Secrets at the Last House Before the Sea

by Liz Eeles

  ‘Didn’t your mother ever say anything about it?’

  ‘No. All my life I thought that David was my dad. He was my dad, as far as I was concerned, and I don’t suppose she knew how to tell me otherwise.’

  ‘She must have thought she’d have the time to work it out.’

  ‘Then time ran out.’

  Nessa shook her head. ‘Sofia and Charles Epping, getting it on – that is, like, blowing my freakin’ mind.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Rosie, glumly.

  ‘So have you told him that he’s the daddy?’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s not interested in finding out for sure, and his wife almost ran me off the premises. But that’s fine. I don’t want to see either of them ever again.’

  ‘That’s rough.’ Nessa patted Rosie’s arm. ‘Did he mention anything about Meadowsweet Farm?’

  ‘Nothing, and I never meant for this to happen.’

  ‘I know that, but what a mess!’ Nessa continued patting Rosie’s arm as though she was a child. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of her watch. ‘Look at the time! We’d better get a move on if you’re still planning on catching that flight. What are you going to do?’

  Rosie closed her eyes. That was the big question.

  For goodness’ sake, he was going to fall if he didn’t watch out. His body would hurtle through space and plunge into the sea that was pounding the rocks below. Right now, he didn’t much care. But faithful Billy might jump into the waves to try to save him.

  Liam slowed his pace and tried to slow his breathing. His lungs felt as though they might explode. Or was it his heart?

  ‘I’m an idiot!’ he said out loud. Such an idiot to drop his guard and trust someone again. He was such a terrible judge of character. Deanna had fooled him, and Rosie had done the same. When her guesthouse plan had failed she’d sold him down the river to Charles Epping and sacrificed his farm for Driftwood House – a house she’d never live in because she’d be hundreds of miles away in a different country.

  He stopped completely and drew in a deep breath of fresh salty air. The sea stretched out before him and there, to his right, he could make out Meadowsweet Farm near the cove, and the land that would soon no longer be his to work.

  In the end, all of his sacrifices had been for nothing. He’d appeal to the Eppings of course, but he couldn’t possibly compete with their own flesh and blood. Like father, like daughter.

  It was hard to reconcile that Rosie was so closely related to such a cold, uncaring man, and he wondered how long she’d suspected that Charles could be her father. How long she’d lied to him by acting as if everything was normal when it was anything but.

  CHAPTER 30

  The plane would be taking off about now and heading to Málaga. She should be on it, flying back to her uncomplicated life in Spain – sun, sea, lazy afternoons under the palm trees, and two jobs that she could do in her sleep. Two jobs that she was due to start again tomorrow.

  Instead, she was driving through a rain storm across Dartmoor to confront a man she’d hoped never to see again. And her sunny, simple life abroad was going tits up.

  Here, out on the moor, the clouds were so low they’d settled like mist on the high ground ahead of her. At least she wasn’t far now from High Tor House. It would be good to get this over with. But was the road moving? She suddenly realised the tarmac ahead was covered with swirling black water. A stream had burst its banks in the downpour and was blocking the way forward.

  ‘Not now,’ she groaned, slamming on her brakes and pulling the car onto the sodden grass. The road was impassable.

  Pulling her jacket from the backseat, Rosie got out of the car and held out her hand. The rain had stopped for the moment but the glowering grey sky was threatening more downpours. In the distance, she could just make out the high chimneys of the Eppings’ mansion. There was nothing for it – she’d have to walk, and she’d be quicker going in a straight line over the moor rather than following the curve of the road.

  The landscape stretched around her, vast and deserted, as she picked her way across the rough ground. Weathered boulders littered the earth, ready to trip her if she lost concentration, and the carcass of a sheep, picked bare by scavenging insects, only added to her low mood. Life and death were all around her.

  The stream currently flowing across the road blocked her way again on higher ground, but here the rushing water was still within its banks. Someone centuries ago had bridged the stream with huge, flat slabs of stone and she gingerly made her way across, trying not to look at the torrent beneath her feet. The chimneys of High Tor House were still visible above a ridge of ground that didn’t seem to be getting any closer.

  Cresting the ridge at last, Rosie spotted sheep scattered across the landscape and between her and the back of the Eppings’ magnificent house stood an ancient circle of pitted stones.

  When she reached them, she brushed her hand over one of the lichen-stained stones and felt a tingling across her shoulders. Ancient magic, or the chill that was seeping deeper into her bones with every passing minute? The chill, she decided, ever pragmatic. But she stopped for a moment in the centre of the circle. If her mum were here, she’d start swaying to the beat of ‘unseen forces’ and channelling the stories of the men and women who once walked this land. She always reckoned that stone circles were mystical places for communing with the long gone.

  It was a load of rubbish and yet… with only two bored sheep to observe her, Rosie began to spin with her arms outstretched. Rain dripped off her nose as she turned and let out a loud yell. Her mum would have called it a primal scream, and boy, it did feel good to let out some of the emotion that was churning inside her.

  Liam’s fraught face loomed in her mind, his expression when he had told her that his farm was doomed and accused her of betraying him. Did he really think she would stoop so low as to save Driftwood House at the expense of his home and livelihood? Did he think so little of her? Tears stung her eyes as she spun and spun and yelled some more into the cold, damp air.

  She stopped, feeling dizzy and ridiculous, which was when she spotted two figures in the distance. Standing together, with black clouds bunched behind them, they were watching her.

  ‘Wonderful!’ muttered Rosie, as tall yellow grasses swayed in the wind and a bird screeched overhead. The Eppings, out taking a stroll, had just seen her behaving like a total loon. Though what people in their right minds would choose to walk in such filthy weather?

  No one moved while Rosie deliberated between fight or flight. Fleeing back to the car was tempting, but Liam’s farm was doomed unless the Eppings changed their minds. Rosie put her head down and started walking towards the couple.

  They watched her approaching, Charles in a blue waterproof jacket and Cecilia, like a crow, in black from her boots to her hat. She was the first to speak.

  ‘Why are you here again? I thought we’d made it clear that you weren’t welcome.’

  She seemed more wary than angry, thought Rosie, feeling her feet sink into the muddy ground. ‘I need to speak to you, please. Just for a few minutes, then I’ll be out of your lives forever.’

  ‘Are we supposed to take your word on that? You seem adept at turning up out of the blue.’

  ‘I promise you I’m leaving for Spain as soon as I can book a flight.’

  ‘I thought you were leaving today.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I have my sources. You’re not the only person with spies in this county.’

  ‘I don’t have spies anywhere.’

  ‘Yet you knew about our hotel plan and now you’re stalking us.’

  Rosie laughed because the accusation was so ridiculous, but Cecilia stared, her face pallid next to the black of her jacket. She looked hostile and a little bit scared.

  ‘I want you to go,’ she said, her voice harsh and shrill. But Charles put a hand on his wife’s arm.

  ‘Let the girl speak
, Cecilia.’

  ‘You don’t have to listen to what she has to say.’

  ‘I think I do.’ He turned to her. ‘Why are you here, Rosie?’ It was the first time he’d called her by her first name and a shiver went down Rosie’s back. ‘You should have received word that Driftwood House is no longer being demolished. My wife has been persuaded to change our plans.’

  A good deal of persuasion had been required if Cecilia’s sullen expression was anything to go by.

  Drops of rain had started falling again and Rosie pulled up her hood. ‘I’m grateful that Driftwood House is saved, I truly am, but the land you’re considering instead is a part of Meadowsweet Farm, and taking that land back will destroy a man’s livelihood.’

  Charles regarded her coolly. ‘It’s a sound economic decision and nothing personal.’

  ‘It’s very personal. Don’t you care about the people whose lives your decisions affect?’

  ‘No one lives on the land we’re now considering for the hotel. No homes will be demolished.’

  ‘A livelihood will be wrecked. Liam Satterley and his parents rent the land from you and their farm will probably go under without it.’

  A muscle twitched below Charles’s left eye. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘Unfortunate? Surely it’s more than that if a farm that’s been run by the same family for generations has to fold and a man – a good man – will have no income to keep a roof over their heads. The people in Heaven’s Cove matter.’

  ‘As I say, it’s an unfortunate consequence of business, and it’s best not to become over emotional about these matters.’

  The heavens had opened but Rosie – cold, tired and overwhelmed – hardly noticed the rain driving against her face.

  ‘Was it also an unfortunate consequence when my mum became pregnant with me? Is that why you abandoned her? You stick rigidly to your rule of always doing the right thing but it seems to me that you end up doing the wrong thing instead. And you’re so hard-hearted you don’t care anything for Heaven’s Cove. I’m glad my mum married David. He was a better dad than you would ever have been. So I don’t care if you think I’m a chancer who’s making everything up. I don’t care if you’re sure that I’m not your daughter.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that at all.’ His words were so quiet, Rosie almost missed them. But Cecilia didn’t.

  She grabbed his arm. ‘Be quiet, Charles. What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m merely acknowledging that it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that this young woman is my daughter.’

  ‘She doesn’t look like you.’

  ‘Not particularly, but, I’ve been thinking…’ He paused, rain dripping from the hood of his jacket and down his nose. ‘Come with me.’

  Neither Rosie nor Cecilia could keep up as Charles rushed towards the house, taking one loping stride for every two of theirs. He led them through the back gate, past a huge herb garden, and through a door into a large, modern kitchen.

  A woman kneading bread on the worktop looked up in alarm when they all bundled inside, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. A smudge of flour settled above her dark eyebrows. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Epping?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Maria.’

  The air was full of the sweet smell of cakes baking in the huge range oven and steam was rising from a pot bubbling on the hob. The Eppings were so rich and posh they had a housekeeper and a cook.

  Rosie stood in the doorway like a statue. What was the point of being here? Charles was easing his conscience by saving Driftwood House and didn’t care about Liam’s farm. He would throw a family farm and a good man to the wolves purely for the sake of profit.

  But Cecilia hissed, ‘Not here,’ in her ear and, grabbing her arm, propelled her through the kitchen. Charles was marching along a corridor, past a dark drawing room with deep green wallpaper and shelves of books. Finally, he flung open the door to the sitting room that Rosie had been in during her last visit. Rain was battering at the French windows and the garden outside looked wet and grey.

  ‘Stand there,’ Charles ordered Rosie.

  When she didn’t move, he took her arm and positioned her in front of the fireplace, touching her face to gently turn her chin towards the garden.

  ‘Jay, what are you doing?’ Cecilia really did seem scared now.

  ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Cecilia looked at Rosie and then stared at the huge portrait above her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Look again,’ said Charles, sounding unutterably tired. ‘The set of the chin, the shape of the mouth, the fire in the eyes. They’re the same.’

  ‘I know you still miss Evelyn but this isn’t the way to get her back.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that, Cecilia? Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see. That’s why I’ve tried to ignore this nagging feeling and not revisit the past, but what would Evelyn think of me?’

  ‘What you want to see?’ Cecilia crumpled at the knees and sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘Do you want this girl to be your daughter?’ Rain dripped from her jacket and left a dark stain that seeped into the fabric. ‘You’ve always told me you didn’t want children.’

  ‘Of course I told you that. It was kinder when we had no choice in the matter,’ said Charles, gently.

  ‘I thought you’d come to terms with us not having children years ago.’

  ‘I had, Cece.’ Charles sat on the sofa next to his wife and stroked her hand. ‘At least I thought I had, but Rosie stood right there when she was last here, just before she left, and I could see the resemblance. She’s the spitting image of her mother, but there’s something of Evelyn about her too.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something to me about it?’

  ‘What could I say that wouldn’t break your heart? How could I suddenly become a parent when it’s all you’ve ever wanted?’

  ‘I’ve always felt second best compared to Sofia, Jay, and when I couldn’t have children…’

  Rosie watched in horror as Cecilia’s face collapsed and she began to sob. Stop! Rosie wanted to shout, women like you aren’t supposed to cry, but Cecilia’s glacial façade had splintered. She put her head in her hands and her shoulders shook as she cried.

  ‘Shush,’ murmured Charles, taking his wife in his arms and rocking her gently.

  As Cecilia’s sobs subsided, he looked up at Evelyn, forever immortalised in oil. ‘What you said was right, Rosie. I’m not a good man. I’ve betrayed people who love me and I make cold, calculated decisions that affect people’s lives, all while telling myself I’m doing the right thing. Meanwhile, it’s people such as you and my wife who bear the fall-out.’

  He kissed the top of Cecilia’s head. ‘I didn’t know Sofia was pregnant but I did abandon her. Then, I eased my conscience by giving her Driftwood House. I thought she’d throw the offer back in my face but neither she nor David had much money, and she must have known by then that you were on the way. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.’

  Rosie blinked, close to tears herself. ‘Perhaps she was scared of being rejected for a second time.’

  Still holding his wife, Charles slumped back against the sofa. ‘So what happens next? Driftwood House is safe – that was something I could do for you – but I suppose now you’d like me to take a DNA test, to confirm that we are related?’

  When Cecilia stirred in his arms, he spoke quietly into her ear. ‘It’ll make no difference to you and me, Cece. I love you dearly and you’re a far better person than me.’

  ‘But I’m not,’ said Cecilia, pulling away and wiping her nose roughly with the back of her hand. ‘I denied you a child.’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie, loudly. ‘I’m truly sorry, Cecilia, if I’ve raked up old distress. Of course it’s no one’s fault that you weren’t able to have children.’

  She shouldn’t have said that. Poking her nose into a personal conversation was a terrible idea. But rather than telling her to mind her own business, Cecilia stared at h
er, biting her lip.

  ‘She’s right.’ Charles reached out and stroked his wife’s hair with such tenderness, Rosie’s throat tightened. But Cecilia shook off his hand and got to her feet. Without another word, she hurried from the room and the door banged behind her.

  Charles leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his face as pale as a ghost.

  ‘I rather fear you’ve seen us not at our best.’

  ‘It’s good to see you have…’ Rosie tailed off, still shaken by what she’d witnessed.

  ‘Good to see I have a heart?’ Charles shook his head. ‘Oh, you have no idea.’ He looked round to make sure that the door had slammed shut. ‘I was in love with your mother, properly in love. As I told you, no one except my sister knew about us. Maybe that was part of the headiness of it all – clandestine meetings, secret kisses, forbidden love. I was expected to marry well and your mother didn’t make the grade. That didn’t matter at first when I met her through Evelyn, who was far less of a snob than I was.’

  He frowned. ‘Than I am. We were going to elope and tell my parents when it was a fait accompli so they’d have to accept her eventually. We were going to live simply at Driftwood House.’

  ‘But none of that happened.’

  ‘Evelyn died and my parents were devastated. They found out through letters Evelyn had kept that I was engaged to Sofia and begged me to change my mind. The truth is that my sister was the brave one of the family and her courage had rubbed off on me. But that disappeared after she died. We were all in shock and I couldn’t bear to inflict more distress, so I did what was expected of me.’

  ‘You did the right thing?’

  ‘Yes. I broke off my relationship with Sofia and married Cecilia shortly afterwards. I heard that Sofia had got back together with David and I was glad that she was with someone else. It helped my conscience.’ A spasm of pain swept across his face.

  ‘I told you the date of my birth. Could I be your daughter?’

  ‘Timings-wise? Yes, it’s very possible. The last time your mother and I met, well… I wasn’t proud of myself but, in my mind, we were saying goodbye. I told her afterwards that I was marrying Cecilia and I’ll never forget the way she looked at me. I think she hated me in that moment. But there’s one thing I can’t get past. However much I’d hurt her, I still think Sofia would have told me about you, if you were mine.’