The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (13 page)

40

Bertie and I get our coats. Then I take him out the front door and onto the beautifully bright green lawns that surround the castle entrance.

Just as we’re heading left around the castle, I hear the crunch of gravel.

I turn and see a black Jaguar creeping up the drive.

Something about the car makes me grip Bertie’s hand tight.

It’s moving so slowly, that car. Prowling, almost.

The car stops right by the main
entrance, the door clicks open.

Two shiny black brogues appear, followed by the clack of a walking
stick.

A short, bald man steps out of the car and looks up at the castle. He smiles like a shark, and I see a gold tooth glint in the winter sunshine.

I feel Bertie tug urgently at my hand.

‘What is it Bertie?’ I whisper. And then I realize. This must be Dirk Mansfield. Bertie’s grandfather.

I let Bertie tug me around the castle wall so we can’t be seen, but I can’t resist poking my head back around.

I see two more men climb out of the car. Both slick city types in suits,
with gelled black hair and briefcases.

Dirk Mansfield spreads his arms open, and says something to the men.

They all laugh.

Then they disappear into the castle.

‘Was that your grandfather, Bertie?’ I whisper.

Bertie nods.

‘Do you like him?’

Bertie shakes his head, no.

‘I don’t blame you. There’s something kind of creepy about him.’

It’s only then that I realize Bertie’s little hand is shaking in mine.

‘Are you okay Bertie?’ I ask.

Bertie gives a sharp little nod, and pulls me along and around the castle.

‘Are you sure?’ I say, following him.

Of course he doesn’t answer. He just keeps pulling me along.

Wo
w. The gardens around this place are so amazing.

I’m just wondering how on earth anyone grows lawns like this, without a single dan
delion or daisy, when I see Gregory Croft – the castle gardener I met when I was riding up here on my motorbike.

He’s clipping a privet
hedge into a violin shape and quietly humming to himself. Just like before, he’s wearing kind of a summer outfit – shorts and a thin shirt.

My hands are blue after just a few minutes out here, but Gregory is clip clipping away like he’s in the south of Spain.

‘Hi,’ I say, going over to him. ‘That’s a beautiful hedge you’re cutting there.’

Gregory turns
and gives a crinkly smile.

He’s got something in his mouth – I think it’s chewing tobacco – and it makes his left cheek look all puffy.

‘Well, well. If it isn’t our little wandering musician,’ says Gregory. ‘You haven’t left yet, then?’

I s
hake my head. ‘And I won’t. At least, not until I’m asked to.’ I glance at Bertie. ‘This little one needs me. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.’

To my surprise, Bertie goes to stand right by Gregory, and looks up at the privet hedge. He reaches out and strokes the spiky branches.

‘It’s a fiddle, lad. Like the one I play for you,’ says Gregory.

To my amazement, Bertie looks right at Gregory and nods his head.

‘I’ll play it again for you soon. When that Mrs Calder is out of ear shot.’ Gregory winks at me. ‘They don’t like him hearing the sort of music I play. I only know jigs and reels – none of your fancy, classical stuff.’

He
reaches out a rough, red hand and ruffles Bertie’s hair.

I expect
Bertie to flinch or move away, but he just tips his head towards Gregory like a little puppy.

My mouth drops open. ‘He likes you,’ I tell Gregory.

‘I like him too,’ says Gregory, looking fondly at Bertie. ‘I don’t try to boss him or tell him his own mind. And we both like music, don’t we lad?’

‘You like the violin?’ I ask Bertie.

Bertie doesn’t answer, but Gregory says:

‘He loved
it, last time I played. He even had a little bash himself, didn’t you lad?’

Bertie nods again
.

I feel a big grin on my face. ‘You like music, Bertie?’

‘Too right,’ says Gregory. ‘And he’s got a gift for it too. You can tell. He picked up my fiddle and played it without me hardly telling him anything.’

My smile grows even wider. ‘How about guitar, Bertie, would you like a go of that?’

Bertie looks at the ground.

‘She
won’t let him play anything like that,’ says Gregory.

‘Won’t let him?
Who won’t?’

‘Mrs Calder
. She thinks guitars and drums and all of that are the devil’s work. She thinks it’ll make him wild, more wild than he is already. But music tames the wildness in all of us. It’s what marks us out from the animals.’ Gregory glances over my shoulder at the house.

‘I never knew he liked music,’ I say.

‘Did you ever ask him?’ Gregory says.

‘No,’ I admit.

‘Ask Bertie the right questions and you’ll get some interesting answers,’ says Gregory.

‘Oh?’ I raise an eyebrow.

‘There’s a music room inside,’ Gregory says, his voice becoming a croaky whisper. ‘With a piano in it. I reckon if you let him have a bash around in there, you might be all right. After all, Mozart played the piano. Just make sure you’re playing some fancy concerto if Mrs Calder walks past.’

‘A music room …’ I crouch down to Bertie’s height. ‘Bertie? Would you like that?’

Bertie nods harder than I’ve ever seen him nod.

I beam at him. ‘That’s settled then. Let’s go and make some music.’

41

Although I’m getting better at knowing my way around the castle, I still need Bertie to help me find the music room.

When we reach it
I stop dead, my eyes wide.

Woooow!

‘Look at this place,’ I breathe, following Bertie into the light, airy room full of the most amazing antique instruments.

There’s a grand piano, so shiny that I can see my face in it. And a huge harp. And a cello
, and a glass cabinet with different sizes and shapes of flutes.

‘It’s just beautiful,’
I tell Bertie, going to a shelf of music scores.

They’re all classical
scores – Mozart, Bach, Beethoven – antique and in lovely condition. I bet they’re worth an absolute fortune.

‘Why don’t you have a go on the piano, Bertie?’ I say, going to the grand piano stool.

Bertie takes a little step back. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

‘It’s okay,’ I say, taking a seat on the stool. ‘You’ll love it. I promise. And it’s easy.
Here. Let me play you something to get us warmed up.’

I begin playing one of my favouri
te songs, ‘Lean on Me’.

As I play, Bertie watches me, his mouth a little open, his eyes soft and happy.

‘Why don’t you have a go?’ I ask.

But Bertie holds back.

‘How about I try something else?’ I say. ‘What would you like to hear?’

Bertie turns on his heel and runs from the room.

‘Bertie! Wait!’ I shout.

God, I hope Mrs Calder isn’t lurking around.

No running around the corridors this morning.

I tear after him, and follow him up to his bedroom.

Oh no.

‘We can’t go in here today,
’ I whisper, but Bertie dashes into his bedroom and opens a drawer in his dresser. He reappears with a key and heads for the West Tower.

Bertie unlocks the door to the West Tower, and to my horror runs inside.

O
h god.

What if someone catch
es Bertie running around up there? He’ll be in big trouble.

I tear after him, chasing him up the stone spiral staircase.

He heads straight into the room I hid in yesterday – the one where I found the
Just William
stories.

Bertie disappears into the room, and quickly reappears with a music score.

‘Bertie—’

I try to stop him, but he races around me and back down the staircase.

I run after him, down corridors and around corners until I see him run back into the music room.

I follow him and watch him set
the score on the piano, opening it out.

‘Bertie, you shouldn’t have done that,’ I say. ‘We’re not even supposed to be in the castle today. And
who gave you a key? The West Tower is off limits.’

But Bertie’s little face looks so excited that I can’t be angry
with him. He taps the piano and looks at me with pleading eyes.

‘You want me to play this?’ I say, cocking my head at the music score and going to the piano.

Bertie nods hard.

‘Okay.’ I sit at the stool.

I see the song Bertie wants me to play is ‘Everything I Own,’ by Bread.

‘I love this song,’ I say, putting my hands to the keys. ‘Ready?’

Bertie nods again.

I start playing and singing, getting lost in
the music.

Bertie perches on a chaise longue nearby and cups his chin in his hands. H
e watches me.

It’s only whe
n I finish the song that I notice a tall shadow in the doorway.

I gasp and stop playing, my hands hitting the keys with an awkward clunk.

It’s Patrick.

Oh god, now I’m for it. If he recognized
the
Just William
book, he’s bound to recognize this music score.

My eyes fly straight to Patrick’s strong, curved lips
. They’re set into a hard line, and sharp dimples are cut into his cheeks.

Bertie notices Patrick
at the same time I do, and gives a little jump.

‘That was my brother’s favourite song.’ Patrick’s eyebrows pull together. He’s wearing a classic black suit today and white shirt, but no tie.

I open
and close my mouth, glancing back at the music score.

‘Bertie … I mean, I … we needed some more music, so
…’

‘
We played it at his funeral,’ says Patrick.

‘Oh god
.’ My hand goes to my chest. ‘I’m so sorry. Truly, I am.’

‘There’s nothing to apologi
ze for,’ says Patrick, his eyes softening. ‘You played it beautifully.’

My breathing slows a little. ‘You’re not angry?’

‘I know it wasn’t you who ran into the West Tower,’ says Patrick softly, glancing at Bertie.

‘How?’ I blurt out.

‘Let’s just say I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Since you seem incapable of keeping yourself safe.’

‘You
—’

Patrick cuts me off with a sharp turn of his head.
‘My mother has arrived early. She’d like to see Bertie now. In the drawing room.’ With that, he stalks away.

So that’s why Patrick is all dressed up. His mother is here.

42

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

My stupid heart is hammering away in my chest, and I know I’ve gone bright red.

Patrick’s brother’s favourite song … and his brother died … what have I stirred up now? God, I hope I haven’t hurt him.

I turn to Bertie and plaster on the best smile I can manage.

‘Well,’ I say, all false brightness. ‘Um. I guess we’d better get you smartened up for grandma.’

We go to Bertie’s bedroom, and he picks out a smart suit and shoes from his wardrobe.

After he’s dressed, Bertie leads me to the drawing room, which is pretty near the music room.

I knock politely on the door and open it.

Inside I see a
n elegant fifty-something woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut into a neat bob and a soft, pink-lipstick smile. She’s wearing a floaty, lemon-coloured dress and has a set of pearls at her neck.

Everything about her, from the upright way she sits, to the elegant clothes she wears, tells me she’s expensive. But there’s also something soft and kind about h
er too – the way the wrinkles around her gentle brown eyes follow her smile, and the fact that she’s tucked her feet under her on the sofa.

‘
Enchanté
,’ she says, in a lovely French accent. ‘Bertie, my lovely little man.’ She gets up and crosses the room quickly, kissing Bertie on both cheeks. Then she turns to me. ‘And you must be the beautiful Seraphina. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ She holds out a dainty hand. ‘Daphne Cote. Formerly Mansfield. Bertie’s grandmother and Patrick’s mother. Very good to meet you.’ Her accent is lovely.

‘You’ve heard a lot about
me
?’ My eyes widen in astonishment. ‘Oh, no, no. Maybe you’re thinking of a different nanny. I’ve only just arrived.’

‘I can assure you,
I don’t make mistakes. My son has told me all about you.’

‘Your son?’

‘Patrick. He’s spoken glowingly of you.’

I blush.
‘
Patrick
has?’

‘Take a seat,’ says
Daphne. ‘Please.’

‘Oh I … really, I wouldn’t intrude,’ I say, looking left and right at the beautiful white silk sofas.
‘Mrs Calder said I should—’

‘Tuch! Mrs Calder.’
Daphne holds up a hand. ‘That woman would do better not to interfere. You stay and take tea with us.’ She glances at Bertie and her eyes glimmer. ‘I can see Bertie likes you.’

I smile at Bertie
. ‘I don’t think he’s quite gotten used to me yet.’

‘Nonsense,’ says
Daphne, standing up. ‘If he didn’t like you, he’d be running around the castle causing havoc. As far as I can see, you have him very well-trained.’

‘Well. We’re getting to know each other,’ I say, shuffling my feet.

‘Sit, sit,’ says Daphne, taking my hand and leading me to a silk sofa. She smells divine – like roses and jasmine. ‘And Bertie, you sit next to Seraphina.’

She takes Bertie’s
hand too and sits him down next to me. ‘There now. Perfect. Seraphina can tell me how you’re getting along, and you can shake your head if she gets anything wrong.’ She gives him a little wink. ‘Okay?’

Bertie’s lips twitch a little.

‘So.’ Daphne takes a seat opposite us and slaps her knees lightly. ‘The tea will arrive soon. But while we’re waiting, Seraphina, tell me all about yourself. I need to fill in the gaps.’

‘I … there must be a
lot of gaps,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’ve only just got here.’

Daphne
laughs. ‘Oh, I think Patrick knows more about you than you realize.’

A sharp knock on the door makes my head snap around.

Mrs Calder appears, rolling a tinkling tea trolley.

B
one china teapots, cups and saucers rattle on top, and freshly baked cakes, scones, and dishes of cream and jam sit on the bottom layer.

Mrs Calder notices me
and her mouth drops open.

I smile politely
, but Mrs Calder throws me a look that says she is
not
happy to see me.

‘You’re excused, Seraphina
,’ says Mrs Calder, with a glare. ‘Daphne, I apologize. I told Seraphina to excuse herself
before
your meeting with Bertie.’

Daphne
waves her hand. ‘Nonsense. I invited Seraphina. She’s my guest.’

Mrs Calder’s lips grow tight. ‘Your guest? But she’s just the nanny.’

‘I value all the staff here,’ says Daphne, with a light smile. ‘Even you. No one is below my attention. And I’m interested in Seraphina. So is my son. I wanted to learn more about her.’

So is my son
? What on earth has Patrick been saying?

Mrs Calder’
s lips turn so white they almost disappear.

‘I don’t see anything so int
eresting about Seraphina. She can’t even get up on time.’

Daphne
laughs a lovely musical laugh. ‘You and your schedules, Mrs Calder. Life is more fun when you loosen the corset strings a little.’

‘Well.’ Mrs Calder puts her
hands on her hips. ‘Patrick’s father is, thankfully, more in line with my way of thinking.’

‘Yes he is,’
Daphne agrees. ‘I can see my ex-husband’s penny-pinching hand everywhere in this place.’

She looks at an oil painting hung over the fire. ‘He’ll spend money on himself, but not on anyone else.’

I follow her eyes.

The painting shows a short, balding man in a black
suit – the same man I saw getting out of the car earlier. He’s holding a black walking stick with a silver dog’s head at the top.

‘
The cold,’ Daphne continues. ‘The dark corridors. Don’t you think this place needs lightening up a little?’

Mrs Calder ignores the question, instead busying herself with the tea tray. A little shakily, she unloads china cups and saucers and pours tea.

‘Bertie, would you like some cake?’ says Daphne.

Bertie shakes his head.

‘Ah,’ Daphne sighs. ‘Still not eating? You’ll waste away.’ She leans forwards and puts a light hand on my arm. ‘I took Bertie to Paris just before Christmas. We visited the most delicious patisseries and restaurants. But he wouldn’t touch a thing. Only that god awful liquorice. I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck getting Bertie to eat?’ She raises a neat little eyebrow.

‘No,’ I say. ‘But I haven’t given up hope.’

Mrs Calder gives a little smile. ‘Not long to go now, Seraphina. Until you’ll be packing your bags …’

‘Packing her bags
?’ Daphne’s eyes widen.

‘
Bertie must go to boarding school at the end of this week, if his eating problem hasn’t been cured,’ Mrs Calder smirks. ‘Dirk’s orders. So Seraphina won’t be needed soon.’

‘Well, what if she gets him to eat?
’ Daphne reaches forwards and picks up a cup of tea. She takes a quick, thoughtful sip. ‘Mmm. It seems to me Bertie is comfortable with Seraphina. I mean, he’s sitting right next to her. I’ve never seen him that way with a nanny before. Maybe she has a good chance.’

‘
The best doctors in the country couldn’t cure him,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘She’ll go the way of all the others. And Bertie will be out of my hair. As usual, myself and Dirk are in total agreement when it comes to his care.’

Daphne
’s eyes pull down a little, and she places her tea back on its saucer. ‘He’s not a fair man, my ex-husband. Not a man who uses his power for the good. And you, Agnes Calder, have him right in your pocket.’ Her eyes flick up.

‘I …’ Mrs Calder opens the tea
pot and stirs the tea way too fast. ‘We have an understanding. That’s all.’

‘Yes you do,’ says
Daphne. ‘Tell me, Mrs Calder. How long have you had this understanding with my ex-husband? It’s been … exactly twenty-one years, hasn’t it?’