The Summer of Secrets

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘I can do that whenever suits me. I would not be happy to sit around on my chair and know that you are working so hard alone.’

  ‘It’s not that simple—’

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Let me help a little. I cannot use some of the machinery but I learn fast. I can look after your animals too – this I have done many times as a boy helping my uncle. If it worries you, think of it as research for my book.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Feeding Terence is research for your book? Just what kind of crazy story is this going to be: The Goat That Stole the Gold?’

  ‘I’m quite sure nobody has written a story like it,’ he replied, mussing his hair with a lopsided grin.

  ‘It’s a lovely gesture but I can’t let you do it.’

  ‘Why? You need help, I am bored, and we get along just fine. There is no reason to refuse me.’

  Harper opened her mouth but then closed it again. He was right; there was no reason to refuse him. Actually, there were probably a dozen really good reasons to refuse him but she didn’t want to think about those. She’d loved having him around the previous evening and, despite alarm bells ringing now, she wanted to have him around today.

  ‘You won’t be insured,’ she said. It was a half-hearted warning and he smiled.

  ‘Then I will do my best not to get injured.’

  ‘It’s hard work – harder than it looks.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a minute.’

  ‘I can’t pay you much.’

  ‘I don’t want payment at all.’

  ‘I suppose I could manage some cake,’ she added, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘The stale stuff at the end of the day, mind.’

  ‘Stale cake would be a wonderful reward,’ he said.

  Harper tapped her thumb against her phone as she weighed it up. Eventually she nodded.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’d better go over some things with you. How do you feel about wearing a flowery apron?’

  He grinned. ‘It has been my life’s ambition to wear one.’

  ‘Right then,’ she replied, the smile she’d been hiding now bursting free, ‘I’ll show you where everything is.’

  * * *

  Cesca dragged her phone across the desk and unlocked it. No messages and no missed calls. Perhaps Kristofer hadn’t managed to uncover anything new; she felt sure if he had he’d have been straight on the phone to her this morning. She made a mental note to catch up with him later, but right now she had a huge list of emails to work through, not to mention a conference call with the curators of four other county museums to discuss a centenary celebration, an information leaflet to collate for a new school scheme and a small pile of letters from the local crackpot to work through.

  ‘No messages?’ she called over her shoulder as Duncan’s familiar step caught her ear. She turned to find him with two slabs of bread on a plate, bacon poking out from between them and egg dripping down the sides. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, angling her head at the sandwich. ‘It looks disgusting.’

  ‘The new sandwich van – started stopping outside here yesterday. Not that you’d know, of course, because you’re never here.’

  ‘Funny. That’s because I’m engaged in a novel new pastime called work.’

  Duncan grinned. ‘Disgusting or not, I bet you want one.’

  ‘Too right I do. But I don’t think my arteries would thank me.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Duncan sat down and rifled in his desk drawer, pulling out a pack of paper napkins. ‘And in answer to your first question, no – no messages. Should there be? Are you expecting something from Erik the Mighty Erection?’

  ‘Please stop inventing these names!’ Cesca said. ‘It’s very unprofessional of you.’ She tried to give what she thought was a disapproving stare, but it gave way to a grudging grin. ‘And they’re not funny at all,’ she added, trying to smooth her features again.

  ‘But have you seen his erection yet?’

  ‘Duncan!’

  He laughed. ‘Kidding!’

  ‘Kristofer is far too nice for that sort of thing.’

  ‘What – erections?’

  ‘No!’ Cesca laughed. ‘He’s polite and respectful and wouldn’t try anything on.’

  ‘Oh, a third date kind of guy. So how many dates have you been on with him?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  ‘We’ve met up to discuss the Silver Hill find, as well you know. I would never let my personal life get in the way of my professional duties.’

  ‘But you do fancy him? I mean, you would if the opportunity arose?’

  Cesca stared out of the window. She had fancied Kristofer. She liked him now, though, and that was it. How strange that a day could change everything.

  ‘So nothing from the British Museum?’ she asked, very deliberately changing the subject.

  ‘No, sorry.’

  Cesca took a battered old phone book from her desk drawer and flicked through it before dialling a number on one of the pages.

  ‘Sunita? Oh, hi, it’s Francesca Logan here from Salisbury. I was just wondering whether there’s any progress on the Silver Hill find; have you managed to find any ownership marks or such?’ She paused, listening and nodding every so often to the reply. ‘Nothing at all?’ she asked. ‘Is there much left to examine?’ Another pause. ‘Uh huh. Let me know if anything turns up, won’t you? Thanks so much.’

  ‘No luck?’ Duncan asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘Nothing so far. I’ve got a feeling this is going to have to go to the commission to decide.’

  ‘It will almost certainly go for the finder then.’

  ‘They’re not going to spend weeks trawling obscure websites and looking at old paintings, that’s for sure. If there’s no obvious compelling evidence for Will’s ownership then it will go to the crown and a finder’s reward will be the most anyone gets.’

  ‘It’s never bothered you before.’

  ‘We’ve never had a find this meaningful before. If I’m right about that crucifix then it will be a very important artefact and potentially worth a lot of money.’

  ‘What are we talking? Thousands? Millions?’

  ‘I don’t know but I’d want to be a fly on the wall if it went to auction.’

  ‘Does the money really make a difference? To you, I mean, professionally…’

  ‘I suppose it shouldn’t,’ Cesca said slowly.

  ‘If you want my advice,’ Duncan replied, ‘I think you should step away and let it go to the commission. I know you don’t want to but maybe you need to concede defeat on this one. The result we’d like isn’t always the one we get, and life is just like that, no matter how long you spend trying to make it otherwise.’

  Cesca’s gaze went to the window again. Beneath that buffoonish, dishevelled exterior, Duncan was an incredibly intelligent man, and his measure of a situation was invariably a shrewd one. Cesca always knew that she could rely on his opinion to make sense, and this was no different. Kristofer would be disappointed that his involvement had come to an end, of course, and that was a shame. But the thought of letting this go, of having to tell Will that she’d let it go, filled her with a greater melancholy that she found hard to explain.

  ‘They haven’t finished cleaning the pieces yet,’ she said, her eyes still trained on the window. ‘Let’s see if they turn anything up and if they don’t then I’ll send my files to the commission and let them deal with it.’

  ‘It’s best all round,’ Duncan said. ‘I don’t see the point in running yourself ragged over it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said.

  But then, Duncan wouldn’t see the point. He’d never met Will, had never walked the faded rooms of Silver Hill House, so how would he ever be able to see the point like Cesca could?

  * * *

  ‘I think it’s time we called it a day,’ Harper said.

  ‘You do this every day,’ Kristofer said, stacking a set of chairs on a table so
he could clean underneath. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Oh, you get used to it. Besides, when Pip’s here it’s not like work at all.’

  ‘So it was like work today because you had me and not Pip?’

  ‘If I must lose Pip, you’d be a pretty good substitute,’ she smiled. ‘If she doesn’t come back you can have first refusal on the job.’

  ‘I think I would die of exhaustion after a week.’

  Harper switched off the coffee machine with a grin. ‘Probably.’ Glancing across the café, she frowned as she caught sight of a table outside, still laden with leftovers from the last customers.

  ‘Typical,’ she said, ‘I’d forgotten that lot.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

  Harper shot him a grateful smile. ‘That would be brilliant.’

  Leaving his task, he went outside while Harper made a start on wiping down the coffee machine. A moment later she heard a shout and looked to see Kristofer holding onto a teapot, looking as though he was wearing most of the tea that had been in it. He looked forlornly at her through the windows and she dashed outside.

  ‘Oh, you’re soaked, you poor thing!’ she said with a broad grin.

  ‘You say poor thing but you don’t look at me with much sympathy,’ he grumbled, but this only made Harper’s smile wider.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that you look so… well…’

  ‘Wet?’ he asked, tea still dripping from his shirt as he clung onto the teapot.

  ‘At least you didn’t drop my pot,’ she said, trying to make him feel a bit more heroic. ‘I love those pots.’

  ‘So, we protect your pots at any expense – even my dignity?’ he said with a scowl that she just knew was fake, the grin that broke free then confirming it. He started to laugh, and then she started to giggle as she helped him finish clearing the table. Their laughter became louder and longer, and before long they were both helpless.

  ‘I’m honestly sorry!’ she said, fighting to control herself. She didn’t even know why it was all so funny and she suspected – as he was dripping wet and probably cold by now – he didn’t either, but it didn’t dampen the humour from either of them. After a moment of howling with laughter at each other, Harper cleared her throat and tried to straighten her face.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asked.

  ‘You thought it was funny?’ he said, trying and failing again to look stern.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I’m sorry but your face was a picture!’ she said, starting to laugh again.

  ‘Why would somebody order a pot full of tea and then leave so much of it?’ he asked as he looked down at his tea-stained shirt.

  ‘I’ll be able to get it out – don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve lost count of the times I’ve spilt drinks over myself clearing tables. Let’s get this lot inside and I’ll fetch you a cloth.’

  He followed her into the tearoom and took the tray through to the kitchen, returning a few moments later wiping himself down with a tea towel.

  ‘You’ve been brilliant today,’ she added, going to the café doors and locking them. ‘Deserving of extra cake as payment. I’ve loved having you here and I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  ‘I would have had a clean shirt,’ he said, pouting, and Harper giggled again.

  ‘I suppose I ought to be flattered you’ve worn such a nice shirt for your shift today. Want me to try and get the stain out for you now?’ she asked. ‘It wouldn’t take a minute.’

  ‘I’d be naked in your café.’

  ‘Hardly!’ She laughed. ‘Come on – let me have a look. A bit of vinegar usually does it and I can stick it in the tumble dryer. You’ll have it back on in no time.’

  ‘It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it does,’ she insisted, taking the cloth from him and dumping it on the counter. ‘I did tell you I didn’t have insurance for you, but I can fix the odd stain. Let me have it, come on…’

  Kristofer paused, but then he began to unbutton. Harper snatched the shirt with a playful smile as he held it out, but then stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

  That his body would be so toned and lean was almost no surprise, though it still elicited a thrill of desire as he stood there before her, naked from the waist up. But it was the marks on his arm and chest that made her stare – delicate feathers of scarring, like ice patterns on glass, fanning out over his skin.

  He gave a wry smile as he noted her confusion. ‘I’d almost forgotten about those,’ he said.

  Harper stepped forward and ran a gentle thumb across them. It was inappropriate, perhaps, but she couldn’t help it. ‘What are they?’

  ‘The official name is Lichtenberg figures,’ he said, looking down at her. Far from being offended by her fascination, he seemed proud of his disfigurement. ‘They’re also known as lightning flowers.’

  Harper looked up with a silent question.

  ‘I was struck in a thunderstorm in Los Angeles,’ he said. ‘About three years ago.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I was fortunate,’ he added in reply to the question he must have guessed would follow his statement. ‘There were no lasting effects and I’m healthy now. But I have this little souvenir. Many people have these marks for only a few days, perhaps weeks, but mine have stayed with me. I don’t mind – it reminds me that life is precious and I am lucky to have it.’

  Harper’s gaze went back to his torso. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she murmured, before blushing in realisation of what she’d said. ‘I mean, it’s awful, of course. It must have been horrible. Did it hurt a lot?’

  ‘It’s hard to describe. It burns through you, like a desert wind blasting through your veins. But I am young and I healed quickly. I was lucky these patterns were all I got. I’ve grown to like them now.’

  Harper’s fingers itched to follow the delicate tracks across his skin. They’d trace the arcs and branches, up to his shoulder, across his chest, trailing down his torso…

  She shook herself and stepped back, staring at him.

  ‘Your shirt,’ she mumbled, hurrying away to the utility room where the washing machine was kept, her face burning, sick with guilt at the images currently invading her thoughts. She’d never looked at a man and been so consumed by desire. This was a dangerous game. She ought to hand his shirt back, send him away, send the temptation away. But she didn’t want to, and she knew that she wouldn’t.

  His voice came from behind her and she spun around, startled to hear it, her cheeks flushed. He stood at the doorway, bare-chested, gorgeous, those fascinating, deadly, beautiful scars like tribal tattoos across his perfect body.

  ‘My wounds upset you,’ he said, concern only for her in his features. She could have laughed at the irony.

  ‘No,’ she said, trying hard to compose herself. ‘They don’t upset me. Only that I feel sorry for you.’

  ‘No need,’ he said. ‘They don’t hurt now.’ He angled his head at the shirt, still clutched in her hand. ‘Can I help with that?’

  Please go, she thought, please don’t come any closer because I don’t know what I’ll do. ‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘I can do it. Why don’t you take a break or something while I sort this?’

  ‘I’ll finish the floor for you,’ he said.

  ‘Brilliant… Fantastic. I’ll bring this out when I’m done.’

  He nodded and left again. Harper heaved a sigh. What was wrong with her? She’d have to tell him not to come tomorrow after all because this was just too weird and she couldn’t risk it happening again. How she was going to have that conversation without offending him was another matter entirely. But first she’d promised him tea and cake as a reward for his help and she couldn’t very well retract that offer now. She’d just have to make sure she kept a safe distance while they ate. The opposite end of the room ought to do it.

  * * *

  ‘You’ve taken Josh to school again?’ Allie found Greg in the kitche
n, laptop open at the table and coffee at hand as he went through his emails. ‘You shouldn’t have let me sleep in.’

  ‘You were tired,’ he said without looking up. ‘I thought you needed the sleep. Josh and I can manage, you know.’

  ‘I never said you couldn’t but…’

  ‘I’m not trying to push you out if that’s what you think.’ Greg looked up. ‘I said I’d think about letting you stay here with Josh and I will.’

  ‘I know, I thought… well, I feel guilty that you’re racing around and then you have to work while I’m lying in bed.’

  ‘You looked as if you needed the rest,’ he said.

  Allie shuffled over to the kettle and filled it. ‘Thank you. I did sleep better last night than I have done in days.’

  ‘I know. You were keeping me up before.’

  ‘Sorry. I would have slept in the spare bedroom, you know, but you said—’

  ‘Keep up appearances for Josh’s sake – I know I did. It’s fine; I’m glad you felt more settled last night.’

  The kettle clicked off and Allie spooned some instant coffee into a mug. ‘You’re busy today?’ she asked.

  ‘As always,’ he said, his attention back on the screen in front of him.

  ‘I thought maybe we could… I don’t know. Have lunch together or something. I mean, we have a lot to sort out and now that we’re able to communicate a bit better I thought…’ There was silence, broken only by Greg tapping on his keyboard. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘Sorry – it was a stupid idea.’

  ‘We could do that,’ he said. ‘I need to get through this lot but we could take an hour at lunch. Perhaps you fancy a jaunt into the village? A meal out?’

  ‘Not at the Rising Sun?’

  ‘Wherever you want. There are other places to eat.’

  Allie gave him a brief smile. The last place she wanted to be was Shay’s favourite haunt. ‘That would be brilliant,’ she said. ‘I think it could be really helpful. You know, for us to understand each other.’

  ‘I’ll never understand you,’ he said.