Harper took a deep breath and pulled herself gently from Pip’s arms. ‘You’d better get going,’ she said, forcing a carefree smile. ‘You don’t want to hit the traffic.’
Shay wandered over and slung an arm around Harper. ‘Safe journey,’ he said, nodding at Pip.
‘You’ll take good care of Terence for me?’ Pip said, and Shay grinned.
‘As if he was my own goat.’
Pip gave them a watery smile. ‘Right then. I suppose I should be off.’
‘Good luck,’ Harper said, leaning into Shay’s arms as Pip climbed into the driver’s seat.
They stood and watched as she started the engine, and the car pulled slowly away from the drive and disappeared into the tree-lined lane beyond.
* * *
Cesca looked at her watch again. Ten-fifteen. She’d arranged to pick Kristofer up at eleven-thirty so they could spend an hour up at Silver Hill House, going through some papers with Will Frampton. And she’d chosen that time deliberately because, with luck, they’d be finished just in time for lunch, which she would subtly suggest they took together. They’d had a great time the previous evening, once Harper’s fiancé had left them alone. Nothing romantic, but they’d discussed just about every subject on the planet, from history to philosophy to what books he’d read (which must have been in the thousands). Their meal had been tasty and just what they’d needed after a long day. She’d taken him back to his place, and he’d made coffee, shown her a collection of wildlife photography, a shelf full of his own books and even played Norwegian folk music for her on a traditional fiddle he called a hardingfele. There seemed to be no end to this man’s talents, and Cesca found herself wondering whether he could possibly be for real.
‘Your turn to make coffee,’ Duncan called over from his desk. She turned to see he was poring over some ancient maps.
‘I won’t be having one,’ she said. ‘Though, just because I like you, I’ll get one for you.’
‘You’re not having coffee? Have I walked into some parallel universe?’
‘No,’ Cesca laughed. ‘I’ve got to go out to Cerne Hay.’
Duncan looked up from his work. ‘Again?’
‘I did tell you yesterday.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes,’ Cesca said, feeling slightly guilty that she hadn’t told him at all.
‘Don’t let our lord and master catch you,’ he said, turning back to his maps. ‘You’ve been out in the field a lot lately and I think he’s starting to suspect you’re out indulging in retail therapy.’
‘If only. If he gave us a pay rise, maybe, but I can’t afford to indulge in retail therapy these days. It’s murder trying to keep that house running since Paolo left.’
‘I thought you were going to move.’
‘I was but… well, I just haven’t got around to it.’
‘You mean you don’t want to let it go because it reminds you of your life with him.’
Cesca paused. A week ago that had been true, but now that she thought about it… she wasn’t sure that was the case any more. Something had changed. Perhaps it was the new focus the Silver Hill case had given her, the new people she’d met, the challenge of solving the mystery. Whatever the reason, her mind had barely turned to Paolo. She supposed that was a good thing, but the idea left her feeling strangely adrift. She’d spent so long clinging to her regrets, blaming him for everything that was wrong with her life, that it felt as if a crutch had been kicked away from her; now she had no choice but to stand on her own two feet and admit that the decisions she took, the path of her life – it was all down to her.
‘I’m going to move soon, actually,’ she said, and the idea, as it left her, was almost as much of a surprise to her as it was to Duncan.
‘Where are you thinking of going?’
‘I don’t know yet. I like Cerne Hay, actually. Maybe village life will suit me.’
Duncan snorted. ‘You? In a tiny village? You’d go mental within a month.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? I can do calm and tranquil.’
‘You’d be bored – there’s not enough going on for a city girl like you.’
‘Maybe I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime.’
‘So you’d really move to Cerne Hay?’
‘Maybe. I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.’
Duncan shook his head slightly and with a chuckle went back to his work.
Cesca glared at him, but she couldn’t stay mad about it. Perhaps he had a point, but she did enjoy her visits to Cerne Hay, and to Silver Hill. Sometimes she felt a pang of envy at the life Harper Woods had. She’d got the professional life she’d always wanted, but her personal circumstances were far from perfect.
‘What time are you going out?’ Duncan asked, head still buried in his maps.
‘I said I’d pick Kristofer up at eleven-thirty.’
‘Ragnar Sex Beard? Again?’
‘Well,’ Cesca said, suddenly feeling defensive and just a tiny bit pathetic. ‘He is helping out and we need to go over what paperwork Will Frampton has at Silver Hill House if he’s going to do anything useful for us.’
Duncan said nothing, and his silence made Cesca feel even more like an idiotic lovesick teenager than she already did.
‘I’ll make that coffee,’ she mumbled as she hurried from the room.
* * *
Allie took a deep breath before opening the car door. Despite what she’d said and thought about Harper Woods, she had no desire to bring this sort of misery to her doorstep. But Greg had left her with no choice – if she didn’t do it, he would. Allie wasn’t sure whether it was better to hear it from her or from Greg, but he was right about one thing – hearing it from her was the right way, even if it wasn’t the easiest way.
But still she battled a growing nausea as she locked the car and made her way to the glass-walled café of Silver Hill Farm. The timing was hardly ideal – in the middle of a working day – but as Allie didn’t have a phone number, and visiting in the evening ran the risk of Shay being around, she didn’t have a lot of choice over that either. At least Harper’s friend, Pip, would be there to comfort her, which was more than Allie had.
Inside a young woman sat at a table, a toddler on the chair beside her and a baby in her arms. She chatted with Harper, who reached over to stroke the baby’s head before handing the toddler a lollipop. Across the room another family with two children aged around five and seven tucked into ice-cream sundaes, and an elderly couple sat at a table near the counter sipping tea from pretty floral cups. The sky outside was grey and heavy, but inside was all sugar-pastel walls, darling bunting and chalk-painted tables decked in delicate vintage crockery. It all looked so bloody idyllic that, for a fleeting, bitter moment, Allie took pleasure in the thought of wrecking it.
But that person wasn’t her, and to let it in would be to kill the real Allie Wicklow, the optimistic, bright-eyed and hopeful woman who’d made one mistake one lonely night that had spiralled out of control and led her here. The moment she started to embrace this spiteful, resentful side of her nature was the moment there was no going back. She didn’t want that – not for Josh, not even for Greg, and certainly not for herself. There was still hope, she felt sure of it, and she had to fight to keep that hope alive no matter how desperate it all looked.
Before her shaking hand reached the door handle of the café, however, a voice called from across the car park. She turned to see Shay running towards her.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked, glancing anxiously inside to where Harper was engrossed in her conversation with the young mother. Reaching for Allie’s arm, he pulled her round to the shadow of the farm buildings, out of sight. ‘Are you mad?’ he hissed.
‘I’ve got to tell her,’ Allie replied in a dull voice. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to.’
‘I’ve got it under control; she doesn’t ever need to know anything.’
‘Greg will tell her if I don’t.’
&
nbsp; Shay’s jaw clenched. ‘I’ll have to have a word with him.’
‘He won’t listen. He’s determined that Harper will be told.’
‘What would be the point? So that two relationships are ruined instead of one?’
‘He’s told me I have to come.’
‘It’ll break her heart. Do you want that?’
Allie shook her head miserably.
‘Then go home.’
‘I can’t. He’ll ask me if I’ve done it and I can’t lie.’
‘Why not?’ Shay asked, his voice hardening. ‘You’ve done a pretty good job in the past.’
Allie’s eyes filled with tears. But they were tears of frustration, not sadness. She was angry at being in this situation, angry at having been taken in by Shay’s empty words and promises, angry that she could have let herself think for one second that this man had cared about her. The only person Shay McArthur cared about was himself. Now she was about to lose everything while he married Harper, gained a farm and a business and lived happily ever after. Whatever decision she made now, Harper was screwed and that would be her fault too.
‘I need to see her,’ Allie repeated, blinking away her tears. She drew a breath and stood straight. ‘I have to tell her – she has a right to know.’
‘What would it achieve? Come on, Allie… for old times’ sake. Don’t do this. I know you don’t really want to put another woman through what you’re going through now.’
‘I’ve told you, she’ll find out either way.’
‘For God’s sake, make something up for Greg!’
‘What should I tell him?’
‘Use your imagination. As long as you make it convincing enough that he doesn’t come snooping around himself.’
He seemed to collect himself and then reached for her and stroked a hair gently to tuck it behind her ear. She shuddered, half driven mad with desire and half appalled by the response his touch elicited in her. Even now, even after all this, he had a strange sort of power over her. She hated and yet wanted him in equal amounts. But this was just the loneliness messing with her brain again, wasn’t it? She had to be strong.
‘Please…’ he whispered. ‘Don’t do this.’
Allie raked her teeth over her bottom lip as she stared at him. Could they get away with this? Would Greg believe her? It would be easier on everyone if she could avoid this horrible meeting with Harper. Perhaps Greg would be content to let things lie if he thought it was all out in the open. She could tell him that Harper had listened but had decided to give Shay another chance. Then everything could go back to normal. At least, some version of it. And Allie wouldn’t have Harper’s misery on her conscience.
‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Good girl,’ Shay said. ‘So I won’t see you here again?’
‘No.’ Allie shook her head. ‘I won’t come again.’ She started to walk away, towards her car, but Shay pulled her back.
‘Not that way; Harper might see you.’ He took her by the elbow and guided her along the side wall of the farm and across the back of the car park. ‘Quick, pull off now before she notices your car.’
Allie frowned, irritated by his actions, even though she could see the logic in them. But she did as she was asked, starting the car and driving off even before she’d put her seatbelt on. But down the lane, she stopped and pulled up at the side of the road, resting her head on the steering wheel as she fought the tears that seemed to be an ever-present threat these days. The cracks had been smoothed over again for now, but how much longer before the wall collapsed?
Chapter 18
There were breaks in the cloud as Cesca pulled up outside Kristofer’s house, chinks of silver-blue that struggled through the gloom, only to be swallowed again. But the rain had stopped and the temperature had risen to somewhere more like the average for a British June.
She gave her reflection in the rear-view mirror a quick inspection before she unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out. But as she shut the car door, Kristofer was already out, striding down his tiny garden path.
‘Good morning!’ he called.
Cesca broke into a broad smile. She was quite sure that if Kristofer aimed his delightful face at the clouds and ordered them to part, they would. But for now, she contented herself with letting his face chase away the remnants of any bad mood she might have been affected by that day.
‘You’re keen,’ she said.
‘I’m naturally curious. For the answer to a riddle, I am always keen.’
‘A man after my own heart,’ Cesca said as she climbed back into the driver’s seat and leaned across to open the other door for him.
He held up a CD as he climbed in. ‘I have music for our journey.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, gesturing for him to insert it into the CD player anyway.
‘Some traditional music from my country. I think you liked it last night.’
‘I did. I hadn’t heard any before.’
‘These are professional musicians – it will sound much better than what I could play for you.’
‘I thought you were brilliant.’ Cesca started the engine and the sounds of fiddles and pipes burst from her speakers.
He grinned. ‘That’s very kind. You are flattering me.’
‘Not really; I honestly thought you were great.’
‘This…’ He started to drum on the dashboard. ‘This is better.’
Cesca had never listened to much folk music before, unless it was in the course of her studies or work. But there was something so infectious in Kristofer’s enthusiasm that she couldn’t help but be seduced by his CD too. Before she knew it, she was bobbing her head as they took the gentle curves of the country lanes leading up to Silver Hill House. Street-cool Paolo – more likely listening to sounds of the underground than the sounds of the fjords – would roll his eyes in despair if he could see her now. But Paolo wasn’t here, and why care anyway?
Fifteen minutes later, she accelerated to escape the drag of a slow-moving tractor and Silver Hill House appeared on the horizon ahead.
‘It looks amazing,’ Kristofer said. ‘I have longed to see inside since I arrived in Cerne Hay.’
‘It is amazing,’ Cesca agreed. ‘Sadly the interior is in dire need of repair. Sympathetic repair too, not some bodge-up with plasterboard and laminate flooring. Unfortunately, the kind of renovations it needs come with a hefty price tag. It breaks my heart to see it in such a mess and I’m afraid if things get much worse the structure itself may start to disintegrate.’
‘We should begin a campaign to save it,’ Kristofer said. Cesca turned briefly to see him staring thoughtfully up at the colonnaded frontage in the distance.
‘That would be a huge commitment for anyone.’
‘It would. But you could do it? You have your museum – they could help?’
‘I’m not sure how much. Financially, I doubt it very much; we need every penny we get for our own exhibitions and upkeep. We could drum up publicity I suppose. I don’t know where I’d stand on campaigning in a personal capacity. I suppose it would have to be registered as a charity or something – everything done in the proper way.’
‘I would help,’ he said firmly, and Cesca didn’t doubt his intentions for a moment.
‘Perhaps it’s something we can talk to Will about when we get there,’ she said.
‘He was happy for me to read his family’s documents?’ Kristofer asked.
‘He seemed OK with it on the phone,’ Cesca said. ‘I think he’ll take what help he can get in that quarter.’
‘Do you think the find will be returned to him?’
‘I have a feeling it does belong at Silver Hill House; the problem lies in establishing proof for that. That’s much harder to do. My gut is telling me that the decision will go for the crown.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means Harper will get a finder’s reward and the collection will go to the state. I expect it will end up in a Lo
ndon museum, particularly that spectacular crucifix, which is already causing some excitement. If that alone goes for the sort of money I think it will we certainly won’t have enough to buy it for our museum.’
‘That would be a shame.’
‘It would be a shame to see it leave Dorset where it belongs, but that’s the way things are done.’
‘You are pragmatic about it.’
She shrugged. ‘I have to be – it’s my job.’
* * *
The vast main gates of Silver Hill House were open. Will stood to one side, closing them again and twisting a key in the padlock as Cesca drove through.
He was walking towards the car as she and Kristofer climbed out.
‘Miss Logan.’ He nodded, but then checked himself as she gave a good-natured frown. ‘Sorry – Francesca.’
‘You can do better than that,’ she said. ‘Only my mother calls me Francesca, and only when I’ve been naughty. Cesca is just fine. And this is Kristofer… the gentleman I told you about on the phone.’
Kristofer stepped forward, hand at the ready for an enthusiastic shake. But Will seemed to be more cautious, taking it but barely cracking a smile.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, though he sounded anything but.
Cesca was puzzled by the moment. She couldn’t imagine Kristofer offending anyone no matter how long they spent with him, and certainly not before the first words of greeting were exchanged. But Will, though displaying a courtesy that befitted his station, definitely seemed guarded.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing your wonderful home and to finding out more about your history.’ Kristofer followed Will as he started to walk towards the house, apparently oblivious to any discomfort he might have caused.
‘It’s certainly a long one,’ Will replied.
Cesca trotted after them, her shorter legs having to work much harder to keep up with their long strides.
The Summer of Secrets Page 15