Page 89 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
Reluctantly, I’ve had to confide my concerns in Arthur too, and on his recommendation I’ve made some initial enquires at a local bank that has had dealings with the castle before. But my preliminary conversation with a financial advisor there didn’t give me much hope that I will get very far with them, or more importantly get any money from them either.
‘Come on, Clara,’ I plead as I look into the eyes of this striking woman. ‘I know you suffered similar troubles in your life. Can’t you think of a way out of this without me resorting to selling more of our family’s valuables?’
But Clara just stares serenely back at me.
‘What about this key I’m supposed to ask you about, then?’ I say quietly. ‘I know you mentioned something about it to the others before. Is it this ceremonial key Arthur mentioned that you’re talking about?’
Again nothing.
‘I can’t believe I’m talking to a painting now,’ I mutter to myself. ‘How desperate am I?’
I stand up and turn to leave the room.But what choice do you have, Amelia?I think.You’re running out of ideas, and more importantly you’re running out of time. Once the woodworm have been permanently removed and the new beams are up, there’s going to be a rather large bill that needs paying pretty swiftly.
‘Look, Clara,’ I say, turning back to the painting, ‘I know the others said you were shy, and I completely understand that. It might surprise you to know I’ve always been a pretty shy person myself. It’s only since I’ve had to cope with being alone in the world as a single mother that I’ve had to come out of my shell, otherwise Charlie and I would have starved. I’ve had to fight for what I’m entitled to, fight to find us somewhere to live when the council didn’t want to give us anywhere, and then fight for my job so I could feed us and pay my rent. I didn’t have time to be shy. And now I’m here at the castle I’ve had to fight to try to bring this place into the twenty-first century so it can survive for many more years to come. I’m trying my best here, so if you know of any way to make this easier for me, thenpleasetell me, or at least give me a clue.’
Again nothing happens. A breeze blows through the room from the window, just enough to disturb the thick net curtain that hangs in the window.That’s odd, I think.Who would have opened a window in here? I certainly didn’t when I came in.
I’m about to head towards the window to close it, when it happens again. But this time a shaft of sunlight suddenly appears through the gap the billowing net has left, allowing me to see tiny dust particles in the beam of sunlight that streams through the window.
My gaze follows the beam across the room to where it falls directly on the painting of Clara, or more specifically, on a part of the painting I hadn’t noticed before. In the top right-hand corner of the portrait the artist has depicted another painting hanging behind Clara on the wall. It’s a painting of a dog – Clara’s dog. I know this because Clara talks about her love for the dog in her diaries. She wrote about how much of a friend the little dog had been to her, and how he’d been a faithful companion when times had been tough and she’d been incredibly lonely at the castle. At the time, I’d only thought of the similarities between Charlie and Chester’s relationship, but now something else resonates with me as the sun still shines on the corner of the portrait.
The little dog in the picture looks very similar to another dog I’d seen recently. Not Chester this time, but the little stuffed dog I’d sold, then had to subsequently refund at the courtyard sale . . .
Thirty-two
‘Tom!’ I call, hurrying across the grass towards the long barn that Tom has turned into a temporary workshop while he repairs and restores items from the castle. ‘Tom, I need you!’
Tom, who currently seems to be taking a leather wing-backed chair carefully apart, looks up at me as I run across the lawn.
‘That’s quite the greeting!’ he says, winking at me, as I arrive in front of him slightly out of breath. ‘We may need to find somewhere a little more private, but I’m sure I can accommodate your needs.’
‘What? Oh, I see, it’s a joke. Look, I haven’t got time to mess about—’
‘That’s a shame,’ Tom says, still grinning.
‘What did we do with all the stuff we didn’t sell at the courtyard sale?’ I demand.
‘Er, I think we put most of it back in one of the empty rooms upstairs, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought, but I can’t find the dog.’
‘What dog?’
‘The dog that we sold to that rude man, remember? Then he brought it back and demanded a refund.’
‘Oh the stuffed dog – but why do you want that?’
‘I just do. Do you know where it is?’
‘No.’
‘Damn.’
‘What’s going on, Amelia?’ Tom asks, his eyes narrowing. ‘You seem very het up about this dog.’
‘I’m sure it has something to do with the lost diary,’ I tell him hesitantly.Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask me why, I pray.It’s going to sound really odd if I have to explain why.
‘Why?’ Tom asks as if on cue.
