by Liz Fielding
‘No, it’s supposed to make you want to do better. Or are you just like Pierre Prideaux? Do you just want to be king of the castle?’
‘Would you blame me?’
He felt a cold hand squeeze his heart as the words slipped from his mouth. Was that, deep down, all he wanted? Were his grand plans just an excuse? Was he really that shallow?
‘Tell me who you care about,’ he said, before she could answer.
Would it be the chef who hated what he did but needed the job? His stomach tightened at the thought. Which was stupid. She was only a year, eighteen months, younger than him.
There were no twenty-six-year-old virgins and even in his darkest days he wouldn’t have wished that barren a life on her. And Jamie, rot his socks, obviously cared for her. Maybe they’d end up together running a little boutique restaurant down on the quay.
Not if he could help it...
The thought fell into his mind and lodged there.
Not if he could help it.
‘Why would you care?’ she demanded. ‘You’re like all men. You just want everyone to see how big you are.’
There was an element of truth in that. Maybe a bigger element than he’d care to admit. He’d sworn he’d come back to Castle Creek on top of the world and, against all the odds, he’d done it. But Agnès was right. This wasn’t just about him. Caught up in the past, he was in danger of losing sight of the real reason he’d come back to Castle Creek.
‘Give me a reason to care, Agnès,’ he said and, as uncertainty flickered in her wide, grey eyes, ‘Make me care.’
Agnès took a moment. Letting the swish of the current, the scent of crushed spring grass, calm her as she tried to read Kam.
She’d slipped on the bracelet he’d given her this morning hoping that he’d remember a time when they had been friends. He hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t remembered, but even so there had been moments when they had seemed to come close to recapturing something of that time, maybe something more, something new. Then he’d say something outrageous and it was gone.
It had been fun to tease him a little, though, to know that she could still draw him in.
There was no way he could have the castle, but maybe, if they could forget the bad bits of the past and just remember the good, they might at least be friends. Maybe more than friends.
She glanced at him, He’d always been able to hide his feelings—she’d learned to deadpan from him. There was nothing coming back, nothing to give her a clue as to what he was thinking, feeling, but he’d challenged her to make him care.
‘Well, there’s Tim,’ she said, at last.
He raised his eyebrows as if that was not the name he expected to hear.
‘He works in the garden,’ she explained.
‘I’ve met Tim. He turfed me out of your greenhouse.’
‘Did he?’ Damn. There she was attempting to be the socially aware and caring adult but all it took was one word and she was twelve years old, curled up in her armchair with Kam on an old rug, his back against the wall. Winter sun was warming them through the glass, they had huge mugs of hot chocolate and sausages, fried on her little gas stove, that she’d stuffed into soft rolls...
‘What on earth were you doing in the greenhouse?’ she asked.
‘What do you think? I was looking for you after you stormed off. You’re still trying to breed new roses, I notice. How is that going?’
‘It’s a slow business and most aren’t worth developing.’
‘Most?’
‘There are a couple that have been accepted by the RHS. There’s a very sweet pink half double that the bees love that I named Emma Prideaux, for my mother.’
‘And the other?’
‘The other is cream with a pink blush called Jenny Faulkner,’ she said. ‘Your mother was always so kind to me.’
Kam looked as if she’d hit him with a brick. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I have one in a pot that you can give to her. If you think she would take it from me.’
‘I...yes...but you must give it to her yourself.’
She felt a ridiculous glow of pleasure. And hope. ‘I’d like that.’
He nodded, briefly, then said, ‘Where did you go, Agnès? Yesterday.’
Okay. The brief interlude of reminiscence was over and it was back to business but she wasn’t going to tell him yet. She had to know how much she was likely to get for the parure before she dared believe that she might save the castle. That, if she could make a go of it, she would have a child one day, even if she had to use a donor, so that there would be a new generation to hold the castle against all comers.
‘Did you eat the lunch first?’ she asked, quite deliberately changing the subject. ‘Before you looked for me?’
He looked at her for a moment, clearly considering whether to push it, but then said, ‘I didn’t risk it. I had the feeling that Jamie would spit in it.’
She grinned. ‘What did you say when he told you to treat me like a lady?’
‘That I knew you before you were a lady.’
‘Shockingly predictable, Kam.’
‘But true.’
‘While you were always the perfect gentleman. Not.’
‘My mother was hot on good manners,’ he protested.
‘They weren’t in evidence the first time I tagged along after you.’
‘I told you to go home, but you were impossible to shake off no matter how rude I was.’
‘You didn’t try very hard once I offered you a bap stuffed with bacon and scrambled egg, which should have been my breakfast.’
‘I wish I had it now.’
‘You should have stayed and eaten your lunch. Jamie has too much pride in his work to do anything as gross as spit in your food. He’s marshmallow under that tough exterior, but he had a tough start and has a bit of form so he needs the job.’
‘Form?’
‘He punched his boss when he molested a young waitress.’
‘Did he? Damn. I was trying so hard not to like him.’
‘Unfortunately he broke the man’s jaw. He got a suspended sentence, so he needs to stay out of trouble and it’s quiet here.’
‘I think he stays for more than the quiet.’
She waited for him to elaborate but he said, ‘Tell me about Tim.’
She frowned at his sudden sharpness. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you find him?’ he asked, rather more gently.
‘He found me. His mother used to bring him to the garden at least once a week. Tim was fascinated by the plants, but particularly the roses and my attempt to breed new varieties. Since he was here anyway I asked him if he would like to help out in the garden for a few hours a week in return for a special pass to allow him and his mother to come any time they liked.’
‘That’s no way to build a business.’
‘On the contrary, most stately homes and big gardens use volunteers to keep the weeds under control, the grass cut. When things are settled I’m going to start a Friends of Priddy Castle group. Come as often as you like for an annual fee, special events, a chance to see parts of the garden and castle not open to the public. An annual party. And of course take part in work parties.’
‘You don’t pay volunteers,’ he pointed out, not to be distracted. ‘Tim told me you pay him above the minimum wage.’
‘You two did have a nice chat.’
‘Yes, we did, before he escorted me out of a part of a garden where, apparently, I had no right to be.’
‘He’s very protective.’
‘A trait you seem to engender in all the men you meet.’
‘Not all,’ she said. ‘You led me into plenty of scrapes.’
‘And saved you from a good many. You’d have drowned trying to swim across the creek if I hadn’t been there to hold you up. You didn’t
even thank me.’
‘It was you who dared me...!’
‘I tried to stop you.’
‘No...’ But even as she said it a memory of him chasing after her flickered into life. ‘Yes, you did. How could I have got that so wrong?’
‘You knew you’d behaved like a spoiled brat and put us both at risk. It undoubtedly scared you witless so your brain edited the memory.’
‘Yes... I’m so sorry. Thank you, Kam.’
‘Any time,’ he said, so softly that his voice was little more than a vibration in the air and for a moment neither of them moved, spoke.
‘You were telling me about Tim,’ he prompted after a while.
‘Tim...’ For a moment she’d been lost in the past, remembering precious moments, and she grabbed at something that was the present, tangible... ‘He turned up every day as if he had a job and I had to pay him. I’d pay him more if I could afford it. He knows all the roses by name, treats each one as if it’s a friend. And I love the way he reassures the grass when he’s mowing it. “Nothing to worry about. Just like me going for a haircut...”’ she said, in a fair approximation of Tim’s voice.
Kam, who had been veering between friendly interest, irritable and an unexpected tenderness that made her want to weep, was now struggling to hide a smile.
‘How does he cope with the kitchen garden?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t he object to digging up carrots, cutting cabbage?’
‘Apparently vegetables are different. He still treats them with the greatest tenderness, gives them all his love while they’re growing, but he said it’s no different from cutting flowers for the house. They are fulfilling their role in the natural order of things.’
‘So he’s a treasure.’
‘A treasure?’
‘That’s what your grandmother used to call my mother. Her treasure.’
And with that Kam’s smile faded and her guilt returned. Her wickedness had lost her grandmother her only friend and ally.
One of the cleaners told her that her grandfather had threatened Kam with the police for touching his underage granddaughter unless his mother left without a fuss.
It had only been a couple of weeks until her birthday, but she would have been back at school by then and it would have been Christmas before she’d see him again.
She had behaved like that spoilt brat who’d plunged into the creek wanting to show Kam that he was wrong.
Everyone had blamed her and no amount of brain editing would ever delete the memory of those last few days before she went back to school when no one would speak to her.
‘Who else?’ he asked, abruptly.
‘What?’
‘Who else should I care about?’
She forced herself to focus. ‘Lily and Sandra. They’re getting on a bit. Lily worked in the The Bread Oven in town, Sandra in that shop on the quay that sells buckets and spades. The Bread Oven was taken over by a chain that had a mandatory retirement age, and the owner of the bucket and spade shop had a daughter leaving school and in need of a job. They were both old enough to draw their pensions, sit back and put their feet up, but they were bored out of their minds within weeks. I met them when they came on a bluebell walk and we got talking.’
‘The garden appears to be your recruiting agency.’
‘It’s a good place to get the measure of someone. They love the castle and, with the help of Pam and Savannah, they keep the place shining. Savannah was in foster care,’ she added, quickly. ‘When she left school, she had nowhere to go and her social worker asked me if I could take her on, give her a chance. She’s starting a hospitality course at the local college in the autumn. And you’ve met Suz. Suzanna.’
‘Your receptionist. Did you find her in the garden too?’
Where she’d found Suzanna was no one’s business but their own.
‘She’s a lot more than a receptionist, she’s a friend. She doesn’t have any formal leisure industry qualifications but she’s a born organiser and living in allows her to send money home to her family in Sudan.’
‘So she’s a refugee?’
‘She has been given the right to remain in this country with me as her sponsor. I’m doing everything I can to get her ten-year-old sister here as a matter of urgency.’
‘You are a one-woman social services agency. What about the staff in the Orangery? When you’ve been declared bankrupt, the official receiver will want a close look at their accounts.’
‘You make it sound almost worth going under.’
‘I don’t buy your flippancy. Don’t you care about them? What about your sweetie of a chef? He might lose his job.’
‘I don’t employ the Orangery staff.’
He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘That’s not in the caring, compassionate spirit you’ve been selling me.’
She shrugged. This was all speculation on Kam’s part. It wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to let it happen.
‘I have no idea whether Pierre would want to keep the restaurant open, I am sure he’d rattle a lot better deal out of them before he’d let them stay than I managed, but the reality is that he would want French-speaking staff for the castle.’
‘I thought you said he was going to sell the estate.’
‘Only the stuff around the edges. The land down by the creek, and there’s a field on the coastal side of the estate that someone wanted for a caravan park a few years back. He may keep Creek Cottage for staff, but he’ll undoubtedly sell the freehold on the quayside properties to a property company.’
‘That wouldn’t be sensible. They can’t have that long to run.’
‘No, but Pierre doesn’t care about the estate, or the people, or the creek. All he wants is what his ancestor Henri Prideaux wanted, Kam. What you can never be. To be Prideaux of Priddy Castle.’
Kam stared at her for one long moment then got to his feet and, without another word, headed back to his camp.
Agnès remained where she was, breathing in the scent he left in the space where he had been. Woodsmoke, trampled grass, fresh salty air.
She felt bad about what she’d just said.
Kam has been totally upfront, not to say blunt, with her. He’d made his pile and the castle would be a statement to her, her grandmother and the town, that he had made it; moved on.
She was the one stuck in a life that had been written for her two hundred years ago. Stuck with the feelings he had churned up, feelings that she couldn’t afford to indulge.
Agnès took out her phone and called Suz to reassure her that everything was well and that she’d be back shortly. Then she went after Kam, picking her way carefully past the brambles he’d protected her from when he’d led the way.
Kam must have heard her coming but he was fanning the embers of the fire and didn’t look up.
‘Will you be staying over here?’ she asked.
‘If it doesn’t rain.’
‘Since when did a drop of rain bother you? Don’t tell me you’re going soft.’ He looked up briefly, his expression one of irritation that reminded her so much of the boy he’d been that she regretted not bringing a bacon bap with her. ‘Is there anything you need?’ she persisted.
‘You can bring me a bacon bap in the morning,’ he said, echoing her thoughts.
‘Just bacon?’
He shrugged. ‘You could add a dollop of scrambled egg. Maybe a couple of sausages.’
He was smiling now. ‘You could fill that up, too,’ he added, offering her the mug she’d filled with coffee for him. ‘And I’ll have another of those croissants.’
‘You were a lot easier to please when you were a boy.’
‘I’m not that boy, Agnès. I have a man’s appetite.’ The smile was replaced by an expression she had only seen once before, in that moment when she’d walked naked out of the creek.
She could still fee
l his rough fingers as he’d reached out and touched her breast before drawing her close... Still wanted him so badly that she could barely stand.
‘Kam—’
‘I’ll have some freshly squeezed orange juice, too.’
She drew in a shaky breath, forced herself to focus on this moment, this reality, deal with this and get away.
‘We don’t usually do take-outs...’ Breathe, breathe... ‘If you choose to sleep rough I can’t stop you, but you’ll still be charged for the suite, which means you’re entitled to breakfast.’
She turned to go.
‘Agnès.’ She stopped but didn’t turn back. ‘I admire your loyalty to your staff, but your grandfather is to blame for your situation.’
She sighed. ‘Grandma said once, when she’d had a few too many sherries, that when my parents were killed in that road accident, something in my grandfather broke. He stopped caring about the estate, saw no future in a girl child who ran wild in the woods. Who, when she finally grew up, refused to do her duty, parade herself in the marriage market and ensnare some unsuspecting chinless wonder with an inheritance.’
‘Ensnare?’
‘“Get yourself up the duff, girl, like your mother...” As if anyone thinks they have to marry these days.’ She turned then to look at him. ‘It wasn’t true, about Mummy. I was a honeymoon baby, born nine months, three weeks and five days after the wedding, but he’d convinced himself that she’d trapped Daddy into marriage.’ There were tears stinging at the backs of her eyes now, but she wouldn’t cry. Mustn’t cry...
But then Kam was holding her, his cheek rough against her temple, and nothing would stop the tears.
‘He would have been so happy if she had been the only one to die in that crash,’ she said, ‘leaving my father free to marry someone more suitable. Someone with an inheritance to shore up the estate, someone who could have given him a proper—’
‘Stop!’ he said. ‘Not another word.’ And without knowing how it had happened he was kissing her just to stop her from saying the words. Then just because...
Agnès gave a little gasp and then, for one blissful moment, she was kissing him back, sweet and questioning before she had pulled back and was looking at him. For a moment anything might have happened, but then she said, ‘Thank you,’ before stepping back, leaving him with a big cold empty space in his arms.