Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay

by Ali McNamara

  ‘And now you find yourself at the other end of the spectrum again,’ Tom says, looking down the Great Hall. ‘Living here as lady of the manor – even if you don’t wish to be known as that,’ he adds hurriedly.

  ‘I know. I had to think very hard about bringing Charlie here when I found out about not only the castle but the Chesterford title too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I didn’t want him turning into one of those kids: the sort that think they’re better than the others.’

  ‘But Charlie isn’t like that. He’s a great kid.’

  ‘I know; that’s why I don’t want him to change.’

  ‘With you as his mother I don’t think he’ll stray too far from what’s right. Besides, this castle is your family’s history, isn’t it? You both deserve to live here.’

  I take another, longer sip from my glass.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ I say quickly. ‘So, when am I going to taste some of this delicious food that you helped Dorothy cook?’

  When Tom told me how much the others had helped him prepare for tonight, I wondered if they might be waiting on us too this evening, which I would have felt very uncomfortable about. So I’m quite relieved when Tom gets up and disappears for a few minutes and returns with our first course – a cold salmon mousse with mini oatcakes accompaniment.

  ‘How did you know I liked salmon?’ I ask him, tucking hungrily into the dish in front of me.

  ‘A little bird told me.’ Tom winks. ‘Enjoy.’

  After our delicious first course, Tom gets up again, collects our plates and heads back down to the kitchen.

  ‘Can I help you at all?’ I ask before he leaves, anxious that he’s doing all the work.

  ‘No, you just sit right there and relax,’ he says, heading out of the door. ‘I’ve got it all covered.’

  So I do as he says and sit back in my chair sipping my wine, enjoying for once the sense of stillness and quiet that surrounds me. I don’t usually get much peace when I’m here in the castle. I spend so much time rushing here and there trying to get things done before I have to collect Charlie from school, that I don’t get to appreciate how calm and tranquil the castle can be.

  But as I’m sitting having my few moments of peace, something strange happens. I feel something cold brush lightly past me, like someone has left a window open and a draught is wafting in. Nothing unusual there: this castle is full of draughty rooms, but this feels different. I feel a bit like I had in the Ladies’ Chamber earlier today before I’d been disturbed by the two boys . . .

  ‘Clara?’ I whisper into the vast room. ‘Are you here?’

  Silence is my only reply.

  Perhaps I’m imagining it, I think, looking down at my glass. But I haven’t had a lot of alcohol at all so far. In fact, I’m pretty clear-headed.

  But then I feel it again, the same coolness, and something very definitely brushes past my seat.

  I leap up and look around me wildly just as Tom walks backwards through the door carrying a large wooden tray.

  ‘Here we go,’ he says, turning around with the tray in his hands. ‘Oh, what’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, sitting down again quickly. ‘That smells wonderful, Tom. What is it?’

  ‘This,’ Tom says, putting down the tray and lifting the hot plates up with a white cloth, ‘is a chicken and mushroom pie, with new potatoes and asparagus. Sorry it’s not fancier, but I think you’ll like it.’ He lifts up the silver lids that cover the food on each salver.

  ‘I don’t need fancy, because again this is one of my favourites,’ I tell him, smiling. ‘This little bird you’ve been talking to, is it my son, by any chance?’

  ‘Ah, you guessed,’ Tom says, sitting down. ‘I didn’t think it would take you long. Yes, even Charlie has had a part in all this. He provided the menu suggestions.’

  ‘Then it gets more perfect by the minute,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s tuck in, shall we?’

  I’m starting to feel quite full by the time we get to the end of our second course. I haven’t sensed anything else since Tom has been back in the room, and the temperature has now returned to normal, but I can’t help wondering if something might happen when he goes back to the kitchen.

  ‘Shall we wait a bit before I fetch dessert?’ Tom asks as I put my knife and fork down on my empty plate. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty full already.’

  So was I, but I was also keen to find out if Clara might still be here.

  ‘Maybe just a few minutes,’ I reply to be polite. ‘I’m very keen to know what you have for me next, though. My favourite dessert is flambéd crème brûlée. How you’re going to get that from the kitchen to here while it’s still alight I can’t wait to see.’

  I watch Tom’s face drop. ‘Oh . . . er . . . ’ he falters.

  ‘I’m only kidding.’ I grin. ‘You should know by now my tastes are a little simpler than that.’

  ‘Phew,’ Tom rolls his eyes, ‘you had me going for a moment there! I’ve only done an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream.’

  ‘Then that will be just perfect,’ I say, ‘just like the rest of this meal has been.’ I reach out and put my hand over his. ‘Thank you so much for this, Tom. If you’d suggested us dining in here earlier, I would have tried to put you off, thinking it far too formal for just the two of us. But it’s been lovely, really it has.’

  ‘Good,’ Tom says, putting his hand over mine. ‘I’m glad you’re happy.’

  ‘I’d be even happier if I had a plate of apple crumble and ice cream in front of me, though,’ I say, smiling hopefully at him.

  ‘Really?’ Tom says. ‘Already?’

  ‘Can’t wait!’ I fib. Truthfully, I was probably fuller than he was.

  ‘Right then, just give me a few minutes.’

  Tom clears our plates and pops them on the tray, but he knocks the salt cellar over in the process. Grains of salt spill all over the dark wood floor.

  ‘Damn,’ Tom says, looking at the salt in horror. ‘I’ll bring a dustpan and brush back with me when I come back up. Won’t be a few minutes.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, holding the door open for him as he takes the tray of dirty plates and heads back down to the kitchen. ‘Take all the time you need.’

  As soon as I think he’s out of earshot I turn back to the empty room. ‘Right then. Are you in here, Clara, or not? I suggest if you are you make yourself known before Tom returns with our dessert.’

  I stand still in the silence and listen.

  To begin with there’s nothing, and then I hear a strange sound. It’s like someone very softly swishing something around on a hard surface. What was that?

  I look around the room but I can see nothing, only hear this strange, barely audible scratchy sort of sound. If the room hadn’t been so quiet, I probably wouldn’t have heard it at all.

  But apparently I don’t actually need to hear anything, because my wandering gaze suddenly rests on the floor next to the table.

  I stare for a moment, trying to clarify in my head that what I’m seeing with my eyes is actually happening in front of me.

  But there’s no doubt, it is.

  I walk over to the spilt salt, and I see the last of a series of letters being formed in the white grains – a T, an L and an E.

  I stare at the floor, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

  And what I’m seeing is a message, written very clearly in the salt.

  THE HEIR IS AT THE CASTLE

  Forty-two

  As I’m staring at the words I hear Tom coming back upstairs.

  ‘One hot apple crumble and vanilla ice cream,’ he calls cheerfully as he comes through the door. ‘Oh, I forgot the dustpan and brush,’ he adds as he sees me staring at the floor.

  ‘No!’ I snap, as my hand shoots up into the air to stop him. ‘Don’t touch it!’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ Tom asks, putting his tray down on one end of the long table before coming over to me. ‘What’s going o
n?’ he asks jokily, looking over my shoulder. ‘Have you been writing me love messages, Amelia? Oh.’ He stops short when he reads what’s written on the floor. ‘The heir is at the castle? What does that mean?’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ I half fib. The truth is I know exactly what the message is referring to. What I don’t know is to who it’s referring.

  ‘Didn’t you write it, then?’ Tom asks, still looking at the words.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But if you didn’t, then who did? Has someone else been here while I’ve been gone?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  Tom gently turns me to face him.

  ‘Amelia?’ he asks. ‘Is there something going on that you’re not telling me about? First you’re all secretive with Benji, and now this,’ he gestures at the salt, ‘weird message. What’s going on?’

  ‘Oh, Tom.’ I sigh, suddenly feeling the need to confide in him. ‘There’s so much going on, I hardly know where to start.’

  ‘Start at the beginning, then,’ Tom says, guiding me back to my chair and sitting me down. ‘We’ve got all night.’

  I tell Tom everything. From what Benji and I had discovered in the missing diary to the matching cameo brooch and necklace; I tell him about my fears that Charlie and I shouldn’t even be living here at the castle, and then I tell him what I’d just witnessed.

  ‘You actually saw the message being written?’ Tom asks in amazement.

  I nod.

  ‘And the words just formed in the salt on their own – you saw no one?’

  ‘I didn’t see anyone, no; but I knew someone was there.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I could feel them.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I could sense a presence in the room. I’ve felt it before in the Ladies’ Chamber – sort of cold, but not cold in a bad way, if you know what I mean. It was more cool, but calm.’

  It’s Tom’s turn to nod this time. ‘And you think this might have been Clara – am I right?’

  ‘Yes. If this message is what I think it is, then she would be the only one who could know that.’

  ‘That the real heir to Chesterford is here at the castle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what if that’s you?’ Tom says, suggesting something I hadn’t thought of. ‘Or Charlie? Perhaps the message was simply clarifying that the real heir is one of you two?’

  ‘Perhaps. But I don’t think it means that. Why not just write that I’m the heir or that Charlie is? Why the cryptic message?’

  ‘You’re asking me why a supposed ghost isn’t writing more clearly in a pile of salt?’ Tom says, grinning now. ‘Now that is a tricky one . . . ’

  I smile too. ‘I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?’

  ‘You said it! But listen,’ Tom says, taking my hand over the table, ‘I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Even if this heir is at the castle, they don’t know anything about it, do they? You’ve got to be the best thing to happen at Chesterford in years, Amelia. That’s all I hear people saying around here. Why jeopardise yours and Charlie’s security, and possibly your future happiness, by trying to uncover another heir? And what if this diary is wrong? You’ve only got the word of Clara to go on. What if that diary was made up, or she made a mistake – have you thought of that?’

  ‘Of course I have. I’ve turned all this over in my head time and time again since I found out. But there’re just too many things that add up away from the diary for it to be fabrication. And why would Clara make it up? It makes no sense for her to.’

  ‘Why do people do a lot of things?’ Tom says. ‘Life often makes no sense to me. If you’d told me a few months ago that I’d be living in a castle, believing in ghosts and falling head over heels in love with a smart, funny, beautiful woman, I’d never have believed you – especially the last part.’

  I smile shyly at Tom and squeeze his hand. He winks at me in return.

  ‘Well, you and Benji both seem to think it’s a bad idea for me to try to find this other heir, but now I know they might be here at the castle, I just have to do it. I couldn’t continue to live here with that on my conscience, knowing I hadn’t at least tried.’

  ‘And your honour is just one of the things I adore about you. Your honour, your principles, your beautiful smile, your sexy, curvaceous body – need I go on?’

  ‘I think you’d better quit while you’re ahead,’ I tell him, smiling on the outside, but on my inside I can feel nothing but a warm glow spreading right through me. It’s been a long time since anyone said anything remotely like this to me. And possibly never in quite the same ardent way that Tom is.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Tom asks.

  ‘About your enthusiastic declarations of love?’

  Tom grins. ‘We could go down that path if you like?’ He lifts his eyebrows suggestively. ‘However, I think you need to get a few things straight in your mind first – am I right?’

  I nod. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ I tell him. ‘I really need to get all this other stuff sorted out before I can commit to anything else right now. But,’ I add, holding on to his hand all the tighter, ‘we are something that I’d like to give quite a lot of my time to in the future, if you’re happy to wait a little while?’

  ‘I’ll wait as long as I need to,’ Tom says, leaning his tall frame across the table to kiss me. ‘There’s just one thing, though,’ he says just before he does.

  ‘What’s that?’ I whisper, very aware that Tom’s lips are only a tantalising distance away.

  ‘Do you like cold apple crumble?’ he asks, glancing to the end of the table where the tray of dessert still waits.

  ‘Love it,’ I whisper. ‘But, I love this even more.’ And I lean across the last little gap between us, leaving Tom in no doubt which of the two I prefer.

  The next morning I find myself with a smile on my face as I walk down the hill towards Dorothy and Arthur’s cottage.

  Considering everything that’s going on right now, I probably shouldn’t be smiling quite so much. But I can’t help it; every time I think about Tom and what happened last night, I find myself smiling.

  And that, I tell myself as I knock on the cottage door, can only ever be a good thing.

  ‘Hello, Arthur,’ I say, bracing myself as he opens the door to me. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Much better, miss, thank you,’ Arthur says in his slightly gruff way. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been at work the last couple of days. Dorothy is insisting I rest.’

  ‘And rightly so,’ I tell him. ‘Your health must come first.’

  ‘Nowt wrong with me,’ Arthur grumbles. ‘I’m only doing as she says to keep the peace.’

  ‘Of course.’ I wink at him. ‘Anyway, I haven’t come over here to berate you for having some time off, I’ve actually come to have a little chat.’

  Arthur looks suspiciously at me.

  ‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course.’ Arthur steps back to let me in. ‘I was just going to make a cup of tea; would you like one?’

  ‘Love one.’

  After Arthur has made us both a cup of tea, we sit outside in his little back garden, which is just as neat and tidy as the front.

  ‘You have a wonderful view here,’ I tell him, sitting back in my wooden seat. Arthur and Dorothy’s back garden looks out over the entire village of Chesterford.

  ‘It’s not quite the sea view you have from your side of the castle,’ Arthur says, ‘but it’s a treat on a sunny day such as this one. You can see for miles.’

  We both sit and admire the view for a few moments.

  ‘Is Dorothy out today?’ I ask, taking a sip of my tea. ‘I haven’t seen her around this morning.’

  ‘Yes, she’s gone to Berwick with her friend Maureen from the village. They often go shopping on a Saturday morning. Not that they do much shopping,’ Arthur says, raising his eyebrows knowingly. ‘More like a long gossip with tea and a sli
ce of cake thrown in! But I don’t mind; gives me a bit of peace for once.’

  ‘I know you don’t mean that, Arthur. You two adore each other.’

  ‘Ah, maybe,’ Arthur says good-naturedly. ‘But a little break from her dulcet tones once in a while doesn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Actually, I’m quite glad Dorothy isn’t here today,’ I tell him. ‘I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Arthur says apprehensively.

  ‘The first was about the other day in the cellar,’ I begin.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that, miss,’ Arthur interrupts. ‘I had no right speaking to you in that way.’

  ‘No, Arthur, it’s fine really. We probably shouldn’t have been poking around in things without consulting you first. But your reaction did me a favour.’

  ‘It did?’ Arthur looks even more suspicious now.

  ‘Yes, you see, now I think I know why you might have behaved like that.’

  Arthur still looks puzzled.

  ‘Were you trying to keep something a secret from me, Arthur?’

  ‘Perhaps . . . ’ Arthur says hesitantly, trying not to give too much away. ‘You’ve read the diary, I suppose?’

  ‘Benji and I have – yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So we know all about Clara and her secret sister.’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  ‘And Benji worked out that there could still be an heir that was descended from Mary who would have more right to a claim on the castle than me.’

  Arthur nods.

  ‘But now I also have good reason to believe that that heir might already be here at the castle. So the thing I’m wondering is . . . ’

  ‘Yes?’ Arthur prompts when I don’t finish my sentence.

  ‘The thing I’m wondering is, Arthur, are you the true heir to the castle? Should it be you that becomes the new Earl of Chesterford?’

  Forty-three

  ‘Me?’ Arthur splutters, putting his tea down on the table in front of us in case he spills it. ‘Why would you think I’m the missing heir?’

  ‘Because you were so keen to hide everything from me,’ I explain. ‘I know you were the person who locked everything away in the cellar, and we know that some of Clara’s things had only recently been rewrapped. Because you were so annoyed at finding us down there, I put two and two together.’