The Summer of Secrets

by Tilly Tennant

  She turned for her car – the only one still in the car park as the sun dipped below the buildings – and as his engine roared to signal his leaving, she didn’t look back. She was done with men, and the sooner she accepted she was better off that way, the easier her life would be.

  * * *

  It had taken Harper an hour to get home – half an hour longer than the journey up to Silver Hill House. Caused in part by her need to take a different route from Kristofer, and in part by the phone call from Pip, which she’d stopped on a drystone wall to answer.

  Unable to prevent everything from tumbling out, she’d told Pip about her feelings for Kristofer, how she’d tried to deny them, how they’d kissed, her guilt over Shay because she’d loved that kiss and she was terrified she was falling for Kristofer. She’d ended by telling Pip how she’d sent him away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she’d concluded miserably. ‘You’ve got your own love life to sort out and here I am burdening you with this.’

  ‘Don’t be daft; we’re friends, that’s what we do. I’m coming home as soon as I can.’

  ‘No! I didn’t mean for you to do that, I just wanted to talk—’

  ‘I know you didn’t. But Esther and I are in a good place right now and I think she’d be OK with me coming back. She can go early to see her family and then we’ll take things from there. But right now you need me and she’ll understand that.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not. Now shut up, go home before it gets dark and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  With no argument for Pip’s assertions, Harper had done exactly as she was told. There had been a brief text from Shay telling her he was coming over the following evening, and the thought of having to face him had made her insides burn with shame. A sleepless night followed, and on top of her exhausting week – both physically and mentally – she was glad as she woke the following morning that it was Friday. The café and farm were open during weekends in the summer, of course, but she allowed herself a half-day off on Sunday and at least Pip would be back.

  While she was feeding the animals their breakfast, she heard the gate creak and Pip came into the yard. Harper looked at her watch.

  ‘God almighty, did you drive all night to get here this early? I told you not to rush!’

  ‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ Pip said. ‘Glad you missed me.’

  ‘Oh, I bloody did!’ Harper dropped the grain sack and ran to hug her. ‘I’m so happy you’re back… even though I did tell you not to rush.’

  ‘After that phone call yesterday I was hardly going to stay away, was I?’

  Harper took a few steps back to retrieve the bag. She began to throw grain out to the chickens that scurried about her feet. ‘Sorry about that – I was probably overreacting. It had just happened… you know… and my brain was all over the place.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Pip glanced over Harper’s shoulder, as if expecting someone to pop out from there. ‘Shay’s not here I take it?’

  ‘He didn’t come over last night.’

  ‘A good thing by the sound of it.’

  ‘Or a very bad thing,’ Harper said, perching on a low wall and letting the sack fall to the floor. She let out a long breath. ‘If he’d been here there would have been no temptation and no mess to clear up now.’

  Pip went over and sat next to her. ‘I think you’re missing the big picture, and it has nothing to do with whether Shay was here or not. Doesn’t the fact that there was temptation at all tell you something?’

  ‘That I’m weak and oversexed?’

  ‘No,’ Pip smiled. ‘That perhaps you haven’t been listening to your heart quite as closely as you thought. It’s not for me to say, but you got together with Shay pretty quickly after we left Weymouth, and you’d only just split with he-who-shall-not-be-named.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Maybe… and I’m not going to say the word because I don’t want you to get angry…’

  ‘Go on, say it.’

  ‘Maybe there was just a teensy element of rebound love in there?’

  Harper shook her head. ‘He helped me find my pride and self-esteem again. He’s a good man.’

  ‘This place…’ Pip swept a hand around the vista of the farmyard. ‘This helped you find your pride and self-esteem. And you built the business – not Shay. So if you think about it that way, you found your own pride and self-esteem because you refused to go under when life had tried to drown you. Shay just happened to be there to share the glory.’

  ‘He’s been good. I mean, he’s helping to build the holiday lets for nothing.’

  ‘Not for nothing. He eats here, often sleeps here… has every intention of becoming an integral part of your business when you’re married – at least the financial side – even though you say he doesn’t. I’d say a few holiday lets is the least he could do, and if he loved you, he’d do that and need no reward or recognition. Anyway, he’s not exactly rushing them even if he is doing them for free.’

  Harper’s thoughts went back to Kristofer, who’d offered help in her time of need and not asked for a word of thanks. She closed her eyes, and his face was in front of her, his hands in her hair, his skin on hers. It was like a dream now – more impossible and more perfect every time she recalled that moment in the shadow of the trees of Silver Hill House. She had to stop thinking about it and yet it was all that filled her thoughts.

  ‘Do you love him?’ Pip’s voice brought her back.

  She opened her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And my next question,’ Pip said, ‘is which man are you talking about?’

  Harper stood and retrieved the bag of feed. ‘I’d better get done here or we’ll be late opening.’

  Pip shielded her eyes from the morning sun and looked up at Harper. She shook her head. Harper didn’t need to ask what her friend was thinking, because she was thinking it too. But she couldn’t throw away what she’d built with Shay for a man she’d only just met, a man who didn’t even have concrete plans to stay in England, and that was that.

  * * *

  Cesca swung the car around. Duncan could hold the fort for an hour until she got into work and she couldn’t settle not knowing what had happened to Kristofer. She’d barely heard from him over the last few days and considering his enthusiasm for their project it didn’t seem right. If he’d been too busy or had simply got bored then that was fair enough, but after phoning him the previous night with no reply, then again that morning, the only thing she could do was try to see him in person, just to be sure he was OK.

  It was early when she pulled up outside his compact cottage – not quite nine – but she knew him as an early riser who kept office hours just the same as everyone else, despite not having to. To her satisfaction, as she strode up the garden path she could see movement inside.

  He opened the door with his customary warmth, though immediately Cesca could see he wasn’t quite himself.

  ‘I know it’s rude to call unannounced but I just wondered… I haven’t spoken to you over the past couple of days.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as she followed him down the hallway. ‘I have tried to phone but the signal has been terrible and I think we’d just missed each other.’

  ‘So you’re alright?’

  ‘Oh, for sure. I’ve been busy with my research and, actually, I have some things to tell you about.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Cesca said, wondering whether her fears had been groundless after all. But as he led her into his study, she halted at the doorway, staring at the boxes stacked in a corner, the empty bookshelves, his fossils and artefacts gathered next to a roll of bubble wrap, a large ammonite half wrapped on the table.

  ‘What’s this?’

  He glanced around at the mess. His gaze was almost absent, as if his mind was somewhere else. Though Cesca could hardly say she knew him well, this wasn’t the Kristofer Bakke who had so utterly charmed her during the time she’d spent with him. That man had been enga
ging, enthusiastic, endlessly curious. This was… well, Cesca couldn’t even say what this was, but he wasn’t the same.

  ‘This?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘This house?’

  ‘England.’

  ‘That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve always said I would go home when I was ready. Now I’m ready.’

  ‘But you never said anything when I last saw you.’

  ‘I didn’t know then how I would feel. Some days you wake up and you want to go home.’

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ Cesca said, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Everyone is forgotten once they are gone.’ He cleared a space on a chair and beckoned her to sit. ‘I found another contemporary account of the trial at Dorchester and the ring from the Silver Hill find. I will let you read it for yourself, but I must tell you that it corroborates the previous one. For some reason, the owner of the ring gifted it to Martin Frizzell, or at least he stated in a court of law that he did.’

  ‘It would fit with the story Will told us, I suppose.’ Cesca sat down, slightly unnerved by the way that Kristofer had segued so easily from his sudden impending departure to their research into the find. It was like his personality had gone on holiday, leaving only skeleton staff for the most basic human interaction. ‘I’ve been thinking that I need to let the commission at the British Museum take on the task of deciding ownership, and what you’ve told me has pretty much decided me now.’

  ‘You are upset by this?’ He perched on the edge of his desk, hands clasped together on his lap.

  ‘I’m annoyed – I hate to fail.’

  ‘You have not failed,’ he said with a small smile. ‘You have done more than you needed to and I am sure Lord Frampton would be grateful to know that.’

  ‘He won’t be grateful for the fact that he’s not likely to get his gold back. But I have been thinking about what you said… about fundraising to get Silver Hill House restored. I’ve been researching government and private schemes and I think I might be able to help him. That’s if he wants me to, of course, because some of these schemes have conditions attached that he might not like.’

  ‘He would have to open his house to visitors?’

  ‘With some of them, yes, I think he would.’ She stole a glance at the sealed boxes against the wall. ‘I had hoped you might want to get involved. It would be another bit of inspiration for your story if you wanted to stick around for a while.’

  ‘I must go.’

  ‘Must? That doesn’t sound like a bit of homesickness to me. I know it’s not my place to ask, but is everything alright? I’m a good listener, if you want to talk.’

  ‘It is a good time for me to go home,’ he said, shaking his head slightly. ‘That is all.’

  ‘When will you go?’

  ‘Next week.’

  Cesca’s eyes widened. ‘So soon?’

  ‘I have made the decision so there is no point in delaying it. It has been wonderful to meet you, and I am happy you let me be part of this story.’

  ‘Will you keep in touch?’ she asked. ‘Maybe come back to visit? I know people round here are fond of you and they’ll be sorry to see you go.’

  ‘For sure,’ he said. But something told Cesca not to count on it.

  * * *

  She left Kristofer an hour later. A strange sort of melancholy had settled over her – in part from the air of his cottage and the strange mood she’d found him in, and in part from the knowledge that Will would now almost certainly not get his family’s valuables back – if any of it had ever been his at all. While her gut instinct told her that it was, they had no proof and no explanation as to how it had got to Silver Hill Farm in the first place. While she was happy for Harper Woods, who would undoubtedly put the reward money to good use, there seemed a deep injustice in the situation. It didn’t help that she ought to have told him this might happen much sooner than now, the thought making her feel slightly guilty.

  In the car, she dialled Will’s number but got no reply.

  ‘Doesn’t that man ever carry his phone?’ she muttered. After a quick call to Duncan to let him know she’d be missing for a little longer, she started the engine, off to chase up another man she hadn’t been able to get hold of. It had been that sort of a day and it had barely begun. One thing was for sure – she wasn’t going to let Will get to her again. Not that she’d be fighting off amorous advances anyway – once she broke this news and she was no longer useful she was certain she’d be shown the same cold courtesy she’d been subjected to during her first visit to Silver Hill House. But she had to be professional about this and at least see him to tell him what was about to happen. Work and romance never mixed, and she really did need to start remembering that.

  Lost in thought, she’d barely registered that she was outside Silver Hill House until the gates appeared before her. It must have been an uneventful journey over, but she couldn’t recall any of it. Lucky for her the roads around these parts were quiet or it might have been a different story. She shook herself. ‘Wake up!’

  The gates were locked, the intercom unanswered when she buzzed, and Will was nowhere to be seen in the grounds beyond. Cesca walked around the boundary wall to see if she could gain access somewhere else and came to the side gate. She peered through the gap in the ironwork but couldn’t see him there either. Looking up at an overhanging tree, she’d half a mind to climb it and drop down on the other side, certain that he’d be in there somewhere if she could gain access. But that was all a bit Secret Garden and, quite frankly, she had to wonder how such a ridiculous idea had suddenly popped into her head.

  ‘Will!’ she shouted through the gate. ‘William!’

  She tilted her head, listening for a reply. There was none, but then she heard the creaking of wood, and Will emerged from what looked like some kind of ramshackle potting shed at a far corner of the gardens. He was wearing a brown overall and a flat cap, and on a different day Cesca might have laughed out loud at his striking resemblance to a removal van driver. What was with these men and their odd behaviour today? When she got back to the office would Duncan be dressed for Mardi Gras or spontaneously burst into verses from Byron?

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ he said as he strode across to the gate.

  ‘I know you weren’t. That’s why I was shouting.’

  He stood before her but made no move towards her. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘You can open the gate,’ Cesca said, trying hard not to frown. ‘If that’s at all possible.’

  ‘Oh… of course. Please wait while I get the keys.’

  ‘Idiot,’ Cesca muttered as he went off. ‘Like I’ve got time for this.’

  Her irritation was disproportionate to the situation, but for some reason knowing that didn’t help to dissipate it. Was it because she felt duped by him, and yet some small part of her was still attracted to him and hoped he might feel the same, despite the evidence? He’d blown so hot and cold the evening before that she didn’t know what to think, except that in a few minutes she’d no longer be useful to him and his scheme to reclaim his family’s jewellery. But one minute she’d think she had him figured out, and the next he’d confound her again. All at once she found him charming yet disinterested, fascinating and yet totally bemusing. A riddle wrapped up in a mystery that she was constantly trying to work out, even though her head told her there was no point. Perhaps that was the attraction, she mused – a puzzle she couldn’t resist.

  As these thoughts ran through her head, Will returned with his keys. The brown overcoat had gone, along with the cloth cap, and he was wearing a soft blue sweater that accentuated the muscles beneath it. Cesca searched his eyes as he unlocked the gate, trying to find in those dark depths a clue as to what was going on in there, but he was unreadable – closed as always. Perhaps he’d spent so long hiding in his house that everything he was had come to be hidden too.

  ‘Would you like tea?’ he asked as Ce
sca stepped inside and he locked the gate again.

  ‘I don’t really have time,’ she said.

  ‘Ah. Then would you care to step inside, or are you in such a rush that you want to tell me the nature of your business out here?’

  There it was again, the attitude that she just couldn’t fathom. Every interaction with him left her more confused.

  ‘I came to tell you that I’m letting the British Museum deal with the Silver Hill Farm find. So they’ll be making the decision over ownership. I’m sorry, but I’m struggling to find anything conclusive and… well, I think it’s just bigger than my capabilities. I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do.’

  He was silent for a moment, his eyes trained on the trees beyond the boundary walls.

  ‘I see,’ he said finally. ‘There was nothing in the documents you took from here?’

  ‘Nothing irrefutable, no.’

  ‘And your friend… the Norwegian man…’

  ‘He hasn’t been able to find anything either. If anything…’ She paused. ‘If anything, we’ve found more evidence to support the theory that your ancestor gave at least the ring in the painting away, if not the rest of it. I know that doesn’t sound like rational behaviour but who knows what the situation was? You said yourself that the family stories told as much.’

  ‘We can hardly ask him, I suppose,’ Will replied dryly. His gaze returned to her, resting for a moment as if memorising the contours of her face. ‘I imagine this concludes our business.’

  Cesca stared at him. Business? So that was all she was to him; the moments of connection, the day he cooked her lunch, last night at dinner – what they might have meant was all in her head, just as she’d feared. Her hands itched to slap him, to shake him… she didn’t know what they wanted to do, but she could feel the telltale signs of tumultuous emotion welling up inside her and she could no longer deny the truth. She’d been falling for him, the revelation a shock now, even to herself, but the truth nonetheless. But for him it had been business and nothing more.

  She drew herself up to her full height and took a deep breath, desperate to quell the tidal wave she knew was coming. Stupid, stupid cow. She never learned.