‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So, Felicity tells me Sue’s put you to work.’

‘Yes. That’s what brought me down here today, actually. I was hoping I could find somebody famous in Trelowarth’s past, a name that she could use to draw the tourists in.’ I knew from how he looked at me he’d hit upon the obvious, as I had, so I told him, ‘Yes, I know. I told her she should use Katrina’s name, but Susan wasn’t having it. I’ll have to find her someone else.’

‘A famous person in Trelowarth’s past.’ He wasn’t sure.

‘Well, there’s the Duke of Ormonde, maybe.’ We discussed that for a minute. He impressed me with his knowledge of the details of the Jacobite rebellion I had read about, which encouraged me to add, ‘His name was Butler, right? James Butler.’

‘Like your Butler brothers, you mean?’ He considered this. ‘It’s a bit of a shot in the dark.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I told him carelessly. ‘They might have been related.’

‘You’re determined to find Sue her famous person, aren’t you?’ Oliver was smiling, but he sympathised. ‘I know, it would be brilliant if her plans worked out. I’d hate to see the Halletts lose Trelowarth.’

In surprise I set my spoon down. ‘It’s as bad as that?’

He gave a nod. ‘It’s bad.’

‘I didn’t realise.’

‘Never fear,’ he said, ‘I’ll do a little research of my own, and see what I can find. Even if the Duke of Ormonde didn’t come this way, your Butler brothers might prove interesting enough themselves.’

‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that.’

‘Would you? Then you’ll have to let me buy you lunch again.’

The waitress heard that part, and slammed my sandwich plate down with such force the table rattled.

This time even Oliver noticed. Watching our waitress depart he said, ‘She’s in a bit of a mood today, isn’t she?’ Then catching sight of my face, he asked, ‘What?’ again.

It took an effort to straighten my smile as I answered him, ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ But I had a feeling that lunching with Oliver anywhere here in Polgelly might turn out to be an adventure.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Claire was pleased. We hadn’t seen her for a few days, she’d been keeping to herself, and after supper I had walked out to the cottage for a visit, with the little mongrel Samson at my heels. The dog was lying in a warm contented coil now, underneath the narrow table that Claire used for mixing paints in her bright studio. I’d always liked to watch her work. I liked the mingled smells of oil paint drying slowly on the canvases, and brushes left to soak in jars of turpentine, and underneath all that the fainter scent of coffee sitting somewhere in a mug and growing cold because she had forgotten it as usual when she began to paint.

I liked her paintings, too. The landscapes had a quality of fantasy about them, as though she’d taken what was there in front of her and shaped it as it could have been. The Christmas cards she’d sent to us each year while both my parents were still living had been painted by her own hand, printed privately, so beautiful they’d sat out on our mantelpiece long after all the other decorations of the season had been cleared away. I wondered what had happened to them. After the death of my parents so many of those little links with the past had been lost.

Claire swept an edge of sunset colour underneath a cloud and said, ‘I’m glad you got to spend some time with Oliver.’

‘I nearly didn’t recognise him.’

‘Yes, he’s changed a little, hasn’t he?’ Her sideways glance was twinkling. ‘On the inside, though, he’s still the same old Oliver he ever was. Where did you go for lunch?’

‘The tea room by the harbour. And Felicity was right, the woman there can’t make a scone to save her life. She’ll be no competition for Susan.’ Which was, I thought, as good a starting point as I was going to get for what I’d really come to talk about. I said, ‘Aunt Claire?’

‘Yes, darling?’

‘If I ask you something, will you give an honest answer?’

The motion of her brush stopped on the canvas as she turned to me with eyes that seemed to know already what I was about to ask her. ‘Always.’

‘How much money would it take for Mark and Susan not to lose Trelowarth?’

She blinked, and set the paintbrush down. ‘However did you hear of that?’

‘I’m not allowed to say.’

Claire crossed to put the brush in turpentine, and slowly cleaned her hands. And then, because she’d made a promise to be honest, she explained how the investments had diminished and the taxes had increased. ‘Mark’s not in debt yet,’ she assured me, ‘but he will be this time next year if he can’t turn things around.’

‘I want to help,’ I said.

‘You are helping.’

‘I mean really help. Financially. I know that Mark would never take my money, but it isn’t mine,’ I justified. ‘Not really. It’s Katrina’s. And she wouldn’t want to see Trelowarth struggling if her money could prevent it.’ I paused long enough to glance at Claire and satisfy myself that she agreed with that before I carried on, ‘I thought if I were to set up a Trust, Mark and Susan could draw on the funds when they needed them, keep the place going, and know that the Trust would be there for their children as well, and their grandchildren.’