by Alicia Hope
He shrugged. ‘It’s fine. Photos are meant to be looked at.’
She went back to sit on the bed. Hugging her knees to her chest, she took a generous slurp from the steaming tea cup he handed her. ‘You look like your dad, you know.’
‘Y’think so?’ He gave a hollow smile and sat beside her, coffee mug in his hand.
‘And your mum looks really happy in that shot.’
‘Yeah. She was always happiest when he was around.’
‘By the way she’s gazing at him, I’m guessing she loved your dad a lot.’
‘Make that loves. Even though he walked out on us, she’s never stopped loving him.’ Byron paused briefly before adding, ‘Probably never will.’ Lowering his head he mumbled, ‘It’s a shame he doesn’t feel the same way about her. About us.’
Claire-Rose saw regret and a hint of grief in the straight line of his mouth, while in his eyes niggling questions lingered. She asked gently, ‘Are you sure about that?’ When he frowned at her, she blew on her tea to cool it, saying wistfully, ‘’Cos I’d swear, from one look at that photo, that your dad loves you all as much as you love him.’
Byron’s frown deepened, but then his eyes narrowed and he gave a knowing smile. ‘Hey, I see what you’re doing, trying to change the subject. Well, you’re not going to get away with it. You look chipper this morning, so straight after breakfast I want you to tell me about that bad dream you had yesterday. Something scary enough to frighten a toughie like you will be worth hearing about.’
* * *
‘So, have I got this right? A rampaging, sociopathic but long dead Edward Lorienne came at you, guns blazing, for airing his dirty laundry?’
Claire-Rose huffed and took a vigorous bite of her Vegemite toast. ‘For the record, we’re only talking about a dream, Byron. It’s not like I believe any of this stuff.’
He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Sorry, it’s just so ... imaginative. Brought on by what happened to the other women, do you reckon?’
‘Yeah, probably. But more likely because I found the—’
Her sharp intake of breath made him pause mid-chew and stare at her.
She cursed silently.
Damn! I hadn’t meant to let on about the diary.
‘Um ... I hope you won’t be mad at me.’
At her pained expression, he growled suspiciously, ‘Go on.’
‘Well ... I found something in the castle.’
‘What?’
‘Elizabeth’s diary.’
‘WHAT?’ He lurched forward and put his cup down with a thud. ‘You found her diary? Where?’
Grimacing, she took a deep breath. ‘In the music room. Or what used to be the music room. Downstairs, on the castle’s ground floor.’
He leaned toward her, eyes glittering with a mixture of curiosity and reproach. ‘You mean one of the locked rooms?’
Unwilling to aggravate him any more than was necessary, she ignored the question and pressed on. ‘Elizabeth had hidden her diary in a secret compartment on the mantelpiece.’
‘Hang on! I want to know how you got into that room.’
‘I ... um….’ She screwed up her face. ‘Found the keys in the butler’s pantry and let myself in.’
‘When?’ His tone was sharp.
Hanging her head, she mumbled, ‘Sunday night ... or early Monday morning.’ She felt his eyes boring into her, but couldn’t look at him.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said flatly, ‘you stole the keys, stowed away in the castle, and went on a thieving rampage while we all slept.’ He added sourly, ‘All the while smiling your sweet, innocent smile at us knowing full well what you’d done?’
Her head jerked up and her eyes flashed. ‘Now wait just a second. I didn’t steal anything. I returned the keys to the pantry straight away, and I haven’t taken the diary any further than my room. I can show it to you if you want proof.’ But as she said the words, she recalled the eight-legged menace in her room, possibly lying in wait for her return.
Byron saw the spasm of fear cross her face. Taking a deep breath, he said more calmly, ‘I don’t need proof. I believe you. But I would like to see the diary, which, by the way, is our property as it was found in the castle.’
At her defensive, ‘Of course,’ he enquired more kindly, ‘I can fetch it from your room if you like?’
She nodded. ‘It’s on top of my suitcase, in the bedroom.’ Gazing at him from under her lashes, she enquired uber-innocently, ‘Do you really think I have a sweet smile?’
He gave a snort and rose to his feet, shaking his head. ‘Do want me to grab anything else?’ A reluctant grin played around his mouth.
‘I could use a change of clothes, so would you mind bringing the suitcase? After conducting the obligatory arachnid check, of course!’
‘Naturally.’ Throwing her a smirk and a raised eyebrow, he strode out of the room.
When Byron grabbed Claire-Rose’s suitcase, its unlatched lid fell open and everything tipped onto the floor. He swore loudly and bent to stuff the spilled clothes back into the case. They wafted a hint of her perfume at him. When he got to his feet again, he realised something had caught on his watch band. About to free it, he paused when he saw what dangled provocatively from his wrist.
The delicate set of sheer lace bra and matching G-string brought on a familiar stirring within him, which was followed immediately by guilt. Feeling like a grubby teenage boy leering through a keyhole of the girls’ change room, he hastily untangled his watch and tucked the little bits of seductive frothiness under the other clothes. But it wasn’t as easy pushing from his mind the image of Claire-Rose wearing the ‘offending’ articles.
Oh no, that alluring vision was going to linger, tauntingly, for a long time....
When Byron wouldn’t make eye contact with her when he returned, Claire-Rose assumed he was still miffed about the diary.
He handed her the suitcase. ‘Here you go.’ His voice had a gruff edge.
‘Thanks. Do you mind if I go freshen up?’
‘I already put a towel in there for you.’ Perching himself on the arm of the sofa, he gazed at the diary in his hand.
After dumping her suitcase in the spare room and grabbing a change of clothes out of it, she scurried down the hallway to the bathroom. It was a spacious room. At it centre stood a large claw foot bathtub with a dark green shower curtain and an old-fashioned shower rose suspended over it. The medieval design of the leadlight window above the pedestal vanity caught her attention. It contained sections of glass which acted like prisms, catching and deflecting any available light in an array of colours.
Her eyes fell on the towel Byron had put out for her. It was pink, folded in half lengthways and hanging right beside his own brown one, as though it belonged there. The thought of ‘His-n-Hers’ towels rattled her, and she took a deep breath and scowled.
Just hurry up and have a shower, and stop acting like an impressionable teenager!
As the scents of soap and green apple shampoo drifted along the corridor from under the bathroom door, Byron’s ears caught the sound of soft singing. Finding himself in yet another skirmish with General Testosterone, he took a deep breath and re-focused on the book in his hand. He was engrossed in it when Claire-Rose emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed but barefoot, and with her wet hair wrapped in a towel turban.
When he glanced at her, she noticed an intense look in his eyes that made her uneasy, until he flashed her a grin. After dumping her dirty clothes in the spare room, she went over to sit beside him on the sofa, unwrapping her hair to rub it dry with the towel.
‘So, what do you think?’
‘Yeah, this is some discovery,’ was what he said, but what he was thinking was, man, you smell good. Taking in the pink flush of her dewy, freshly-washed skin, his eyes flicked down to her full lips before he glanced away, shifting uneasily and silently ordering the General to shut up. This wasn’t the time or place…. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘But what does i
t mean?’
Claire-Rose beamed. ‘It means we’ve found the evidence we needed, to prove Elizabeth’s innocence.’
Wed, 16 October, 21:07:52
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 10
So what’s this good news you’re making me wait to hear? I know, I deserve it for neglecting you, Mum. I didn’t mean to keep you in suspense, but things have taken an interesting turn....
OK, where were we? Oh, that’s right, I’d just discovered Elizabeth’s diary. So, after reading it cover to cover, I arranged to dine in the castle again this evening. Right after enjoying our apricot cream trifle (which was divine, BTW), I decided it was time to come clean. Everyone was there except the Singh-Samras, who’d checked out earlier in the day to return home.
We sat in the deep winged chairs of Edward’s drawing room, and while Byron served the port and coffee, I announced my intention of giving a reading, and produced the diary. As soon as I began reciting from it, a hush fell, as though my audience was spellbound. I saw Kathryn and Emma McAlister exchange glances when they realised what it was I was reading. They were no doubt wondering where it had come from.
As Elizabeth’s sad story unfolded, it seemed as though everyone and everything in the castle held its breath. After I’d closed the diary and handed it to Kathryn, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Everybody appeared touched by the tale, and most voiced criticism of those who’d wrongly blamed Elizabeth for the family’s downfall. Seeing their impassioned response, Kathryn announced her intention to make the truth known to all future visitors to the castle.
So, Mum, I think we’ve solved the mystery, cleared Elizabeth’s name, and reforged a link to our family’s past in the process. Cause for celebration! I’m having a drink with Byron after he finishes work tonight. Careful, I can tell those antennae of yours are twitching!
Hey, speaking of antennae, mine have made a discovery you might find interesting. You know your quest for a project to replace hands-on management of CRB Consulting? Well, I may have found one for you. I think the McAlisters would consider selling the castle, if we made them a reasonable offer. It could become a successful going concern, with you as Big Chief Moneymaker and me as Little Chief Decorator, and all the company’s resources behind us. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a great idea when you see the castle. And as this was the home of one of our ancestors, it’d be like returning it to the family.
And speaking of returning things, I think we should consider reverting to our original surname!
Well, that’s it for now.
Luv,
a very satisfied CR de Brande Barlow xxx
Chapter Sixteen
An Admission
Claire-Rose strolled through the castle’s moonlit gardens, waiting for Byron to finish locking up after the last guest. The rest of the evening was theirs, to do with as they pleased. She felt a thrill of excitement at the thought.
‘Thanks for waiting.’ Byron strode up and took her hand. ‘And for giving Mum the diary without being prompted. Sorry I doubted you.’ He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and said jauntily, ‘A mystery bites the dust. Let’s go celebrate!’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Into town. Gino’s offered to open some special bottle they’ve had squirreled away. Knowing them, it’ll be well worth the drinking.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late to go there now?’
He chuckled and ran the back of his fingers over her soft cheek. ‘They’re restaurateurs, sweetheart. Even if all their patrons have left, they’ll be tidying up and preparing for tomorrow.’ He led her quickly toward the shed. ‘I’ll just grab our jackets. Wait here, I’ll only be a sec.’ Releasing her hand, he loped up the path leading to the cottage’s front door.
Standing motionless in the moonlight, taking in the liberal dusting of stars overhead, Claire-Rose let her senses test the night air. They didn’t find anything bothersome. No sinister atmosphere, just a velvety stillness.
‘Here.’ Byron was back and holding out a jacket. ‘C’mon.’ The whiteness of his teeth shone from his wide grin, and she found herself beaming back at him, as he once again took her hand and they jogged to the waiting motorcycle.
As predicted, the Capaldi’s ‘special occasion’ tipple was delightful, despite coming from the cleanest cleanskin Claire-Rose had ever seen. The bottle was simply adorned with a bright red ribbon around its neck, and an alluring outer frosting on its green glass.
‘My-a friend, he make-a this, eh?’ Gino told her proudly. ‘And only when-a the grapes they are....’ He paused and flicked Byron’s arm with a finger. ‘How you say lanugine?’
‘I think it means when there’s a bloom on the fruit,’ Byron told a smiling Claire-Rose. He stood at her side, one hand resting on the waistband of her jeans, while Ada gazed fondly at them, expectation shining in her eyes.
‘Si, it is a very special a-wine, for da special occasion, like-a this one.’
Claire-Rose’s brow creased. She was wondering why such a big fuss was being made of an occasion the Capaldis weren’t even in on. When she had a chance, she whispered to Byron, ‘What have you told them about tonight?’
‘Only that we have something to celebrate.’
Catching sight of Ada’s hopeful expression, she grew more uneasy. ‘Um ... Byron?’ She tugged on his sleeve while Gino and Ada were busy refilling their glasses.
‘Mm?’
‘You don’t think ...?’ She pulled an anguished face.
‘What?’
‘That Gino and Ada....’
He gave a frowning smile. ‘What?’
‘Could they be thinking,’ and she winced, ‘that we have some ... um ... special news to celebrate with them?’
‘Like wh—’ His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He glanced over at the Capaldis as realisation dawned, and then back at Claire-Rose with a pained expression, murmuring, ‘What kind of fast worker do they think I am?’
She simply raised an eyebrow, grinned ‘you tell me’, and shrugged.
‘Right ... well, I’d better ... um....’ He squirmed.
‘Yes,’ she nodded, swallowing a smile. ‘You’d better tell them what it’s really about.’
Byron and Claire-Rose were quiet as they rode away from the café. The Capaldis, who’d rallied valiantly after having their initial hopes dashed, stood on the footpath, waving until they were out of sight.
‘Never mind-a, Mama,’ Gino soothed, ‘we got-a more of our special wine in the back. And these young-a people, they sort themselves out. We just-a be patient. Not everyone falls-a in love at first sight, like-a we did.’
Ada patted his cheek and smiled. ‘And not all men pop-a the question on the second date, like-a my Gino.’ She sobered. ‘But she’s the right-a one for our Byron. I can-a feel it, in my bones. I hope he knows-a this, and doesn’t let her get away.’
Gino hugged his wife. ‘He knows, cara, he just may not-a realise it yet.’ With a tummy-jiggling chuckle, he led her into the café, closing the door behind them.
The night air held a sweetness she hadn’t felt before. Claire-Rose closed her eyes to savour the feel of it rushing past, and marvelled at the deep throb of the Ducati’s powerful motor as it carried them home.
Home.
Was that what the castle had become to her? Guilt stabbed at her insides at the memory of Ada’s words earlier that night, when Gino had taken Byron into the kitchen to proudly show him their shiny new espresso machine.
Taking Claire-Rose’s hand, Ada had gazing regretfully at her. ‘You not-a angry we jump-a to conclusions about you and our Byron, I hope?’ On receiving a smile and energetic head-shake in reply, Ada explained, ‘We just-a worry about our boy, and want-a him to be happy.’ She went on to describe their first meeting with Byron, and related the sad tale of his father’s desertion of the family. With an angry shake of her head she said gruffly, ‘Byron, he was
-a the meat in the sandwich. His father, he was against-a buying the castle. He want-a Byron to side with him, si? He say, “We gotta stick-a together, son”.’
Claire-Rose nodded, engrossed.
‘But the mother, she appeal-a to Byron too. She say “I need-a you, son. How can I do this without-a you?” They each pulling at him, like a tug of war, you know?’ Without waiting for a response, Ada plunged on. ‘There’s-a no win for Byron. He love-a them both, but he hurt-a one or the other, no matter what-a he do. But he knows-a his father will be OK, whatever happens. But his mother....’ She threw Claire-Rose a significant glance and patted her hand. ‘He’s a good-a boy. He do the right-a thing by his mother ... and-a by you, Claire-Rosa.’
Claire-Rose stared at Ada, a question burning on her lips. It had to be asked.... ‘So he went into the venture because of loyalty to his mother, not because he really wanted to own the castle?’
The other woman regarded her keenly. ‘That’s-a right. But,’ she added as Claire-Rose let out a sigh, ‘it has cost-a him a father. This-a changes things.’
‘But if he had the chance to move on, to leave the castle?’
Ada shook her head sadly. ‘This he would not-a do. Not-a by choice, anyway. It would-a be like he lost-a his father for nothing, and this he could not-a stand.’
Byron was quiet as though lost in thought when they arrived back at the cottage. He let Claire-Rose off at the path while he put the bike away, and she wandered up to the front door.
‘I should’ve given you a key.’ He joined her on the doorstep and dug his keys from a pocket.
The guilt-tipped dagger plunged itself into her belly again, and gave a twist for good measure.
‘Byron, I don’t need to impose on your hospitality anymore. I can return to my own room. I’m sure by now the spider would’ve got bored with having no one to frighten and will have moved on.’ She bit her lip, thinking I hope.
