Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay

by Ali McNamara

  ‘And you’re sure this is a fair price?’ I ask, looking at the estimate in my hand. ‘This Vic isn’t trying to pull a fast one on us because he thinks we have lots of money, is he? Because I can assure you, Bill, currently we do not.’

  ‘It’s actually a very good price,’ Bill says. ‘I can get some other quotes, but I don’t think you’ll do any better. Vic is local to this area; he’ll want to do a good job for you.’

  I nod. ‘Okay, go ahead, then. But please emphasise to Vic to keep his costs as low as possible – without scrimping on safety, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bill says. ‘On the bright side, everything else is going very smoothly now, and with a bit of luck and some overtime we could still open on time.’

  ‘That’s really good to know, Bill,’ I say, trying to sound pleased. ‘Don’t let me hold you up any more then, and as always, many thanks for sorting all this out for me.’

  I leave Bill and his men whistling and bantering away with each other while they work. But as I walk away from the stables, I can’t shake the cloud of doom that hangs over me.

  I know exactly how much money we have in the castle’s main bank account right now, and how much I have left in the secret fund that the last Earl left me. And it’s nowhere near enough to cover the estimate that Bill has just shown me. I don’t know where I’m going to get the money from to pay this bill; all I know is that I have to find it somewhere.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ Benji says to me a couple of days later, when he’s popped up to the tower with a new draft of facts for the tour guides to impart to our visitors. ‘In fact, you’ve been quiet for a few days. Is everything all right?’

  I look at Benji sitting next to me on the sofa, and suddenly I feel like bursting into tears. I’ve kept my money concerns to myself until now. I didn’t want to worry anyone else with them, not until I’d figured out a plan for how we were going to pay for everything.

  ‘If I tell you something, Benji, you must keep it to yourself, okay?’

  ‘Sure, of course. What’s wrong? Is it you and Tom again?’

  ‘No, why would that be worrying me? Me and Tom are fine now – not that there really is a me and Tom . . . Why, has he said something to you?’ I babble, completely thrown by his question.

  Benji shakes his head. ‘No, but I can’t think what else it would be . . . unless . . . ’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Nothing. You carry on.’

  ‘Right . . . ’ I tell Benji what Bill had said, and then my concerns about how we are going to pay for everything. At the end, to my astonishment, Benji smiles.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ I ask. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Benji says. ‘It’s very serious indeed. But I have to say I’m a little relieved.’

  ‘You are – why?’

  ‘It’s going to sound silly now after what you’ve just told me, but Tom confided in me that he’d let slip to you about my . . . my sexuality a couple of days ago. And it’s since then you’ve been a little off. I thought it was that that was bothering you, but now I know it isn’t me, it’s something else, it’s quite a relief.’

  ‘Oh, Benji, you didn’t really think I’d mind that you’re gay, did you?’

  Benji shrugs. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t, and I have to say it really didn’t seem like the way you’d react. But you just never know these days.’

  ‘I have to admit it was a bit of a surprise when Tom told me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I hadn’t guessed at all. Perhaps I should have. I mean, the signs were definitely there . . . ’

  ‘What signs?’

  ‘Dorothy said you were very “clean looking”, for one.’ I wink at him.

  ‘Oh, did she?’

  ‘I think she said something along the lines of you were very polite, and knew your manners too. And that of course means you must be gay.’

  ‘Of course it does!’ Benji says, grinning now too. ‘No straight men are ever like that, are they?’ He rolls his eyes dramatically. ‘Ah, I’m so glad you’re all right about it. I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, because . . . well . . . ’ Benji looks incredibly embarrassed to even have to utter this next sentence. ‘I did wonder for a while if you might have . . . you might have feelings for me.’ His face goes bright pink and he looks down at one of the sofa cushions.

  ‘I did,’ I say quietly, putting my hand over his so he glances up at me. ‘And I still do. Deep feelings . . . as a friend!’ I finish when Benji starts to look worried again. ‘A very good friend indeed.’

  ‘Ah, Amelia, the feeling is completely mutual,’ Benji says, leaning across the sofa so he can put his arm around me and give me a hug. ‘So now, what are we going to do about this money – or lack of it?’ he asks. ‘I wish I had some savings I could help you out with. I’ve got a little bit of money put aside from the advance on my book, but it’s not on the scale you’re talking about.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Benji, but I couldn’t take your money.’ I sigh. ‘I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Try to get a bank loan, I guess. Once the gift shop and tea rooms are up and running we’re bound to be making a profit; surely they’ll take that into consideration?’

  ‘And if you can’t get a loan?’

  ‘If that doesn’t work, I might have to sell a few things from the castle. It’s a last resort, but what choice do I have?’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like Clara, having to sell off her valuables to pay her debts.’

  ‘I know, tell me about it. I thought I was done with debt when I moved here, but now it seems I’m going to be buried even further in it. I’m sorry I haven’t done anything more about finding Clara’s missing diary,’ I tell him, suddenly remembering, ‘but I’ve had all this going on in the last couple of days. Plus, Tom and I looked everywhere; even the bureau idea didn’t come to anything.’

  ‘It did, actually,’ Benji says. ‘When I mentioned it to Joey he knew exactly where it was.’

  ‘He did?’ I ask, sitting forward in anticipation. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Only in his room!’ Benji says, smiling. ‘When I went to look at it with him, he had a mirror, a hairdryer and all his toiletries all over it. He was using it as a dressing table.’

  ‘Joey? I never thought he took all that much care over his appearance?’

  ‘Apparently so, but he is very definitely not gay.’ Benji winks. ‘A straight man caring what he looks like, who would have thought it! Anyway, we checked all over it to see if we could find any secret drawers or compartments or anything, but there was nothing. So Joey knows about the diary now too.’

  ‘That’s okay, we can trust Joey. But another dead end – damn, it’s so frustrating.’

  ‘I know. Perhaps we’ll never find it.’

  ‘That would be such a shame. What do you think this big secret is – something to do with Clara’s sexuality?’

  ‘You figured that, then?’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly hard if you read between the lines.’

  ‘No, indeed. It must have been awfully difficult for her back then if she was gay, which I too think she was. It was bad enough when I came out, but back then it simply wasn’t acceptable – especially for a woman.’

  ‘I know, she couldn’t even choose to stay single and become a – what did they call women who didn’t marry back then – an old maid?’

  Benji nods. ‘No, she was forced to live even more of a lie by having to find a husband so she could stay here.’ He shakes his head. ‘Mad, isn’t it?’

  ‘It seems so now, but I guess that’s just the way it was. We don’t know how lucky we are these days with everything so open and free.’

  ‘We really don’t. But to answer your question, no, I don’t think that’s what the secret is. What Clara has written, and subsequently hidden in that diary, she must have considered pretty scandalous, even more so than her sexuality. I’ve done enough of this kind of thing over the years to know that when
an important piece of paperwork is missing, there’s always a reason for it, and in this case I think it could turn out to be a very important reason indeed.’

  I sit in the Ladies’ Chamber on a pale green chaise longue, staring up at the painting of Clara once more.

  This time I’m not looking for any clues as to where her missing diary might be. I’m simply hoping that by spending time with her, some inspiration might strike on how I’m going to solve my money worries.

  Reluctantly, I’ve had to confide my concerns in Arthur too, and on his recommendation I’ve made some initial enquires at a local bank that has had dealings with the castle before. But my preliminary conversation with a financial advisor there didn’t give me much hope that I will get very far with them, or more importantly get any money from them either.

  ‘Come on, Clara,’ I plead as I look into the eyes of this striking woman. ‘I know you suffered similar troubles in your life. Can’t you think of a way out of this without me resorting to selling more of our family’s valuables?’

  But Clara just stares serenely back at me.

  ‘What about this key I’m supposed to ask you about, then?’ I say quietly. ‘I know you mentioned something about it to the others before. Is it this ceremonial key Arthur mentioned that you’re talking about?’

  Again nothing.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to a painting now,’ I mutter to myself. ‘How desperate am I?’

  I stand up and turn to leave the room. But what choice do you have, Amelia? I think. You’re running out of ideas, and more importantly you’re running out of time. Once the woodworm have been permanently removed and the new beams are up, there’s going to be a rather large bill that needs paying pretty swiftly.

  ‘Look, Clara,’ I say, turning back to the painting, ‘I know the others said you were shy, and I completely understand that. It might surprise you to know I’ve always been a pretty shy person myself. It’s only since I’ve had to cope with being alone in the world as a single mother that I’ve had to come out of my shell, otherwise Charlie and I would have starved. I’ve had to fight for what I’m entitled to, fight to find us somewhere to live when the council didn’t want to give us anywhere, and then fight for my job so I could feed us and pay my rent. I didn’t have time to be shy. And now I’m here at the castle I’ve had to fight to try to bring this place into the twenty-first century so it can survive for many more years to come. I’m trying my best here, so if you know of any way to make this easier for me, then please tell me, or at least give me a clue.’

  Again nothing happens. A breeze blows through the room from the window, just enough to disturb the thick net curtain that hangs in the window. That’s odd, I think. Who would have opened a window in here? I certainly didn’t when I came in.

  I’m about to head towards the window to close it, when it happens again. But this time a shaft of sunlight suddenly appears through the gap the billowing net has left, allowing me to see tiny dust particles in the beam of sunlight that streams through the window.

  My gaze follows the beam across the room to where it falls directly on the painting of Clara, or more specifically, on a part of the painting I hadn’t noticed before. In the top right-hand corner of the portrait the artist has depicted another painting hanging behind Clara on the wall. It’s a painting of a dog – Clara’s dog. I know this because Clara talks about her love for the dog in her diaries. She wrote about how much of a friend the little dog had been to her, and how he’d been a faithful companion when times had been tough and she’d been incredibly lonely at the castle. At the time, I’d only thought of the similarities between Charlie and Chester’s relationship, but now something else resonates with me as the sun still shines on the corner of the portrait.

  The little dog in the picture looks very similar to another dog I’d seen recently. Not Chester this time, but the little stuffed dog I’d sold, then had to subsequently refund at the courtyard sale . . .

  Thirty-two

  ‘Tom!’ I call, hurrying across the grass towards the long barn that Tom has turned into a temporary workshop while he repairs and restores items from the castle. ‘Tom, I need you!’

  Tom, who currently seems to be taking a leather wing-backed chair carefully apart, looks up at me as I run across the lawn.

  ‘That’s quite the greeting!’ he says, winking at me, as I arrive in front of him slightly out of breath. ‘We may need to find somewhere a little more private, but I’m sure I can accommodate your needs.’

  ‘What? Oh, I see, it’s a joke. Look, I haven’t got time to mess about—’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Tom says, still grinning.

  ‘What did we do with all the stuff we didn’t sell at the courtyard sale?’ I demand.

  ‘Er, I think we put most of it back in one of the empty rooms upstairs, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought, but I can’t find the dog.’

  ‘What dog?’

  ‘The dog that we sold to that rude man, remember? Then he brought it back and demanded a refund.’

  ‘Oh the stuffed dog – but why do you want that?’

  ‘I just do. Do you know where it is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘What’s going on, Amelia?’ Tom asks, his eyes narrowing. ‘You seem very het up about this dog.’

  ‘I’m sure it has something to do with the lost diary,’ I tell him hesitantly. Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask me why, I pray. It’s going to sound really odd if I have to explain why.

  ‘Why?’ Tom asks as if on cue.

  Reluctantly I tell him what happened in the Ladies’ Chamber, waiting for his sceptical reaction at the end.

  ‘Sounds like we’d better find it, then!’ is all he says, to my surprise and relief. ‘We’d best ask Tiffany; she helped tidy away a lot of the unsold things that day.’

  Tom puts his chair away in his barn, and then we dash back across the grass together, Tom taking hold of my hand as we go as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And I let him; it feels good to be sharing this with someone.

  ‘Tiffany, what did you do with all the left-over stuff from the courtyard sale?’ I ask as we reach the office, letting go of Tom’s hand just before we go in.

  ‘Didn’t you put most of it in one of the rooms just down the corridor?’ Tiffany says, looking at Tom.

  ‘I thought I had, but apparently not all of it went in there.’

  Tiffany thinks. ‘I was sure we’d put it all in there. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?’

  ‘Yes, a dog. A stuffed dog. Do you remember it?’

  ‘Oh yeah, that mangy thing,’ Tiffany says, wrinkling up her nose. ‘I tossed it with some other rubbish I didn’t think was worth keeping. It gave me the creeps, and it probably had fleas. Who wants to stuff their dog when it’s dead, anyway? It’s just plain weird.

  ‘I didn’t dump anything valuable, mind,’ Tiffany continues when I simply stare open mouthed at her. ‘That all went back in the rooms. What?’ she asks when I don’t say anything. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘When you say dumped, Tiffany,’ Tom asks, ‘do you mean in the rubbish – the rubbish that gets collected from outside the gates every week?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Right.’ Tom grimaces at me.

  ‘I saved its collar, though,’ Tiffany says brightly. ‘The dog’s, I mean. Arthur said that dog had once belonged to the Countess of Chesterford – you know, Clara, the one whose diary we were looking for? So I thought I’d better keep the collar, in case we ever wanted to display it or something.’ She grins furtively. ‘Arthur doesn’t even know I still have it.’

  ‘Where is it now?’ I ask.

  Tiffany reaches into the bottom drawer in her desk and retrieves a worn blue leather collar. ‘Here, do you want it?’

  Eagerly I take the collar from her. ‘Look,’ I say excitedly as I turn it around in my hand. ‘There’s a key.’

  Where t
here would normally be a silver dog tag, instead there hangs a tiny silver key.

  ‘I thought that was odd too,’ Tiffany says. ‘Cos he’s not wearing that in the picture.’

  ‘What picture?’ I ask, my ears pricking up. ‘There’s a painting of this dog somewhere?’

  ‘Yeah, when we had to sort the tower out for you arriving, we had to remove a lot of the last Earl’s things. Dorothy said you’d probably like a fresh start, so we took all his things and put them in storage. A painting of that dog was hanging in the toilet, of all places; I remember because I had to take it down. The dog looked a canny wee thing when it was alive, that’s why I hated that stuffed monstrosity so much.’

  ‘Where is the painting now?’

  ‘Er, Arthur put that and all the Earl’s other personal effects into some trunks. They’re down in the basement somewhere, I think.’

  ‘Where is Arthur now?’

  ‘Out. He’s gone to look at some new fencing with Joey.’

  ‘Do you know where he keeps the keys to these trunks?’

  Tiffany goes over to Arthur’s desk and rootles about in one of the drawers. ‘He thinks they’re hidden in here because he tucks them away at the back. But . . . ’ Tiffany reaches right to the back of the drawer. ‘I know what he does!’ she says triumphantly, pulling a large ring of various keys from the depths of the drawer.

  ‘Shall we?’ she asks, delight that she’s got one over on Arthur shining from her eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you lead the way?’ I ask her, holding out my hand.

  Tiffany leads us out of the back of the office and down the same corridor I’d travelled with her the first day I was here, when we’d lost Charlie.

  We follow her down two flights of stairs, until we come to the locked solid wood door we’d encountered on that day.

  ‘I didn’t know Arthur had a key to this door when we were here before,’ Tiffany says. ‘It’s only recently he’s been using these keys a lot. That’s how I knew where he kept them.’