by Sara Forbes
But where do I start? What’s the smart way of procuring the right contractors for this? Is it really feasible, getting it ready before Christmas? Because now it has to be. I’m sure it’s not good to move a newborn around the place.
I must find Mara. She’ll know what to do. She’s probably hiding in her room, as always. Or over in Dave’s.
I snap the laptop lid shut and rise from my desk before I can get sucked into some new task.
Ken, hunched over his desk across from me, transfixed by the spreadsheet on his screen, glances up. “Trouble?”
“No, everything’s fine. I’ll be back soon. Hold the fort while I’m out.”
Not waiting for his answer, I leave the office, traipse down the spiral stairs and out into the courtyard. I make a direct line for the castle’s south door, the quickest way to her room. But halfway across, I notice from the curtains drawn across her window . Maybe she’s asleep.
“Have you seen Mara?” I ask Mrs. B, who’s smoking one of her beloved Benson & Hedges by the boiler house, watching me with a smile on her deeply-lined face.
“Why, she went off to London, Lord Sebastian.”
Damn. “Did she say when she’d be back?”
Mrs. B consults her watch. “Around about now, I reckon, if she took the two-thirty from Waterloo.”
“She took the train?”
“She wouldn’t hear of a car, my lord.”
I grimace. “Thanks, Mrs. B.”
As I turn and head back to the office, I’m sure I hear a cackle from Mrs. B. behind my back. I swing around but there’s no sign of her. Well, I’m glad the old dear finds something amusing. I suppose I must look strange, pacing around the courtyard without my jacket, without my phone, in the middle of the day when I should be in the office. Acting like it’s some kind of emergency and my life depends on seeing Mara right now.
But, strangely enough, that’s what it feels like.
Back in the office, Ken’s gone out to visit a farming family over the western side of Fernborough who wanted advice on tax reporting. My younger brother’s getting better at listening to their woes and coming up with practical solutions.
Unable to focus any longer on account management, I give up and stroll around the office. Something’s not right. When I look down at my desk with its two laptops, row of ring binders, leather-covered diary and my wall charts indicating progress, it doesn’t mean the same as it did yesterday, or last week, or last month. Then, it was all for something. But now it rings hollow. What I really feel like doing is tipping the desk up and letting everything slide off and crash onto the ground.
How insane is that?
Because she’s leaving me. She’s not going to be around. And fuck it all anyway, I want her to be around.
11
MARA
I WAVE THE CAB driver off and take a steadying breath as I key in the code at the gate of Belgrave Castle. I’ve had a long day—train, then bus, then cab—but I’m determined to walk this last leg of the journey myself. I don’t want Old George helping me out of the car and insisting on informing someone that I’ve arrived, because that’s all he seems to be paid for.
Nope. I am going to shatter tradition and walk these four hundred feet all by myself, goddammit. Let them behead me for it if they really must.
London today felt like an escape back to sanity after being wrapped in the weird cocoon of Belgrave Castle for so many days. While I was officially on an errand for Dave—William recommended a special new-fangled inhaler for him only available in the University hospital pharmacy—I was happy for any excuse. Navigating the madness of the London Underground at rush hour kept my mind off recent events—and by that I mean recent kisses—and part of me was happy that I did get to see a bit of the city after all. Because I don’t know when I’ll be back in Britain again. The christening of Hayley and Alex’s firstborn?
On the train ride back to Suffolk, I organized my and Dave’s flights home with Delta, which made me feel even more in sync with reality. The doc says Dave will be okay to fly by then. Which means that in exactly five days’ time, I’m going to be sitting in my crummy one-bedroom apartment in Laxby and it’s going to feel absolutely fucking fantastic. Even listening to Mike raving incoherently about my absence will feel wonderful compared to the hollow, restless feeling I can’t seem to shake off me here.
I reach the door to my bedroom without a soul bothering me and stick the key in the lock. But then there’s a shuffling behind me. I spin around.
Seb emerges from the shadows. I swear to God they need better lights in this place.
“You’re back,” he says.
I give him a looks-like-it shrug and twist the key in the lock.
“I was about to go for a walk,” he says. “Will you join us?” I hear the plea in his voice. I do my best to ignore how it tugs at my heartstrings as I push my door open.
“A slow one,” he adds. “You must be tired.”
Shoulder pressed against the door, I look steadily at him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why he doesn’t just take Liv and put himself out of his misery, but I rise above it. “I need to check in on Dave,” I say snippily.
“You’ll find he’s asleep.”
Seb says this like a challenge for me to go and find another excuse. His shoulder is pressed against the wall, mimicking my stubborn pose. I don’t know what this is all about. I’m truly too sapped of energy to fight him. Maybe I should get this over with. Just show him I can, and will, resist him if he tries to kiss me a third time.
“Fine then, why not?” I say in a bored tone.
I don’t bother changing, just dump my shopping bags in my bedroom. I don’t even freshen up—he doesn’t deserve it. I do grab a warmer sweater though. Britain never seems to get above sixty degrees even in August.
Seb is waiting downstairs in the hall, pacing in a circle with Samwise on the leash, which he hands over to me. Our fingers fumble together as the leash passes between us and our gazes lock at that moment. Why does he have to be so damned attractive?
I ponder this vexing question as I tug Samwise away from the thistles and toadstools growing by the roadside. The fresh breeze is invigorating, helping to clear my head, and I’m even beginning to tell myself we can do this, this leaving-it-as-friends thing, which I guess this walk is all about.
But after Seb’s initial inquiries about Dave and the particulars of my trip to London, the silence becomes awkward. Horribly awkward. Our rhythmic footfalls in the gravelly road sound like a clock slowly ticking down to the destruction of our hypothetical friendship.
Maybe I should ask him what he wanted to say at the races? Mara, I…? But that would sound like I needed to know. Was desperate to know. And I’m not desperate. I’m really not.
But as we pass the first crossroads, it all pours out of him—a torrent of words; tumbling, agitated words. I struggle at first to understand what he’s talking about— “The need for privacy, the need for a house, a comfortable house, by Christmas, partial renovations, landlords, schools, hospitals, planning permission. When the baby comes.”
Sounds like he’s making plans for a family, but Liv’s name isn’t mentioned even once.
And what fucking baby?
“So what you’re asking me,” I say carefully, my voice trembling with the effort not to ask him that question, “is whether I think it’s feasible for you—” I wave my fingers in a circle “—plural to live in the Millhouse from Christmas onwards while it’s being renovated?”
Seb looks at me earnestly. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Then … yes, I suppose, depending on several factors.” He looks so miserably serious about this I don’t dare deny him an answer.
“Like what?” he urges.
I explain to him what a typical schedule is for renovating a house of that size, in that condition. His obsession is puzzling. It’s an added complication to his life, which is busy enough with running the family business, upkeep of the castle, open days to t
he public, and everything else he manages.
Hayley told me Alex tried to take over some of the responsibilities last year, but Seb kept his grip on power, and only delegated menial tasks to Alex. All executive decisions still go through Seb, and Alex is too easy-going or too sensible to argue, which means Alex’s title of duke is truly in name only. Seb has all the power.
“Is Liv pregnant?” I blurt after I’m done explaining.
“What?” His look is sheer bewilderment. “This has nothing to do with Liv.”
“Oh. I… I thought… the baby…” My voice peters out in embarrassment.
“The baby?” he repeats. “Not Liv’s. I mean my sister’s. Orla’s.”
I flood with relief. Stupid, beautiful relief.
“Orla’s having a baby?” I ask dumbly.
“Yes.” His eyes glow. “I just heard this morning. And I needed to talk to someone—well, to you, actually. Because I… I…”
I reach out and hold his arm.
“Because you need my advice on whether they can move into the house with the baby come December,” I finish for him, because I’ve kind of given up on him ever finishing his truncated sentences that begin with “I…”
“Exactly.” His face cracks into an open smile that twists a knot in my heart.
“Well, if you stick to the plans of the original building—I mean, if you don’t try to extend anything, just gentle refurbishing, re-plastering, fixing the drains and the electricity, then yes, I would say it’s doable. Especially if, as you say, any ongoing activity won’t be disturbing anyone since the fields around will all be yours anyway, so you won’t have that added complication.”
I aim my dagger look at him so he’ll know what I’m getting at.
“That’ll get sorted,” he says, somewhat impatiently.
“Well, then it’s feasible. I mean, if you stop everything else and concentrate on it.”
“And if I had you to advise me.” He glances down at me. “I mean, I don’t expect you to provide your services for free or anything.”
I let out a fake, high-pitched laugh. “Don’t forget I’m leaving on Saturday.”
He kicks a stone out in front of him, a frown crossing his brow. It’s like I’ve offended him by stating the smack-in-the-face obvious. Not that it’s making me happy, this whole idea of flying home. Or, it’s not making me half as happy as I thought it would. Which is kind of strange because I’m pretty sure that, this time yesterday, I was itching to get home, and I distinctly remember cackling to myself as I pressed “buy” on the airline ticketing site.
We’ve reached the outside wall of Belgrave castle. I’m jittery as I stand there holding Meriadoc’s leash. Anyone watching from the castle—and this includes Liv—will wonder why Seb and I have gone walking the dogs together, for the second time. It’s for this reason that I make a big dramatic show of handing him the leash while we’re in the middle of the courtyard and gesturing to the south entrance through which I’m going to disappear, leaving him to bring the dogs to the kennel. Alone.
“Walk with me to the kennels?”
“No … I’m tired,” I say lamely.
And then, I run.
12
SEB
BEFORE SUPPER, I WASH and then take a trip to Dave’s room. Every time I’d visited him before, he’d never been in much of a state to talk. Now, however, he looks awfully pleased to have a visitor.
“You look well,” I say in greeting. “Haven’t seen you this hearty since you were heating up the dance floor during the bridal dance.”
“You saw that, did you?” he groans, gesturing to the chair by the bed.
“I’ve seen a lot worse, too.” I take the chair and sit at eye level with the rather grizzled, but definitely healthier-looking, Dave. Seems to me what the poor man most needs are a shave and a decent meal. We had a bit of a chat during the ceremony and in a short space of time discovered a common love of dogs, hill walking, and dark fantasy novels. He’s my kind of guy and I can see why Mara’s adopted him as a kind of surrogate father.
“They’ve been starving you, haven’t they?” I ask. “Why, I’ll have them thrown in the dungeons for that.”
“I could kill a good steak, all right.”
“And that’s a positive sign.” I pause. “But are you absolutely sure you’re up for this journey? Because it seems terribly soon, and it would be no trouble to re-book the flights for you. I’m thinking another few days in pleasant surroundings wouldn’t hurt.”
Dave laughs ruefully. “Ask the boss.”
“What if you told the boss you wanted to stay on for the fishing?”
His tired eyes light up. “Fishing?”
“Pike and trout. Look, you can see the start of the lake there.” I point out the window at the water shimmering in the distance, the natural border of our estate. “Positively choking with fish.”
“Nice,” Dave says ruefully. “But she won’t agree.”
“She likes to do things her way, huh?”
He sighs heavily. “Well, she’s worried about her job and the work she’s not getting done. But yeah, you’re right, she also hates anyone telling her what to do.”
“Authoritarian parents?”
“I don’t know what you’d call it really. Even when they do bother to notice what’s going on with her at all, Angela and Steve only seem to see her worth in how it reflects on them. It’s always been that way. I’ve known Mara since she was four and I could tell you stories.” Dave readjusts his pillow and regards me thoughtfully. “So when word got out that my Hayley was marrying a duke over in England, they had a near fit. In their eyes, Mara’s job in coming here was to secure herself an aristocrat—preferably higher up the food chain than Alex—to make them look good.”
“Higher up the food chain’s hard,” I say, laughing. “You’ve got the royals then.”
I lock this information away, information I know will never be forthcoming from Mara herself. Crazy parents. But the joke’s on them. The only aristocrat Mara’s secured is an illegitimate one.
“They even asked me if that had been Hayley’s plan all along,” Dave continues, shaking his head. He gives a laugh. “Who’d have thought they’d be jealous of crusty old Dave the fisherman living out on the gorge?”
I just think this is unspeakably sad. I’d like to question him more, find out more, filling in the jigsaw puzzle that is Mara Myers. But I’m already late for supper.
I rise. “Let me organize that steak for you, Dave.”
◊◊◊
I’m like a bear with a sore head at supper. Or maybe it’s just that the others are so unnaturally jolly.
“Seb,” Liv swipes a pancake off the plate Ken’s handing around. “My college friends are meeting up at the Dartmoor regatta tomorrow. Ken and Letty are coming. Why don’t you come too? After all, it’s my last adventure before term starts.”
“Dartmoor?” I frown. “That’s quite a day trip.”
“We’re staying overnight,” Ken says between bites.
Of course you are.
“Come on, Seb. You haven’t had a decent overnight break since …” Liv turns to Letty.
“January,” Letty says.
“January. And you said yourself that August is a sleepy month on the farm.”
I don’t remember ever using that adjective. But that’s beside the point. Everyone’s eyes are glued to me.
“I’d love to, but there’s the Kendall Farm issue.” There you go, a perfectly valid excuse. A load of non-organic fertilizer got delivered to a tenant yesterday by mistake. It’s a mess I have to sort out in person and it is urgent, to those involved.
“Mara?” Ken asks.
I glance over at Mara in alarm. I didn’t expect the invitation to be extended to her. It’s not logical.
“Oh Ken, I’d love to too,” Mara says. “But I can’t in good conscience be away. I can’t risk Dave being unfit to travel on Saturday.”
“We’ll ask Mrs. B to keep an eye on
him,” Letty says.
“Thanks, Letty.” Mara gives a pained smile. “But I promised him I’d be around.”
“We could call him regularly from Dartmoor,” Letty suggests.
And my sister’s off again, gearing up for a big old persuasion session. But Mara has no clue what she would be letting herself in for on this trip. If I know this yachting crowd, and I’ve heard rumors, they’ll be knocking back champagne, doing ecstasy or whatever-the-fuck boutique drugs, ripping through money at an eye-watering rate as they trade stupid boarding-school anecdotes. I doubt it even occurs to Letty that Mara has a strenuous job waiting for her back home that barely pays her enough to live on.
“Letty,” I say sharply. “She said no.”
Ken, Letty, Liv, and Mara swing their heads to stare at me. I push my food away and fold my arms. I won’t back down on this.
Mara sets her cup onto her saucer. “I’m so sorry, Letty … Liv.” Then she glares at me as if to say shut up.
Mara and I are left alone when the others skitter off to book a hotel online. This conversation has left a bitter taste in my mouth. I finger the edge of my plate, twirling the uneaten pancakes.
Before I can say anything, Mara blurts out, “Seb, I appreciate your concern, but I can fight my own battles. I wasn’t going to some silly yacht race or whatever it is, but I can handle it.”
I hold her impassioned gaze. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you should have said yes though?”
I give a wry laugh. How to phrase this? “They don’t want me there. You must have noticed, Mara, that there’s something going on between Liv and Ken. They’re delighted to get away from me.”
Her startled gaze darts from my face to the door and back again. “Yes.” She heaves out a breath as if relieved that I noticed it too. “I’d say it’s a little obvious. Are you, um, disappointed?”