A Summer of Secrets Read online

  “I don’t know what Father would have said to you working there for them.”

  She glanced sadly at her father, who just shook his head.

  “I think you’re forgetting that the Heatons owned the mines originally.”

  “I know they did,” Mrs Nelson replied irritably. “But our father did an honest day’s work.”

  “And what do you think I’m doing?” she retorted. “I like it there and I’m not leaving.” She sighed. Why did they always end up rowing on her mother’s good-ish days? What if she had no more good-ish days? “Have you and Mrs Hartley been watching the tennis?”

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “How is Andy Murray doing?”

  “Not bad,” she replied, and Sophia smiled. “You’ve got Father’s smile.”

  “I know. But I think I’ve got Mother’s sense of humour, unfortunately.”

  Mrs Nelson laughed. “And that’s bad, is it?”

  “It is when I keep unintentionally teasing Lord Heaton.”

  Her mother grunted. “Only teasing? You should be taking the ‘you know what’ out of him. Let him and his like know that they don’t rule the roost anymore. He went down the mine once. I remember John Davis giving him the grand tour but it didn’t last long, Lord Muck got claustrophobic and had to be taken back up to the surface again. But the son went down instead and asked all sorts of questions, according to William. Must have been reading up on it. William was quite impressed but don’t tell anyone that will you?”

  “It is the son I’m talking about. Old Lord Heaton’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Mrs Nelson frowned. “When?”

  “Oh, a while back, so the son is in charge now.”

  “But he must be still at school?”

  “No, he’s in his late thirties.”

  “What?” Her mother stared at her and Sophia knew that the thick, thick fog was descending again. “How can that be?”

  “Shall I get you a cup of tea?”

  “…Tea…yes, thanks, Sally.”

  Sophia nodded and she sat with her parents while her mother drank the tea and ate some of the biscuits. When her father left the room in search of a wheelchair to bring his wife to the television room, Mrs Nelson grabbed her hand.

  “What is it?” Sophia asked.

  “I need to say something while he’s out of the room.”

  “Okay,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Promise me that no matter how bad things get and that if you can’t get a job, you won’t sleep with someone for money.”

  Sophia stared at her mother in complete astonishment. Was her mother talking to her or to her aunt? “But—”

  “Promise me.” Mrs Nelson began to squeeze Sophia’s hand with her good hand surprisingly tightly. “I’ve seen the damage it does. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” she replied.

  “Good.” Her mother released Sophia’s hand. “Now, I’ll say no more about it.”

  “But who are you talking about?” she urged.

  “I’m not saying anymore.”

  “Are you talking about Michelle’s mum?” she asked and waited for a reaction.

  “I’m not saying anymore,” her mother replied stubbornly and Sophia sighed.

  “You are, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not saying anymore.”

  “Okay.”

  “You are looking for another job, aren’t you, Sally?” her mother added.

  “I’ve got another job now.”

  “Where?”

  “Up at Heaton Abbey. I’m the—”

  “The abbey?” Mrs Nelson exclaimed. “No.”

  “Yes…What is it?” she cried as her mother began shaking her head violently. “Mum, stop it, don’t do that.”

  “Not that place. Not that place.”

  “Mum.” She tried to calm her mother. “Mum, stop.”

  “You get out of that place. You must get out of that place.”

  Sophia could hear feet running down the corridor and her father and a nurse rushed into the room.

  “Mrs Nelson?” The nurse tried to soothe her.

  “You must get out of that place. You have to get out.”

  “Sophia.” Her father ordered. “Leave her.”

  “Why do I have to get out, Mum?” Sophia demanded. “Tell me.”

  “Sophia. Out. Now.”

  “Please?” the nurse begged.

  Sophia got up and went out into the corridor, kicking the skirting board in frustration. A couple of minutes later her father followed.

  “What the hell was that about?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. She asked if I had got a job yet and I told her that I was at Heaton Abbey and she just started shouting and shaking her head.”

  “Right, well, you don’t mention the abbey again to her. Do you hear me, Sophia?”

  “Yes. I’ll just lie as usual. Pretend I’m Sally one day. Pretend I’m her mother the next.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” her father said quietly. “Let the nurse calm her down.”

  “All right.”

  “You like the abbey, then?” he asked.

  “Yes. I did my first tour yesterday.”

  “What’s Lord Heaton like?” Mr Nelson added. “Is he a recluse like everyone says?”

  “I don’t really know,” she replied truthfully. “He seems to work very hard and he doesn’t leave the estate much but I don’t know if that makes him a recluse.”

  She drove straight back to the abbey, parking in the stable yard right outside the door to the flat. Stretching, she peered at her white face in the rearview mirror. By now her mother would have completely forgotten she’d been, whether it was in the guise of herself, Sally, or her grandmother, and would be complaining to the staff how she never received any visitors. Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away before getting out of the car.

  “Ms Nelson?”

  Hearing Heaton’s voice, she blinked furiously before turning to him with a weak smile. “Yes?”

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to go with you for that walk.” Heaton stared at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “But I’ll be all right after a good cry.”

  “Your mother isn’t…?”

  She shook her head. “No, but—”

  “Come into the office?” He extended a hand.

  She went inside and he held the swivel office chair for her as she sat down. An invoice lay on the desk but he sat on it.

  “She thought I was my aunt today,” she explained. “At least I think it was my aunt. My dad is now her brother, she thinks Dad’s dead,” she added. “It’s awful for him.”

  “Is that why you go up onto the moors? To try and walk and cry it all out of you?”

  She glanced up at him in surprise but nodded. “If I don’t catch hypothermia in the process.”

  “If you’d prefer that I didn’t come…”

  “No, I would like the company, but I mightn’t be very good company for you, that’s all.”

  “Well, if you’re sure? I’m not exactly stimulating company myself at the moment.”

  “My mum knew,” she announced. “About Danielle.”

  “Really.”

  “She’s just made me promise never to sleep with anyone for money.”

  That took him aback a little. “I see.”

  “Do you? Because when the abbey was mentioned again, she started screaming and shouting and telling me to get out of there.”

  He grimaced. “She’s not likely to…?”

  “What? Blurt it out to someone else? I don’t know. She has dementia. If I hadn’t known, I’d have thought she was rambling – hoped she was rambling.”

  “I take it that none of Danielle’s family know?”

  She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then, I think it’s best for everyone’s sake that this is kept quiet.”

  “But aren’t you e
ven a little bit curious?”

  She jumped as the telephone rang. After two rings the answering machine came on.

  “Heaton? I know you’re there, Heaton, everyone knows that you live in that fucking office.” Sophia glanced at the phone and began to squirm with embarrassment. “Pick up, Heaton, you—”

  “Excuse me.” Heaton leaned across her, picked up the handset and calmly pressed the end call button before putting it down again. “Sorry about that.”

  Giving him a little smile, she turned to the PC. The screensaver had taken over. It was a slideshow of various Renaissance paintings and he followed her gaze.

  “I did History of Art at university,” he explained.

  “I did notice the book on Renaissance women in the drawer in the library.”

  “Do you like art at all?” he asked.

  “I prefer literature, actually, but I could be persuaded.” She cringed as soon as she said it but he nodded.

  “Good. If only I had the time to read something worthwhile. I walk into the library and all the books seem to glare at me. If I get through The Guardian every so often, I’m doing well.”

  “You read The Guardian?”

  “Yes, why?” he inquired lightly. “Should someone like me be reading the Daily Telegraph?”

  She flushed feeling foolish and irritated that he was able to remain as cool as a cucumber, while she, normally the epitome of calm, was reduced to a red-faced gibbering idiot at the slightest thing. It was hard to believe that this was the same man she had seen in an intense verbal and physical rage. It was hard enough to keep up with her mother’s frequent mood swings.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that Mum and Dad used to read The Guardian. Now she can barely get through the Daily Mirror…Dad has to read it to her.”

  He pulled a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

  Glancing around the office, she noted how spartanly furnished it was with the only decorative item being a calendar of Renaissance paintings. She squirmed as she caught him watching her.

  “I’m sorry, I…er, I was looking for your…er, glasses.”

  He frowned. “My glasses?”

  “I, um…I couldn’t help but notice that, um…you’re a bit, well, quite a bit long-sighted.”

  “Long-sighted?”

  She nodded. “When you hold something away from you so that you can focus on it properly?”

  “Oh, I see. Well, yes, that does seem to be getting worse.”

  “I think you need to get your eyes tested.”

  “You think I need glasses?” he asked.

  “Well, I’m no optician but, yes, I think you do. Just for reading and close-up work. Has nobody mentioned it to you before?”

  “No. I’d better make an appointment, then. Thanks for mentioning it.”

  She flushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, I mean it. Thank you.”

  “Well, I’d better go and eat something.” She got up and he slid off the desk. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Not at all. I’d better show my face for lunch today. I’ll see you in about an hour?”

  She nodded. “Don’t wear jeans, will you? If it rains…”

  “I’ll find something.”

  Letting herself into the flat, she blew out her cheeks before going to the cupboard and retrieving a small tin of baked beans. She emptied the contents into a saucepan, turned the gas hob on, then heard her smartphone ringing. Picking it up and glancing at the screen her heart sank. It was Michelle and she swiped the screen to answer.

  “You’ll never guess who we had an email from at work?” Michelle laughed.

  “Who?”

  “Your boss.”

  “You expected him to be still writing on parchment with a quill, or something?” Sophia asked, pressing the speakerphone button and carrying on with preparing her lunch.

  “No. Well, maybe not a quill. Did you give him the office email address?”

  “Yes, why?” Sophia put two slices of wholegrain brown bread in the toaster and pushed the lever down.

  “I just wondered what he was like. It’s just that we’re bringing out a glossy brochure. It might be the only brochure, glossy or otherwise. We’ll see how it goes, but I was wondering if Lord Heaton would mind being interviewed? It would be a big plug for the place and a big scoop for us. Is he a bit…fierce?”

  “No, not really,” Sophia lied, opening the fridge and taking out a tub of low fat spread. “Well, not all the time. Actually, underneath it all, I think he’s a bit shy.”

  “Shy? Great. He probably won’t do it, then?”

  “There’s no harm in asking. Would you be doing the interview?”

  Michelle laughed. “God, no. It’ll be Vincent Graves, probably. The brochure was his idea. Pity, though. Is he good-looking?”

  Sophia felt herself flush and stirred the baked beans. “Yes, I suppose he is.”

  “Excellent. Might even get him on the cover. I’ll tell Vincent. So, how’s it going up there?”

  Don’t ask. “Very well. The flat’s lovely and the tours are no problem.” Provided he doesn’t come on them. “I’ve even got the use of the wireless internet connection.”

  “Have you tried it out yet?”

  “No, I’m still unpacking.”

  “And Lady Heaton? What’s she like?”

  Where could she start? Best not to even try. Sophia’s mind then went back to Lady Heaton’s peculiar behaviour as she left the drawing room. And where had all that money come from? She shrugged. No, best not even try.

  “She’s been pleasant so far.”

  “You haven’t got lost at all, then?”

  She just laughed and said goodbye to Michelle as the toast popped up and the beans came to the boil.

  She ate then changed into her walking clothes – combat trousers, jumper, and walking boots.

  Closing the bedroom door, she saw Heaton crossing the stable yard. It was the first time she had seen him dressed in anything but a suit and she stopped and stared. He was wearing a brown wax jacket with a bottle green jumper underneath, khaki combat-style trousers similar to her own and brown walking boots. She sighed and shook her head. It looked as though he was one of those men who looked fabulous in everything they wore. She reached for her phone, pulled on a waterproof jacket, and grabbed her car keys before going downstairs to join him.

  “You’ll have to move the seat back,” she said as she unlocked the Mini.

  He got in and moved the passenger seat so far back that he might as well have been sitting on the back seat. She looked around at him, couldn’t help herself, and laughed.

  “Sorry. I wanted something small and cheap to run.”

  He pulled a comical expression. “I was looking to see if you had a sunroof that I could stick my head through. Maybe we should go in the Land Rover?” She nodded and he got out. “I’ll just get the keys from Des.”

  She got out, locked the car, and saw him emerge from Des’ office. The two of them crossed the stable yard to the huge Land Rover.

  “You’ll have to give me directions to where we start from,” he said as they got in.

  “I will.”

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled in at a small car park. “I haven’t been up here for years. You don’t walk too fast, do you?”

  “No. There are two routes we can take. Up to what I call the big rock, which is eight kilometres there and back. Or up to the stone circle, which is five. Maybe five would be enough for today?”

  He smiled. “I think so.”

  He locked the Land Rover, they climbed over the stile and walked up onto the footpath which ran through the heather.

  “It’s lovely up here, isn’t it?” He halted after a few paces, hands on hips, and looked around them.

  “If you need to stop and catch your breath just say.”

  “Thanks. I’m not very fit. Walking between my office and the house isn’t really enough.”

  They set off again at a s
lower pace.

  “Where did you go to university?” she asked.

  “Cambridge. The Heatons have always gone there. I was halfway through my final year when I learned that my father had cancer. I still have no idea how I got through my finals. The last time I saw him, he didn’t know who I was, so I do understand what it’s like. Unfortunately, he had run the estate like there was no tomorrow. I went into his study the day after the funeral and found drawers full of bills, invoices, and tax demands. Some went back years. It took years to pay all the creditors and the tax bill was astronomical. I’m still struggling to make ends meet and when the idea was put forward of opening the house up to coach tour parties, well, you saw what I was like. I apologise if I was rude to you. It’s no excuse, but I had to go to a funeral that day and I loathe funerals.”

  “I hate funerals, too, and I wouldn’t like complete strangers traipsing through my home so I can sympathise. But there are tours booked for the next three months and Lady Heaton is scheduling additional daily tours because so many coach tour operators want to add the abbey to their list of stops. The way things are going, the abbey will soon have tours all year round.”

  He nodded. “I know, but I am not dressing up as a monk or in a suit of armour for anyone.”

  She laughed. “What do people say to you when they ask what you do for a living?”

  “When people find out I have a title it is a bit of a conversation killer. I think some people have this idea that lords are all at least fifty, frequent gentleman’s clubs, and hunt, shoot and fish. I do none of those things. I was twenty-two when I inherited the title; I’ve been working to keep the estate afloat ever since and I don’t want anything to spoil that.”

  “It seems to be working, though.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Just about.”

  “Mum and Dad remember when you went down the mine instead of your father when he became claustrophobic.”

  “Really?” He gave her an incredulous frown. “Good God, I must have been only about twelve or something. I wanted to go down with him but he wouldn’t let me. Then, when he had to come back up I asked if I could go and he just waved his hand in agreement.”

  “Mum said that you asked lots of very good questions and that Dad was impressed. That is a huge compliment from my dad.”

  “Were you ever down the mine?” he asked.