by Liz Fielding
‘You were going to tell me where the surveyor went,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes...’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I was told they used a boat to travel along the entire creek frontage but were most interested in the section from the footpath that comes down through the woods to the far side of the beach.’
‘The beach?’
Her throat moved as she swallowed and there was a faint flush on her cheek.
Was she thinking about that last night he’d camped on the island? The night she’d left her clothes on the beach and swum across in the moonlight...
He’d never forget the sight of her emerging from the creek, water running from her naked body as she’d walked up the tiny beach beside the dock to stand in a shaft of moonlight. Young, innocent, desperate...
‘Show me,’ he said, his voice thicker as it squeezed through his throat. ‘Show me exactly where they were.’
‘What’s the point?’
The point was that he had to know what he was dealing with, what he was fighting and, without thinking, he offered her his hand as he stood up.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do I look decrepit?’
‘You look tired and stressed out.’ And lovely, he thought, in way that the unlived-in face of a teenage girl could never be. ‘Also, your chef warned me to treat you like a lady,’ he said. ‘I got the impression that if you appeared with so much as a scratch he’d serve up my liver in onion gravy as a lunchtime special.’
That finally provoked a laugh. ‘Jamie is a sweetie.’
‘Not a patronising oaf?’
A faint flush stained her cheeks. ‘I’m not six,’ she said. ‘Or sixteen.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
The flush deepened.
‘Jamie is a trained chef,’ she said. ‘He hates the menu he is forced to serve in the Orangery just as much as I do. It makes him a touch grouchy.’
‘If that’s his problem,’ he said, ‘why does he stay?’
‘Why do you think? He needs a job.’
If he was a trained chef, he could get a job anywhere. Did she not realise that the man was in love with her?
‘Come on, then, Sir Galahad,’ she said, grasping his hand as she stood up. The moment her fingers touched his, a tingle of electricity rippled up his arm and he had to step back to regain his balance and she was the one supporting him. She shook her head. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that if you’re going to be my knight errant.’ And when he didn’t move, ‘Get a move on, Kam. I’m sure you know this island better than I do. And if there are any stray roots intent on tripping up interlopers, I’d rather it was you who fell on your face.’
As her hand slipped from his, he found himself clutching the space where it had been and had to curl his fingers into a fist before he made a fool of himself.
It was, apparently, only him being turned over by old memories.
A few minutes later, having fought his way through the overgrown footpath, holding back who knew how many years of dry, vicious brambles so that she wouldn’t be scratched, they were looking across at the beach.
Hidden from the creek by the island, this was where the smugglers had unloaded their cargo, carrying it into a cave and through a tunnel into the cellars under the tower.
There were wooden steps leading up from the beach to a grassy meadow topping a low bluff.
‘Here?’ He surveyed the meadow. Away from the woods, it was lighter, warmer. There were already bluebells among the red and white campion and, later, there would be fritillaries and wild orchids.
‘He’s planning to rip up this meadow?’
‘I don’t know what he’s planning, but I suggest you sit down and enjoy it while you can.’
Agnès curled up on the grass, her feet tucked under her, and patted the ground beside her as if he were a child about to be taught a lesson.
Who was patronising who now?
There was definitely a change in her manner, a new confidence that disturbed him. He wanted to know what had changed, but even more he wanted to discover the scent of the woman she’d become, watch the way her hair slid over her shoulder, reacquaint himself with her profile...
‘I’d forgotten how peaceful it is on the island,’ she said. ‘You can’t see the castle from here. You can’t see the creek, hear anything but the birds. You could be lost in the wilderness.’
‘Why don’t you take a photograph from here for your website? A wildflower walk would draw the visitors and you would make a great guide.’
She turned to look at him. ‘That is actually a great idea.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ he said, as she took out her phone and started taking some shots.
She laughed. ‘Sorry, Mr Multimillionaire. Obviously you are overflowing with great ideas.’
‘Okay, then, here’s another. Make it into a picnic. Are you allowed to cater on the estate, or is it all tied up in that contract? Is the castle kitchen certified to serve food to the public?’
‘Yes, but it’s not large enough for mass catering. We do breakfast for the B & B guests and supper for the craft groups and I think, if I made it a garden package, I could do it. I’ll have to check but I have to get lucky once in a while.’
‘It doesn’t work that way.’
‘No.’ The smile faded. ‘I’d like to live here with this view. One day, if the castle becomes so successful that I need more rooms, I shall build a little cabin tucked away back there in the trees and make it my home.’
About to say that the castle was her home, he remembered her childhood bedroom with its lack of comfort.
She’d still been in the nursery when her parents were killed by a drunk driver.
Clearly, when she’d grown out of that, her grandparents hadn’t cared enough to make her room special in any way. The only personal touch had been her mother’s botanical drawings that had been hung on the walls.
His childhood had not been easy after his father left; there had been no money. But there had been love in abundance.
‘You seem more optimistic about the future today,’ he said.
‘Do I?’
She didn’t seem inclined to offer an explanation and he didn’t push it.
Sitting beside her, he had gradually become aware of a light, citrusy scent above the salty tang of the creek. Had she been in the Orangery this morning, checking on her orange trees? Having a moment with the sweet, protective chef?
Did her dreams of the island cabin include him?
Kam knew he shouldn’t care but then, as she glanced at him, apparently seeking some kind of response to her wishful thinking, the breeze caught a loose strand of her silky dark hair, whipping it across her face. Without taking her eyes off him, she reached up with both arms, one to recapture the strand, the other to fasten it into place with the silver clasp that was holding it back from her face.
The gesture seemed deliberately erotic, like a painting by Manet he’d once seen in Paris, men in suits with naked women having a picnic in the woods, and for a moment his only thought was to lie back in the grass, taking her down with him.
Not as some unfulfilled boyhood fantasy. This wasn’t the young naked Agnès who had lived in his memory like a thorn burning in his flesh. This was a new, unexpected, unlooked-for response to the woman she had become, the desire so immediate, so shockingly intense that it was as if the breath had been knocked from him.
His face must have telegraphed his thoughts because that moment of perfect poise disintegrated into confusion as she fumbled the clasp and her hair cascaded around her face.
The invitation had been all in his mind. Of course it had. He had been aggressive, rude even. Why would she give him a second thought when she had sweet Jamie?
She was gathering up her hair now, looking anywhere but at him. Watching her made him feel like a voye
ur and he turned away.
He hadn’t come to Priddy Castle to rekindle an adolescent romance, he reminded himself. Far from it. He hadn’t expected to feel anything but satisfaction at seeing her on the brink of losing everything.
Which made him an idiot.
You never forgot your first love. Not one that had grown organically over the best part of ten years until you could read each other’s minds, finish each other’s sentences.
When they’d been together she would pass him a tool, or a net, or a line before he knew he wanted it. She’d always had a smile but he’d always known when it was a mask and saved new things to show her on those days, new stuff to teach her.
And when he’d told her that he wanted to learn to play the guitar, she’d smuggled an old and very beautiful acoustic instrument out of the castle and given it to him, asking only that one day, when he had learned to play, that he play a song just for her.
He still owed her that song. Maybe it was as well that the guitar was in his London apartment because he’d never forget the moment when, with a look, everything changed. When instead of taking her to see badger cubs, he wanted to take her to his school prom and show everyone that she was his girl.
When instead of showing off the way the osprey he’d rescued flew to his whistle for a fish, he’d wanted to find the perfect song, the one that said everything he was feeling, and sing it to her.
He’d buried all those feelings under layers of rage that he’d wrapped around him, clinging on as tightly as an infant clung to a comfort blanket. He’d had to, because if he couldn’t blame her for what had happened, then he would have had to blame himself.
He’d understood the risk. He’d known he should have brought some girl from town to the estate, making out that he was all over her so that Agnès would have believed that he was not interested.
He hadn’t been able to do it and instead he’d just confused her by keeping his distance.
She hadn’t been the girl to let him get away with that.
‘Is your optimism well founded?’ he asked, when she’d stopped fiddling with her hair.
‘It’s too early to say but...’ She paused, glanced across at him, waiting for a prompt.
‘But?’ he obliged.
‘If I could pay off enough of the tax bill to hold off bankruptcy, I could offer a hotel chain a long-term lease to develop this site.’
What? ‘You’re not serious?’
She looked deadly serious.
‘Why not? If it’s going to happen anyway.’ She sketched a shrug. ‘The wildflower walks are a lovely idea and I’ll certainly use it for this year, but I’m going to need more than a few picnics to repair the roof.’
‘Can you even do that? Sell a lease?’
‘My great-great-grandfather sold ninety-nine-year repairing leases on the properties down on the quay. He didn’t want the upkeep to be a burden on the estate—tenants insisting on proper plumbing, bathrooms, roofs that didn’t leak, all that tedious twentieth-century stuff. It must have seemed like a sensible plan at the time. These days they would make a substantial rental income. More than enough to keep the castle in good shape.’
‘So why haven’t you already done it?’ he asked. ‘Why didn’t your grandfather?’
‘The quayside properties were built on land that wasn’t part of the original estate plan. I’m going to need a fancy lawyer to make the case for a precedent and they cost money.’
‘I’m sure a developer would be prepared to pay for the legal work if he thought there was a chance of getting his hands on that, but I thought you loved this place as much as I do. Would you really sell your birthright...?’
‘For a mess of pottage?’ She finished the question for him when he realised he’d been reduced to quoting from the bible and decided to stop making an ass of himself. ‘Needs must, Kam. And just look at it.’
As she made a sweeping gesture that took in the scene before them, the sun flashed on something metallic and he realised that she was wearing the bangle with a little fish charm that he’d bought her for her fifteenth birthday.
Was it an accident? Had she just picked it up and slipped it on this morning without thinking about where it had come from? Had she forgotten that he’d given it to her?
He’d seen it in an antique shop window and it had cost him two days’ dodging the river wardens while he caught enough sea trout to pay for it. But he’d known, the minute he’d set eyes on it, that she would love it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Spending time on the island with Kam, teasing him a little, was fun. I hoped he’d notice that I was wearing the bracelet he gave me but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t remember.
Agnès Prideaux’s Journal
‘LOOK, KAM...’
‘I am looking,’ he said.
‘It’s got everything. Creek frontage, a private beach, space—’
‘I’m not a property developer. You don’t have to sell it to me.’
‘—space for a small marina,’ she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘All it needs is a pretty bridge.’
‘A bridge?’
‘To the island. Can’t you see it? With the debris, the brambles cleared away, a pretty new summer house, flowering shrubs, it would be perfect for private parties and weddings. Of course, you couldn’t ferry everyone back and forth by boat, especially when they’d a few too many glasses of champagne.’
He stared at her. Was she serious?
This was their island.
‘That’s appalling. Think of the habitat destruction. There’s an eco system that has been here undisturbed for hundreds of years. And isn’t the wildflower meadow an SSI? A site of scientific special interest.’
‘It is,’ she said, lifting her shoulders in regretful shrug. ‘But think of the money.’
‘Agnès...’
Too late he caught the gleam in her eye, a tiny movement at the corner of her mouth, as she glanced in his direction.
He’d remembered so clearly the moments when her face betrayed every emotion. How could he have forgotten the way she could keep a straight face while leading him on with some nonsense?
She raised a Got you eyebrow and he conceded with a shake of the head as she laughed. ‘If you could see your face.’
‘It’s not funny.’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But that’s what will happen if I lose it.’
‘Really? Surely there would be an outcry at the vandalism. It would take years to get planning consent.’
‘I’d like to think so but the recession has been hard on the town and a resort hotel would bring in much-needed business. People with money to spend. New jobs.’
‘Mammon cancels out the environment? The locals might not care but I’m sure I could whip up a storm of protest on social media. Pierre Prideaux sounds like a pragmatist. You can’t sell to me, but once HMRC declares you bankrupt I’ll offer him my deal. Money in the bank against a fight all the way to the Secretary of State for the Environment.’
‘If,’ she stressed, ‘not when. If things go that far he won’t need you or your money. Pierre’s had over a year since my grandfather died to prepare for this. I imagine he took the surveyor’s report along with detailed plans of what could be achieved here to the money men in Paris or Frankfurt or even London. It would be a major investment opportunity and I have no doubt he has all the deals in place just waiting for his moment. You won’t have a chance to make your pitch, Kam. The money will change hands the moment he has control.’
She hadn’t been teasing him, he realised. She had been giving him a glimpse of the future.
A unique stretch of the creek was going to be destroyed and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Only she could do that and it was why, against all the odds, she was fighting a David and Goliath battle with nothing but steely determination.
&n
bsp; She’d made mistakes but she hadn’t given up and he admired her for that, but if she fought to the bitter end, sold what personal assets remained, she’d be left with nothing.
‘Is there anything we can do to stop it?’ he asked.
‘We?’
She acknowledged the shared goal with a half-smile, reached out and briefly touched his hand. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I have a plan.’
‘It’s going to take more than selling the family silver,’ he warned. ‘If you have something valuable to sell, a way out, my advice would be to save what you can and walk away.’
‘Cut and run, Kam? Is that what you’d do?’
What he would do had no bearing on this. ‘I’m warning you not to throw good money after bad. You used to listen to me.’
‘Not always.’
‘No,’ he acknowledged. He’d told her that he didn’t have time for her that summer, gone to the island to keep out of her way, but she’d come anyway.
For a moment she held his gaze, then sighed. ‘You mean well, Kam. You obviously know what you’re talking about. Unfortunately, this isn’t just about me, it’s about all the people who work on the estate. I thought you, more than anyone, would understand that.’
‘Why?’ he asked, pushing her now, wanting her to face reality. ‘Do you really believe that when the chips are down they will care about you? Will thank you for your sacrifice?’
She looked stricken. ‘I know you think that no one cared about you, Kam, but it’s not true. My grandfather wouldn’t talk to me but there were people who worked here who tried to get him to change his mind.’
‘Your grandmother?’ he asked. ‘She and my mother were friends. I understood why I was going to be banished, but my mother had done nothing.’
‘Grandma...’ She swallowed, shook her head. ‘I begged her to intervene, but she said it was a waste of breath. She told me that he’d been looking for an excuse to get rid of your mother for months, that I’d given it to him and I’d have to live with it on my conscience.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’