Precious Time (48 page)

he had whispered. Without a word she had pulled back the

bedclothes and let him in. She had cradled him in her arms, already assuming the role of protector to him. ‘It’s just you and me now, Caspar,’ she had said, ‘you and me against the world.’ They had fallen asleep, and the following morning, with their lives changed irrevocably, and unable to penetrate the wall that had sprung up around their father, they knew they could rely on no one but themselves.

‘Caspar, are you listening to me?’

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘I was saying we got it wrong. We should never have isolated ourselves as we did, or been so cruel to Jonah and Val. We treated her despicably.’

Caspar felt his body tauten. He didn’t want to think about Jonah or Val, the woman who had dared to try to replace their mother.

A knock made them look up. The door opened and Hall poked his head round it. ‘Damson, the nurse is here to see you. Okay if I show her up?’

‘Of course, Roland. Caspar, would you mind leaving me now, please? These nurses can be very thorough and I don’t want you to see more of me than is necessary. Why don’t you go for a walk? It’s such a lovely day.’

But Caspar didn’t go for a walk. He shut himself in the room he had been given last night and wondered how Damson could be aware of what the weather was like. Since his arrival he had been oblivious to what was going on outside Rosewood Manor. Every thought revolved around the appalling knowledge that he would soon be without his beloved Damson.

Now he regretted every bad word he had ever spoken about the way she had recently chosen to live her life. He should have tried harder to understand what she was doing instead of condemning it.

He had considered her weak and deluded, and he had never stopped to ask why she was doing this.

It hurt that she hadn’t turned to him when she knew she was ill.

But it hurt more to know that, although they were together now, it was too late. With painful clarity he realised that most of the derisive comments he had made about Rosewood Manor had been based on jealousy. It had been impossible to accept that his precious Damson had chosen to be with a bunch of misfits rather than with him.

He lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling rose, tracing the circular pattern of leaves with his eyes. He remembered doing the same as a young child in the summer months when his bedroom was still light and he couldn’t sleep. He could recall one particular occasion, before their mother died: Anastasia had come in to kiss him goodnight before going out to a party. Dressed in an elegant evening dress that showed her shoulders - the fabric was silky soft and whispered as she moved - she had kissed his cheek and let him twist her lovely long hair around his fingers. Then Dad had come in and kissed him too. How happy he had felt, lying between them, so loved, so safe.

And as Caspar drifted off to sleep now, he was back in his old bed in Mermaid House. He was covered with a blanket of love … It reminded him that Damson hadn’t been the only person he had truly loved.

Before everything had gone wrong, he had loved his parents.

Jonah took Clara’s supper in to her. She was sitting up in bed reading, which he took to be a positive sign.

‘On a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?’ he asked. From where he was standing, she looked a little better, less flushed and feverish.

She lowered the book. ‘Around four,’ she said, ‘bordering on five.’ ‘That’s good. I hope you’re well enough to eat this.’ He placed the tray on her lap. ‘Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I trust everything’s to Madam’s liking.’

He shook out a white linen napkin with a flourish and offered it to her.

She smiled. ‘I could get used to this.’

He passed her a knife and fork. ‘Eat it while it’s hot.’

‘Yes, Teacher.’

‘That’s “Sir” to you. Are you in the mood for some company, or would you rather eat alone?’

‘Company would be fine. The house is quiet, where is everyone?’

He positioned a chair in front of the open window and sat down.

‘Dad’s taken Ned to the stream. They’ve gone fishing, with the most high-tech equipment they could find: a plastic sieve and a jam-jar.

How’s the book going? Decided who the murderer is yet?’

She finished what was in her mouth. ‘Two chapters to go and I think I have it in the bag.’

He smiled. ‘When you’ve proved yourself right, do you want me to fetch another book for you?’

‘Please, if it’s not too much trouble. Also, if you could bring me my mobile, I’d be grateful. Though to be honest, I think it’s high time I pulled myself together. I feel guilty about you and your father having to amuse Ned.’

‘Well, don’t. Dad and I are quite happy to look after him. He’s a great kid. I’m used to hulking great teenagers, so a four-year-old is a novelty.’

‘I’m not sure I like my son being described as a novelty, but I’ll let you off if you tell me about the school where you work. Your father says it’s full of hooligans.’

He started warily, but when he saw she was genuinely interested, he talked at length about the pupils at Dick High, his frustration with some of the other teachers, and his hopes for the school. He even told her about Jase. ‘I just hope the wind was blowing in the right direction for him when he sat the first history paper this week. He’s never been given any encouragement before, and I want to prove a point to him, and everyone else.’

She smiled. ‘You’re a real heart-on-your-sleeve crusader, aren’t you?’

Thinking of the conversation he’d had recently with Barbara Lander from school, he recrossed his legs and frowned. ‘I don’t see it like that. And please don’t make me out to be a naive idealist. I’m not. I’m a determined, hard-working optimist.’

She drank her orange juice and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘And would I be right in thinking this isn’t the type of school you, Caspar and Damson went to?’

‘More or less, but there are comparisons between Dick High and the first boarding-school I attended. The number of demoralised teachers and the degree of bullying were certainly the same. I hated the place and spent most of my time planning my escape.’

‘But your brother loved it?’

Surprised at her insight, he laughed. ‘It made Caspar the man he is today. So what about you, then? Tell me about the job you gave up to become a happy wanderer.’

It was the first conversation they had shared without his father as the focus, and because Jonah was curious to know more about Clara, he listened attentively to her husky voice, trying to read between the lines of what she was saying. When she had finished, he said, with a touch of irony, ‘And you don’t miss all that? The money, the power, and the kudos of being a corporate high-flyer?’

‘I’d hardly describe myself as a high-flyer, but there are bits I miss, mostly the camaraderie with some of the people I was close to. David and Guy were great colleagues, friends too.’

‘It must have been hard to juggle a demanding career with bringing a child up on your own,’

Clara laid her knife and fork together neatly on the plate. She wondered why Jonah was suddenly giving her the third degree. But then she realised she was overreacting: always on her guard to protect the identity of Ned’s father, she was too sensitive to any question she thought might lead her to giving the game away. ‘I’ve been extremely fortunate,’ she said carefully, ‘my parents have been wonderful and helped out selflessly with Ned.’

‘And Ned’s father, where - where does he fit in?’

She looked up sharply. ‘Nowhere.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I had no right to ask that.’ He got to his feet and took the tray from her. ‘Ready for pudding now?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said stiffly. Then, ‘I’m full. That was more than enough. It was delicious too. Thank you.’

‘Sure I can’t tempt you with a strawberry meringue bought fresh from the baker this morning?’

She hesitated. ‘Well …’

‘One meringue it is. Tea?’

‘Need you ask?’

While he was downstairs in the kitchen, Clara relaxed and stared through the window at Kinder Scout. Suddenly she wanted to be out there in the hills, to feel the wind on her skin, to breathe in the peaty smell of the moors. She was tired of being in bed with nothing to do but read or sleep. Which was why Jonah had become such a comfort, she supposed. She was sorry that she had just been so curt with him when she liked him so much. She thought of his enthusiasm for his job and envied him. When had she last felt like that about her work?

He had reminded her of Todd’s imminent visit to England, and it occurred to her that Jonah, who a good listener, might be just the person with whom she could discuss the problem. He was so detached from her life back home that he would be a safe pair of ears. There was the added bonus that he could give her not just an objective opinion but a considered male view.

She waited for him to reappear. When he did, she said, ‘Jonah, would you mind me using you as a sounding-board?’

‘I’ve been used for far worse things, believe me.’

She sank her teeth into the meringue he’d just given her. ‘Mm …

heavenly,’ she murmured. After another mouthful, she said, ‘Now, what I’m about to tell you, you must promise never to discuss with anyone else.’

Leaning against the window-ledge, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds intriguing.’

Do you promise?’

‘Hand on heart.’

‘You asked me earlier about Ned’s father. I’m sorry I was a bit short with you, but, back home, people know better than to press me on who he is. I’ve got rather used to shooting people down in flames if they get too close.’

‘Does that make me incredibly brave, or very foolish?’

She smiled. ‘Neither.’ Then she plunged in, and told him about her relationship with Todd and its consequences, ending with, ‘So, what I want to know is, how would you feel if you were in Todd’s shoes, if a secret like that had been kept from you?’

Jonah rubbed a hand over his jaw. He had wanted to know more about Clara, but this was way beyond anything he had expected her to share with him. Putting his surprise to one side, he tried to imagine how he would feel if Emily, whom he had loved and wanted to marry, turned up now with a child and announced that it was his.

Shock would come first. Then anger. Yes, he would definitely be angry that he had been kept in ignorance of something so important.

But next would come acceptance, and delight that he was a father.

Looking steadily at Clara, he said, ‘If I were in Todd’s shoes I would want to know the truth. No matter how complicated it might make my life.’ He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Does that help?’

She nodded. ‘I think it’s the conclusion I’d reached too, but I needed someone else to confirm it for me. Thanks.’

Later, when his father and Ned had arrived back from their fishing expedition, Jonah remembered Clara had asked him to fetch her mobile phone. He had the key already in his pocket, so he went out to the campervan, thinking, as he turned the key in the lock, that when Clara was feeling better, he would invite her to have dinner with him. He had already suggested that he could take her and Ned on a walk to show them some of his favourite haunts, and she had accepted quite readily, but would the idea of dinner - just the two of them - go down so well?

He let himself into the van, and was just acknowledging how much he would enjoy an evening alone with Clara when he realised she hadn’t given him any clue where her phone would be. He began hunting through the racks and overhead lockers. He found lots of maps and colouring books that belonged to Ned, and a copy of Wuthering Heights, but no phone. There was one last cupboard, the one above the cooker. He opened it and peered inside. Moving aside a first-aid kit and a lot of buff-coloured envelopes, he found the mobile and was about to let the door click shut when something caught his eye. He did a double-take, thinking he must be imagining things.

But he wasn’t. He’d know those notebooks anywhere. He had seen Val with them hundreds of times, but had never let on to her that he knew she was keeping a journal. But since her death, and until this moment, he hadn’t given the notebooks a thought. But what on earth were they doing here in Clara’s campervan?

He sank down on the bench seat behind him, untied the ribbon, and opened one of the books. He read the first page, the second, the third, and kept going, turning the pages and absorbing every painful word his stepmother had written. But with every instalment he took in, he was conscious that Clara had been there before him.

So that was how she knew about Emily!

Furious, he slapped the diaries together, tied them up, and wondered at her nerve.

By the time Clara was feeling better, May had slipped into June and summer had arrived. The weather was glorious, sunny and warm.

The yellow gorse bushes scattered over the surrounding hills were ablaze with golden flowers and the sky held wisps of fresh white clouds. Everything seemed sharper, more intense. Although Clara’s temperature was normal now, and the racking cough little more than an occasional annoyance, she was still under orders from Gabriel to take it easy.

To her amusement, Gabriel continued to fuss over her, insisting at every opportunity that she rest and build up her strength. He had also stressed there would be no talk of her and Ned moving on until he was convinced she was fully recovered. ‘And be warned,’ he’d barked at her, ‘I’ll confiscate your keys if I detect any insubordination in the ranks, young lady. So behave and do as you’re told.’

Now she was in the library doing some of her tapestry. Sitting in the bay window, where the sun shone warmly through the glass, she could hear the trill of birdsong with the occasional base note in the echoing call of a dove. Other than this, there was no other sound to be heard. Gabriel had taken Ned into Deaconsbridge to post some letters and to buy some cheese, and ham and a loaf of bread for lunch. She knew, though, because she’d caught Gabriel whispering to Ned, that they would be gone for a while - they were planning to slip in a don’t-tell-your-mother visit to the Mermaid cafe for a clandestine sticky bun or two. Thick as thieves the pair of them.