

### AMANDA MARTIN

### TWO-HUNDRED STEPS HOME

### VOLUME ELEVEN

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com or on Twitter or Facebook.

_Two-Hundred Steps Home_ is her latest work. Amanda is writing the novel in daily installments on her WriterMummy blog as part of her 2013 365 post-a-day challenge. This ebook is Volume 11 and contains the 30 instalments from November. Find all the volumes on Smashwords.

### COPYRIGHT

Published by 3AD Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright © Amanda Martin 2013

Amanda Martin asserts the moral right to be  
identified as the author of this work

Also by Amanda Martin:

Two-Hundred Steps Home: The Complete Journey

Dragon Wraiths

Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes

This novel is entirely a work of fiction although based loosely on the hostels and the Kiwi Experience tour of New Zealand. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

http://www.amanda-martin.co.uk

http://writermummy.wordpress.com

### TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

About the Author

ONE

Claire came back to awareness like someone rising from the bottom of the ocean. Slowly she became conscious of the car door pressing into her back and Conor's hip crushing her against the metal. She felt his hands tangled in her hair and the light stubble on his chin grazing her skin. The tingling in her lips seemed to be hardwired to every nerve in her body and she knew it was entirely possible that she would crumple to the floor if her boss was not holding her up.

With effort she pulled away from the kiss and ducked under Conor's arms, cursing as the movement tugged at her hair. Ignoring the pulsing sensation making demands she had no intention of honouring, she fumbled to get her key in the lock. Before Conor could move or speak, she was in her seat and pulling the door closed behind her. Her only thought was to escape.

It took three attempts to get the key in the ignition and find a gear. Out the corner of her eye she could feel Conor watching her through the window. She let her hair fall in a curtain, obscuring her view, and revved the engine. Without checking to see if he had moved away, she reversed out the parking space and onto the street, forcing herself not to look in the rear view mirror as she left.

Her hands shook as she switched on the Sat Nav, trying to keep her scattered thoughts on the road ahead. The screen shone brightly in the dark before settling into night mode, and Claire blinked away the dazzling spots dancing in her sight. Soon her destination was programmed in and she was able to concentrate on getting there in one piece.

Driving in the dark left too much time to think. All the stunning scenery lay hidden behind the veil of night and Claire's eyes watered as she concentrated on the yellow beams leading her to her bed. She had no idea what time it was, and hoped the hostel would still be open when she got there.

She was half way back to Salcombe before her heart rate returned to normal. Her hands felt slippery on the wheel and she smoothed them down her trousers, fearing she might lose her grip on the tight switchbacks up to the hostel.

What was he thinking?

The words echoed continuously through her mind. _What is it with blokes and their inappropriate behaviour?_

As the tingling subsided the fury began to take hold. Like history repeating, she remembered Josh's advances only weeks before. All her irritation at him for betraying his wife and putting her in an impossible situation amplified her anger at Conor for breaching the boss-employee trust.

Other sensations wove through her thoughts. She could still feel the pressure of his kiss on her lips, the feeling of his hands wrapped in her hair. The look on his face as he'd made his move – the wide-eyed vulnerability – fixed in her mind like a poster tacked up on the wall of her skull.

Don't fall for it, woman. You knew the first time you met him he was a charmer. The fact that he made a move on his employee makes him a sleaze. Either resign or pretend it never happened; there is no other outcome.

She knew it made sense; she knew the moral high ground was the only path to follow. So why did it leave a cavernous hole in her heart?

***

TWO

Claire looked around the hostel lounge, gave a deep sigh and smiled. Although the room was crowded it wasn't noisy. In the corner a family played cards; their muted voices punctuated occasionally by a cry of "Uno!" One or two people curled up in the deep red armchairs, their faces intent as they absorbed themselves in the books cradled in their laps. Claire wondered what worlds they inhabited, far away from the prosaic room.

Her contentment surprised her. The whitewashed stone walls, utilitarian carpet and faded furniture were not exactly the height of luxury. It was no different in the kitchen, with the formica-topped school-like tables and plastic chairs, or in the bare bunkrooms.

If I'd come here a few months ago I would have stayed one night and run away to a refurbished city hostel with relief.

The beauty of the place was not inside the cool stone walls, but outside, where the sun shone endlessly on an expanse of never-ending verdant nature. Somehow the mundane accommodation complemented the experience, allowing a visitor's attention to focus on what was important.

Stretching her legs out in front of her, Claire shifted the laptop to a more comfortable position and continued typing. She'd been trying to capture her thoughts on the subject all evening, but her mind frolicked away from it like the Dartmoor ponies who visited the building from time to time.

She tabbed away from her open document to reread the reports she'd discovered on the company laptop. It had helped direct her writing, but she still wasn't entirely sure she knew what she was doing. Something had to be written, though: she'd been in the Dartmoor hostel for nearly a week and knew that Conor would be expecting an update.

Conor.

Just thinking his name gave her goosebumps. They hadn't spoken since their last meeting; communicating instead via email and text message. Claire had refused to even charge her phone for the first twenty-four hours, convinced she would discover impassioned messages from him after her sudden departure. There had been nothing for a day or two, and then only a polite enquiry as to whether the laptop worked and contained everything she needed.

Even so, Claire had left Salcombe hostel at dawn, following their evening together, and had driven in blind panic to the most remote accommodation she could discover; her only intention to find somewhere to lick her wounds and consider her options.

Who knew I would end up somewhere so beautiful. And restful.

The dark grey hostel at Dartmoor sat contented amid the National Park, with all sorts of outdoor activities on the doorstep. Claire had spent the last few days pushing herself to exhaustion; hiking to the top of Bellever Tor, exploring the forest and petting the Dartmoor ponies. She'd climbed the boulders at Dewerstone and cycled the Plym Valley.

Each night she'd collapsed into her bunk with weary muscles and a full head. Despite the endless blue skies, fresh air and amazing scenery, her brain still roiled with unruly thoughts.

Try as she might, she couldn't decide how she felt about her boss's advances. Unlike the grazes from her fall on the South West Coastal Path, her memories of that night refused to fade and heal. Her sense of outrage at his betrayal of trust warred with a lingering feeling of loss at his curt business-like manner ever since.

With another sigh Claire brought her attention back to the screen in front of her.

Only eleven more weeks and I can hand in my report, collect my pay cheque, and get the hell away from here.

Back in the beginning, when she had taken her first step on the journey away from her former life, she and Kim had jokingly come up with the name Two-Hundred Steps Home for her blog. It was looking like home was a lot further away than that.

***

THREE

Claire followed the SatNav's directions through the town and out over the main road. A quick glance at the screen showed that the hostel was only a few hundred metres ahead.

I'm not sure about being so close to the A30: the noise is going to be horrendous. Maybe I should have stayed at the other one.

The reviews had suggested the town hostel was cleaner and had more facilities. It was the remoteness of the Tor hostel that attracted her. Although she wasn't going to admit it, hiding out in secluded locations suited her frame of mind.

Not that Conor would approve. I'm meant to be researching tourism, not lurking in the wilderness by myself.

Claire gripped the steering wheel and pointed her car up the narrow lane, crawling along in a low gear ready to stop if another vehicle appeared.

How does anyone get anywhere around here? I can't see more than a few metres in any direction, the hedges are like walls and there's barely room for one car. And don't talk to me about sign posts. Thank god for the SatNav.

Not for the first time Claire realised how much easier travel was with all the gadgets and gizmos. She couldn't imagine trying to find her way around with just a road atlas. Never mind getting anything done without free WiFi and a permanent phone signal.

Although I haven't had much of a signal for the last few days.

She grinned. One of the attractions of Dartmoor had been the poor reception. No need to worry that Conor might call and make a fuss. She only picked up messages when she climbed up the Tor.

I could grow to like this place.

The thought made her twist her lips in a wry smile. Three months ago, being out of phone signal for more than half an hour would have left her hyperventilating.

And when did I last have a Starbucks? Oh god, I'm going savage.

The hostel, when she arrived, looked like someone's house; a sprawling brick building with large white chimneys, surrounded by trees. It had a homely feel, despite the looming woods encircling the place. As she got out of the car, she could hear the noise from the road below. It was steady, though, like a river or the wind in the trees, and she soon blocked it out.

The hostel appeared deserted. Leaving her bag in the car, Claire bypassed the house and went to explore the grounds. Behind the hostel the gardens stretched down the hillside. The sun beat down on her head as she rambled through the undergrowth.

After a while, aware of her grumbling tummy, Claire headed back to the building. It still felt completely empty. With a frown, she went to the main door. It was locked.

Damn. Don't tell me it's one that isn't open all year round. I knew I should have rung ahead.

"Are you booked in?"

Claire span round at the sound of the low voice. A middle-aged man walked across the car park towards her, pushing a wheel barrow.

"No. I was hoping it wouldn't be too busy, as it isn't the school holidays yet."

"Maybe not, but the reception is down at the other place. In town. You'll need to go down there to fetch your keys."

Then, without waiting for a response, the man vanished round the side of the house.

Resisting the urge to swear, Claire headed back to her car and prepared to drive back down towards town.

"Next time, I'll call."

***

FOUR

Claire looked at the email and pursed her lips, trying to read beneath the business-like words. The message contained none of the usual friendly jokes or snide comments that they used to, before Sunday night ruined everything. With a frown she read the note again.

Claire

Thank you for sending through your initial findings, they appear satisfactory, although I have not had a great deal of time to peruse them. We are working hard on the Carnival and there isn't much time to spare.

Regarding the Carnival: I need you to be back in town for that week. I realise that it isn't part of your current job description to help out, but I'm afraid we're short staffed. It's an essential part of the region's tourism, so I'm sure you'll understand why we need it to be a success.

In the meantime I suggest you press on towards Cornwall: there is a lot of ground to cover and, as I understand you're still in Dartmoor, you will struggle to get around all the major destinations in the time allotted.

Regards

Conor

The last sentence definitely sounded like a rebuke, although Claire couldn't point to the exact part that gave her that impression. Did he know she was hiding, licking her wounds? Was he angry at her running away or ashamed at his behaviour? There was nothing to work with. It was as friendly and helpful as an email from Carl would have been.

Pushing her laptop away, Claire pulled out a copy of the hostel map and worked out her route. She'd decided to stick to the YHA hostels, after her experience in Torquay.

Although I'll learn to call ahead.

Looking around the empty hostel at Bracken Tor, Claire wondered if she would be as fortunate to have an entire building to herself in any of the other hostels. It felt a bit spooky, with the gardener the only other living person in the area, but at the same time her soul yearned for the solitude.

When she'd arrived back at the hostel she'd decided to skip her planned activity and wander around the house and gardens, enjoying the silence. She'd read her book, eaten some toast and made endless cups of hot tea. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt at such peace with the world.

Still, Conor has put an end to that. Back to work.

With a sigh, Claire looked down the list of hostels and picked one to call. She grabbed her phone and keys, strode out the room and up the hill until she got a signal.

"Yes, hello? I'd like to book a bed for the night. Yes, tonight please."

As she waited for the manager to check for vacancies, Claire looked around at the endless scenery, with no sight of the steaming heap of humanity Conor was so fond of. Aside from the hum of the main road, she could have been on a remote island, miles from anyone or anywhere.

Wouldn't that be nice?

***

FIVE

Claire's mind whirled as she drove west. Conor's message tugged at her thoughts like a puppy on a leash. She felt as if she'd received a bad report from her favourite teacher. Maybe not even a bad one, just a "Could do better".

Determined to make sure it didn't happen again, she spent the miles behind the wheel searching for some way to impress. She tried to think what Conor's idea of tourism might be. It was clear that skulking around Dartmoor National Park hadn't found favour.

What did you do in the West Country if you didn't like to be alone? Bands, theatre, the Eden project, they all needed exploring. Claire wracked her brain for anything else she knew about the area. A book she'd picked up in a hostel came to mind. She remembered it because it was by that famous gardener her mother loved so much.

It was a novel about a lighthouse keeper, but one of the characters was a woman who loved painting in Cornwall, and moved there to set up an art gallery. She had talked about the special quality of the light. That sounded promising.

Of course I know as much about painting as I do pub bands. Namely bugger all. That artsy stuff is more Kim's domain. Which reminds me, I must give her a call.

Claire told her phone to remind her to call her friend and investigate art courses, then went back to cudgelling her brain for inspiration.

_What about writers retreats? Bound to be some of them; that could be fun. I might even learn something useful for the blog_. _Give it a touch of class._

Her thoughts drifted on to how much she'd neglected it since selling her iPad and she made another note to give it some attention.

_If things don't work out with Conor - as a boss that is - I might have to go crawling back to Carl. What a joyous prospect that is. Best to at least have something to offer_.

Claire gave a sigh of relief as the SatNav directed her into town, along a narrow lane crowded with hills. The route to the hostel bypassed the town centre, coming in directly towards the shore where the hostel was located. She drove in past low slate-roofed buildings adorned with spectacular hanging baskets; the splashes of red and yellow lying vibrant against the grey stone.

As she approached her destination she began to see more people outside the window. It didn't feel like a tourist destination, despite the large car park and throngs of visitors milling around. Claire turned her eyes towards the buildings, which grew in stature as she drove. The stone that had appeared merely grey now revealed a myriad of colours where the sun lit the surface. Browns and yellows mixed in with silver and gold.

As the road ran out, Claire remembered that she was meant to park in the large car pack she'd just passed. Suppressing a sigh, she turned the car and headed back, wincing as she saw the parking fees. With effort she pushed aside her irritation and pulled her bag from the boot.

Claire followed the path back down towards the harbour and her smile grew as she got nearer to the low stone buildings lurking at the water's edge.

Around her rocky hills - partially covered in patches of luminous green grass and red gorse - climbed away from the water as if afraid to get their feet wet. White-washed buildings threw back the bright sunlight, dazzling her momentarily. She blinked away the spots in her vision and looked around. With a lungful of the salty air she felt her shoulders go back and her chin lift.

To her left a bridge crossed the small inlet that ran alongside the path, and up ahead she could see a slip sloping down into the water. The tide was out, showing the rocky bed, but she could imagine fishing boats being pushed into the water at high tide.

Then she caught her first glimpse of the hostel. The front shone white, interspersed with bright flowers, and people sat outside on metal chairs and tables. The roof looked as if a huge and heavy bottom had rested there once, leaving two deep dips in the slate. Claire pictured a giant taking a rest awhile, and grinned. As she got closer she realised the building was a café, tagged on the front of the hostel.

Handy for coffee in the morning.

Claire took some photos, determined to write a blog post that evening, and went round to check in.

I hate to admit Conor was right, but I'm glad he prompted me to get a wriggle on into Cornwall. I think I'm going to like this place.

***

SIX

Claire gripped the rail with two hands as the spray from the sea glistened on the wood and made it slippery beneath her fingers. Her thighs burned from climbing the steep steps, but she refused to stop for a breather. If she looked around she might notice the steep drop down to the rocks below, visible beneath the white froth of the crashing waves.

Trust me to come on a windy day. I should have waited until it was calmer.

The manager at the hostel had said a visit to Tintagel castle would be all the more impressive against the backdrop of the rough sea. She'd failed to mention the perilous climb or the narrow stairway.

Claire pulled into the side to make way for an elderly couple, holding hands and giggling as they skipped down the steps like teenagers. Claire wondered what they found so funny.

At last she reached the castle, perched on the cliff top overlooking the sea.

How on earth did they build this, all the way up here? In the dark ages, with no equipment? Crazy.

With the wind threatening to drag her from the cliffs, Claire wandered around the ruined castle, trying to imagine what it must have been like when it was complete. The views stretched for miles, even on a blustery day, with the scudding clouds chasing each other across the sky.

Turning to see how far she had come, Claire held her breath at the sight of the castle walls, looking like piles of balanced stones or sand castles, climbing the steep rock face, with the tiny archway leading through to the endless steps back to the mainland. Overhead, sea gulls screamed their defiance to the wind, swooping and diving in an endless dance.

With effort, Claire blocked out the sounds of the tourists, the giggling children, the frantic mothers, the bored teenagers up to mischief. She focussed on the cry of the birds and the howl of the wind and felt herself transported to another time.

Who knew all this beauty was here? So much history crammed into one place and I would never have come if it weren't for this project.

For a moment all the fear and doubt seemed worthwhile. It seemed a shame to come back to the present and take notes for her report.

I have to remember I'm being paid to be here, I'm not on holiday.

With a sigh that was instantly whipped away from her mouth by the playful wind, Claire began her exploration of the site, taking notes of all the things people seemed to enjoy.

I wonder if the castle in Dorset is this impressive. What's it called? Cough castle or something like that. I'd better look it up.

It was getting dark by the time Claire finished her tour of the island. She'd covered every element - from the gun house to Merlin's Cave - and her legs throbbed while her mind swirled with the history and mythical stories she'd consumed.

Looking up at the castle from the café, it wasn't hard to imagine Arthur and Guinevere standing in an open window holding hands, or cosying down on a rug in front of a roaring fire, while Lancelot stormed across the cliff tops in a jealous rage.

Blimey this place does bring out the romantic. What tosh.

She smiled at the thoughts, ignoring the prosaic part of her mind that told her it was all just legend anyway.

What difference does it make? Real historical figures are only as real as the representations of them, passed down through the centuries. Arthur and his missus are as real as any European king. Probably more so, seeing as we know more about him.

Trying to drag her mind back to her work, she wondered if there were any legendary characters lurking around Conor's stomping ground that could be used to good effect in her report. It wouldn't hurt to look like she'd done her homework.

Claire cupped her hands around her mug of coffee and let her mind drift, until the images of Arthur ravishing his queen morphed into Conor's boyish face; his hair windswept and his green eyes full of love. With a quick shake of her head she dispelled the image.

He wouldn't spend five minutes in a remote place like this. Not enough people.

She drained the last of her drink and headed back to the car.

***

SEVEN

"Hello, Mrs Jenkins, it's Claire."

"Hello, Claire, how are you? Still travelling round the West Country? Kim reads your blog, although she says it's been a while since you've updated it. I hope everything's okay."

As Claire listened to Mrs Jenkins' enthusiastic greeting she wondered how many other people had noticed her absence of posts and thought briefly how nice it would have been if someone had bothered to check she was okay.

"Yes, I'm still here. I'm staying at the Tintagel hostel tonight; just spent the day at the castle, so hopefully I'll be able to write about that. I've been busy with work is all." She hesitated, wondering if the lie sounded as obvious to her friend's mum as it did to her.

"And how's Kim?"

Mrs Jenkins sighed and the sound twisted Claire's stomach with fear and guilt.

"Much the same, I'm afraid, still sunk in her melancholy. I understand, I really do. I'm as devastated that there won't be any grandkids for me to spoil - I can't see her sister ever settling down. But it doesn't do to dwell. I'd tell her to get back to work, but she doesn't have what you'd call a regular job."

Her voice trailed off, and Claire felt her disappointment. As a parent you wanted your children to be happy and hopefully settled nearby. Kim's mother must wonder what went wrong.

"Can I talk to her?"

"Of course, Claire. Sorry, here I am wittering on and you didn't call to talk to me. Maybe you can snap her out of her misery."

_I doubt it,_ Claire thought privately, but merely said, "I'll try."

She waited while Mrs Jenkins went to find her daughter, and tried to decide how much she would tell Kim about recent events.

"Hello?" Kim's voice, when it came on the line, contained none of its usual vivacity. Claire stifled a groan and, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, greeted her oldest friend.

"Kim, hi, how are you? Is your mum taking good care of you? I hope you've been out enjoying the sunshine." She winced at her tone, and waited for Kim to complain she wasn't a five-year-old. Instead her friend snorted with derision.

"Mum's driving me mad, Jeff hasn't been down once and the theatre company refuses to give me another role until I'm _better_ , whatever that means."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe you could do something else for a while. Work in a coffee shop, you know, just to get you out the house." She injected a laugh she didn't feel and added, "Isn't that what unemployed actresses do?"

"This isn't Hollywood. No big tips here. I didn't go through drama school to earn the minimum wage making lattes for yummy mummies."

Claire swallowed a genuine laugh. "You should start a blog, you've definitely got a way with words." She regretted it instantly - the last thing Kim needed was someone making fun of her. But all her friend said was, "What, so I can just stop writing it one day, like you have?"

Claire took a deep breath. "It's only been a week or so. I have been rather busy." _Running round after you for a start,_ she added silently. _Sheesh, no wonder Jeff hasn't been round_. Then she reminded herself of everything Kim had been through and admonished herself.

"Conor tried to snog me," she blurted out, to fill the uncomfortable silence. She waited, wondering if that would be shocking enough to rouse Kim from her darkness.

"Your boss? Why?"

Claire reeled. Of all the responses, she hadn't expected that. It was a good question, one she hadn't really thought of before.

"He was drunk, I guess." That sounded lame. "He said he'd been wanting to do it since we met."

"Did you snog him back? You might get a promotion. Isn't that how it works in your world?"

The bitter, cynical words cut Claire. Then she remembered gossiping with her friend about a promotion in the office that could only have made sense if those involved were sleeping together. Even so, it was a hard accusation to throw at her best friend.

"I can't believe you'd think me capable of that."

"Oh, keep your hair on. You said he was cute, so what's the harm?"

"He's my boss! Besides, I don't think of him like that."

"Liar. You described him down to the green eyes and sexy bum. You don't notice details like that unless you want to bed someone."

_Trust Kim to remember that when she's heard nothing else_. Claire wanted to defend herself, but the new edge to her friend left her unsure and vulnerable.

"Whether I like him or not is irrelevant; shagging the boss can only lead to trouble." She tried to think of a way to change the subject, but couldn't think of a safe topic.

"Look, my battery's about to go. I'll call you again tomorrow, okay? I'm going to write a blog post. You should think seriously about starting one, you might find it helps."

"Right," was the only response Claire heard before she hung up the phone.

***

EIGHT

"Hi, I'm Paul, I'll be your instructor for today."

Claire nodded at the tanned man standing in front of her, blushing slightly as he returned her greeting with a grin. She tugged at the neck of her wetsuit and looked around the group, wondering what she was doing there. There were ten of them on the beach, including a young lad with his grandpa and a group of thirty-something women giggling and blushing every time the teacher looked in their direction.

At her feet a brightly patterned surfboard rested on the sand, taunting her. Claire knew there was no way she would be standing on it by the end of the two hours, despite all of Paul's enthusiastic assurances. She thought about her previous activities and accidents; falling off her bike; spraining her arm learning to snowboard. If she could stand on solid ground by the end of the day that would be enough.

She turned to gaze down the beach. The sand stretched endlessly, glistening under the morning sun. The sea slithered up and down the shore thirty metres behind the teacher, and she could see the sand beneath the waves.

At least it isn't deep, so I won't drown when I fall off.

As she followed Paul's instructions, lying on her board and pretending to paddle, Claire felt glad that there were no witnesses.

Josh would be having a field day if he was here. I expect he surfs like a champion.

She looked at the white crests breaking along the horizon and gave a shudder. Paul had told them with an unnerving grin that the waves were just right for their lesson; maybe on the high side for beginners but better than a dead calm sea. Claire wasn't sure she agreed. Although they didn't look huge from the beach, she was certain it would be a different matter when they were pouring over her head.

She stood bemused as she learned she had a goofy foot, not entirely sure she understood what it meant. Ignoring Paul's guffaws, she kept her focus on the lesson, repeating the pop up technique again and again until he was happy that everyone had grasped it.

"Right, peeps, I think you're ready. Let's go catch some waves."

Fear clenched her stomach as the moment she'd been dreading arrived. Despite the sun overhead, the freezing water expelled the air from Claire's lungs and she muttered a few choice curses. Seeing the grandpa frolicking in the waves like a five year old forced her to square her shoulders and dive headlong into the water. Once she was wet it wasn't so bad.

The air filled with the sound of laughter as everyone in the group tried to remember all they'd been taught. Getting up onto one knee wasn't so bad, and Claire's body filled with elation as the wave caught her board and dragged her back towards the sand.

Paddling out again, despite the water being shallow enough to wade, Claire tried to stop caring what anyone thought, concentrating instead on getting to her feet. Her confidence was premature and she toppled off the board before she'd even got onto her knees.

She surfaced coughing and spitting out water, waiting for the teasing and laughter. As she looked around, the other students were too busy pulling themselves back on their boards or brushing wet hair from their faces to notice. There was a sense of camaraderie that she hadn't expected.

Claire pulled herself back on the board and paddled out again. The wait for the right wave was a strange sort of pause. Then she saw the perfect line of froth and positioned herself to catch it. Paddling hard, she managed to get to her knees, ignoring the throb of pain as she landed too hard. The board pulled beneath her like a dog on a lead, and she tried to decide whether to enjoy the ride or attempt getting to her feet. Before her mind was made up, the board ran into the sand and it was time to start again.

It never felt tedious, grabbing the board and propelling it back out to sea. It was a game; choosing the right wave, waiting just the right amount of time, jumping on board at the precise moment so that she swooped back to shore like a bird.

Eventually, after falling off and into the sea more times than a toddler learning to walk, she managed to climb briefly to her feet. With a loud whoop of joy, she dug her toes into the waxed plastic and rode the wave back to the sparkling sand. As it ground into the beach she jumped off and punched the air.

"Well done," Paul said, coming over to give her a high five. "You're a natural. Are you coming back tomorrow?"

The smile slipped slightly and Claire shook her head. "Unfortunately not; I have to keep moving."

"Nay worry. The day's still young. Go get those waves, girl, they're waiting."

With a quick nod Claire picked up her board and ran back into the sea.

***

NINE

Claire tapped her foot and tried not to swear in irritation. The queue inched forward as young children ran around between the legs of grumpy grownups, yelling and screaming. Next to Claire a harassed mother tried to keep her twins in line, while balancing a baby on her hip. As the time ticked by, Claire felt her sympathy going out to the woman as the baby began to grizzle and the twins threatened to knock the waiting tourists over like skittles.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered eventually, unable to contain her frustration. "It's not even the weekend."

"You should see it in the school holidays!"

Claire turned and saw a rueful pair of brown eyes smiling at her. She smiled back at the grey haired lady standing behind her, holding the hand of a bored-looking child. "I came with all the grandchildren, once, because they put on extra activities at half term. But, oh my goodness that was a trial. We were in the queue for over an hour: the little ones were ready to burst by the time we got in."

"What's causing the delay?" Claire peered over the heads of the milling crowd but couldn't see the hold-up.

"Gift Aid," the woman sighed. "If you're a tax payer they can claim gift aid, but they have to get your address details from you. Even those with pre-bought tickets don't get in any quicker. It's a farce."

Claire's irritation evaporated as she realised she'd been handed something concrete to put into her report. She'd done the gift aid thing before, when she'd visited attractions with Sky earlier in the year, and she remembered it did take ages. Surely there could be a better way to claim the money back. Maybe some kind of national gift aid scheme, where you got a card from the government that could be scanned.

The time passed quickly as Claire followed the shuffling feet, her brain whirring with ideas. At last it was her turn and she monitored the procedure carefully, itching to make notes about it as soon as she could find a quiet corner to write into her phone.

All work ideas evaporated as Claire entered the site. She hadn't really known what to expect. Although she knew the project was about education - about showing the world the importance of plants - she hadn't appreciated just how big the place was, or that half of it was outside.

A little blue train trundled past and Claire went to get on board. It seemed the easiest way to get a feel for the place, as well as giving her a chance to take some notes. After a short time, however, she got off. The alien domes called to her and she couldn't wait to get indoors and see what the fuss was about.

Claire entered the Mediterranean biome and her heart sank. Craning her neck, she gazed up at the sunlit hexagons snaking overhead. The structure was impressive, but all she could hear were the noises of the busy pizza restaurant in the centre.

She wandered along the walkways, where endless beds of vibrant flowers filled the air with clashing scents and painted the floor with rows of bright colour. Dotted among the plants were sculptures and displays, like a living museum, while all around there were people chattering and calling to each other.

With her critical head on, Claire couldn't see much evidence of education. There didn't seem to be that many signs or displays, although she decided that might have been because they would detract from the view of the plants.

After a while she decided to head for the rainforest biome instead. It was the one everyone thought of when they planned a visit, and she hoped maybe the magic was hiding there.

The heat and humidity hit her as she entered. Despite its size it was still a greenhouse. She could see mist rising above the trees, almost like real clouds indoors. The sound of rushing water pulled at her, until she reached a waterfall stretching high above her. Making an effort to block out the busy tourist sounds, Claire could almost imagine herself back in the New Zealand bush. It was breath-taking.

The wooden walkway curled through the trees high above the people. Claire had retreated up to escape the bustle. She'd contemplated climbing up to the roof platform, despite the height, and was a little disappointed to discover it was closed due to the heat.

Probably just as well. Knowing my luck I would have got dizzy and fallen down the steps, knocking out half the visitors at the same time.

Claire stood leaning on the rail, taking in the beauty beneath her. It was hard to believe the place used to be an old clay pit. It was amazing what could be created with some vision and a lot of effort.

What a shame the experience is spoiled by the shambolic entrance and the tourist traps every five minutes. Do they really need stalls and restaurants and an ice rink? What does that teach the children about the world? That there's commercialism everywhere? That trees alone aren't entertainment enough?

Her mind full of profound thoughts, Claire stood and let the view sink in.

***

TEN

Claire cupped her hands around the mug of tea and gazed out the tall Georgian windows at the view. After the bustle of her busy day, it was good to stop and rest her throbbing feet. With a belly full of food and the aroma of hot tea drifting up to her, she felt her face relax for the first time in hours. The Eden Project had assaulted all her senses in good ways and bad, and her mind still wrestled with her Gift Aid idea, wondering if it was possible to take it further than a mere suggestion. There seemed such merit in it, her brain wouldn't let it lie.

When the phone rang, she didn't realise immediately it was hers. Glancing around the dining room, she flushed as she saw people looking her way. She grabbed the phone from the table and held it to her ear, shielding her face with her hair.

"Hello?" Her voice came out in a hiss.

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"

"Robert? No, of course not. How are you? Why are you calling? Is everything okay?"

"Can't a man call his sister without it being the end of the world?" Robert said defensively and Claire smiled. It was clear he wanted something.

"Maybe not every brother, Rob, but definitely you. You never call me unless it's to tell me off." She remembered the last out-of-the-blue call, after a photo on her neglected blog, and her smile grew wider.

"Yes, well, that's not why I'm calling. I haven't spoken to you in a while, that's all. I wondered how you were getting on. And Ruth, of course."

"You could call Ruth yourself."

"I did, actually, but she was just heading out to some meeting at church of all places."

Claire's smile dropped as she wondered what her sister was doing going to church on a Wednesday evening. "Was she taking Sky?"

"No, Sky's with her dad, can you believe? Apparently he's moved back nearby and sees her twice a week."

Claire felt genuinely glad that Chris had decided to move nearer to his daughter. She didn't want to get into that particular discussion with Robert, though. They were unlikely to see eye to eye about it.

"That's good," was all she said. "If you spoke to Ruth you know more about her than I do, I'm afraid. We talked a week or ten days ago, but all she had to say to me was about the church, too. I do hope she's not getting caught up in some cult."

"In England? Really, Claire, you do come up with the most fanciful things."

She heard the hesitation in his voice and she imagined him realising that criticising her wasn't the best lead in to a favour. She was about to tease him some more when her work idea came into her mind.

"Actually, brother mine, I have a concept to run by you. How easy would it be to set up a national scheme to allow gift aid to be taken easily? It only needs to have details like a person's address and tax eligibility, but it would need to be read by a chip and pin machine or have a barcode or something."

There was a pause and she could almost hear her brother's financial brain whirring. "That would be quite straight forward," he said eventually, "but you'd need someone financially motivated to set it up. Who would benefit?"

"The charities, I guess. Quicker entry time, more gift aid collected."

"That wouldn't be enough. Unless each charity were to subscribe, or members paid for their card, who would fund it?"

"What about British Tourism?"

"Hmmm. Possible. Marketing, that's the key. Being able to use the list of names to market to, or having the card sponsored by a major partner. Interesting idea. Who came up with it?"

"I did."

"Well, well done sis. It has merit. Let me know if you need financial partners, I can put the word out."

Claire beamed. If her brother thought the idea had merit, then it wasn't too daft to put in her report.

"I will. So, why are you really calling?" She decided he'd been too helpful not to put him out of his misery.

"Ah, yes. I have a favour to ask. I was going to ask Ruth, but she didn't give me a chance and, on reflection, you may be the better person."

"Come on, Robert, spit it out."

"Er, can you take the boys for a few weeks in the summer?"

"What?" Claire sat up straight, wincing as her chair legs scraped on the floor. "Why?"

Her words were greeted with silence. Claire waited for her brother to speak, fear twisting at her stomach as she wondered what his next words might be.

"Francesca and I split up. A few months ago, actually. The boys are in a boarding school, so it hasn't been a big deal. But it's the long vacation now. Francesca's having them for half the time, but they'll be with me for three weeks." He took a deep breath, and his next words were nearly a wail. "I can't have them on my own for three weeks! I have to work. And, besides, what do I know about looking after adolescent boys?"

"And I know so much more?" Claire blurted out without thinking.

"Well, you're a woman; these things come naturally."

Claire thought about her time with Sky, and snorted. "Not so much."

"So you won't take them?" His voice was accusing. Then, in a defeated tone, he added, "I guess I'll have to ask mother. Or Ruth."

_Good luck with that,_ Claire thought. She tried to imagine travelling round with her nephews. Would it be so much harder than having Sky? There would be two of them, so wouldn't they entertain each other? And they were older than her niece.

"How many weeks are we talking exactly? And when?"

"Claire, you're an angel."

"Wait, I haven't said yes. I'm just asking for more information. I can't have them for the last week of July or the first week of August."

"Oh." He paused, then said brightly, "Well maybe I can swap weeks with Francesca. How about if I brought them to you this weekend?"

"What? Robert, no, I can't. My boss will freak. I'm struggling to get into the hostels as it is, without needing two extra beds."

"That's okay, the boys can stay in a tent."

"On their own? They're only, what, seven and nine?"

"Ten and twelve."

Oops.

"Even so. And surely Francesca won't change plans just like that." She wanted to ask more about the breakup of their marriage, but her head was spinning with the idea that she might have to look after two boys for a fortnight.

"She'll do what I tell her to; I'm paying her a handsome settlement for her to live in an apartment and get her nails painted."

So, not an amicable split then. Oh dear.

She thought about her nephews, caught in the middle, shuffled from pillar to post. She thought about them stuck at her mother's house for two weeks, while her dad wrote his novel and her mum went to WI meetings.

"Alright. I'll take them. Two weeks though," she added quickly, as Robert filled the airways with his dignified gratitude. "And they bring a tent." She thought about how expensive the Eden Project had been, and mentally multiplied it by three. "And you pay for all their accommodation fees and the like."

"Yes, yes of course. I'll speak to Francesca, and I'll call you with the details."

As Claire disconnected the phone, she wondered what on earth she had agreed to.

***

ELEVEN

"It's for sale you know."

Claire turned to face the woman who had spoken, unsure if she was addressing her or someone else. A lined, smiling face greeted her and grinned as she made eye contact. Then the woman gestured at the dining room around them, which was bustling with people getting breakfast.

"The hostel; it's for sale. Such a shame, don't you think?"

Claire nodded, tempted to turn back to her food. Then she remembered it was her job to gather information, and she wracked her brain for a response.

"The one at Salcombe is closing down, too. I guess it's quite hard to run a business that's meant to offer low cost accommodation in these old buildings. They must take some upkeep."

"Oh yes," the woman said, nodding emphatically. "Just fixing up my sixties semi costs a fortune, I can't imagine what the upkeep on an old Georgian pile like this would be. Pity though. We've been coming here for years. It's a bit spooky, but my grandsons like that."

She gestured towards a gaggle of teenage boys gathered around the end of the table, stealing food from each other's plates and shoving each other off their seats.

"There are bats, too, did you know? In the attic. Haven't we all got bats in the attic though, dear?" The woman flashed another toothy grin. Claire smiled. It was hard not to like the garrulous old lady, and admire her for being there with her grandchildren.

"Isn't it hard? Hostelling with children?" Claire thought about her conversation with her brother the night before. "I have my nephews joining me in a few days and I admit I'm a bit nervous."

"You don't have children of your own." It was a statement, rather than a question. Claire shook her head.

"How old are your nephews?"

"Ten and twelve," Claire said, flushing as she remembered getting it wrong on the phone.

"They'll be no bother; it's a good age. They're not quite teenagers, so they'll still bide you a bit. Make sure you wear them out and keep them fed: that's the trick with boys."

She emphasised her point by stabbing some sausage with a fork and popping it in her mouth. She looked thoughtful as she chewed, and Claire felt unable to turn away. When she was free to speak, the woman continued. "What will you do with them? Are you staying here?"

"No, I'm actually working – researching tourism in Cornwall – so they'll have to tag along with me. I wasn't expecting them you see; my brother called last night." Claire stopped abruptly, unsure why she was telling this woman all her troubles.

The woman nodded knowingly. "Family: guaranteed to drop you in it." She laughed at Claire's expression. "Isn't that what you youngsters say?" She continued to laugh, although whether at Claire's surprise or her own joke wasn't clear.

"What do they like doing, these nephews of yours?" she asked, when she'd stopped laughing.

Claire shook her head. No point hiding the truth. "I have no idea. I barely know them. They live in Geneva."

The woman gave her a shrewd look. "And children aren't really your thing? No, don't feel bad or deny it. Motherhood isn't for everyone. I have three boys, love them to bits. But if you'd given me a girl I'd have been stuck. No idea what to do with girls. Boys are easy; just make sure they know you're boss." She chewed another mouthful and Claire watched, mesmerised.

"They'll probably be into those silly computer games. Make sure their Dad packs them and you keep them charged. Always useful for a bit of peace and quiet. I'm not one of these fuddy duddies who thinks they're bad. Here in Cornwall, though? You'll want to take them to the beach. Let them get mucky, take them swimming, enrol them in a surf school. That'll give you plenty of time to get your work done. My daughters-in-law, they all work. Wasn't the done thing in my day, but if that's what they want, who am I to naysay them? Means I get to spend time with my boys."

She looked fondly over at the teenagers, who had finished eating and were now wrestling on the floor with much yelling and punching. Claire shuddered. Suddenly her time with Sky - even the tantrums - seemed simple by comparison.

The woman looked back and seemed to sense Claire's fear. "Don't worry, my dear. You'll be fine. Just think; after a week or two you get to give them back." She gave her an arch look. "And it's different when it's your own. Don't let your nephews put you off having babies. I've seen the hardest nut cracked by a helpless infant placed in their arms." She lined her knife and fork up neatly on the plate and stood up.

"I must be going. Now these have been fed they'll be up to all kinds of mischief until they use up some energy. Good luck, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Thank you," Claire said, with genuine gratitude.

Once she was standing, Claire could see the woman was tiny; five feet tall if that. She seemed frail, like a strong wind would knock her away. She tottered up to the writhing pile of boys, a smile on her face.

"Right, you lot," she said, her voice firm and carrying. "Up you get." The writhing didn't stop, and she put one hand on her hip. "Now!" Her voice rang out through the room, and the boys jumped to their feet, towering over the tiny woman. They hung their heads and chorused, "Sorry. Grannie."

The woman turned to Claire and winked, then led the boys from the room.

***

TWELVE

Claire watched the sun set over the sea from the window of the hostel and breathed out deeply in contentment. As the flaming orb slipped beneath the waves, the sky shone orange and deep, luminous, blue.

What a place for a hostel. Imagine living up here, gazing at that view every day.

Looking round, past the washing line of wetsuits drying in the late sun, she could see the endless sandy beach glistening silver in the dying light. White waves crept into the shore, shining brightly in the gloom.

Claire stretched out tight muscles and smiled as images from the day popped into her mind. After she'd checked in that morning, the hostel manager had mentioned the great surfing to be had down on the beach at the Perranporth surf school.

It had been much easier than her first lesson, and she'd got to her feet almost immediately. It really was like flying, to stand on the waxed board and balance atop the waves as the beach rushed up to meet her. Of all the daft adrenalin activities she'd done for the blog, it was the first one she'd felt remotely good at.

With a sigh, Claire turned away from the view and opened her laptop. She'd forced herself to leave the beach earlier, to try out some of the more family friendly tourist activities, and her notes needed to be written up while they were still fresh. She hoped some of the places would help to entertain the nephews, whose imminent arrival filled her with dread.

Although I'm not sure a cider farm is the place to take a couple of adolescent boys. I seem to remember cider was the first thing I got drunk on: I can't imagine Robert approving of his ten year old son getting tipsy.

While the ancient laptop warmed up, Claire loaded her emails into her phone, checking to see if Robert had sent his flight details as promised. It still didn't seem real that she would have two small people to look after in a couple of days. Scanning down the list of messages, her stomach plummeted as she saw an email from her boss.

Great, what does he want? And do I tell him about the boys' visit? I guess I'd better, but he isn't going to like it. I'll be lucky if I don't get sacked.

She ignored the trembling in her hands as she opened the message.

Claire

I hope you are making progress with the report. The Board are asking for reassurance that your work will provide value for money. I have assured them, but I will be sending through your latest rough draft for them to review. Can you send me a copy when you next have internet access?

I'll be back in the West Country again this weekend, St. Austell this time. I think it would be worth catching up. Will you still be in the area on Saturday?

Let me know your plans

Conor

_Crap._ Claire stared at the message again, trying to read beneath the surface, as she always felt compelled to do with messages from Conor. _Catching up to check up on me or renew his advances? Or maybe even say sorry?_

She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced out the window at the darkening sky. Had she really believed she could keep her nephews' visit a secret from her boss? But if she told him now, it would sound like she'd been concealing things. Not good.

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, Claire stared blankly at her phone, picking through words in her mind, trying to find the right ones. Then she began to type, frowning at the tiny keys.

Hi Conor

I'm glad you emailed. I had a call from my brother yesterday and he needs me to take my nephews for a fortnight. I would have said no, but I saw an opportunity to add an extra layer to my research. Your visitors include children, so travelling with the boys will give me more opportunity to build detail into the report.

I also spoke to my brother about the Gift Aid idea I mentioned in my last update. He believes it wouldn't be too complicated to set up, with the right interested parties. It's possible you could spearhead the campaign and bring business as well as consumer interest to the Purbeck area.

The boys are arriving on Saturday but my brother is bringing them down from Exeter, so I will be free to meet you.

Regards

Claire

She reread her words and hoped the Gift Aid sweetener would be enough for Conor to swallow the news that she was letting her nephews tag along on her research trip.

What's the worst he can do? Fire me? Would I care all that much?

Looking out at the moon glistening on the water far below her, Claire thought that possibly she wouldn't.

***

THIRTEEN

Claire looked around the bunkhouse with a smile. It wasn't at all what she had expected. Her room was cosy, and she had been able to grab the proper bed in the corner, instead of one of the bunks. It would be nice to spend the night knowing no one was sleeping above or beneath her.

In the kitchen a cluster of small pine tables waited patiently for the next meal time. The farmhouse cottage feel enveloped her like a warm hug. In the courtyard a family sat eating a late breakfast, their bikes lined up ready for their day of activity.

Leaving her things in her room, Claire followed the advice of the bunkhouse manager and headed off to find the woodland walk into the village. The sun beat down on her bare arms and she thought it might be nice to be in the cool of the trees as the burning orb climbed up to the zenith.

_Then lunch in the village, back to the hostel for the car, and off to explore the museum_ and _the castle if I can manage it._

After taking a few sneaky hours to go surfing the day before, Claire felt a stab of guilt that she'd been slacking on work time. If she had to endure seeing Conor the following day, she wanted to make sure she had plenty to talk about. Even the woodland walk was a luxury, but it was difficult to know what to do with her time when she had such loose guidelines from her boss.

As she had hoped, it was cool beneath the trees and she made good time striding along beside the gurgling brook. All too soon the path left the shelter of the woods and came out in a residential road. Claire prayed it would be easy to find her way into the centre of the village as she paced along the path, her arms swinging at her sides.

Even as she walked, her mind clung persistently to the image of the hostel she'd just left. Something about the cottage atmosphere of the place wrapped itself around her, creating a hot sensation in her stomach that felt like yearning.

Oh good lord, I'm not getting all Cath Kidston, am I? I'll be wearing a floral apron next, and be studying my Jamie Oliver cookbook to learn how to make bread. Oh how Polly, Molly and Sally would laugh. Maybe I'll start watching Kirstie Allsopp programmes and make a stained glass window for my real oak front door.

The thoughts rang false, like a fake titter at a dinner party, and Claire realised she'd rather like to have a front door to make a stained glass window for. And if it was a little cottage with a scrubbed pine table, rather than a shiny modern flat with all the stainless steel mod cons John Lewis could provide, then that was okay too.

The realisation crashed over her like a North Atlantic wave. When this was all over, she didn't want to return to her Manchester flat. Her dreams no longer involved Hobbs suits and holidays to the Maldives. Why travel all that way for perfect beaches when there were some right here?

Claire felt as if ice were sliding down the inside of her skin. She stopped suddenly, only vaguely aware that she had arrived at the harbour. She looked around in bemusement, registering the buildings and the harbour wall without really seeing them. It wasn't a picturesque place, not like some she had visited, but the endless blue skies still shone overhead, lighting highlights in the whitewashed walls.

Suddenly Claire needed to escape. Turning quickly, she retraced her steps through the town and practically ran back through the woods to the bunkhouse. She wanted to lose herself in castles and museums, reports and recommendations, anything that would distract her brain from the images it insisted on creating. Images of a future she could no longer afford. Even a tiny cottage by the sea in this part of the world was far beyond her reach now.

Not unless I went back to work for Carl.

She shivered and ran on.

***

FOURTEEN

Claire swore as she found herself in the one way system for the third time. Yanking the steering wheel round, she crossed a lane of traffic amidst blaring horns, and swore again.

What possessed me to take the SatNav out of the car? If I'd still had the iPad I wouldn't have needed to use the SatNav to plan today's activities. Why is it everything I do makes my life more difficult.

She shook her head at her own stupidity, peering out the window at the sign posts as she drove around the town.

Come on, Claire, it's a castle! How hard can it be to find? And where are all the signs? Normally you can't get within five miles of a tourist attraction without a plethora of brown rectangles telling you which way to go.

Mentally adding 'sign posts' to her report topics for successful tourism, Claire took a deep breath and tried to get her temper under control. At last she spotted a sign up ahead pointing to the castle, and then there it was, about a hundred yards from the sign.

Better late than never, I suppose.

Claire parked the car and grimaced at the long walk up to the castle entrance, wondering if the maritime museum would have been a better choice. Even with the sun warming her skin and the cool sea breeze caressing her face she couldn't seem to shake the grumpy mood hanging around like a bad smell.

Her frame of mind didn't improve when she arrived at the castle and an eager gentlemen tried to convince her that £1050 for a lifetime membership of the English Heritage was good value for money.

Look, if I can't afford a few hundred quid to replace my treasured tablet, I don't think I'll be splashing out that much on a stupid membership and, funnily enough, I can't see Conor signing that one off on my expenses.

She looked around at some of the other people also being pushed into taking membership.

And if I was over sixty and you were still trying to charge me £750 for lifetime membership I might ask if that constituted a sound investment? Although most pensioners I know have more money than I do. Which, to be fair, isn't hard.

Trying to quash her surliness, Claire smiled sweetly, declined the membership offer and paid the entrance fee. She baulked slightly at the cost of the guidebook, wondering why it couldn't be included in the ticket price, and decided to go on the free tour instead.

She walked into the castle behind a group of giggling children whose parents were also muttering about the price of membership and the slightly aggressive sales pitch. Claire made a note to review membership deals as part of her report, then tried to approach the venue as a tourist.

The views were spectacular, every way she looked. It wasn't hard to see why they'd built the castle there in the first place. There would be no sneaking up the coast to invade. Claire wandered through the exhibits, enjoying the waxwork people and booming sound effects that brought the castle to life.

The boys would love this, all the noise and guns. Maybe I'll take them to the one on the other side of the estuary; clambering all over a place like this for a few hours might wear them out.

Thinking of things to do with her nephews lessened the fear a tiny bit and made her feel like she might cope during their two-week stay.

Let's just hope it doesn't rain. I wouldn't want to be here in a downpour: there isn't much cover between the buildings. I must remind Robert to pack waterproofs.

Then she remembered they would be leaving in the morning to catch their flight, and pulled her phone out to send a quick text message. There was an unopened text that must have arrived while she was inside the castle, surrounded by firing guns. It was from Conor.

No problem with the nephews, although your family and friends do seem to take you for granted. Lunch tomorrow then? I'll find somewhere suitable. Conor

She stood staring at the message, trying to understand the tone. It sounded much friendlier than his recent emails, but it was hard to tell in such a short note. She frowned and went to drop her phone back in her bag, before remembering the message she needed to send her brother.

Robert, make sure the kids have clothing for a British summer – shorts and waterproofs, you know the deal. I have a lunchtime meeting with my boss, so will catch up with you after that. Are you staying the night? I'll be in St Austell for lunch or at the Boswinger hostel after that. I've booked beds for the boys. Let me know, Claire.

She hit send, put her phone away, then headed to the roof to take some photographs for the blog and to clear her head.

As she stood on the roof, enjoying the panoramic view and trying not to get too close to the edge, Claire overheard a couple behind her in heated conversation.

"I tell you, it's perfect. What better place to get married than in a _real_ castle." The girl sounded close to tears. "Just look at it, it will be amazing."

"I know, darling, but we can't afford it. Do you want to be broke and living at your parents' house for years, just for one day?"

"Oh, you don't understand."

Claire heard running footsteps, followed by a loud sigh. She smiled wryly. It reminded her of a TV show she saw once, where someone explained to a perplexed groom that girls plan their ideal wedding day all their lives and it's the groom's job to catch up with the dream and run with it.

Not me. I don't remember ever pretending to be a bride. Actually, I don't remember what I wanted to be when I grew up, or what dreams I had.

The thought made her sad for some reason. Feeling as if clouds had swept over the brilliant sun, Claire turned away from the wall and headed back into the gloom of the castle.

***

FIFTEEN

Claire typed "Roseland Peninsula" into the search box and waited. The map pin dropped into a place near St Austell. Claire frowned and read the address, then tutted as she realised it was a business of the same name.

Stupid map.

She tried typing the words into the search engine instead, and finally came up with a website which showed the peninsula. It was as she'd suspected, when she'd read the review of the hostel she was in which had raved about the amazing time to be had in Roseland. It was about as much a peninsula as the Isle of Purbeck was an island.

What it is with the need to name these areas? Is it for a sense of identity? Tourism? Convenience? Was it once a little kingdom or principality, back in the days when there were dozens of petty kings fighting over land?

Reading through several more websites, Claire discovered it was in fact a peninsula, apparently separated from the mainland by a river.

Well, that told me, didn't it?

She smiled and copied the notes into a document. With a quick glance at the time, she scanned more quickly through the remaining pages. Deciding to use the peninsula as a case study to compare with the Isle of Purbeck had been a great idea, but she was meeting Conor in two hours and she still had to drive to St Austell and find the right place for lunch. Looking through the online images she felt that Roseland might have the edge on Purbeck.

Although given Conor's passion for Dorset, it probably won't be a good idea to write that down.

Certainly the websites were miles apart. Claire grimaced as she looked at the messy Purbeck page with angry banners and snide comments. It wasn't a tourism website, as far as she could see, but the online equivalent of a parochial parish newsletter. The Roseland site was the opposite extreme: almost too polished and slick, with scrolling flash images and neat headings.

Furiously typing notes, Claire tried to remain objective, remembering that Conor's love of all things Jurassic Coast was likely to make him defensive. She didn't want a fight, and she definitely didn't want to upset him.

But, then, if he couldn't take the truth he shouldn't have hired me for this project.

The more she flicked through the two websites, the more Claire became aware of a sense of elation building inside her. It was a forgotten feeling: that sense of hitting the mark; of doing a job well and feeling in control.

This is why I love my job.

With a widening grin, she wrote a few more paragraphs of explanation before reluctantly closing the laptop. There would be no time to print it out but, if she found the restaurant before Conor arrived, there might be the chance to put together a presentation.

That'll stop him harassing me for updates and get him off my case. I think the less I see of him the better.

***

SIXTEEN

Claire sat at the table, building her presentation, trying to ignore the stunning view outside the window. The tall frames only enhanced the scene beyond, of boats bobbing on the water and children playing in the sand. Sparkling diamonds danced on the surface of the sea, taunting her and tempting her to put the work aside and daydream.

She'd been surprised at Conor's choice of restaurant when she'd arrived. It was a tiny place that appeared to have been a coastguard station at some point. The walk back up to the car park would be hard going after a beer or two. It seemed a bit secluded for a work meeting, and Claire had felt a fizzle of anticipation in her stomach as she was shown to their reserved table by the window. The view really was spectacular: the restaurant was right on the beach, with a view of the harbour and the bay beyond.

Claire's tummy grumbled as a waiter walked past with a steaming pile of muscles and another loaded with lobster. She was glad Conor was paying, although she had to remind herself it wasn't a date, it was business.

She turned her attention back to the presentation. The screen shots from the two websites nicely emphasised her point, and she'd managed to incorporate some transitions and graphics that looked impressive, although deep down she suspected Conor wouldn't be as fooled by such things as Carl used to be.

The challenge of having a boss with a brain, I guess.

She was just running through the final slides when she sensed someone watching her. She turned and met Conor's gaze as he stood only feet away, his expression inscrutable. A jolt of energy shot through her, and her hands shook as she closed the laptop. When she tried to smile, her cheeks quivered and she quickly abandoned the attempt.

"Conor, hi." She chanced a quick look into his eyes and they seemed to hold a mixture of amusement and remorse. A hesitant smile hovered on his lips. Then his face shifted, like a mask dropping over his features, and he was her boss again.

"Hard at work, I see. That's what we like. Did you have any bother finding the place?"

He slid into the seat opposite her and immediately picked up the menu, as if he couldn't stay long.

"No. Sat Nav. And yes, I was just finalising a presentation. I've found a great case study I thought you might like to run through." She heard the wobble in her voice and silently cursed. If he was going to pretend like nothing had happened the previous weekend, two could play at that game.

"Great, well let's order and we can run through it while we're waiting. I can recommend the lobster."

"Do you come here a lot? It's not exactly on your doorstep."

"I was based down here for a few months in a previous job. This place is a gem, especially at sunset."

It was on the tip of Claire's tongue to make some comment about wooing the ladies and she stopped, blood rushing to her cheeks. Despite the air of romance, this couldn't be further from a date, and their days of banter were gone now.

She looked at the top of Conor's head, as he studied the menu, and searched her brain for something neutral to say. Her mind went blank, so she turned to her own menu, although her eyes refused to focus on the words.

"So, you're playing Auntie for a fortnight? You're a sucker for punishment."

Conor's tone was less than friendly, but Claire seized on the opening. "Yes, apparently my brother and his wife have separated and the boys are being shuffled from parent to parent during the long vacation. Needless to say my brother isn't equipped to deal with his chunk of childcare."

"Why do you say it like that?" Conor looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, looking after kids isn't really every man's cup of tea."

"Depends on the man," he said, then dropped his head again. Claire sat staring, trying to figure out the meaning behind his words. Really, he was even more of an enigma than Josh, when he'd been harbouring his big secret.

"Do you have kids?" The words were out before she could stop them.

Conor froze, his head still lowered, then shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of."

The waiter chose that moment to approach with his pad open, and Claire resisted the urge to embrace him for his impeccable timing.

***

SEVENTEEN

Claire clicked on the last slide and turned to face Conor, trying to gauge his reaction. He'd remained silent during her impromptu presentation, his attention on the screen rather than her. Her early confidence evaporated and she could feel the hot flush rising up her neck as it did when she felt out of her depth.

"Very good," he said at last. "I like the angle. The Board won't take it well, you understand. I can see you've tried to be diplomatic, but the pictures tell their own story. I guess just having a great place to visit isn't enough anymore; it's all in the window dressing." He took a long gulp of his water and turned his head to stare out the window.

"People live their lives online these days. If there isn't a website, or an app, or a gallery of pictures, it doesn't really exist." Claire closed the laptop with a gentle click and slid it back into her bag. The empty space on the table stretched between them.

Conor sighed. "You're right, for sure. We don't really do social media, as you call it. I'm not sure we have the budget for it. The same goes for glossy photographs and the like."

"That's where I come in," Claire said brightly, glad to have something positive to offer. "I have contacts, and I've learned a significant amount myself, through doing the blog. As you say, it's all window dressing, so it isn't hard to change. It will take time. I can start straight away, if you like, rather than waiting to the end of the three months. I'm sure there are some quick wins. You could run a photography competition, for a start: people love showing off."

There was gratitude in Conor's eyes when he turned to face her, and it struck Claire anew how personally he took it. She couldn't imagine loving a place that much.

Conor opened his mouth as if to add something more, then shut it abruptly as the waiter arrived with their food.

Scraping the last drop of sauce off her plate with a chunk of bread, Claire gave a contented sigh and smiled at Conor. "You were right, it was delicious. I think if I was based near here I'd be fat or broke within a fortnight."

He laughed. Placing his own knife and fork neatly on the plate, he leant back in the chair and looked out the window. "There are definitely worst places to be. It reminds me of Dorset, although there are definite differences."

He let the sun rest on his face, briefly closing his eyes against the light. When he opened them again, the change in their expression caused Claire to catch her breath. He sat forward, pushing his plate aside so he could rest his arms on the table.

"Claire, I–" he began, but his words were interrupted as Claire's phone vibrated across the scrubbed pine surface.

With her heart in her mouth, Claire glared down at the black rectangle and silently cursed the terrible timing of the call. The flashing screen informed her it was Robert, and she stared unblinking at it, trying to work out what to do.

"Answer it," Conor said with a shrug, sitting back in his chair again. When Claire looked up, she got the impression he was glad for the intervention.

"Yes?" Her voice cut like a whip as she connected the call.

"Claire, it's Robert. I'm at the hostel. Bloody hell it's in the middle of nowhere. I'm not staying the night; I need you to get here so I can catch my flight home. I can't just leave the boys."

Claire inhaled through her nose, controlling her temper with effort. "Robert, I thought you weren't going to arrive for another hour. And what harm would it be to stay one night, get the boys settled in? I barely know them." She glared out the window, watching a couple wandering arm in arm down the beach.

"I, er, well, I have to be back in Geneva. Sorry."

The hesitation in his voice set Claire's teeth on edge. "You've got a date, haven't you? Admit it. You _bastard_." Claire realised her voice was rising, and she turned her shoulder away from the staring customers.

"Is that why Francesca left?" she hissed. "Were you cheating on her? No, don't tell me. We can talk when I get there. I'll leave now." She disconnected the call and turned to face Conor, her lip caught between her teeth. She tried to think of sufficient words of apology but none came.

"It's okay, you have to go. Don't sweat it." His face had closed down again, and Claire felt tears of frustration building behind her eyes.

She gathered her things together, unsure whether the trembling in her knees was a result of anger at her brother or something else. As she hoisted her bag on her shoulder, Conor stood up and came round the table. He stood for a moment, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Emotions flickered across his face as if he was running through different things he might say.

"Don't let your nephews run you ragged," he said at last. "Remember you're in charge." He raised his mouth in a half smile, and his green eyes regained some of their sparkle.

She gave a nod and turned to go.

"And Claire?" he added, the words stopping her heart. She turned back, an eyebrow raised in question, trying to remain cool despite the staccato beat in her chest. The sun lit blonde highlights in his hair, and he had buried his hands in his pockets.

"I am sorry. About last weekend. I misread the signals and I was drunk, not that it's any excuse." He smiled a cheeky boy smile and extended his hand for Claire to shake.

"Friends?"

She nodded and took his hand. His grip was firm and his skin felt warm and smooth. Tears pooled in the back of her throat. With a wave goodbye she ran from the room.

***

EIGHTEEN

Claire's ears thrummed with rage, as she drove blindly along the country lanes to the hostel. How dare he? How dare Robert interrupt like that? Wasn't it enough that she was saving his arse, looking after his brats while he went of canoodling with his new lady friend?

She wrenched at the wheel, to avoid a pigeon sitting in the road, and nearly put the car in the hedge. Adrenalin coursed through her body, making her hands tremble. She loosened the vice-like grip of one hand and slammed it against the horn, even though the bird was now twenty yards behind her.

By the time she reached the hostel her anger was piled high like the stacks of clouds lining the endless horizon, obscuring the blue sky and promising a howling storm. Claire pulled into the right driveway, glad she'd already visited the hostel once to check in, and abandoned the car.

Striding into the hostel she wondered what exactly she was going to say to Robert. She hadn't yelled at him since she was twelve; she certainly hadn't had such an overpowering urge to gouge his eyes out since they were children.

The hostel seemed deserted as she stalked through the rooms, and her anger began to seep away. She reached the red lounge and stopped short at the sight of two boys wrestling on the sofa.

Great. I had to bump into the kids before finding Robert. I don't even know which one is which.

Forcing a smile on a face that ached with tension, Claire slowed down to a walk, hoping these were indeed her nephews.

"Hi boys, great to see you. Where's your father."

"Bonjour, tante Claire, comment vas-tu?" the youngest boy beamed at her. Claire reeled as if she'd been shot.

Oh crap. Robert didn't mention that the brats don't speak English. What the...? I haven't done French since school.

"Bonjour, ça vas bien, merci." She smiled brightly, hoping no further communication would be necessary. Pummelling her brain for the word for father, she stuttered, "Où est ton père?"

One of the boys pointed out the door and rattled off a sentence that Claire didn't understand. She tried not to look blank, but the amusement on the boy's face suggested she'd failed. He mimed talking on a phone and Claire nodded. With a half wave she turned and hurried out.

Robert I am going to kill you.

She found him sitting in the courtyard, looking relaxed in an open shirt and sunglasses propped on his head, despite the clouds gathering above them. As she stood watching, he spoke into the phone in rapid French. Something about his demeanour brought to mind sweet nothings, although he spoke too fast for her to understand a word. When it didn't seem likely that he would end the call anytime soon, she cleared her throat.

Robert looked up without a trace of embarrassment. He gave a cool nod and raised one hand as if signalling to a secretary to give him a minute. Claire felt the blood rise again, and looked around for something to hit him with. Robert's eyes widened slightly and he said a rapid farewell before hanging up the phone.

"You're here finally, then."

Claire ground her teeth. "You've got some nerve. You called me away from a business meeting, you failed to mention your boys only speak French and now you have the audacity to act like I'm some tardy underling. You can take your brats back to Geneva with you, and you can rot."

She took some satisfaction from the look of consternation on his face. With a vicious grin and a toss of her hair, she spun round and went in search of a cup of tea.

***

NINETEEN

Claire let the warmth from the chipped mug soothe her as she inhaled the reviving scent of Earl Grey. Her skin prickled and her body remained still only under sufferance. She wanted to pull her hiking boots on and stride down to the beach, to let the sea breeze blow the dark thoughts from her mind. But outside the window, the mountainous clouds had turned black and the wind dragged at the tree tops, sending the green leaves dancing.

She knew, also, that despite extreme provocation, she wasn't about to send the boys back to Geneva with their father. If it meant buying a phrase book or spending a fortnight doing sign language, she wouldn't quit now.

I'm sure some of it will come back. I learnt the language for eleven years, some of it has to have stuck.

Her brain presented her with a range of French phrases, none of which were appropriate for communicating with two pre-teen boys. Her ire at Robert's duplicity rose again, and she gripped the mug tightly before taking a calming sip of tea. Despite her desire to punch him, she knew from experience that she might as well smack a rock.

Footsteps approached down the corridor, accompanied by a deep voice murmuring dire consequences. Claire braced herself for confrontation, focussing on the steam rising from her mug as if it was a meditation candle.

"Ah, Claire, there you are."

Robert's urbane tone rolled around the small room, and Claire wondered if he ever lost his cool. She glanced up and saw him in the doorway, phone in one hand, the other hand buried in his pocket. Behind him the boys giggled and shoved each other in the arm. She took a moment to look at them properly, as much to avoid having to endure Robert's bland, appraising, stare. She knew if she looked her brother in the eye she was likely to lose her temper again and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The boys were almost as tall as their father, but with the boyish round faces and gangly limbs of the adolescent. The tallest boy had dark hair, thick like his dad's. The youngest was fairer and his hair tended to curly. It reminded her of Conor's, although both lads had dark brown eyes and eyelashes that would be the envy of future girlfriends. She tried to picture Francesca in her mind, and remembered that she, too, was a dark beauty.

As if sensing Claire's resolve, Robert turned his attention to his sons. "That's enough, boys. Now you apologise to your Aunt or I will take the iPads back with me."

His words provoked muttering and hanging of heads. Claire wondered what they had to apologise for, noting also that the boys clearly understood English, even if they didn't speak it. As she watched, a suspicion crept into her mind, fanning the flames of her latent fury.

The kitchen filled with silence. Claire added her stare to her brother's and eventually the younger boy cracked.

"We're sorry we pretended not to speak English, Auntie Claire. It was only meant to be a joke."

His voice held no trace of the French accent from earlier, but rather rang out with the public school boy vowels of his father.

Robert didn't acknowledge his son's apology, he merely transferred his gaze to the elder child. When he remained silent, Robert said in a low, menacing, tone, "Alex?"

"Sorry," the boy spat out, his face turning sullen at his father's reprimand. Robert raised an eyebrow at him with a clear message and the boy glared back. "Sorry, _Aunt Claire_ ," he amended, in a tone no more friendly than before.

It seemed to Claire that her brother wasn't going to let it go, so she pushed back from the table and walked over to the boys.

"That's okay, guys. Great trick, you certainly had me fooled." She gave them both what she hoped was a non-patronising smile and was rewarded with a grin from the younger boy. Relieved, she glanced up at Robert's face and came to a decision. "Can you give me a minute to chat with your dad? Have you been allocated a room?"

Jack nodded, while Alex folded his arms and stared at the floor. Claire swallowed a sigh.

"Great. Why don't you go and play some games on your iPads, then? I'll come get you when your father is ready to leave."

She shooed them out with her hands, waiting until their footsteps had faded, before she turned back to Robert.

"Well?" She said in a low voice.

"Well, what, Claire? I don't really care for your tone."

"And I don't care for your behaviour. Treating me like one of your PAs, whispering sweet nothings to your new lady friend while your boys try to convince me they only speak French. And what was that all about?" She jerked her chin to indicate she meant the scene that had just taken place in the kitchen. "You acted like they'd mugged me. It was only a game; you didn't need to be so hard on them. I'm sure we did much worse when we were kids."

She knew she wasn't making sense, but the thoughts were all jumbled in her mind. Robert stood motionless and absorbed her anger like a sponge.

When she ran out of words, he said calmly, "Boys need a firm hand. You'll find that out, assuming you've recovered from your fit of pique and are still going to take them?"

Claire's palms itched and she stalked back to the table to collect her tea. It was safer if she gave her hands something to do other than slap her brother. She wondered why he was being so hostile. What happened to the brother who had sat in the hospital with her, worrying about Ruth?

"Let me get something straight," she said, enunciating each word. "What you are asking me to do is beyond a little favour. I'm not one of your unfortunate staff and taking your boys for a fortnight is a big ask. In case it slipped your notice, I am working here. This isn't a jolly, this is my job. I'm lucky my boss is understanding enough to let the boys tag along. They're here on his goodwill as much as mine."

"Ah yes, your boss that you have cosy lunches with." He sneered and Claire's eyes opened wide.

"Where do you get off, speaking like that, Robert? You dumped your wife and moved on to someone new. You're in no position to judge."

"So you _are_ sleeping with your boss."

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I'm not. Some of us have principles." She thought back to her parting conversation with Conor and hoped Robert took the flush on her cheeks for anger. "This is all beside the point. I said I'll take the boys and I will, but do not forget that I am helping you."

Their eyes locked for an angry minute, then Robert suddenly smiled. "Thank you, Claire. I'm sorry; I don't mean to be ungrateful. There's a lot going on." He took his wallet out of a pocket and retrieved a roll of notes.

"Here. This should cover it, but if you need any more let me know, and I'll wire it to you. I have to go now."

Claire took the money mutely, wondering if it was too late to inflict violence. She looked at the notes in her hand and decided her brother would pay, one way or another.

***

TWENTY

Claire sat on her bunk and watched the boys as they lay, absorbed in their games. She could see Candy Crush on Alex's screen, and wondered if she should've asked Robert what restrictions he placed on the boys' screen time. She couldn't help but feel that more educational apps would be a better way to spend their time, but didn't feel as comfortable telling them so as she had with Sky.

Plus it's the school holidays: they must have homework that needs doing. Do I trust that Francesca will supervise that, or should I do something?

Her anger at the now departed Robert flared up again, and only the indifference both boys showed at their father's departure made her feel that she was doing the right thing. However little she knew about looking after boys, it didn't seem as if they'd get much more care and attention from their dad.

I shouldn't judge, of course. I know nothing about their family life. And, after all, it must be strange going home after boarding during term time.

She looked up again from her book, unable to concentrate on the words.

The question is, now they are here, what am I going to do with them?

A low grumbling noise echoed round the room and Claire giggled. "Alex, was that your stomach?" The boy grunted and didn't look up. Claire sighed, quietly. "What about you, Jack, are you hungry? Did you boys have lunch?"

She looked at her phone and was surprised to see how late it was. "Never mind lunch, it's nearly dinner time. What do you boys fancy? I can cook pasta or we can go out and find a restaurant." At least Robert had made sure she didn't need to scrimp too much.

Jack sat up and bumped his head on the bunk. "Ow. Alex, why did I get the bottom bunk?"

"Because you're the baby," his brother snarled. Jack's face crumpled and Claire feared he might cry. He knuckled at his eyes, and when he met Claire's gaze his eyes were red but dry.

"I'm hungry, Auntie Claire. Can we have a McDonalds? Do they have them out here? Father said we're a long way from civilisation."

"Are you allowed McDonalds? Your dad didn't say, but I can't imagine he and your mum would approve. It's not very healthy."

"They don't give a shit about us," Alex said.

The words struck at Claire's heart, but she responded sternly, "I don't think that language is appropriate, Alex. You're an educated boy; you can express yourself without resorting to swearing."

"Why should I? Father swears all the time. And Mother. Especially at each other." He turned back to his game, and Claire felt an urge to give this troubled almost-man a hug.

Knowing that was the last thing he would want, she tried to keep her voice neutral and said, "Well, when you're with me I would like you to refrain from swearing. In fact I think we'll have a few rules." Alex took no notice of her; his attention on his game.

"For a start, I won't have you ignoring me. Right, come down here please, Alex. You, too, Jack. Come sit here with me." She patted the bed. Jack came across the room but Alex didn't move.

"Alex Carleton, get down here now, or you'll be on the next flight home." The strength in her voice surprised Claire. The reaction was even more shocking. Alex glared at her, then rolled sideways off the bed and jumped to the floor without using the ladder. He didn't sit, but she chose not to force the issue.

"Okay. Rule one, you will listen to me and do as I ask. I am in charge, got it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Rule two, no swearing. Rule three, iPad will be limited to a few hours a day." Alex began to protest and she cut him off. "I'm not unreasonable – I had an iPad until recently. But I also know how addictive some of the games are. We're in the most beautiful part of the world, with castles and caves and beaches and places to visit. Games are for quiet time and, occasionally, car journeys. Got it?"

Jack said, "yes, Ma'am," but Alex remained silent.

"Got it?" Claire said again, looking into Alex's downcast eyes.

"Yes, _Ma'am._ "

"Good. Oh, I forgot. Rule four–" Jack groaned and Claire laughed. "Don't worry, this is a good one. Rule four, let's have some fun!"

She jumped up from the bed. "Okay, shall we see if this sleepy backwater has a McDonalds?"

With a crazy grin she led them from the room without waiting to see if they were following her.

***

TWENTY-ONE

"Hello, how's it going? I thought I'd call and make sure you're still alive. Or, more to the point, that your brother is. The look on your face when you left the restaurant was something to behold."

Claire cradled the phone to her ear and looked across to see if the boys were listening. They appeared to be engrossed in some car show on the TV. Even so, Claire kept her voice low as she replied to her boss's question.

"We're all still alive. Just. Have you any idea how far you have to go to find a McDonalds in Cornwall? Robert's gone back to Geneva."

"With a flea in his ear?" She could hear the grin in Conor's voice.

"I never understood that phrase. But if you mean did I let him know I was cross with him: I tried. Might as well attempt to chastise an elephant for all the good it did me."

"And the boys? Do you think you'll cope?" The tone of concern in his voice was almost masked by the humour, but not quite. It made Claire's stomach twist and squirm.

"Jack will be fine. He's a nice lad; open and enthusiastic, if a little eager to emulate his brother."

"And the other one?"

"Alex. Hmmm. Let's say he's practising hard for his teenage years. If the chip on his shoulder gets any bigger he'll fall out of his bunk at night."

"Must be tough, not having a settled home at that age. He might even have girl trouble."

"At twelve?" Claire's voice rose, and Jack glanced at her before turning back to the screen.

"Oh, yes. Didn't you say they were at boarding school? Is it mixed? Not that that matters. Twelve was about when I, well, never mind."

"Twelve?" Claire felt the blood drain from her face. "Seriously?" She tried to remember how old she was when she first even noticed boys. Then she realised it wasn't the conversation to have with her boss, and she coughed. "Anyway, if that's it, I'm sure it will blow over. They're only here for a fortnight."

"Did you want me to come out with you guys tomorrow, help you ease into it a bit? I've got brothers and nephews; I might be able to help."

The surge of gratitude warmed Claire from her toes to the tips of her fingers. Then she realised what impression it might give and the words of acceptance died on her lips.

"Think of it as a work assignment," Conor added, apparently as an afterthought. "We can go visit a castle or something and take notes together."

"Are you checking up on me?"

"Would I? No, you'd be doing me a favour, actually. I'm meant to be going to Mass in the morning, for the baptism of some random cousin in Birmingham. I can live without it. Mum thinks because I'm in the same country I should go."

"Same country, yes, but Birmingham is miles away. Is that why you came to St Austell; to hide? You don't have a work appointment at all, do you?"

"You've found me out, I confess," he said, then fell silent.

Claire's mind filled with conjecture. Escaping a Baptism seemed a flimsy excuse to drive all the way to Cornwall. She didn't want to think about it too deeply, so she said, "Well, if you're sure, that would be great. Thanks."

They agreed a time and place to meet in the morning and hung up the phone. Claire curled into the corner of the sofa and let her mind wander.

*

Claire's heart gave a little hiccup when she saw Conor strolling towards them. It had been a difficult morning already and it wasn't yet ten o'clock. Alex and Jack had bickered non-stop over breakfast, and then Alex had refused to come with them to the castle, insisting he was old enough to stay at the hostel by himself. He tried to hide it, but Claire saw him with a phone clutched in his hand, and she began to suspect that Conor might have been right.

Damn him.

The boys had moaned all the way up from the car park and now, looking at the site from the outside, Claire thought they should probably have gone back to Pendennis Castle, on the other side of the water.

"Top of the morning to you." Conor said in greeting as he approached, and Claire recognised the jovial Irish man act he'd put on for her mother, what felt like months ago.

She rolled her eyes at him, then gave him a meaningful look, trying to convey some sense of the morning they'd had. He gave a tiny wink, barely more than a crinkling of one cheek, and turned to face the children.

"Hello, I'm Jack" Claire's youngest nephew said brightly, holding out his hand. Conor shook it formally then turned to face Alex.

"And yer man must be Alex. Pleased to meet you." Conor had the sense not to hold out his hand to be left hanging. Alex stood with his hands buried deep in his jeans pockets and stared at the ground. With a twinkle in his eye, Conor winked at Claire again.

"Shall we go in?" Claire said, leading the way to the entrance and trying to ignore Alex's fit of the sullens. She'd hidden most of Robert's money at the hostel, retaining enough to pay for their tickets and lunch. When she handed over the fifty-pound note to a suspicious cashier, Conor sidled up behind her.

"Big brother flashed the cash then? At least you haven't got to pay for his grumpy kids as well."

"You mean Alex? I think you might have been right," she murmured. "He's been clutching his phone like a lifeline all morning."

"Ah, love's sweet torment."

She blushed hotly and she turned away in confusion. With a throaty chuckle, Conor moved to stand by Jack. She heard him ask about the boy's home town and school, and felt able to breathe again.

Just what game is he playing?

Whatever it was, she wished she knew some of the rules.

***

TWENTY-TWO

Claire considered the boy trailing ten paces behind, hands still buried deep in his pockets, and chewed out a curse.

"Problems?"

Claire looked over at Conor, who was watching Jack pretending to sink imaginary ships through a gap in the wall.

"What am I going to do with the moody teenager? A fortnight of that and I'll go bonkers."

"Do you want me to have a chat with him?" Conor said quietly, all brashness gone from his voice.

"And say what? He's no more likely to open up to you than me, is he?"

"Well, I am at least a bloke."

"Really, I hadn't noticed?" She smiled, her cheeks tight with tension, before her face dropped back into the frown it had worn all morning.

"I didn't think you had," Conor said. Before she could respond he walked on to answer a question from Jack.

Claire watched as Conor leant over to hear Jack's words. The answer he gave was animated; his hands waving in explanation. Conor had been the proverbial uncle since they'd entered the castle grounds; playing with the boys, listening to the audio tour and sharing the interesting parts, complete with actions. It was obvious - watching him - that he was used to being around children.

As she approached, Conor gave her a slight nod before walking past her back to where Alex stood leaning against the castle wall, surreptitiously tapping into his phone.

"I like your friend, Auntie Claire," Jack said, after Conor had left. "He's funny. Did you know he has four brothers and a sister, all younger than him! He says he has loads of nephews and nieces, but they all live in Ireland. Have you been to Ireland? It sounds great. They all live near each other and play at each other's houses and stuff, and they go to school down the road."

He stopped suddenly and his cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed by his candour. Claire's heart went out to this young boy who wanted nothing more than to be with his family and have a proper home.

Maybe that's what going to a Boarding school does to you. Maybe you spend your life trying to find the home you never had.

She thought about her own schooling. Her parents hadn't made them board, but they might as well have done. The school ran from 8am to 6pm with extra activities at the weekend. Between hockey and homework Claire thought she'd probably only seen her parents a couple of hours a week from the age of eleven onwards.

The sound of laughter floated across on the wind whistling around the castle walls, and Claire turned in surprise. It sounded like Alex.

It was. He and Conor were walking slowly towards them and, for the first time, Alex's hands weren't in his pockets, but rather were waving around in front of him as he chatted animatedly with her boss.

How the hell did he do that? What did he find to talk about to make Alex laugh like that?

She remembered some of their phone conversation the previous night and rather felt she didn't want to know.

Who cares? If he can turn Alex into a human being, if only for a day or so, I don't really care if he's reciting the Miller's Tale to him.

Alex approached almost shyly, looking up at Conor for confirmation. Conor nodded in encouragement, before suggesting to Jack that they go hunt for the canons.

"Conor said I should talk to you."

Alex's face had lost its humour, but he kept his head raised, even if he didn't make eye contact.

"I'm sorry I've been a pain. Conor says he'll tell you to send us home, if I make life difficult for you when you're working. I didn't mean to be an arse." He flushed at the word and quickly amended it, "a git, I meant. Sorry." He paused, staring out over the wall at the ocean beyond, as if he could see all the way back to Geneva.

"I don't want to be here. Father didn't even ask, he just told us. And, well, I have friends. And stuff." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his trainers, scuffing at the stone as if he'd like to run away.

Claire wanted to interject that they were only staying with her for a fortnight, but something made her hold her tongue. She watched Alex as he struggled with his words, trying to maintain an air of supportive concern.

"Conor said I needed to man up and stop giving you a hard time. He said it wasn't your fault that Father's a..." He stopped again, and a faint blush put colour in his pale cheeks. He looked up then, his eyes wary.

Claire wanted to pull the boy into a hug, but she kept her distance. "It's okay," she said, instead, "I know what my brother can be like. I hadn't realised quite what a pompous _arse_ he'd become," – Alex grinned at her choice of word – "and I don't blame you for being grumpy at him shipping you boys over here without warning. It's only two weeks. That probably seems like a lifetime to you, but it will fly by, I promise." There was so much more she wanted to say, but she could see already that Alex wanted to escape. So she held out her hand and tried to catch his eye.

"Friends?"

Alex gave her hand a shake and gave a quick nod. Then he hurried off towards Conor and Jack.

***

TWENTY-THREE

"Has your boyfriend gone back home, Auntie Claire?"

Jack's face shone with sincerity but Alex's barely audible snigger suggested the innocence was feigned.

She glared from one boy to the other, feeling the heat rising up her neck. "Did your father put you up to that?" She spoke without thinking and regretted it immediately, as Alex's face dropped into the stony mask she was coming to dread.

Jack glanced at his brother, confusion clouding his open face. Claire wished she could unsay the words. Better some harmless banter than the freezing atmosphere that appeared to be Alex's natural state. Despite their fragile truce, Alex had barely spoken three words since they'd returned to the hostel.

"Sorry, guys, I don't mean to be touchy. Conor is my boss and a friend of sorts but we're not involved. Your father and I had words about it before he left, that's all. I didn't mean to bite your heads off."

The impenetrable mask remained on the elder brother's face but Jack smiled. "Will we see him again?"

"Probably not," Claire replied, wondering if Conor would find another excuse to drive the hundreds of miles from Dorset to Cornwall. "Right, what shall we do today? I'm guessing the Lost Gardens of Heligan aren't going to be your cup of tea. What about surfing; either of you lads any good with a board?"

Alex looked as if he'd rather spend the day at the dentist, but Jack bounced in his seat like a toddler.

"Really? That would be super. I've done snowboarding and I have a wave board at home, not that Mother likes me to use it. I think she's worried I'm going to break my arm and get sent home from school like Alex did." He rattled on enthusiastically.

When he drew breath, Claire turned to Alex. "What about it?" When she got no response she said, "How about you humour me this morning and I let you spend the afternoon playing Candy Crush or texting your friends, while I write up some notes?"

Alex gave an indifferent shrug and Claire decided that was probably as positive as it was going to get.

"Wow, Auntie Claire, that was amazing." Jack's grin matched hers, as she rode the board into the beach.

"How about we drop the _Auntie_ , Jack, you're starting to make me feel ancient. I'm barely old enough to be your mother."

"Okay, Claire," he called, as he ran back into the waves. "Last one on their feet's a wet fish." He threw a mischievous look at his brother and the sound of his laughter echoed behind him as he ploughed through the surf.

Alex scowled but said nothing. So far he hadn't managed to get on his knees without toppling in the water.

"You're taking it too seriously, dude," the instructor said, clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about your brother, he said he was a snowboarder. I hear you're a demon black run skier?"

Alex glared at Claire and she shrugged. "Jack told me. He's proud of you, for all your endless bickering."

In answer to an unspoken signal from the instructor, Claire followed Jack into the sea. As she looked back, the instructor was earnestly explaining something to her eldest nephew. She hoped it worked. Then she pushed all thought of the troublesome pair from her mind and surrendered to the waves.

"Hey brother, way to go!"

Jack's voice tore through Claire's concentration, and she lost her balance. When she surfaced, spitting out sea water, her board tether tugging at her ankle, she saw Jack walk over to give Alex a high five.

Alex's face split in a beaming smile and it was the first time she'd seen him look genuinely happy. Without the scowl he seemed younger, more like his father: the brother she had looked up to as a child, back when he knew how to have fun.

A tiny spark of hope ignited in her breast and she curled herself around it to keep it alight.

***

TWENTY-FOUR

Claire looked at the faces staring expectantly across the table at her and wanted to scream. The boys had only been with her for a week, and she had crammed as many activities as possible into their days, not just to wear them out, but to keep herself from flying apart.

When they were occupied they didn't bicker and she had more space to think about her assignment. Although time to think wasn't always a blessing. Conor hadn't been in touch since the visit to St. Mawes Castle. She kept reminding herself that a week in the office wasn't like a week with two boys to entertain, and that he'd just been too busy to contact her.

As the weekend came and went with no surprise visit, she couldn't ignore the insidious sense of disappointment that sharpened her temper and dulled her senses.

"What are we doing today, Aunt–, I mean Claire?" Jack was the first to break the silence. After a week together they had finally learnt it was best to wait until she'd drunk at least one cup of coffee before they badgered her with requests.

Claire looked from Jack to Alex, trying to work out how much energy she had and what activities were left on the list. They'd been based in the same hostel all week – one without internet or phone signal, which was driving her almost as crazy as it was Alex. Part of their daily routine incorporated locating a café with free WiFi.

"Are we moving to a different hostel today?" Alex looked up from his phone, having long since given up waving it around in an attempt to find the elusive spot where a text message might go.

Claire smiled warmly at her eldest nephew. "Yes, Alex. I have to say, you've coped brilliantly with the lack of contact with the outside world. I'm sorry it didn't occur to me to check before I booked us in here. The location is brilliant, though, isn't it? And the pool table has been fun?"

Alex nodded without enthusiasm. Claire suspected their hilltop location, with views to die for and a crystal clear beach in walking distance, had been more her idyllic holiday destination than theirs. The next hostel on the list wasn't much better, but they were only there for one night, possibly two.

"We're staying next to the lighthouse tonight – that will be fun, won't it? Although let's hope it isn't foggy. Apparently the foghorn sounds all night in bad weather."

"Wicked," Jack said with a grin. "Can we go in it?"

Jack was definitely more her kindred spirit. He'd done the cliff top walks, the pony ride and jungle trek with obvious delight, whilst Alex had only really come alive at the theme park. Claire shuddered at the memory of being dragged on the rides, and wondered why she hadn't thought to take the boys there when Conor was with them, instead of to the castle.

Their windsurfing lesson the day before – which Claire had excused herself from, claiming work commitments – had been Jack's crowning glory, as he'd been the only lad of his age to come near to controlling the unwieldy craft in the allotted time. Claire wondered if there was anything that might remotely interest Alex.

"Yes, I believe you can play lighthouse keeper," she said, in response to Jack's question. "I think you even get to sound the foghorn and have a go at tracking ships."

"Brilliant." Jack said, and received a disgusted look from his brother. "What? Just because you're in lurve," he drew out the word, "doesn't mean the rest of us have to be boring."

Alex punched him on the arm and Claire concealed a smile, for once not irritated by their fighting. It had taken a while to get used to the physicality of brothers. With two sisters in the house, Robert hadn't been a rough-and-tumble child, although she remembered a few times when they'd fought. Mostly he and Ruth had been the ones at war, verbally more than physically. Claire found the fighting easier to deal with than the telling tales and snide remarks she remembered from her own childhood.

"Leave him alone, Jack, and Alex, don't hit your brother." She drained the last of her coffee, making a mental note to pick up takeaway when they stopped at the café, and stood up.

"Right, here's the plan. We'll go check in, visit the lighthouse, and get our bearings. Alex gets to choose tomorrow's activity."

A surprised smile from the older child rewarded her suggestion and she returned it gladly. As they left the breakfast room in relative harmony, Claire felt that she might be starting to get the hang of this parenting lark.

***

TWENTY-FIVE

"Will you two come away from the edge! I am never going to hear the end of it if I send you back to your father with a broken leg. Or in a body bag."

The wind whipped Claire's voice away and the boys paid no attention, but continued to scramble around the cliff top like goats.

"Come back here or we will go to the seal sanctuary tomorrow. I'm warning you." She stood with her hands on her hips, wondering what possessed her to bring the boys up onto the cliffs. It was meant to be the most southerly part of the UK and she's wanted to take some pictures for the blog. So far she'd been too busy watching her nephews trying to kill themselves to think about photographs.

More fool me thinking they could behave for five minutes. I should have left the tykes at the hostel. Blimey, how do mothers cope with this every day?

Drawing in breath, she tried for one last effort. "Get here now or I'm sending your iPads back to Geneva in the next post."

Both boys turned to see if she was joking. The expression on her face was obviously stern enough that they took her threat seriously. They loped towards her at full pelt, then chased each other around her as if she were a maypole.

"Cut it out. You are not four years old. Will you act your age please?"

She stalked off back towards the hostel, a thumping pain crushing the front of her skull. Her ears still rang with the noise of the foghorn from Jack's enthusiastic turn at playing lighthouse keeper earlier. All she wanted was a coffee or maybe a gin and tonic, and some silence.

"Watch out!"

Claire turned at the sound of the shout; instinct telling her the boys were the cause of the woman's shriek. Sure enough, they were standing near a young woman, their heads hanging low and their hands in their pockets.

The woman turned towards Claire, her face livid. "Are these your boys? You ought to have better control of them. They nearly knocked me flying. What are they doing running around up here? Someone could get hurt. Call yourself a mother?" She snarled out the last words, before stalking off without waiting for a reply.

Claire's heart hammered in her chest and her knees quivered. Looking after the woman, the venomous words echoed in her head, throbbing in time with her headache. As she turned back to the boys, fury mounted like a cresting wave.

"What the hell happened? What did you do to her?"

"Nothing, Claire, we promise." Jack's face appeared pale in the afternoon sunlight. Claire raised her eyebrows at him in mute disbelief.

"Alex?"

The elder boy remained silently staring at the ground.

"Come on, guys, you must have done something."

"We didn't. Not really."

Claire turned back to Jack, hearing the hesitation in his voice. She forced her face to soften. "What happened?" she asked in a lower tone.

"We were mucking about and we jostled her. That's all, I swear. She acted as if we'd tried to shove her over the cliff but we didn't. Look, the edge is all the way over there." He pointed to where the ground fell away, about three metres from where they were standing.

With a deep breath, Claire tried to calm her racing pulse. She'd never been yelled at by a complete stranger before. Well, not when she wasn't driving, at any rate. Piecing together her nephew's words, she tried to make sense of the woman's anger. The edge wasn't that close, although near enough for her. Without having witnessed the incident, she couldn't say if the boys were lying or the woman over-reacting.

Is that what being a parent means? That strangers feel at liberty to make judgement on you? How does that work?

With a shaking smile, she beckoned the boys nearer. Hooking an arm through Jack's, she held out her elbow for Alex to hold on to, not really expecting him to take it. After a startled glance, he tentatively threaded his arm through hers.

"Well, I might not be very good at making you behave, but I do know a café where they sell very good chocolate cake. Sound good?"

She smiled at them both, feeling they'd had enough recrimination from the angry woman for her to add anything further. With her heart still beating a rapid tattoo, Claire led the boys off the cliff, and hoped they wouldn't bump into the irate woman again.

***

TWENTY-SIX

"Right, boys, get dressed, we've got a busy day ahead."

Claire laughed at the groans emanating from the bunks as she stuck her head around the door. The hostel had been mostly empty when they arrived, and they'd been able to secure adjacent rooms. After sharing with the boys for a week at the previous hostel, Claire was glad to go back to her own, private, sweet-smelling space.

The only movement her words provoked was a pulling up of duvets, muffling the grumbling protests that it was too early. Claire thought there had to be a happy medium between Sky waking up with the birds, and these boys who needed a rocket under them to get them going in the morning.

With a sly glance she said, "I guess I'll have to cancel the motor boat trip then, and we'll go to the seal sanctuary after all."

The duvets flung back and first Jack and then Alex sat up in bed.

"Motor boat? Are we going water skiing?"

Claire's smile drooped. "Ah, no. We're going on a day out on the estuary." She watched their excitement fade, and thought quickly. "But we're taking the boat out on our own. Have you steered a motor boat before? And are you any good at map reading?"

Alex's expression remained disgruntled, but Jack jumped up. "Bagsy I get to steer the boat first. Thank you, Aunt– I mean Claire." He ran over and gave her an impulsive hug.

Claire returned the embrace, a little surprised at the gesture. The boys were not very tactile, unless you included thumping each other and wrestling on the bedroom floor.

"You're welcome, Jack. Come on boys, get dressed. This hostel is self-catering, so we're going out for a fry up." She'd learnt that a hearty breakfast was essential. As with men, so with boys: regular feeding was a core requirement of good relations.

*

Claire looked at the tiny craft bobbing on the water, and thought better of her great idea. For something licensed to hold six people it looked tiny.

_And very vulnerable_ , she thought, watching the boat pull at its mooring as the wake of a passing yacht stirred up the water.

"You boys taking your Mum fishing?"

All three of them turned to look over as a man approached them, his lined face split in a wide grin. "They'll be biting today. It's high tide around mid-morning, but you're best to wait until the afternoon. Forecast is good. Did you want to borrow some rods? I'm sure I can find something."

Claire shuddered, and hoped the boys were more interested in steering the boat than pulling slimy squirming creatures from the water.

"Can we, Claire, can we, please? I'd love to catch something. I've never been sea fishing before." Jack's voice rose high with eagerness.

"Doesn't Robert take you?" As she said the words, she tried to imagine her brother, as she knew him now, attaching maggots to a hook. "Never mind. Er, yes, if you can borrow all the gear I don't see why not. Just don't expect me to touch them. If you catch something you're on your own."

The answering grin from both boys was electric. Claire hoped the friendly stranger was wrong, and the fish weren't biting. Leaving them discussing the merits of various types of bait with the man from the boat yard, Claire wandered off in search of caffeine. It was going to be a long day.

***

TWENTY-SEVEN

The boat rocked as Jack jumped up. "I've got something!"

"Jack, sit down before we all end up in the water." Claire clung to the side of the tiny craft, her now-cold coffee clutched in the other hand like a security blanket. Despite the sun overhead, the water looked cold and uninviting.

Both boys had proved adept at steering the small boat around the estuary and, to begin with, it had been rather pleasant letting them take charge. Once they'd got clear of the main traffic, and the bow waves of the bigger yachts, the water had flattened out like a mill pond. With the sun sparkling on the surface, and native trees huddling over the edges of the estuary walls, Claire had begun to relax and enjoy the morning.

There was something soothing about being out on the water. Even with the low chug of the boat engine breaking the stillness, there was a serene beauty about the far reaches of the inlet they had ventured in to. Overhead, sea birds shrieked their disapproval at being disturbed by the thrum of the outboard motor. Shouts of laughter from the boys, as they squabbled good-naturedly over who was the better steersman, competed with the cry of the gulls.

They had settled down to fish at the far end of Frenchman's Creek. Heeding the warnings they had been given as they departed, Claire kept an eye on the time, not wanting to get beached at the far end of the creek as the tide slipped back out to sea.

The name Frenchman's Creek rang a bell. As the boys wrestled with the fish tugging at the end of the line, she tried to recall where she'd heard the name before. Then it came to her: wasn't there a book of the same name by Daphne du Maurier? She seemed to remember it being on her reading list at university. Some swashbuckling pirate story, full of intrigue and romance. Except the silly woman had gone back to her doltish husband in the end, instead of running away with her lover to France.

_Strange choice. If it had been the other way around, the man wouldn't have thought twice about leaving his children behind._ She thought about Chris, her sister's ex, and how much he had missed Sky when he left Ruth. _Perhaps that's a little unfair. Not all parents are as unfeeling as my darling brother._

With a yell of triumph, Jack and Alex landed their fish, dropping it into the hull of the boat, where it thrashed about like a thing possessed. Claire pulled up her feet and appraised the russet and silver body, suppressing a shudder.

"It's a sea bass. Wow, look at the size of it!" Jack grinned. "Quick, Claire, take a picture, please." He drew out the last word into a plea.

Claire put her coffee cup down and retrieved her phone, trying not to grimace as Jack picked up the fish and removed the hook from its mouth. He held the wriggling body in both hands, and gave a cheesy smile. As soon as Claire had taken several pictures, he gave it one last longing look before throwing it over the side of the boat.

"Don't you want to keep it?" Claire asked, surprised, as the boys watched the fish swim away.

"Why would I do that?" Jack looked puzzled. He baited his hook and prepared to try another cast. "I hate fish."

***

TWENTY-EIGHT

"Did you know this place was pretty much built by a single woman?" Claire said, fanning herself with her hand against the heat of the day. As she looked around the theatre she was blown away by the immensity of Rowena Cade's achievement.

"It looks like it was built by the Romans or the Greeks." Jack said. "We did the Romans at school last year. Did a woman really build this? Why?"

Claire laughed. "I have no idea. Because she could. Because it's a beautiful location? Why don't we buy a guide book and find out?"

Looking round, she suddenly realised she couldn't see Alex, and her mind went blank. "Where's your brother?" Jack shook his head, to indicate he had no idea. Claire scanned the terraces beneath them, searching for the familiar face in the milling crowd of people, all waiting until the last minute to sit on the stone seats for the performance.

Behind them, the terraces climbed up steeply, and Claire felt her head spin as she looked frantically round. The wispy clouds scudding overhead seemed to make the cluster of stone pillars loom towards her, as if they might fall and crush her. Dragging her gaze away, she span full circle, ignoring the beauty of the scene in her search for her nephew.

Damn you, child, where are you?

Then she spied him, threading his way through the throng. She inhaled, ready to yell at him for disappearing, when she noticed that he was carrying something. In his hands were three cardboard cups, and he had something else tucked under his arm.

"Sorry it took so long, the queue was a nightmare." Alex offered a cup to Claire without meeting her eyes. "I went to get you a coffee. I thought you might like one, even though it's been so hot. I didn't think they'd let me buy wine." He passed a cup to his brother and, before Claire could remonstrate, he added quickly, "I got me and Jack hot chocolate. And I got a programme. We've done some opera at school, but I don't know _Marriage of Figaro_."

Claire felt her jaw drop as she looked at her normally surly nephew. He'd made an effort that evening, putting on a clean polo shirt and smart, dark jeans. He looked older than his twelve years and Claire felt a swell of pride build inside, even though she could take no credit for the raising of this bundle of contradictions.

Robert and Francesca must have done something right.

"Thank you for the coffee, Alex, that was very thoughtful." He flushed under her attention, and she turned away to conceal a smile.

Jack rifled through the programme, reading out details of how the theatre had been built up year after year.

_A real labour of love,_ Claire mused, wondering what it might be like to have that kind of dedication to something. _I guess at least you'd never be bored._

"You should have asked Conor to come," Alex said suddenly, as he sipped his drink. Claire searched his face for any hint of ridicule or taunting but his expression appeared guileless.

"It's a long way to come to go to the opera." Claire said in a level voice.

"He could have flown down, I saw a sign for the airport on the way here."

Claire wondered how to explain that not everyone had their father's ready cash and that most people had to save up all year to afford even a cheap vacation.

"Besides," Alex continued before Claire had managed to frame a suitable answer, "It would have been nice to say goodbye. I like him."

Me, too.

Claire tried not to dwell on the unwelcome thought that her realisation had come too late.

Claire shifted in an attempt to relieve the numbness in her bottom. Beneath her the performers were taking a bow, to fervent applause. The sun had dropped below the horizon and the sea glowed opalescent blue behind the stage. A single yacht drifted in the bay, white against the dark embracing arm of the cliffs in the distance.

A cool breeze blew in from the sea, and Claire sensed the collective sigh of the closely packed audience, as the clapping died away. The weather had been hot all week and, even outside, she felt sticky and uncomfortable.

"Well, boys," she said, as the audience began to stir, "what did you think?" She looked at their faces in the dusk, trying to work out if they had enjoyed it or were being polite. They all stood, glad to stretch their legs, and retrieved their cushions, ready to return them.

"It was amazing."

Claire turned at the sound of Alex's voice. "I didn't really follow the story all that much, but the singing was cool." Then, as if embarrassed at his candour, he hung his head and slouched off along the aisle to the exit.

***

TWENTY-NINE

Claire gazed out across the ocean and sighed. She could feel the entire country stacked up behind her, looking over her shoulder. She felt like she'd come a long way since her beginning in Berwick-Upon-Tweed, at the top of England.

"Are you alright, Auntie Claire?" Jack walked over to where she stood and hooked his arm through hers, his eyes dark with concern. The expression made him look much older than his ten years.

Claire patted his hand, touched at his surprising empathy. Two weeks ago she barely knew the boy, but they had become friends during their time travelling together in Cornwall.

"I'm fine, Jack, thank you for asking. It's been a good couple of weeks, don't you think?"

"The best! I can't believe father's coming to get us tomorrow. The time's gone really fast. We didn't even get to do everything. Did you know there's a surf school here? Maybe we should go for just one last blast?"

Claire looked over to where Alex stood, his gaze on the phone in his hands rather than the amazing view from the end of the land.

"I'm not sure Alex would appreciate that. At least he's happy that you're going home."

"He's only happy because he gets to see his _girlfriend_ again." Jack put the emphasis of a ten-year-old on the word; clearly disgusted at his brother's betrayal of all things male.

"That's understandable. Two weeks is a long time when you're twelve." Claire smiled fondly at the moody boy standing along the cliff. She couldn't claim to have broken through his tough barriers, but she had come to care for her eldest nephew more than she could have imagined possible a fortnight before.

"What about you, Jack?" She added, after a moment's silence. "Will you be glad to get home?"

Her nephew stood silent for a while, and Claire wondered if he didn't want to hurt her feelings by admitting he was looking forward to leaving. She was about to tell him it was natural to prefer his home and family and friends to an Aunt he barely knew, when he turned to face her. His cheeks burned red, and his eyes glistened.

"I'd much rather stay here with you," he blurted out. "I don't want to go home. Mother's been wrapped up in her own little bubble since Dad left. She leaves us with the au pair and goes shopping or to the spa with her friends. And Father, well, that's a joke. He's so busy with his new lady friend I think he's forgotten we exist."

Claire raised her eyebrows at the news that Jack knew all about Robert's new relationship.

I don't know why I'm surprised. They're bright boys and he's hardly been discreet.

She wrapped her arm around Jack's shoulder and pulled him into a hug, unsure what to say. The prospect of having the boys stay longer wasn't anywhere near as terrible as it would have been two weeks earlier, but there was no doubt in her mind she was looking forward to some time by herself. It wasn't even that the boys were an onerous responsibility – certainly not on the scale of caring for Sky – and they were good company, when they weren't fighting. But, still, being responsible for someone else's happiness took its toll.

"How about school? Will you be glad to go back there, after the long vacation?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess."

Claire's heart twisted at the empty resignation in his voice.

"Well, you're welcome to come and visit any time. I have no idea where I'll be, but if there's a bed or floor for you two to sleep on, then it's yours."

She was surprised to discover that she meant it.

***

THIRTY

Alex paced across the room, picked up the iPad, put it down again, then walked back to the window to stare out across the lawn to the sea, as if expecting to see his father striding across the grass.

"He's late," he said, without turning round.

"I'm sure his flight was delayed, that's all." Claire tried to be the voice of reason, concealing her irritation that Robert hadn't even sent a text to confirm that he'd arrived at the airport. Keeping her voice level, she added, "He had to connect at Brussels and Birmingham to come down here, and then he'll need to get a taxi from the airport. There's a lot to go wrong."

"He wouldn't have been late if this was a business meeting. Even some minor client grossing less than ten grand a year would have ensured his punctuality. But for his _sons_ , well, why bother?"

The tone of disgust in Alex's voice tore through Claire. She wanted to tell the boy not to speak about his father like that, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He had a point.

"He came to Cambridge when Auntie Ruth was poorly," she said, instead. "He was brilliant at the hospital. I'm sure his delay is something outside his control."

"Father probably only did that so he could feel important. You know, showing that he was better than you and Auntie Ruth. Or to get away from Mother for a week."

The words were unanswerable. Claire realised she didn't know her brother at all. Even during that awful week, when she'd thought Ruth was going to die, she had barely spoken to Robert. When he hadn't been talking to the doctors he was on his phone, discussing business, or buried deep in emails. She wondered when her brother had become a stranger.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to see Ruth and Sky," Jack said, breaking into her thoughts. "I haven't seen Auntie Ruth since I was little, and I've never met Sky."

Guilt washed over Claire, as she realised that was true. Ruth didn't have the money for travel to Europe, and it was years since Robert and his family had come home for the holidays. They usually went skiing.

I should have taken them up for the weekend, to see Mum and Dad and Ruth. It's not that far away.

"Why don't you ask your dad if you can go, before you fly back to Geneva? I'm sure your flights can be changed."

Alex snorted, but said nothing, merely turning to gaze out the window again. Jack shrugged and picked up his iPad, and was soon lost in a game.

Claire looked at them both and felt helpless. Two weeks ago she didn't know or care about her nephews. Now, though, they were real people; people she didn't want to see suffer. Despite his eagerness to go, it was clear Alex only wanted to return to his friends and girlfriend. Jack had been subdued all morning, his silence speaking of his unhappiness far more than words.

_I wonder if Conor would let me take a few days leave to run up to Cambridgeshire with the boys. I can't see Robert taking them._ She thought through the logistics, and suppressed a sigh. _I guess it's a bit late for that. Robert would have a fit if I suggested it, after he's flown all this way to pick them up. Assuming he hasn't forgotten._

Claire chewed at her lip and tried to concentrate on the book in her lap. The words blurred as her mind filled with thoughts too muddled to be processed. Behind her attempt at calm, a wave of anger was building: rage at her brother's thoughtlessness, and remorse at her own previous neglect. Who was she to take the moral high ground? How often had she spent time with the boys or gone to visit them in Geneva?

Maybe we have no capacity to love, in our family. Perhaps that's it. Maybe Ruth got it all, and is using it all on Sky. The rest of us: what do we know of family and loyalty and trust?

She closed her book and followed Alex's gaze out the window, losing herself in the relentless blue of the uncaring sky.

The sound of a car pulling up the driveway echoed loudly in the silence of the dining room. Both boys turned to face in its direction, as if hoping to see through walls and confirm it was finally their father.

Tension twisted Claire's stomach like the shift in pressure that heralded a storm. Shaking off the feeling, she rose to her feet and turned to face the door. She could hear voices in the corridor, as the manager gave directions to the dining room, as Claire had requested earlier.

Her brother's form filled the doorway, and Claire could see a second person standing just behind him, clutching his arm.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Claire shot an angry glance at Alex, about to admonish him for his language. Before she could speak, she registered his white face and the pursed and bloodless lips. She turned back to the door to see what had made her nephew so angry. Hanging on Robert's arm was a young woman, younger than herself. In her late teens or early twenties, Claire guessed. The woman clung on to Robert as if he were a life raft, staring up at him with wide brown eyes.

Claire wondered if Robert had brought the au pair to look after the boys on the trip home.

That would be like him. Can't even look after his boys for a few hours.

That didn't explain Alex's outburst though, not really. From what she had gathered from Jack, the au pair was a sweet German girl, with limited English. Not someone to be treated with such loathing.

As realisation dawned, Claire felt the blood drain from her own face.

Not even Robert could be that stupid and cruel, surely, to bring his new girlfriend with him?

As far as he was aware the boys didn't even know he'd met someone new. Even if they weren't close to him or their mother, it was still neither the time nor place to introduce a replacement.

Robert stood motionless in the doorway, surveying his sister and sons, a faint sardonic raise of one eyebrow his only expression.

"Hello Claire, boys." He nodded in their direction, as if stumbling across a casual acquaintance, rather than coming to collect his sons after a two-week absence. The girl hanging on his arm gave them a timid glance, before turning back to gaze at Robert. He seemed to feel her stare, because he pulled her into the room and put his arm around her.

With a broad smile he said, "I'd like you to meet Gabriella. My fiancée."

Silence reverberated round the room like an aftershock. Then Claire sensed sudden movement to her left. Alex strode across the room to stand in front of his father.

Staring up into his face, he hesitated, then said distinctly, "You utter bastard."

He pushed past his father and Gabriella and left the room.

###

This story is continued on Amanda Martin's daily blog at http://writermummy.wordpress.com

Need to catch up? Find all the volumes at Smashwords

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com or on Twitter or Facebook.

Also by Amanda Martin:

BABY BLUES AND WEDDING SHOES

Amanda's latest release, the chick lit novel _Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes_ is available now.

5 out of 5 stars **"** **Wonderful, engaging story** **"**

" _Wonderful, engaging story by a talented writer. Pleasantly surprising depth in a plot which one might have initially assumed would be a predictable meet-cute, boy meets girl, happily ever after. A more thought provoking story evolved than expected in the beginning. Author has a nice way with descriptive words which makes one feel nearly in the room. Readers with an appreciation for a bit of reality and a bit of hopeful romantic wishful dreaming will not be disappointed by this lovely tale. Well done."_

DRAGON WRAITHS

_Dragon Wraiths_ , a Young Adult novel. Read the reviews:

4 out of 5 stars " **Pacey and engaging** "

" _This is a wonderful romp for the YA audience that definitely crosses over to Adult (which is me!). Amanda writes in a wonderfully emotive and poetic yet also pacey style and I was at once absorbed and engaged with the central character. I wouldn't call myself a fantasy fan by any stretch (the work Tolkien just makes me want to snooze...) yet I was completely onboard with this parallel world and I found the transition between them, and the entire storyline credible. I found a Harry Potter-esque sensibility to the author's use of intriguing devices and methods for the real and fantasy worlds combining - but this is not to say there is any pastiche going on. Thoroughly recommend the book - and am hoping there's a sequel on the cards!"_

4 out of 5 stars **"** **Thoroughly enjoyable read** **"**

" _Thoroughly enjoyable read. Loved how dragons and humans worked together. Very original and entertaining._ _  
_ _It's a fast paced novel that any age with imagination could enjoy. I'm way out of YA age and still loved it. The ending really made me smile._ _  
_ _I'd read another by this author."_

