The Last Days of Summer

In the back of my mind, I knew exactly what I was looking for – whatever it was that Isabelle was so afraid of. And my thoughts kept circling round to the story Nathaniel had told me in the tree house, the day of the Golden Wedding – the story of that first, possibly fatal party there at Rosewood. Was that it? Was that the secret? I still wasn’t sure how much of Nathaniel’s story was just that – a story. But I wanted to find out – and I was in the best possible place to do just that.

Edward pulled out my school report, circa 2004. “Absolutely no way I’m swapping.” Flipping through the pages, he began to pick out some choice phrases. When he reached my PE teacher’s comments, I shoved the box I was reading through off my lap and onto the floor, and launched myself at the report and, by default, Edward, landing half across the desk, and half across him, hanging on to the report for dear life.

Laughing, Edward relinquished his hold on the report, mostly so he could put his hands on my waist to stop me careening onto the floor. “I guess your old school reports don’t have all that much relevance to your grandfather’s memoirs.”

“Exactly my point.” I struggled into an upright position, failing to notice until I’d achieved it that it just left me sitting in Edward’s lap, his arms around my waist and my heart pounding. I could feel the blood flooding to warm my cheeks.

“Good job that door’s locked,” he murmured, but other than that there was no sign, no move, no signal that he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted him to.

But maybe he was just good at hiding his feelings. I mean, he’d wanted to sleep with me, hadn’t he? Not even a week ago, so he must have found me vaguely attractive, right? And yes, okay, so we’d both been drunk and I’d run out on him, but still, it meant something, right? So maybe I should just kiss him, and forget all the waiting around to be kissed. Maybe this was what was meant to happen. Maybe I should just…

“What’s that?” Edward leant forward, tipping me from his lap as he reached for a yellowing newspaper clipping that had become dislodged from a pile in our tussle. He held it up to me, and I shivered as I took it, despite the sun.

“It looks like it’s a clipping from the society pages.” I stared at the image of a twenty-something Isabelle, and an even younger Therese, both in evening dress, smiling out for the camera. Between them stood a man I didn’t recognise, his grin bigger than either of theirs. And behind them all loomed Rosewood, unchanging and unchangeable.

Heart in my throat, I checked the caption. Pictured: Isabelle Drury, Matthew Robertson, Therese Drury. So, before Therese was married. My gaze flicked further down to the text underneath.

All eyes are on Rosewood House this weekend, home of literary darling Nathaniel Drury and his wife, as they prepare for their first party in their new home.

No explanation of who Matthew Robertson was. Could he have been Therese’s beau? I smiled at the idea. He certainly looked nothing like Uncle George, from what I’d seen in photos. This Matthew was far more handsome. He looked the suave, charming sort. Had he romanced Therese? Maybe I’d ask her. I frowned at the photo again. Where was Nathaniel, though? Matthew had his arms around both my aunt and my grandmother, but my grandfather was nowhere to be seen.

“Did he ever talk about a housewarming party here at Rosewood?” I asked Edward.

“Not as far as I remember,” he said, with a shrug. “But there’s got to be something about it somewhere in these boxes.”

I surveyed the mass of documentation and memorabilia. He was right, I realised. It had to be in here somewhere. All the secrets my family were keeping were. And, one by one, it was my job to find them.

“Everything okay?” Edward asked, and I snapped out of my trance to look at him again. Moments ago, I’d thought he was about to kiss me. Now all I could think about was what potential scandals my family were hiding, and Edward’s reputation for uncovering the truth, every time.

I gave a sharp nod. “Everything’s fine,” I said, and got stuck back into my box of papers.

Whatever the truth was, I wanted to find it first.

The next couple of days passed in a haze of funeral preparations and research. I still hadn’t turned up anything else on that fateful party, but on the plus side, neither had Edward.

He hadn’t come close to kissing me again, either. I couldn’t quite decide if this was a good thing or not.

The night before the funeral, we all endured yet another awkward family meal during which nobody asked Edward or I where we’d been all afternoon, and Ellie gave me funny looks and Edward sat at the opposite end of the table to me, seemingly on purpose. By the time I was able to escape to my room I was tired, cross and tense. But then, I opened my bedroom door and found the dress.

It was obviously another Therese special, heralded by the tiny cream envelope tucked into the matching handbag which, when opened, yielded up a thick, cream card with the words ‘For tomorrow, Tx’ flowing across it in neat, black ink.

I sat back on the bed and looked at it. It was nothing elaborate, utterly unlike most of the other dresses she’d picked for me. It was, at heart, a simple, black Hepburnesque shift dress, eminently suitable for funerals, and much nicer than anything I had in Perth, even if I’d had the chance to go back and pack them. But there was something about it – maybe in the cut, or the trim, or the discreet diamond jewellery she’d included. Something that gave it a hint of something more, even if I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.

I just hoped it could give me the calm, grace-under-fire countenance that I’d need to get through the day.

The funeral was being held in the tiny local church, even though it was clear from the moment we arrived that there was no way everyone was going to fit inside. I’d walked down early with the rest of the family – except for Isabelle, Therese and Mum, who were following in the hired black car that travelled in convey with the hearse.

“That’s…a lot of people,” Edward said, pausing at the church gates. I looked up. Apparently Edward was developing a fine line in understatement.

“Mrs Dawkins was reserving the front two pews for family,” Dad said, gazing across the crowd.

“Reverend Tucker is looking a little shell-shocked,” Greg commented, and Ellie gave out a small, inappropriate laugh, before she smacked a hand across her mouth.

“Well,” she said, once she’d got herself back under control, “he’s probably never seen so many people in a church before.”

I squared my shoulders. “I suppose we’d better get in there.”

It took a while to even reach the doors of the church. Everyone, even people I’d never seen before, wanted to offer their condolences, which was overwhelming at the same time as it was kind. I kept shying away, every time I caught a glimpse of someone I’d seen or spoken to at the Golden Wedding. It seemed wrong to be seeing them all again so soon.

Isabelle had requested donations to charity rather than flowers, but there were still countless more floral arrangements already making their way into the church. We pushed our way through the crowd and the flowers and into the church and found our allocated pews. I kept Caroline close to me, and found Edward on my right, next to Dad. Ellie and Greg sat in the row behind. The rest of the family would fill up the empty pew on the other side of the chapel.

I fiddled with the service sheet I’d been handed at the door, and tried to figure out how Therese had convinced everyone that ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’ was an appropriate funeral hymn. The sheet slipped from my hand and floated to the floor, where Edward reached down and collected it.

“You holding up okay?” he murmured, handing it back.

I nodded. I was absolutely fine, of course. How could I possibly be anything else?

And I was. I was fine all through the service, even when Edward stood up and talked about the honour – and difficulties – of working with such a celebrated writer, and the pleasure of becoming part of his family. I was fine as we stood at the graveside, shivering in the sudden summer wind as we wat

ched the coffin being lowered into the verdant ground. I was fine as we held court at the nearby hotel – because Isabelle couldn’t bear the idea of having a rerun of her Golden Wedding celebration at Rosewood, but without her husband. I was polite and charming to the guests, sipping slowly on one glass of white wine when all I really wanted to do was swallow down the bottle and forget about it all until tomorrow.

I was even fine when we returned to Rosewood, sombre and subdued, and all gravitated towards the drawing room for whisky nightcaps.

In fact, I was still telling myself I was fine when Edward crouched down in front on my chair and took my empty glass from my hand. “Come on,” he said, and I blinked at him. “Seriously.” He stood up and took my hand. “Come with me.”

No one else was paying us much attention; Therese and Isabelle had got the old photo albums out and were explaining to Nathaniel’s agent, who’d joined us at the house, exactly who everyone was. Dad had taken Caroline up to bed, and Mum was sitting with Greg and Ellie, telling them stories about growing up at Rosewood. I realised, suddenly, that I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there.

Edward tugged me to my feet, and I followed him out into the hallway, through to the kitchen and into the small utility room where we kept all the coats and boots. Numbly, I let him shove my arms into the sleeves of somebody or other’s jacket, and my feet into a handy pair of sneakers that even I was aware didn’t really go with Therese’s carefully chosen dress. Fastening my laces, Edward nodded. “You’ll do,” he said, reaching for his jacket.

Outside was pitch black and utterly quiet, but these things didn’t really register with me. I was aware of them, but I didn’t care or feel about them either way.

Edward kept a tight hold of my hand, and I focused on that instead – his skin against mine. Human contact.

“Where are we going?” I asked, finally, but Edward didn’t reply; instead, he led me across the path towards the Rose Garden.

The Rose Garden didn’t have a lot to recommend it, stripped of most of its flowers after the Golden Wedding, and especially since it was too dark to see anything anyway. Still, Edward led me inside, and sat us down on the bench just inside the walls.

“It’s private here,” he said. “No one’s going to hear you or see you. I even brought the whisky, if you really want to keep drinking yourself into oblivion.”

“I had one glass of wine at the hotel,” I objected.