by Alicia Hope
It wasn’t long before the group was cantering down a shady, leaf-strewn path between thickets of trees. The guide was right, Abraham was a little headstrong at first, but when he realised Claire-Rose knew what she was doing, he settled into a smooth, easy-on-the-buttocks gait.
The morning sun shafted through the trees in places, and a gentle breeze caressed the riders as they made their way toward the point. Turning her face to the sky, Claire-Rose closed her eyes briefly, soaking in the pleasure of being in a beautiful place and moving freely in partnership with a well-trained, responsive horse.
The guide called out, ‘Everyone up for a jump?’ and was answered with an eager chorus of ‘Yeah!’ When he urged his horse to the front of the group, Claire-Rose had to check Abraham, who immediately quickened his pace in response.
They came to a fork in the path and the guide veered to the left where a timber gate led into a partially wooded field. All four horses pricked their ears as their riders gathered them to take the fence. Abraham’s muscles bunched. He danced on the spot when Claire-Rose shortened the reins as they waited their turn.
After the other three riders had cleared it, she rode him at the gate. He sprang forward, head up and ears resolutely forward. In his eagerness he took off early, but his powerful hindquarters had them sailing over the obstacle with ease, and they landed neatly on the other side. She reined him in, smiling broadly, while he snorted and tossed his head.
‘Nicely done,’ the guide called from where he’d stopped by the side of the track. ‘He’s not for everyone, but you handle Abe well. No taking him home with ya, though!’
Claire-Rose grinned and leaned down to pat Abraham’s warm shoulder as the sound of galloping hooves reached her ears. ‘Whoa, steady boy,’ she breathed, as Abraham stirred beneath her, his own black-tipped ears flicking back and forth.
‘Hey, c’mon!’ the guide yelled excitedly, spinning his horse around. ‘It’s our late arrival. Let’s give ’im a run for ’is money!’
And with that, all four mounts, infected by the excitement in the air and the sound of a fast-approaching horse, leapt into a gallop. The guide took the lead as they pounded along the path, but it wasn’t long before Claire-Rose was riding neck and neck beside him, only barely holding Abraham back.
‘Go ahead if ya want,’ the guide yelled, ‘this track goes for miles.’
She nodded and let Abraham have his head. The big horse responded immediately, stretching his long legs and powering forward. Tucking herself into his neck, she saw the ground below his flying hooves become a blur. The air rushed past them, whooshing in her ears and whipping Abraham’s mane into her face. She was laughing with the sheer exhilaration of it when she caught sight of another horse drawing alongside them.
Unlike Abraham, the grey thoroughbred’s neck was foaming with sweat, but it raced along with all the fire and pace of a Melbourne Cup favourite. When they drew level, Claire-Rose glanced across at the ‘late arrival’ and realised with a shock that she knew the rider.
Leaning low over the grey’s neck, looking for all the world like he’d been born in the saddle, was Byron.
‘I didn’t think you could ride ... horses that is?’
‘I never said I couldn’t, just that I prefer riding bikes.’
‘Well, you’re obviously a good horseman.’
‘Thank you. You’re not too shabby yourself.’ Byron gave a ghost of a smile before looking away. ‘I had to learn quickly when I went to help Dad on the cattle station.’ He nodded toward the group now a long way behind them. ‘And these guys have good horses so I’ve been on a few rides here.’
After reigning in their mounts when it became clear neither competitive animal would let the other ‘win’, they walked side by side, letting their blowing horses cool down while waiting for the others to catch up. When they drew close enough for their stirrups to touch, Claire-Rose felt a familiar arc of energy, and glanced quickly at Byron. He was studying her through narrowed eyes that caught and held her gaze.
‘Well,’ he drawled, ‘it seems Emma has finally got Mum, and now me, to agree to selling the castle.’
Claire-Rose’s insides clenched. Things were coming to a head. But heading where, or to what?
He went on. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears you and your mother have been trumped.’
‘Oh?’ Her brows knitted together, and she felt something niggling at the back of her mind.
‘Emma and Mum insisted I sign an offer from some big corporation to buy the castle, and this time I couldn’t convince them otherwise. So I signed it ... under sufferance.’ He was looking straight ahead, but she saw relief mixed with displeasure in the set line of his jaw.
Can this be true? Has someone claim-jumped Mum? It won’t be the first time that’s happened, but ... surely there wouldn’t be much competition for a property in need of costly renovations and a large injection of funds to make it viable?
She sucked in a breath and chewed her bottom lip as her mother’s words that morning, about being a fast worker, came back to her.
After a short pause, broken only by the muffled clopping of the horse’s hooves on the leafy path and the tinkle of bird calls among the trees, Claire-Rose mumbled, ‘This corporation ... is it CRB Consulting, by any chance?’ When Byron pulled his mount to an abrupt stop and stared disbelievingly at her, she halted Abraham. ‘CRB ... Constance Rosalie Brande. My mum.’
‘Oh, great,’ he growled with a frustrated shake of his head. ‘And here I was, hoping we might—’ He bit back the words, his mouth a tight line.
The sound of approaching hoof beats reached their ears. With a final accusing glance at Claire-Rose, Byron dug his heels into the grey’s side. It gave a startled grunt and leapt into a fast trot.
Claire-Rose didn’t need to urge Abraham to match the pace. ‘Byron, wait,’ she called, rising to the trot and drawing level with him again. ‘Please listen to me.’
He kept his eyes fixed ahead. ‘I don’t know why you’re still trying so hard, the contract’s signed. You don’t have to bother with me anymore, it’s a done deal.’
‘Look, you have to believe me,’ she puffed. ‘I didn’t come here to instigate a buy-out, or a hostile takeover, or whatever you want to call it. I came here for a holiday. But when I heard you might be forced to sell the castle, and then discovered our family connections with it ... how could I walk away from that?’ Although greeted with a stony silence, she persevered. ‘The castle’s a part of my history, Byron. I’ve even suggested the family use our original surname again.’ At his mute frown she explained, ‘I’ll be a de Brande Barlow. That was Elizabeth Lorienne’s maiden name.’
‘Well,’ he rapped with a harsh snort, ‘although the castle’s part of my family’s history as well, it looks like I’m the one who’s been trumped.’ Smiling bleakly, he threw her a sideways look, adding, ‘In every way that’s important to me.’
The other riders were almost upon them now. With a shake of his head, Byron gathered his reins up short and his horse bunched itself expectantly. Lifting his chin, he eyed Claire-Rose with a mixture of resentment and regret. ‘Right then, Ms de Brande Barlow, don’t let me waste any more of your time.’ The angry light left his eyes and she saw disappointment in their dark depths, mixed with resignation and a grim resolve. Grinding out, ‘Goodbye, Claire-Rose, and good luck,’ he urged his horse forward. The excited animal responded by leaping into a standing gallop, throwing up clods of dirt as it thundered away.
‘Byron, wait!’ But her anguished cry was lost in the swirl of air left in their wake. She found herself struggling to steady Abraham, who was spinning on the spot, eager for another race. When he finally settled, she took a shuddering breath and watched, wretchedly, as Byron hurtled past the other riders.
Those words sounded dreadfully final.
A vivid image flashed into her mind, of Kris standing in front of her, berating her in a raised, irate voice. ‘... unlike you, I actually did care. Goodbye, C
laire-Rose,’ before storming out of her apartment.
Toward an accident that nearly killed him.
Claire-Rose’s breath caught in her throat as Byron disappeared from sight.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bedazzled
Kathryn looked up, startled, as Byron charged into the office. Without preamble, he leaned across to kiss her on the cheek, and spied an object among the unpaid invoices and sternly-worded final notices littering the desk.
Pulling it free, he quickly pocketed it, before straightening to announce in a flat, emotionless voice, ‘Well, as the castle’s no longer ours, Mum, you won’t be needing my services anymore. I’m outta here.’
‘Byron, what—’
‘I’ll call you,’ he threw over his shoulder, and then he was gone.
* * *
‘Hey, Gino!’ Ada shouted excitedly, ‘look-a who’s here!’ She rushed over to throw chubby, garlicky arms around Claire-Rose, who smiled fondly.
‘Good to see you again, Ada.’ When she could extricate herself, she introduced her mother, who smiled and extended an elegant hand. Ada ignored it, choosing instead to draw the other woman into a robust hug.
‘Claire-Rosa’s mother, so nice-a to meet you!’ she gushed, while over her shoulder, Connie raised her eyebrows and grinned at her daughter.
In between chuckles Claire-Rose remarked, ‘We haven’t booked, Ada, so if you don’t have a table—’
‘Don’t-a be silly! We always have a table for Byron’s Claire-Rosa.’
This drew an inquisitive glance from Connie, making Claire-Rose squirm inwardly. She mumbled, ‘Ah ... OK, thanks.’
‘He’s-a not with-a you tonight?’
‘No.’ Unable to think of anything more to say, and fearful of being at the mercy of two skilled interrogators, Claire-Rose breathed a sigh of relief when Ada simply said, ‘Oh, that’s-a shame,’ and led them over to a table for two.
‘I get-a you some menus.’ She made to bustle off to the kitchen, but, in an attempt to delay the inevitable grilling from Connie, Claire-Rose announced hastily, ‘We already know what we’re ordering, Ada.’
‘We do?’ Connie whispered, at the same time as Ada chimed, ‘You do?’
‘Yes, two of Gino’s famous carbonaras, and some of your delightful salads, please. But first, won’t you sit and talk a while?’
As Ada glanced uncertainly toward the kitchen as though eager to deliver their order, Gino emerged through the swing doors. He hurried over to their table and they once again launched into introductions.
‘Ah, the mama! So nice-a to meet-a Claire-Rosa’s family,’ Gino enthused, taking Connie’s extended hand in both his and smiling warmly into her eyes. ‘And-a so beautiful too, si, like-a her daughter.’ Seeing both women blush, he carried on effusively, ‘I always-a say to Byron, you wanna know what your girl will-a be like when she’s-a older? You look-a at da Mama.’ He opened his arms in a wide flourish and inclined his head toward Connie. ‘And now he’s-a know he’s-a found a prize!’
Connie gave a puzzled smile as Gino went on, still beaming. ‘And where’s-a our boy?’
Claire-Rose flicked him a guilty glance. ‘He’s ... not with us tonight.’
‘Oh, that-a boy, he should-a know better!’ Gino grumbled. ‘Should-a be spending time with his future mother-in-law, not-a working.’
Claire-Rose gasped and winced, refusing to look at her mother. Connie stared open-mouthed at her, then at Gino, at Ada, and then back at Claire-Rose again.
Sensing tension, Ada announced loudly, ‘Gino, we need-a two carbonaras and-a salads, grazi. I get-a the wine.’
‘Ah, la cucina, she calls.’ With a regretful bow of his head, Gino returned to the kitchen.
After once more hugging the two women, managing to smear tomato paste on Connie’s cream linen dress, Ada took Claire-Rose’s hand. She said softly, ‘We a-very glad-a to see you. We were starting to worry about our Byron.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘He phoned us earlier, but didn’t sound-a like himself. He say he might not be in for a while, and not-a to worry about him.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘So of course-a, we worry straight away.’
Claire-Rose’s stomach did a back flip and sank to her toes.
‘But seeing you here, Claire-Rosa, we know everything-a be OK.’
‘Ada!’ Gino called from the kitchen.
‘Coming!’ she yelled, and smiled at Claire-Rose before hurrying away.
‘Welll...,’ Connie breathed, watching Ada’s broad back disappear through the kitchen doors, ‘in the words of you young people, whiskey tango foxtrot?’
‘Oh, Mum, it’s just a misunderstanding ... can we leave it for now, please?’ Claire-Rose ran an agitated hand over her hair.
‘Of course, love.’ But Connie continued studying her through probing eyes.
All Claire-Rose could think about was Byron and the frightening ring of finality to his parting words, not only to her but to the Capaldis as well. What did they mean? A throat-closing, gut-twisting, crushing need arose within her.
She had to see him again ... and soon.
* * *
The sky held a mere promise of daylight as Claire-Rose strode along the pathway, feeling like the only person awake on Earth. It was an empowering sensation. The early morning fog dangled its clinging, moist tendrils from every surface, and swirled in eddies around her feet, dampening the sound of her steps. The castle loomed in the dimness, eerily silent, as she took the fork in the pathway toward Byron’s cottage.
She dragged a hand across her forehead, convinced she looked haggard after a poor night’s sleep. No amount of makeup could cover her eyes’ heavy lids and dark circles. She didn’t want to present herself to Byron looking that way, but couldn’t wait any longer to see him.
Now she was there, though, she felt pangs of uncertainty as all sorts of questions cluttered her mind.
Will he be here?
Will he be awake?
Will he be pleased or angry to see me?
Will he be alone?
Pausing at the gate, she eyed the cottage, thinking it looked its age in the fog. Shabby, and heart-sinkingly dreary. She swallowed and peered more closely. No smoke curled from the chimney and no cheery light spilled from the windows, in which all the curtains had been drawn. A chill feeling of desertion hung over Byron’s home, as though its warm heart had been removed.
‘Oh no,’ she murmured through leaden lips, ‘the place looks abandoned.’
Making her way up the path, she knocked on the front door. The sound reverberated hollowly and then silence settled again. She tried once more, with the same result.
Maybe he’s over at the lodge, getting ready to do breakfast, she told herself hopefully.
But that doesn’t explain why the cottage is all locked up, dark, and still.
She chewed on her lower lip.
Well, I know one way to find out if he’s around here somewhere.
Turning on her heel, she strode toward Byron’s shed. When she reached the open entrance, her shoulders drooped. An empty parking spot greeted her where she’d hoped to see the shiny Ducati. Pursing her lips, she lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut. After standing that way for a few minutes she brushed a hand across her face, sniffed and looked up. Her teary eyes saw Topaz emerge from his hiding place in the corner.
‘Back here again, mate?’ she breathed, walking toward him. ‘Well, you might be here, but I have a horrible feeling Byron’s g-gone.’ She gulped and covered her face with her hands, trying to hold back the memories of another time a man had stormed away from her in a temper.
Dropping her arms to her sides again, she saw Topaz scratching at something in the dirt. It was the half-buried rug he’d disturbed during the altercation with the dog. She gave a bitter snort and croaked, ‘Well, if Byron’s done a runner, I ’spose he won’t care that you’re digging around in his shed.’ Flopping against the side of the old Mazda, she caught a hint of Byron’s s
cent wafting from the shabby interior. Her eyes stung and she wiped an arm across them.
When Topaz continued scratching, she gave a resigned sigh and pushed herself upright. ‘C’mon now.’ She trudged over to sit on her haunches beside him. ‘What are you looking for?’
Topaz abruptly stopped as though bored with the game, and sat to clean his whiskers. All his digging had uncovered more of the fibrous, darkly-patterned rug. Curious, Claire-Rose grasped an edge, gave it a firm tug and felt it give. With one more yank a square of decaying, fetid old carpet came away in her hand.
Screwing up her nose and flinging the offending article to the side, she shot Topaz a dark look and muttered, ‘I’d better not be the patsy in a feline con job, Boyo.’ That’s when her eyes fell on a metal corner sticking out of the newly exposed soil. She got down on her knees to brush the dirt away, and saw an image emerge. Realising she was looking at the lid of a battered old tobacco tin, she wiped away the remaining soil and carefully extracted the tin.
It felt heavy in her hands.
‘Hey, maybe there’s more than just old, roll-your-own butts in here,’ she whispered to Topaz, who merely carried on grooming.
Claire-Rose shook the tin and was rewarded with an alluring clunk. She tried the lid, but it was jammed fast. Rising to her feet, she ran her eyes around the shed. There, lying on the work bench, was the perfect tool for levering open the lid. Grabbing the flat-blade screwdriver, she paused to gaze at it, thinking that the last hand to touch it was probably Byron’s. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the tool more firmly and got on with the job.
It only took one go for the lid to obligingly pop open, releasing a puff of stale air and a musty smell of old tobacco. In the tin’s rusted base lay an intriguingly lumpy silken pouch, its once lustrous sheen dulled with age.
And through a small ragged hole in the silk, something glinted in the light.
