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It was a story Grace loved to hear, and one Granny Joy loved to tell.
‘It’s said that you can hear the lovers calling to one another when there are storms and the wind is in the right direction,’ Granny Joy had told Grace.
Sadly, Grace had never heard them, despite often going to Lookout Point in stormy weather, just to see if she could.
There were other stories about Betancourt, all of which Grace loved. She loved the place and always had. It was such a shame it was Griff who would inherit it and not Russell.
Although, to be fair to Griff, he had seemed to be the one who felt the same as she did about it growing up. Probably more so as it would go to him when Archie passed away. Russell hadn’t really said how he felt about that, apart from once when he was about twelve and he’d told her that he was glad Griff was the eldest son.
‘It’s not like it was in the old days, of course,’ he’d said. ‘We don’t own all the land we once did and we don’t have all the responsibilities for the villagers and stuff like that, but being head of this family and the one in charge of Betancourt is still a huge task, and I’m glad it’s Griff and not me who has to deal with it.’
‘But where will you live when Griff takes over?’ she had asked.
‘It’ll still be my home,’ he had said. ‘Although I’ll probably have a place in London, like Dad has now. Both Griff and I will be working for the family firm after school and university, so I’ll only come home for high days and holidays. It’ll be Griff who spends most of his time here. I’ll be pretty much care free and could live anywhere. Within reason. I wouldn’t need to be at our auction house in London on a daily basis.’
‘Is it an actual house?’ Grace had asked.
The only firm of auctioneers she’d ever visited were in Folkestone, the year before that conversation, and their offices were at the rear of a large warehouse, which was overflowing with furniture, toys, bric-a-brac, ornaments, jewellery, and more. Granny Joy had taken Grace with her to have an old vase she’d found in a boot sale valued. Granny Joy had paid fifty pence for it and it had subsequently sold at auction for two hundred pounds. But Grace had heard of much grander auctioneers, like Sotheby’s and Christie’s, and of course, Betancourt’s.
Russell had smiled at her question and nodded. ‘Our offices are in a former house, yes. A rather grand place in the heart of Mayfair.’
‘And you sell anything and everything?’
‘Not quite. We sell fine arts and antiques, mainly, but also books, wine, and jewellery.’
Grace couldn’t imagine moving away from Betancourt Bay as a child, and even now the thought of living elsewhere never appealed to her. Eversley Events had been up and running for a year by the time she left school after passing several A levels, and although her parents encouraged her to go to university, all she wanted was to join the family business.
Unlike Hope, who couldn’t wait to go to university. But she also returned once she’d got her degree, and joined Eversley Events, which by then was already a thriving business.
Grace arrived at the double front doors of Betancourt and took a deep breath before ringing the bell. She had told her mum that she was happy to meet Bianca on her own but in truth, the woman made her nervous and always had. There was something in the way Bianca looked at people, and it wasn’t simply her look of distain. There was something almost predatory about her.
As Grace waited, she wished she had changed her clothes. She was still wearing the jeans and Christmas-themed jumper she had put on to take Lady E for her walk, and a berry-red jumper with a green Christmas tree decorated with tiny flashing lights, didn’t exactly scream, professional, events planner.
She hadn’t checked her hair either and it was clearly working itself loose from the French plait she had hastily tied after her seven-thirty a.m. shower, because several strands now tickled her nose and chin. She was trying to push them back into place when one of the double doors swept open and Grace gasped in surprise.
‘It’s you!’
‘It is. And it’s you.’ Grifforde Betancourt’s mouth curved into a smile. Not that sardonic smile Grace remembered so well, but a genuine smile, as if he was pleased to see her. And he didn’t seem half as surprised as she was to see him. ‘Hello, Grace. How are you?’
‘What ... What are you doing here?’ She wanted to add, and what have you done with the real Griff?
‘Erm. I live here. From time to time.’
‘I’m well aware of that. I meant, why aren’t you in London?’ Grace frowned. ‘And why are you opening the front door?’
He raised both brows. ‘I decided to come home early. As for opening the door, I find it helps people to gain access to the house.’
‘Hilarious. Seriously, why?’
‘You can’t get the staff these days.’
Grace spotted Tabby Jenkins, the housekeeper, hurrying down the hall.
‘I’m so sorry Mr Betancourt,’ Tabby said as she approached.
He smiled kindly and somewhat sheepishly. ‘Don’t worry Tabby. It’s not a problem. I’m perfectly capable of opening a door. And will you please call me Griff like you always have? Oh. And if you heard that stupid remark about staff, please forgive me. I was trying to be funny.’
‘Is that what you were doing?’ Grace said under her breath, although louder than she intended and Griff clearly heard it because he quirked a brow at her.
