Joely had been in the writing room for almost three hours by now committing the trip to Paris to her laptop, doing her best to conjure both the heady romance Sir and young Freda had enjoyed, and the sublime location. The task might have been easier if she didn’t already know that something awful was to follow, if she could actually stop herself creating scenarios in her head for what it could be. Actually, just as much of a challenge, if the truth were told, was containing her irritation at being sent off to do this now. It was like being ordered to bed so the grown-ups could talk in peace.
“We have a lot of things to discuss,” Freda had announced as her nephew’s car had pulled up outside the front door, “so it would be a good time for you to go and transcribe our little chat this morning.”
And so, without even being introduced, Joely had climbed the tower staircase, propped open the library door with a well-thumbed Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and settled herself down to the task at hand.
Now it was more or less finished, and she was feeling absurdly reluctant to go downstairs in case showing up unannounced angered Freda. If there were another way out of the tower she’d happily take it, for it was a beautiful day, almost spring-like, and she hadn’t yet taken a walk down to the beach. Or she could take the section of coast path that fronted the Valley of Rocks. From there she could make her way into town for a cup of tea in the inviting-looking tea shop at the top of the funicular ride and have a private chat with her mother or Andee on the phone.
Had Freda really been listening in to her call earlier? If so, what on earth had she hoped to hear?
Anyway, her host’s peculiarities aside, good manners—or something like that—had her trapped up here like she was some embarrassing guest who had to be kept out of the way in case she disgraced herself.
Well, the heck with that.
Sending her afternoon’s work to the printer, she picked up her phone and bag and descended as far as the library before coming to a cautious stop at the sound of raised voices down in the kitchen. Certainly one of them belonged to a man, and the other, though quieter was unquestionably Freda’s.
Reminding herself that it was outrageous to eavesdrop, she tiptoed to the top of the next staircase where she could hear much better.
“ . . . tell me the truth, Freda. I’ll find out anyway, you know that so . . .”
“Edward, please stop bullying me . . .”
“ . . . let’s be sensible about this. I care about you, for heaven’s sake, you’re the only family I have now that . . .”
“You have a mother,” Freda cut in sharply.
“ . . . who we haven’t seen in decades. Freda, if you’re as . . .”
“Stop, I know what you’re going to say, you think I’m about to die and that’s why I’m trying to finish this memoir. Well, I’m not that sick, Edward, and I’ll thank you for not calling my doctor again to find out when I last saw him.”
“If I hadn’t I wouldn’t know that you’d been, and you never go unless it’s serious.”
“Well, it turned out not to be. I’m fine, or better than you seem to think, and this memoir is something I’ve been planning for a very long time, so you could say I’ve been working on it for years. So there’s no urgency about it, it’s just . . . time to get it out of my head and onto the page.”
“OK, then explain to me why you won’t tell me anything about it. Why do I have to wait until it’s published to find out whatever the big secret is? If it concerns Dad, surely I have a right to know.”
“It doesn’t concern him, or Doddoe. It’s something that happened a long time ago and it’s time I set the record straight.”
“About what?”
“We’re going round in circles. Let’s stop and have some tea.”
Joely stayed where she was, listening to the sound of the kettle filling with water and a chair being dragged from the table.
“So how’s the ghostwriter working out?” Edward asked, his tone less stringent now, more conciliatory.
“She’s good,” Freda replied. “Better even than I expected, but we still have a way to go.”
“Where is she?”
“In the writing room. I know you want to meet her, and I’m sure she wants to meet you too, but if I allow it you are not to bully her for information. She’s signed an NDA and I’m sure you don’t want her to be in breach of her contract.”
With a laugh, Edward said, “Who did you get to draw that up for you? I know it wasn’t anyone in my office or they’d have told me.”
“Precisely, which is why I went to a firm in Taunton.”
“Did she mind signing it?”
“I don’t think so.”
His voice lowered in a teasing, conspiratorial way, “Were you a spy, back in the day? Are you revealing some sort of government secrets in this tell-all of yours?”
“That’s it,” she gasped in mock horror. “You’ve guessed. Now let’s talk about you. Are you planning to stay tonight?”
“If I’m allowed to.”
“Good, a room’s been made up for you, but you’ll have to eat in town. I was planning to come with you, but I have a few things to do here so perhaps you’ll be kind enough to take the ghostwriter with you. Before you answer, I want your word that you won’t fall for her, or try to make her fall for you.”
Sounding amused, Edward said, “Do you always call her the ghostwriter? Isn’t her name Jodie Something-or-Other?”
“Joely Foster. She’s very attractive, smart, and she’s on the rebound, so she really doesn’t need to be discombobulated by a playboy like you.”
As he gave a shout of laughter Joely’s eyebrows arched. This was a different tune to the one Freda had played earlier when she’d announced that her nephew was single and not gay. She’d sounded then as if she wanted to push them together, but apparently not.
And playboy?
Deciding she ought to go down before the mood changed against her, she resisted the urge to check herself in a mirror—easy since she didn’t have one—and then promptly made an idiot of herself as she slipped three steps from the bottom and thumped into the kitchen door.
Luckily there wasn’t enough room for her to go all the way down to her knees, and by the time Freda came to investigate the thump she was fully upright and ready to say, “Sorry, just a little advance warning of my arrival.”
Freda regarded her curiously and stood aside for her to enter. “Joely, my nephew, Edward,” she said, smoothly. “Edward, this is Joely.”
Since she’d already seen a photograph of him Joely wasn’t as affected by his good looks as she might have been, although she did find herself warming to the easy charm he seemed to emanate as he rose to greet her. Definitely not my type, she was thinking as she said, “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“And to meet you,” he responded, closing his long fingers around hers in a grip that wasn’t exactly too tight, but very definitely firm. “I’ve been told that you’re doing great work with the memoir.”
“I’m simply typing it up,” Joely assured him, glad to have her hand back, for he seemed to have held it slightly too long.
“I’ve warned him not to quiz you about it,” Freda informed her, going to take the kettle from the heat. “He knows about the NDA. Would you like some tea?”
“Actually,” Joely said, “I was thinking about walking into town so I can make some calls.”
“But there’s the phone,” Freda objected, pointing her to the museum piece with working extension.
“I could do with the exercise.” Joely smiled. “And it’s such a lovely day.”
“Maybe I could walk with you,” Edward suggested. “It’s been a while since—”
“We have a lot of paperwork to get through,” Freda reminded him. To Joely she said, “Do you have anything for me to read?”
“It’s on the printer,” Joely replied. “I’ll go and get it—”
“No need, I can pick it up myself. If you’re walking into town now, perhaps you can meet Edward there later, for dinner. I recommend the Bistro as a change from the Rising Sun. Edward, you can drive over so you’ll have the car to come back in.”
Clearly amused by being bossed around, Edward said, “I wonder how I manage without you when I’m in London.”
“Mm, yes, I wonder that too,” Freda muttered. “Why don’t you meet at seven? Edward, you should ring up to reserve a table.”
Laughing at his ironic smile Joely started for the door, and as she closed it behind her she heard Freda say, “I told you she was attractive.”
“But that’s not why you chose her.”
“No, you’re right, that’s not why I chose her.”
In spite of the brilliant sunshine the air was bitingly cold as Joely climbed out of the Valley of Rocks to start along the coast path toward Lynton. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t much more than a ledge in the cliff face with mighty tors rising up on one side and a slope so steep and unnervingly mesmerizing on the other that she couldn’t allow herself to look down. One slip, or one ferocious gust of wind, and there was very little or nothing at all on that barren hillside, to break a fall into the foaming waves below. And how far away was the coast guard? With so many cuts there might not be one at all.
Every so often she met some hikers loaded down with backpacks and wasn’t especially impressed by the way every one of them stepped over to the tor side as they passed, an invitation for her to take the killer drop side.
Fortunately the path soon became wider, or maybe she got used to it, and as her tension eased she allowed herself to think beyond the instinct to keep herself alive. Although the sheer beauty of nature’s showy mid-winter display with so many wild flowers springing into bloom and the coconut scent of gorse in the air was still distracting.
So too was the text that had pinged into her phone from Holly.
Deciding that no matter what the path was doing now it was still too risky to attempt walking and reading at the same time, she hurried to the next memorial bench and sat down to look at the message again.
Dad has moved back into the house, and so have I. Hx
Joely’s gaze drifted from the words to the glittering stretch of channel in front of her where huge swathes of indigo formed island patches in the aqueous blue. Overhead a rowdy flock of seagulls dived and soared around the cliffs and in her head, like the lapping tide below, questions formed and dissolved and formed again.
In the end she half-walked, half-ran to the sea view hotels on the edge of town, and as soon as there were enough bars on her phone she connected to Callum’s number.
As she waited for him to answer she began priming herself to leave a message on his voicemail, but then he was there.
“At last,” he said, sounding both relieved and irritated. “You are impossible to get hold of . . .”
“Is it true you’ve moved back into the house?” she demanded, turning her back on a couple who threw her a curious glance.
“Yes, I have, but only . . .”
“Then you can leave. I don’t care what’s going on with Martha, or anyone else, you are not . . .”
“Joely, it’s my house too, and you aren’t using it at the moment. For God’s sake, I’ve been trying to get hold of you to ask . . .”
“And the answer’s no. You made a decision to leave . . .”
“Joely, please. I understand you’re angry, you have every right to be, but can’t we at least discuss this? I’m prepared to come to wherever you are . . .”
“I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want you in the house . . . Please tell me Martha’s not there too. If she is . . .”
“She isn’t, but Holly is. I can’t just leave her . . .”
“She can go to my mother.”
“It’s her home. She wants to be there, and you can’t keep relying on your mother.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my mother.”
“She’s not well, Joely. It might only be a cold, but it’s a pretty bad one, and she doesn’t need to be coming home from work to cook and God-knows-what-else for Holly. So I’ve moved back in to take the load off her . . .”
“So you haven’t actually left Martha?”
“Yes, I have. I realize—”
“And you think that gives you the right to carry on as if nothing happened? Well, it doesn’t, so please don’t be there when I get home.”
After ringing off she strode on along the path in front of the hotels and up the steep incline to the town. When she reached the café next to the funicular station, she ordered herself a cup of tea and glass of wine and sat down at a table outside. The view was spectacular, and the sun was much warmer here, but she was hardly noticing either as she connected to her mother.
“If you’re not well you shouldn’t be at work,” she barked as soon as she received an answer.
“I’m not that bad,” came the reply. “I’m guessing you’ve spoken to Callum.”
“I have and—”
“Joely you’re sounding angry so please calm down—”
“Wouldn’t you be angry in my shoes?”
“Maybe. I—”
“If Dad had ever cheated on you, you’d know how I feel.” Where had that come from? She’d never said anything like that to her mother before.
“Well, he didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. Callum’s hurt you very badly, and I honestly don’t know—”
“Our marriage is over.” Her head spun at the sound of the words, and she immediately wanted to take them back.
“I don’t think you believe that,” her mother responded, “but even if you do I don’t see anything wrong with him being at the house while you’re not there. If you want to give us some idea of when you’ll be back I’m sure he’ll be able to make some alternative arrangements . . . No, don’t interrupt,” she scolded as Joely drew breath to protest. “You know it makes sense this way and if you don’t want to be under the same roof as him when you come home you can always come and stay with me.”
“Oh great, so now I’m the one who’s moving out.”
Her mother sighed.
Realizing that venting at her mother this way was doing neither of them any good, Joely took a calming sip of wine, and attempted to start again. “So what happened with Martha? Do you know?”
“All I can tell you is what Holly told me, that he’s an effing idiot who was led by his . . . Actually, her language is too colorful for me to repeat. However, she did say that her father told her to ask you why things went wrong.”
Joely’s mouth fell open as an uncomfortable heat spread through her. But Callum didn’t know what she was hiding, he couldn’t, and besides he was the one at fault here. “So he’s blaming me for him going off with my best friend?”
“I don’t know what he’s doing, but you have to admit, Joely, that there are always two sides to a story and now we know that Callum has his.”
Later, sitting opposite Edward Martin in the Bistro—a quaint little place set back from the harbor with shiny brass rails and cozy booths—Joely was doing her best to put the conversation with her mother out of her mind. In fact, rather than deal with it, she’d spent the time waiting for Edward wondering about the other story occupying her world right now and how Sir might tell his side of it if he had the chance.
She wondered if he was still alive, and if so, where he might be. And did he have any idea he was being written about? What would it do to him and his family once the memoir was published? Was Freda protecting them with pseudonyms, or was Michaels their actual name?
“I’m ready to accept,” Edward said, after ordering the wine, “that I might not be the most fascinating company, but in my defense you haven’t given me much of a chance yet.”
Joely had to smile. “Sorry, just a few things going round in my head, nothing to do with you. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
His eyes lit up in a way that made her laugh. “Freda’s always so secretive,” he said, “that I’m amazed you even knew I existed. Or maybe you didn’t until you heard I was coming.”
“I knew,” she assured him. “Not that she told me anything about you. Brenda was more forthcoming, she says you’re very easygoing and you remind her of Cary Grant.”
His laugh was one of true amusement. “Tell any of my children that and they’ll say Cary who? and probably think it’s a girl.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “I think everyone under forty reminds Brenda of Cary Grant and I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m past it.”
Chuckling, Joely said, “How many children do you have?”
“Three. Two sons with my first wife, aged seventeen and fourteen, and a little cracker of a nine-year-old daughter with my second wife. None with my third wife, but as we’ve recently embarked on an amicable split I’m not expecting any from that quarter to add to the number.”
Joely’s eyes were wide. “You’ve had three wives,” she cried in amazement. Definitely a playboy and quite possibly a serial adulterer.
Appearing perplexed, he said, “Do you think I might not be cut out for marriage? That’s what each of them has told me and I’m beginning to think they could be right.”
“I think there’s a very good chance of it,” Joely informed him drolly, and felt more than a little relieved that he definitely wasn’t her type. The last thing she needed right now was to be struggling with an attachment to a very handsome, but clearly totally untrustworthy womanizer.
On the other hand, introducing him to Callum could be fun.
Immediately as the thought occurred to her she felt her smile fade—did she really think she’d get some pleasure out of hurting him?
After sampling the wine and approving it, Edward waited for their glasses to be filled and proposed a toast. “To you,” he declared, “and I hope whatever’s bothering you can be quickly resolved.”
Surprised, she said, “What makes you say that?”
“It’s in your eyes. They’re very expressive, and perhaps because my aunt happened to mention that you’re on the rebound. I’m sorry about that.”
Joely had to smile. “It’s hardly your fault, and I’m not sure I’d call it the rebound, although I’ve no idea what else to call it. It’s complicated and I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit. Why don’t we choose what we’re going to eat and then you can tell me all about this memoir.”
Realizing he was baiting her, Joely shot him a look and turned to the menu.
After they’d ordered—pork medallions for him while Joely went for the mushroom stroganoff—he sat back in his chair and regarded her with frank interest. Before he could speak she said,
“It’s no good, I’m not going to betray her confidence . . .”
“I don’t expect you to. I’d simply like to be assured that she’s not writing herself into some kind of trouble.”
Joely screwed up her nose. “It’s hard to give you that assurance when I’ve no idea if the names she’s using are real—apart from her own—and I’ve yet to find out why she feels the need to do this.”
“Have you asked her?”
“She says she wants to put the record straight—and even if I knew what about I wouldn’t tell you because I’ve signed an agreement.”
He weighed the answer, and said, “So is it about Doddoe? Her husband. He was a terrible philanderer, you know. That’s an old-fashioned word, isn’t it, but it certainly suits him.”
“No, it’s not about him. It’s something that happened when she was much younger . . . Now, that’s all I’m saying. Let’s talk some more about you and all your marriages . . .”
“I’m sure you’re much more interesting.”
“Not true. I’ve only tied the knot once, and actually I’m still married, I just don’t know for how much longer.”
“Do you have children?”
“A daughter who’ll be sixteen in a couple of months. I found out shortly before coming here this evening that she and her father have moved back into the family home.”
“Which means they must have moved out at some point. Will they be staying once you return?”
“Holly will, I’m sure, but as for Callum . . .” She sighed and took another sip of wine. “He left me not long before Christmas to be with my best friend.”
“Ouch.”
She nodded. “Apparently it hasn’t worked out for them so . . .” She threw out a hand. “I’ve no idea where we’re supposed to go from here, but he’s somehow made my mother believe that our breakup is partly my fault.”
He frowned. “Mm, not very chivalrous, considering what he did.”
She didn’t meet his eyes as she said, “No, it isn’t.”
His scrutiny was making her uncomfortable now, although he’d have no way of knowing what she was hiding, what she couldn’t even bring herself to put into thoughts, never mind words.
“I have an aunt who’s very big on protecting secrets,” he reminded her, “and I have no problem with it. I get that some are better left untold, while others can do a whole lot of good if they come out. I guess you know which category yours falls into.”
“The former,” she assured him, and keen to change the subject she said, “we seem to be having a very personal conversation for two people who’ve only just met. So, how about we get onto slightly less delicate ground and talk about hobbies, likes and dislikes, where we go for holidays, that sort of thing?”
With a laugh he raised his glass and said, “Skiing, sailing, music, loud people, usually Italy, but sometimes further afield. How about you?”
Enjoying the throwback, she said, “Skiing, horseback riding, cinema, cheats, usually France, sometimes Spain.”
He nodded, clearly satisfied. “So now we have that out of the way, what shall we talk about next?”
“Stop being difficult,” she chided. “Since we both enjoy skiing why don’t you tell me where you go, or let me guess, Aspen, Verbier, Whistler?”
He looked amazed, although she could tell it was mock, but actually it turned out that he did frequent some of the world’s most luxurious resorts. She, for her part, had never been to any of them, since she and Callum usually went somewhere way less pricey either in Austria or Eastern Europe, or France if they could get a good deal.
She couldn’t imagine they’d be going this winter, at least not together. Maybe one of them would take Holly if she was up for it.
The food arrived and they continued to chat easily and humorously and in a way that made her realize that she hadn’t felt this relaxed in a very long time.
“You just smiled,” he told her as their coffees arrived. “Did I say something funny?”
“No, it was something that occurred to me.” She narrowed her eyes as though warning him not to ask. “I’ve really enjoyed this evening, thank you,” she said. “No offense to your aunt, but it’s good to get out of the house now and again—and to have someone to talk to.”
His dark eyes twinkled. “So she’s not proving a great conversationalist? It doesn’t surprise me. She never had much time for chitchat even when my father and her husband were alive. Since we lost them she’s all but shut up shop in a social sense, as you know. She had a breakdown right after it happened, she couldn’t handle it at all. We had to check her into a clinic for a while. Personally, I think she’s still finding it hard to accept that Doddoe might actually have left her if the accident hadn’t happened. It would have broken her, that’s for sure, she was completely devoted to him. Now she just writes, listens to music, and writes some more. It’s actually quite good to know that she’s finally allowed someone over the threshold, never mind into her precious inner world. I think having you there could be doing her a lot of good.”
Recalling what she’d overheard earlier, Joely said, “Is she all right? I’m sorry, but I can’t help wondering if she’s doing this memoir because time isn’t on her side.”
“She had a bleed to the brain several weeks ago,” he told her. “It gave us a bit of a scare, but fortunately, she came through without too many complications. She has to keep a close eye on her blood pressure now, and luckily Brenda’s very good at making sure she takes her medication. I expect you can guess that it’s the main reason for bringing you in to help with the memoir. Frankly, I never imagined she’d go for it, but actually it was her idea, so at least we know she’s taking her condition seriously. Now, I think we should be heading back to Dimmett House, unless you have some calls to make first. I’m happy to wait if you do.”
Deciding that actually she didn’t feel like talking to Callum again tonight, or anyone else come to that, she thanked him and got out her purse to pay her share.
He was having none of it, but only got his way when he said, “How about we make it your treat the next time I come?”
Finding herself hoping that might be soon, Joely put away her card and followed him out into the wintry night, where his car—she’d had no idea until today that Porsche even made SUVs—was parked nose on to the river.
The journey back to the house took no more than ten minutes and as they pulled up at the end of the drive Edward said, “I’ll be taking off early in the morning, so I probably won’t see you. But here’s my card.” He handed one over. “Give me a call when you’re back in London, or before if you’re concerned about Freda.”
Joely thanked him and as she got out she glanced up at the tower. Though it wasn’t late, just after nine, she was surprised to see lights on in the writing room. Then she spotted Freda sitting at her desk, a small figure darkened by the brilliance around her like a moth trapped in the heart of a flame. A second later the light went out, making it seem eerily as though Freda herself had been extinguished.