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СКАЧАТЬ they were all well preserved and had stories to tell.

      Guinevere held her breath at the possibilities. The woman at the bakery had been so right: opening up but a part of this castle would pull in the tourists in droves. Oliver could take photographs for a brochure, and she could write up the text. They could also work on a website together.

      Together.

      Hmmm, as if Oliver would want that.

      If his father could be believed, Oliver was dead set on selling off the castle or at least handing over the care for it to a trust or some other kind of organization while he travelled the world to protect wildlife. He wouldn’t want to put time or energy into a plan to keep the castle in the family and still make money off it.

      She wasn’t even sure Bolingbrooke himself would be open to that. He didn’t seem a big fan of change.

      Frowning, Guinevere walked to the window. The view with its bright colours hit her in the gut again. It was so intensely alive and inviting, whispering to her that this summer had amazing things in store for her.

      Keeping her back to Oliver, she said softly, ‘You wrote the acceptance email to me, right? You are O. Bolingbrooke.’ That was how he had known her name.

      ‘My father doesn’t touch computers. He thinks they might bite him.’ Footfalls betrayed Oliver was pacing the room. ‘Meraud didn’t want to come here. She has her hands full with her bookshop so she asked her brother to recommend someone. And he recommended you.’

      Guinevere turned to him in a snap. ‘You mean …’ Her mind whirled. ‘Mr Betts is actually related to someone here on the island?’

      ‘Apparently.’ Oliver surveyed her. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

      ‘No. So there was never any advertisement in the paper either.’

      ‘What?’ Oliver asked.

      ‘Your father didn’t advertise for someone to come help him.’ Bolingbrooke probably didn’t even know how all of this had been set up behind his back. By Oliver, the son he didn’t see eye to eye with.

      The son also who had other plans for the castle than his father did.

      Had Oliver set this up with Mr Betts, hoping he could persuade his father to sell?

      But why would Mr Betts be a part of something like that? She couldn’t imagine him letting himself be used.

      Or using her.

      Guinevere felt an unpleasant wriggle of worry in the pit of her stomach again. The surprised responses of the locals to Bolingbrooke accepting a stranger to his keep now took on new meaning. And she wasn’t quite sure what part she was supposed to play in all of this.

      Slowly she said, ‘Mr Betts did give me a letter I should read once I was settled in.’

      Oliver hitched a brow. ‘Sounds mysterious. Why would a girl like you spend her summer holidays here anyway on an island in the middle of nowhere?’

      Guinevere shrugged. ‘I grew up in the countryside. And I love books. Your father has an amazing collection, I heard. Besides, there wasn’t anything to do for me in London, with the theatre closing for renovations. I hope I can also help out with the re-enactment. Mr Betts must have known about that and sent me here for that reason as well. I read in the leaflet about the re-enactment – that the tale is a very old one and an important part of Cornisea history?’

      She pulled the blue leaflet out of her bag and read aloud, ‘The trial against Branok the Cold-hearted is legendary. He was the steward at the castle many centuries ago. He was cruel and he oppressed all the people under his rule. His master chose not to see what he did. Then one day Branok burned down a house to set an example and it turned out there had been two young children in it who died in the fire.’

      Guinevere shivered. ‘How terrible.’

      Oliver said, ‘It was never proven he had actually set fire to the house. Fires happened a lot in those days as houses were often made of wood and thatch. Burned like dry tinder. And people all had open fireplaces inside. The fire Branok was accused of may simply have started from a spark or a lamp falling over.’

      ‘So he wasn’t convicted?’ Guinevere asked.

      ‘No, he never was,’ Oliver said. ‘He was made to leave the island. On the night he left the sea was wild and he never reached land. He must have drowned.’

      He held her gaze. ‘But some say he didn’t drown. Some even say he lives until this day …’ he lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper ‘… to haunt the beach at night with his lantern in his hand, cursing everyone who comes in his path. Locals don’t dare go near the beach.’

      ‘I’m no local. I want to take long walks and see the sunset.’

      Oliver shrugged. ‘I won’t stop you. Just saying that Cornwall has a lot of ghost stories.’

      ‘So did Devon, and it never kept me from going out at night to listen to the owls or count moths.’

      ‘Count moths?’

      ‘Yes, if you put out a sheet and a little light shining on it, they flock to it and you can see all the different species.’ As a biologist, or whatever he was, he should know how to do that.

      Oliver hitched a brow. ‘And your parents let you?’

      ‘I grew up with my grandmother. I had a lot of freedom.’ Studying the leaflet in her hands, Guinevere frowned. ‘Why re-enact a trial of a man who wasn’t convicted? Couldn’t they make it stick?’

      ‘Maybe the judge was bought? I don’t know the details. I only have to chip in tonight because Jago Trevelyan, who plays the judge, can’t make it for this rehearsal. I just hope I remember my lines.’

      Guinevere asked, ‘Who’s playing Branok the Cold-hearted? It seems like a rather unpleasant personality to don.’

      ‘Arthur Haydock.’ Oliver grimaced. ‘And he doesn’t have to don anything. He’s a modern-day Branok if I ever knew one. A lawyer who has been very successful at taking people’s land away from them.’

      Guinevere narrowed her eyes. ‘And at odds with your father.’ Did that mean this Haydock also wanted to take the castle away from the Bolingbrookes?

      Oliver waved a hand as if to slap her question out of the window. ‘Look, if you want coffee and a sandwich, we’d better go back down before the players have finished it all.’

      ***

      In the hallway a young woman in a bright red trouser suit had just come in through the front door. She wore her blonde hair up in a bun on the back of her head, an efficient hairstyle fitting her rather formal appearance. She breathed fast as if the climb up to the castle had exhausted her.

      ‘Leah,’ Oliver said. He went to her and clasped her hands in his. ‘Good to see you. How have you been?’ He looked her over as if he sought the familiar in her features. Maybe, with Oliver’s travels, these two hadn’t seen each other in a long time?

      Ignoring the question of how she’d been, СКАЧАТЬ