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She didn’t want it to sink in. She wanted Seacrest.
Somehow Marianne managed to pull herself together sufficiently to see Tom out and then comfort Crystal, who was beside herself. After Crystal’s husband and two young sons of four and five had been drowned in a freak storm when he’d taken the boys out in his fishing boat, Gerald and Diane Carr had taken the broken woman in until she recovered sufficiently to decide what she wanted to do. Crystal’s home had been rented and there had been no life assurance or anything of that nature. Shortly afterwards, the Carrs’ housekeeper had suddenly upped and got married, and somehow Crystal had just taken over the role. That had been over thirty years ago and the arrangement had been a blessing for everyone concerned. Now, though, it was as though Crystal’s world had ended for the second time in her life.
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 he
r 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.’
