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By the time Marianne had persuaded Crystal to go to bed and taken the older woman a mug of hot, sweet milk and a couple of aspirin, she felt exhausted. Her head was spinning, she felt physically sick and stress was causing her temples to throb. Nevertheless, she sat down at the coffee table and began to work through the papers Tom had left for her.
There was no escaping the truth.
Tears streaming down her face, she opened the french windows and stepped into the garden, which was bathed in the mauve shadows of twilight. Immediately the scent from the hedge of China roses close to the house wafted in the warm breeze and, as she walked on in the violet dusk, pinks, sweet peas and honeysuckle competed for her attention, their fragrance filling the air. A blackbird was singing its heart out somewhere close, the pure notes hanging on the breeze, and far below the house she could hear the whisper of the sea on the rocks below the cliff.
This was her home. She had always known she would come back here one day. Boyfriends had come and gone and she had nearly had her heart broken once or twice, but deep inside she had always imagined coming back to the area she had grown up in, meeting someone local who would be able to love Seacrest like she did and settling down somewhere close. And then one day, when she was much older and her parents had had the joy of watching grandchildren grow up, she would inherit the house she loved with all her heart. And hold it in trust for her children…
Sinking down onto a sun-warmed bench which had retained the day’s heat, she shut her eyes against the pain. If she lost Seacrest, then she would really lose her parents; that was how she felt. She couldn’t explain it because of course they were gone, but here, in the house and garden which had nurtured so many generations of her family, she still felt close to them.
She sat on in the quiet of the night until it was quite dark, the leaves on the trees surrounding the grounds of Seacrest trembling slightly in the summer breeze. The moon had risen with silvery hauteur in the velvet-black sky, the stars twinkling in deference to their sovereign. It was a beautiful night. It was always a beautiful night at Seacrest, even in the midst of winter when harsh angry winds whistled over the vast cliffs, melancholy and haunting as they rattled the old windows and moaned down the chimneys.
Be it in the spring, when the swallows began to build their nests under the eaves; summer, when wild rabbits brought their babies onto the smooth lawns to eat grass that was sweeter than on the cliffs beyond Seacrest’s boundary; autumn, when the trees were a blaze of colour and squirrels darted here and there anxiously burying nuts; or winter, when the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks filtered through shut windows and flavoured dreams, Seacrest was possessed of her own magic. The house was more than a house; it always had been.
She had to do something, but what? Marianne held her aching head in her hands, bewildered at how quickly her calm, happy life had been turned upside down. She didn’t know which way to turn.
At midnight she walked back to the house, turning off the lights downstairs before retiring to her room. As she opened the door and looked at the room which had been hers as long as she could remember, desolation claimed her anew.
‘Sleep.’ She said the word out loud into the stillness. She needed to sleep and then she would be fresher to think of a way round this. This was the twenty-first century, an age of miracles when things were happening which would have been considered unthinkable a century before. It couldn’t be beyond the wit of man—or woman in this case—to think of a way to keep Seacrest. She’d work twenty-four hours a day if necessary.
Stripping off her charcoal-grey dress, she threw it into a corner of the room. She would never wear it again. Nor the black shoes and jacket she had bought specially for the funeral.
Without bothering to brush her teeth or shower, she crawled into bed in her slip, an exhaustion that rendered her limbs like lead taking over. In contrast to the last few nights after Crystal’s shocking telephone call, she was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
CHAPTER TWO
OVER the next couple of days Marianne and Crystal followed one fruitless idea after another, but by the end of that time Marianne was forced to concede the situation looked hopeless. If either of them had shedloads of cash they could afford to pour into the old house it might be different, but if they had then they wouldn’t be in the position they were anyway. Her father had gambled on the business reviving and he had lost. End of story, end of Seacrest. The debt was huge, colossal.
Marianne telephoned Tom Blackthorn on the third morning after the funeral. She and Crystal were sitting close together on one of the sofas in the drawing room, so they could both hear the conversation, their faces tight and strained. In a way it was even worse for Crystal than for her, Marianne silently reflected as she dialled Tom’s number. At least she had her flat in London and her job to take her mind off things. Crystal had built her life around Seacrest and the family.
When Tom’s secretary put her through, Marianne came straight to the point. ‘I need to speak to you, Uncle Tom. It’s no use burying my head in the sand and Crystal and I realise nothing can be done. How do things progress now? Am I allowed to keep any family belongings? Paintings and so on?’
There was a brief pause and then Tom said, ‘I was going to phone you this morning, Annie. There’s been a development we couldn’t have foreseen.’
‘What?’ She glanced at Crystal, who stared back at her, eyes wide.
‘I think it’s better if I come and explain it in person.’
‘Tell me.’ There was no way she could calmly sit and wait for him to call. ‘Please, Uncle Tom.’
‘Someone’s offered to pay the debts, lock, stock and barrel, so Seacrest doesn’t go on the open market. Your idea of turning the house into a hotel would be part of the deal and this person would effectively expect to be a sleeping partner and receive fifty per cent of any profit once the hotel was up and running.’
Marianne blinked and kept her eyes on Crystal, who was looking as confused as she was. ‘This person would buy Seacrest, then?’ she asked numbly. ‘It would belong to them?’
Again, there was a pause. ‘Well, normally, yes, that’s how it would be, but he’s saying he wants only a fifty per cent ownership.’
‘He’d own half and let me own half?’ Marianne found herself floundering. ‘I don’t understand, Uncle Tom. Why would anyone do that? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It’s not unheard of for one partner to put up the capital for a venture and the other to take responsibility for all the hard work and the running of it, Annie. And it would all be legal and above board of course. I’d see to that.’
Her heart was beating so fast it was threatening to jump into her throat. She could tell Crystal was feeling the same. ‘Who is it?’
‘I was instructed to put the proposition to you and see if you agreed before I make the client known.’
‘Uncle Tom, it’s me, Annie. Surely you can tell me?’
‘I gave my word.’
Marianne sank back on the settee. Crystal looked as though she didn’t know what day it was and hadn’t said a word. Reaching out her hand, Marianne grasped the older woman’s. ‘What do you think?’
‘Oh, Annie.’ Crystal couldn’t say any more—she was crying too hard—but she nodded vigorously through her tears.
Marianne tried to compose herself before she said, ‘We’re for it, Crystal and I. It would be daft to look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘I think so. This is the sort of break that comes only once in a lifetime.’
‘And this person realises Crystal would be part of any venture?’ Marianne asked. That was of vital importance.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then we’ll do it. Who’s the mysterious benefactor?’ She’d been racking her brain for the last minute or two. She knew her father had had lots of good friends but most of them would find it difficult to raise the capital for a new car, let alone pay off a mountain of debt. It had to be a businessman in the town, one who’d known her father and who Tom trusted enough to listen to. That thought prompted Marianne to say, ‘Did you approach this person or did they come to you?’
‘It wasn’t quite as straightforward as that.’ There was a pause and then Tom said, ‘You remember Andrew Steed’s son?’
Marianne’s heart missed a beat. Not him. Anyone but him. He hadn’t even tried to hide his dislike of her.
‘He came to dinner last night and he was asking about you and so on. I’m afraid Gillian spoke out of turn and told him about the current situation.’
Oh, dear. Marianne could imagine how that had gone down with the solicitor. Her father’s friend was one of the old school and he played everything absolutely by the book. A client’s confidentiality was of paramount importance. She could imagine Gillian had received a lecture once they were alone.
‘Anyway, it appears that Andrew owns a string of hotels in America which Rafe now manages. Over the last few years since Andrew’s wife died and he became ill, he’s been looking to return to the old country to end his days. Rafe’s been in this area several times over the last twelve months apparently, looking for the right sort of place for his father. It’s leukaemia,’ he added.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marianne said mechanically.
‘Anyway, apparently he has good patches and not so good, and it’s not so good at the moment. Rafe feels his father’s better when he is motivated. He always was something of an entrepreneur, was Andrew. He went to America with nothing and now it would seem he’s an extremely wealthy man indeed. But I digress.’
Tom cleared his throat and Marianne waited.
‘Rafe was concerned with this desire to return home to die. That was his terminology, I might add. Not mine. He did not feel it was altogether healthy and furthermore that it was out of character. Seacrest might be just the sort of tonic his father needs. He can take as large or as small a part in the proceedings as he feels able to, but Rafe would want you to make Andrew a part of it. Humour him, if necessary.’
‘I see.’ She glanced at Crystal, who nodded. ‘I suppose that’s fair.’ They clearly didn’t have any choice in the matter.
‘Rafe was over here looking for a place for his father when he heard about the car crash from one of the locals. He told his father about it, who immediately wanted him to make himself known to you.’
‘I see,’ she said again, although she wasn’t altogether sure she did. ‘And has Rafe found somewhere for his father?’ If this Andrew expected to stay at Seacrest she could see the project was going to be made more difficult with a very sick man to consider.
‘Yes. A day before he heard about your parents’ accident he put in an offer for the Haywards’ place at the edge of the village. Made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, apparently.’
Marianne knew the house, a great thatched whitewashed cottage with a dream of a garden. ‘I didn’t know the Haywards were thinking of moving.’
‘There wasn’t even time for a For Sale board to go up. When the estate agent contacted Rafe he offered an amount to seal the deal immediately, which knocked anyone else out of the water.’ Tom’s voice was wry when he added, ‘I think he’s a lot like his father.’
Oh, dear. In that case she wasn’t going to like Andrew Steed one little bit.
‘How about we do lunch today, the four of us? You and Crystal and me and Rafe Steed? Iron out any wrinkles before we commit ourselves properly. I want you to be completely happy about all of this, Annie. Your father would expect me to guard your interests as best I can. I’ve already informed Rafe Steed he will need another solicitor to represent him as you are my client.’
This was all happening so fast. Marianne swallowed hard. But what was the alternative to agreeing to Rafe Steed’s amazing proposal? Losing everything, that was what. ‘Lunch would be fine,’ she said weakly.
‘One o’clock in The Fiddler’s Arms, then. To be honest, I’d like to get this sorted before Rafe changes his mind,’ Tom said, and she could tell he wasn’t joking.
When Marianne put down the telephone the two women stared blankly at each other for a second before Crystal gave a whoop and a holler that made Marianne jump out of her skin. ‘I’ll never say again there’s not a Santa Claus. Who would have thought this could happen? It’s unbelievable.’
Yes, it was a bit. Marianne let Crystal have her moment of joy but her main feeling was one of trepidation. It was a wildly generous offer and she was grateful to Rafe Steed—eternally grateful—but something didn’t sit right. She didn’t know what, but she’d bet her bottom dollar there was more to this than met the eye.
A little while later, as she walked up to her bedroom to get ready for the lunch date, she was no nearer to finding an answer for her inward unease. Whatever way she looked at this she couldn’t lose, could she? It was a win-win situation. On one side of the scales she lost everything, on the other she kept a fifty per cent stake in Seacrest and in the future might even be able to buy the Steeds out if all went well. OK, it might take years, decades even, but it was a possibility and one she would work towards.
Opening the bedroom door, she walked over to the wardrobe. She needed to look businesslike, she told herself firmly. Cool and businesslike and in control. She always left a selection of clothes at Seacrest for holidays and weekends with her parents, but they were much less formal than her things in London. She must have something that would do. She glanced at the charcoal dress and black jacket, which were still where she had thrown them on the night of the funeral.
No. She couldn’t bear to wear them again. Silly and emotional perhaps, but that was the way she felt.
The June day was a warm one, the sky blue and cloudless with just the slightest of breezes whispering over the garden and through the open window. Pulling out the most sombre dress in the wardrobe—a sleeveless sheer twisted tulle dress with attached dress underneath in pale brown—Marianne quickly divested herself of the jeans and vest top she was wearing.
Hair up or down? She surveyed herself critically. Up. More tidy and neat.
It only took a few seconds to loop her shoulder-length hair into a sleek shining knot, and she spent the remaining five minutes before she left the room applying careful make-up to hide the ravages a night spent crying had wreaked. True, her eyelids were still on the puffy side but only the most discerning eye would notice it.
By the time she joined Crystal, who was waiting for her in the hall, Marianne was satisfied that her overall persona was one of cool efficiency. Tom’s last words, although spoken lightly, had hit a nerve. With salvation just a lunch away, she didn’t want to blow this. She needed to instill in Rafe Steed the assurance that she could cope with whatever was necessary to get Seacrest up and working as a successful hotel.
‘Annie. Crystal.’ Tom stood up as they approached him and his companion in The Fiddler’s Arms lounge bar, the tall dark figure at his side rising also.
Marianne kept her eyes trained on the middle-aged face in front of her until Tom had hugged her briefly. Then she forced herself to turn polite eyes to Rafe Steed. ‘Hello, Mr Steed,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t expect we would meet again so soon.’
‘Likewise, Miss Carr.’
His voice was just as she remembered—silky, cold—but his face was as unrevealing as a blank canvas.
In spite of herself she was slightly taken aback and that annoyed her more than his coolness. She had expected… What had she expected? she asked herself silently. Some shred of warmth? Enthusiasm? Something, for sure.
Clearing her throat, Marianne said flatly, ‘I appreciate the fact you might be interested in a business proposal involving Seacrest, Mr Steed.’
His eyes were very blue and very piercing. ‘It’s a little more than a might, Miss Carr.’
‘Good, good,’ Tom intervened, his voice brisk. ‘But, in view of the circumstances, I think we can do away with such formality and move on to Christian names?’ Crystal nodded her agreement. Marianne’s inclination of her head was less enthusiastic and Rafe Steed could have been set in granite. However, when he next spoke it was to Marianne that he said, ‘I think our table is ready in the restaurant. Shall we?’ and he took her arm in a manner that brooked no argument, leaving the other two to follow them as he walked her out of the lounge bar and through wide-open doors into the inn’s restaurant.
Taken aback, Marianne didn’t object but she was unnervingly conscious of the warm hand on her elbow and the height and breadth of him as he escorted her to a table for four in a secluded spot at the edge of the room. Once seated next to Crystal with the two men facing them across the table, she tried to relax her taut muscles but it was difficult. She didn’t think she had ever felt so tense in all her life. Part of the problem was that she could feel Rafe’s eyes moving over every inch of her face although she purposely hadn’t glanced at him, pretending an interest in the room in general.
‘So, Marianne…’ He brought her eyes to his as he spoke, the deep voice with its smoky accent giving her name a charm she’d never heard before. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Drink?’ She flushed as she realised she must sound vacant. Praying he hadn’t noticed, she said quickly, ‘A glass of wine would be nice.’
‘Red or white?’
‘Red.’ Why had she said that? She never drank red. Was it because she felt he had expected her to say white? But that was ridiculous. He probably hadn’t been thinking any such thing.
She watched as Rafe raised a hand and a waitress immediately appeared at his side. She had lunched at this particular pub many times in the past and she had never seen anyone get such prompt service before, not in the summer when the restaurant was always packed to bursting.
Once Rafe had given the order for drinks and they were settled with a menu in their hands, Marianne forced herself to raise her gaze as casually as though it wasn’t taking all of her will-power and meet Rafe’s eyes as she said, ‘I understand you’ve bought the Haywards’ place for your father. It’s a beautiful old cottage, isn’t it, and the garden is wonderful. I’m sure he’ll love it.’
‘I hope so.’ It was flat, the tone contrary to the words. He swallowed some wine before he said, ‘Personally, I think it is a mistake, this desire to come back to a country he left some four decades ago. All his friends and colleagues are in the States, that’s where his life is.’
‘What about his heart?’ She hadn’t meant to say it; the words had popped out of their own volition.
‘His heart?’ The blue eyes had iced over still more.
‘Maybe his heart has never really left the area he was born in.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I could understand that, to be honest. I live and work in London, as you know, but I’ve always known I’d come back here one day to put down roots. Cornwall…well, it gets in the blood somehow. It can hold a person. But of course you would know your father far better than me,’ she added hastily, sensing she was treading on thin ice.
‘Quite.’
Oh, he definitely wasn’t amused. She took in the tight line of his jaw and, as he cut the conversation by looking down at his menu, she noticed he had thick lashes for a man. Long and silky and curly—the sort of lashes a woman would kill for. His open-necked grey shirt showed the beginning of soft black chest hair and his broad shoulders accentuated the flagrant masculinity she had noticed the day of the funeral. She felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach and hastily averted her eyes but for a moment the small neat words on the menu swam mistily.
Get a grip. She sat perfectly still for some moments, willing her racing heart to slow down. As her pulse gradually returned to normal she took a few discreet calming breaths.
Crystal, obviously sensing the tense atmosphere, dived in with the stock English fallback comment about the weather. ‘Lovely for June, isn’t it?’ she said brightly. ‘It was awful this time last year, one storm after another.’
Marianne raised her head in time to see Rafe’s mouth twitch as he continued to keep his eyes on the menu. It annoyed her. He knew exactly how his attitude was affecting everyone, she thought irritably, and he didn’t care. Possibly because he considered he was holding all the cards. Which he was, of course. Nevertheless… Expressionlessly, she said, ‘Why haven’t you bought Seacrest purely for yourself, Mr Steed? Or for your father, for that matter?’ It was a question that had been burning in her mind since Tom had first told her about the proposal. She hadn’t meant to put it so baldly originally but Rafe Steed had got under her skin.
Blue eyes met chocolate-brown and Marianne didn’t try to hide the dislike she felt for this overbearing individual in her face. She felt Crystal squirm at her side and felt a moment’s contrition. Crystal would be devastated if Rafe pulled out of this merger.
‘I have a home in the States,’ he said coolly after he had allowed one or two seconds to tick by. ‘And Seacrest is too large an establishment for my father. The Haywards’ place is much more suitable. But I think he will enjoy seeing it renovated and turned into a first-class exclusive hotel.’
Marianne’s eyes narrowed. There had been something in his tone she couldn’t put her finger on but which sent alarm bells ringing. ‘As a project, you mean?’ she said, a sudden tightness in her chest.
He gave her a hard look. ‘What else?’
What else, indeed? Feeling as though she were wading through treacle and oblivious to the anxious glances the other two at the table were exchanging, she said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Steed, but I felt there was something more to it than that when you just spoke.’
He settled back in his seat a fraction and the male face went blank, but she had seen the momentary surprise when she had pressed the challenge. Surprise and something else. She had been right; there was more to it than he had admitted thus far. Like a bolt of lightning, Marianne knew she had to get to the bottom of this. ‘Am I right?’ she asked directly.
He stared at her. It took all of her strength not to let her eyes fall away but she was determined not to be the one to look away first.
Tom began to say something into the taut silence which had fallen but in the next instant Rafe was on his feet, glancing at the other two as he said, ‘I think Miss Carr and I need to talk privately for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us? We won’t be long.’
‘Annie?’ Tom glanced at her, his face concerned.
‘It’s all right, Uncle Tom.’ She had risen to her feet and now she smiled at the solicitor and Crystal. ‘Order for us if the waitress returns, would you? I’ll have the butter bean bruschetta with toasted wholegrain bread followed by the tarragon chicken with green beans and new potatoes.’ She didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing but she was blowed if she was going to let Rafe Steed know that.
She glanced at him, waiting for him to express his choice, and for a second she thought she caught a glimpse of something which could have been admiration in the blue gaze. It was gone in an instant as he turned to Tom. ‘The same.’
She didn’t want him touching her again and so she quickly retraced her steps to the lounge bar. There she stopped long enough to glance over her shoulder and say, ‘I suggest we go through to the garden. It’s more private there,’ before continuing on.
