rocks and trailed their fingers in the lukewarm water of the rock pools.

  ‘Yeah?’ he answered, splashing her gently.

  ‘You’ll always be my friend, won’t you?’

  He nudged her. ‘’Ere, why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you’re my best friend,’ she said seriously, sitting up and brushing her hair back from her face. ‘Without you, it would just be me and Daddy and Maggie. Don’t ever leave.’

  ‘What about Seb and George?’ he asked playfully. ‘Your dearest brothers?’

  ‘Ugh!’ She made a face. ‘They’re horrible and you know it.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her dark eyes, ‘you’re cool, as girls go. I’ll be your friend forever. Do you believe me?’

  She stared back. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Now, come on. Auntie Maggie has ’ot chocolate for us when we get back.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘I’ll race you, Sinclair!’

  ‘Aurora!’ Henry Sinclair’s booming voice resonated down the corridor. ‘Aurora, darling! Come and say hello to Gloria!’

  Aurora sighed and put a bookmark in her worn copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. She was just at the good part. Now, she would have to smile and pretend to be interested in grown-up conversation that she didn’t understand.

  This Gloria lady seemed nice enough; she always brought sweets and smelled like lavender. Her blonde hair was short and wavy with streaks of grey, her blue eyes merry and her tall frame dressed beautifully in couture. Aurora could tell she was nearly as old as her father, by the lines on her face. Maggie had mentioned that she was a widow and that she had pots of money. Why did she visit then? Surely she and Daddy were too old for kissing and hugging and things?

  She could hear laughter from the drawing room as she trudged down the stairs. The oak staircase dominated the main hall and had a threadbare red carpet on the steps. The house, though majestic, was badly in need of refurbishment. The paint was peeling in some parts of the walls and the heating was Victorian. Aurora was quite accustomed to seeing her breath as she exhaled on cold winter nights. Her bed had two duvets and she had fluffy socks for her feet. Her hot-water bottle was her favourite possession and she cuddled it each night, luxuriating in the heat it emitted. Sometimes she wished she had a house like those people in the village:a small, warm terraced house with double-glazed windows and central heating.

  She entered the drawing room quietly, shutting the old door with a click. Maggie’s apple pie was on the dresser. A jug of cream stood near it and a stack of china plates.

  Her father, Henry, was standing by the old fireplace, his handsome face smiling down at their guest. He was a striking man with his tall slim frame and grey hair. His blue eyes were warm and he had a soft voice that was rarely raised. Gloria looked as groomed as always, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankle.

  ‘Aurora, darling,’ said Henry, gesturing for her to come closer. ‘Gloria has brought you a gift.’ He pointed to a bag on the coffee table. ‘Come and say thank you.’

  Aurora approached the smiling lady and gave her an awkward peck on the cheek. Then she picked up the bag and peered inside. It was filled with sweets and chocolate bars.

  ‘Oh!’ she said in delight. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘You look lovely today,’ said Gloria, brushing a long tendril of dark hair from Aurora’s shoulder. ‘Such a pretty child,’ she added to Henry.

  ‘You look nice too, Gloria,’ said Aurora dutifully.

  Gloria squeezed her hand. ‘You’re so good to say so,’ she said with a laugh. ‘It was such a long journey, I was sure my hair would be flat on arrival.’

  ‘Did you drive, ma’am?’ asked Maggie, appearing out of nowhere with a tea tray in her hands.

  ‘No, my son James brought me down. He’s nineteen and desperate to practise his driving.’ She smiled. ‘His Volkswagen Golf is his pride and joy. Any excuse and he’s off. The opportunity to drive hundreds of miles was too tempting so he came along.’

  Maggie poured two cups of tea and placed them on the coffee table with a jug of milk. ‘Sugar, ma’am?’ she asked Gloria, knowing that Henry preferred his tea without.

  ‘Not for me, thank you,’ replied Gloria, smiling.

  ‘Where is James now?’ asked Henry, accepting a cup of tea from Maggie.

  ‘He’s just popped down to the beach to take some photographs,’ said Gloria, adding some milk to her cup.

  ‘Photographs? Whatever for? The weather is frightful.’

  ‘He’s studying photography as you know,’ she said, placing her cup and saucer carefully on the small mahogany table near her chair. ‘He saw the stormy sea as he was dropping me off and scooted down to take a few shots before he loses the light.’

  Maggie placed a plate with a slice of apple pie and a fork on the table by Gloria’s chair. ‘Cream?’ she asked politely, holding up a small jug.

  Gloria nodded. ‘I shouldn’t but I will.’

  Henry refused a plate of pie and sipped his tea.

  ‘Have you other children?’ asked Aurora politely.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I have three children: James, William and Laura.’ She smiled. ‘Laura is only a few years older than you. She’s thirteen.’

  ‘Did she come today too?’

  ‘No.’ Gloria shook her head. ‘She was at a friend’s house last night and she stayed over.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Aurora in disappointment. ‘Will I ever get to meet her?’

  Henry’s eye met Gloria’s and he cleared his throat. ‘Well …’

  Suddenly, the front door banged loudly and they all jumped. Maggie scuttled out to the hall and reappeared seconds later with a young man, drenched to the skin.

  ‘James!’ exclaimed Gloria, jumping to her feet. ‘You’re saturated! Oh, for goodness’ sake!’

  He pulled back the hood of his jacket to reveal dark hair and eyes. His skin was sallow and he had light stubble on his chin.

  Maggie took his soaking jacket from his outstretched hand and held it at arm’s length.

  ‘I’ll put this by the Aga,’ she said, walking out of the room. ‘It’s bleddy soakin’, it is.’

  ‘James! You said you would take those photos from the car,’ his mother fussed. ‘You’ll get pneumonia, being out in this weather.’

  ‘Relax, Mum! It was worth it. I can’t wait to develop them.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and droplets flew everywhere.

  Henry held out his hand. ‘Good to see you again, son.’

  They shook hands formally and James smiled.

  ‘Did you see the rugby yesterday?’ he asked. ‘It was a close one. Will nearly blew a gasket when that Kiwi kicked the drop goal.’

  Henry nodded. ‘I thought we had them. It was a tragedy in the end.’

  Aurora sidled behind an armchair and gazed at Gloria’s son. His eyes were warm and he winked at her. Blushing, she smiled back, unsure of how to react. He was the opposite of her stern haughty brothers who habitua
lly ignored her completely.

  ‘This is Henry’s daughter, Aurora,’ announced Gloria, gently pulling her into view.

  James held out his hand. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ he said, shaking hers firmly. ‘Are you a princess with a name like that?’ His brown eyes crinkled in amusement.

  Aurora giggled. ‘Sleeping Beauty was called Aurora.’

  ‘Is she the one who ate the apple?’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head furiously. ‘That was Snow White. Aurora hurt her finger on a spinning wheel and fell asleep.’

  James scratched his head. ‘I’m pretty sure my sister Laura has subjected me to every Disney film that has ever been made, yet this does not ring a bell.’

  ‘She sleeps and sleeps and then the prince kisses her and wakes her up.’ Aurora’s brown eyes were wide. ‘He saves her and takes her back to her real family.’

  ‘Is she happy?’ he asked softly.

  ‘At the end,’ she sighed. ‘She’s happy at the end.’

  James winked at her again. ‘Sounds like a great film.’

  Henry cleared his throat. ‘Gloria, darling, will you two stay the night? That storm is going to get worse before it gets better.’

  Gloria got to her feet and looked out the window at the black sky and incessant rain beating against the pane. ‘Well,’ she began, glancing at her son, ‘James has a date later with this girl …’

  James shrugged. ‘It’s not that important. It was only a few drinks.’

  ‘I would really prefer if you didn’t travel.’ Henry’s tone was firm. ‘Wait until morning.’

  ‘I didn’t bring anything …’ Gloria gestured to her clothes.

  ‘I’m sure Maggie can produce a nightgown for you,’ Henry said with a smile.