Matthew, and the flight of her mother from the “haunted” Valley, he had become very protective of Charlotte Marsdon, who had gone on to marry a young man who in his opinion had simply not been worthy of her. Martyn Prescott—who himself had met a tragic fate.
Christopher too wanted to talk to the tall stranger—the man who had carried his mother so effortlessly into their house. Well, his house now. And it seemed to suit him just fine. Christopher was very thankful the right person would have ownership of Riverbend. He looked just the sort of man to look after it.
Christopher stood up, wondering why his mother was trying to grab hold of his arm. He held out his hand, as he had been taught. “Hello, I’m Christopher. We used to live here.”
“I know that, Christopher,” the man answered quietly, moving in closer.
The man’s blue eyes made contact with his own, and Christopher felt transfixed. “Do you know Mummy?” He didn’t see how the man could, yet those vibes he seemed to have inherited from someone told him this man and his mother knew one another well. It was a mystery, but there it was!
Charlotte put her feet to the floor, unsure if she could even stand, still not looking at Rohan but acutely aware that the full force of his attention was focused on her and her son. “Mr Costello is a very busy man, Chris,” she said. Christopher was so sharp. “We mustn’t keep him from mingling with his guests.”
“No, Mummy.” Christopher nodded his head in agreement, but continued with a further question. “How do you know my mother?” It seemed important he find out. Perceptive beyond his years, he felt the tension between his mother and the tall stranger. He couldn’t figure it out. But it was there. Mummy was nice to everyone, yet she wasn’t being exactly nice to Mr Costello. Something had to be worrying her.
“Your mother and I grew up together, Christopher,” Rohan explained. “I left the Valley when I was seventeen. I’m Rohan. No need to call me Mr Costello.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” Christopher said, his cheeks taking on a gratified flush. “We thought you were going to be pretty old. But you’re young!”
“Your mother has never mentioned me?”
Christopher shook his blond head. “Did you know my dad died?” He edged closer to the man. It was like being drawn by a magnet. It sort of thrilled him. He felt he could follow this man Rohan like the disciples in Bible stories had followed their Master. It both pleased and puzzled him.
“Yes, I did, Christopher. I’m very sorry.” Rohan’s voice was gentle, yet his expression was stern.
“There’s just Mummy and me now.” Christopher felt the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He had loved his dad. Of course he had. One had to love one’s dad. But never like he loved his mother. What was really strange was that he cared for his grumpy old grandfather more than he had cared for his dad. “And Grandpa, of course,” he tacked on. “You must have known my dad and Uncle Mattie?”
“Oh, darling, not all these questions!” Charlotte spoke with agitation. He had sussed out enough already. Something had happened to Christopher of late. He was picking up on vibes, on looks and words that appeared to him laden with meaning. He was growing up too fast.
For once, Christopher didn’t heed her. “Uncle Mattie is still around,” he told Rohan, staring up at him. He was really surprised by the way he felt drawn to his man. “I often feel Uncle Mattie around.”
Rohan didn’t laugh or deride his claim. “I believe it, Christopher,” he said. “I feel Mattie too, at different times. He would have loved you.”
“Would he?” Christopher was immensely pleased. Uncle Mattie would have loved him! He was liking Rohan more and more. “Mummy said I looked like him when I was little.” He continued to meet Rohan’s amazing blue eyes. They glittered like jewels. “Do I?”
Rohan considered that carefully. “You might have, Christopher, when you were younger. But not now.”
“No.” Christopher shook his blond head, as though his own opinion had been confirmed. “I don’t look like anyone, really,” he confided.
Oh, yes, you do!
Charlotte kept her head down, her heart fluttering wildly in her breast. Christopher’s face had changed as the baby softness had firmed and his features became more pronounced. Heredity. It was all so dangerous.
It was Diane Rodgers who located Charlotte’s expensive sandals, then passed them to her in such a manner as to suggest a hurry-up. There was a faint accompanying glare as well. Charlotte bent to put her strappy sandals back on, then made an attempt to fix her hair. She felt totally disorientated. And there was Christopher, chattering away to Rohan as if he had known him all his young life. It almost broke her.
“Here’s your hat, love.” A familiar face swam into view. Kathy Nolan—a good friend to her mother and a good friend to her. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, Kathy.” Charlotte took the picture hat in her hand.
“Feeling better now, love?” Kathy Nolan was very fond of Charlotte.
“Much better, thank you, Kathy. I’m so sorry I embarrassed you all. The heat got to me.”
Kathy, a kindly woman, let that go. A beautiful breeze was keeping the temperature positively balmy. Charlotte had fainted because Rohan Costello was the last man in the universe she would have expected to buy the Marsdon mansion, Kathy reckoned. To tell the truth she felt a little freaked out herself. Rohan Costello, of all people! And didn’t he look marvellous! Always a handsome boy, the adult Rohan took her breath away. Many people in the Valley—herself and her husband certainly—had been unhappy when the Costellos had left after Rohan had completed his final year at secondary school. Later they had learned he was their top achiever. The highest category. No surprise.
Poor Barbara had never made allowances for the ages of the other children when Mattie had drowned. It had been a terrible accident. With all the care in the world, accidents still happened. Yet Barbara had gone on a bitter, never-ending attack. So very sad! Loss took people in different ways. Bereft of her son, Barbara Marsdon had been in despair. That inner devastation had brought about the divorce. The marriage had been beyond repair. Barbara had told her she’d doubted her ability to be a good mother to Charlotte. She wasn’t functioning properly. That had been true enough. Charlotte was to remain with her father.
Yet here was Rohan Costello, back in the Valley. Not only that, taking possession of Riverbend. Fact is far stranger than fiction, Kathy thought.
Diane Rodgers, looking very glamorous in classic white, with a striking black and white creation on her head, spoke up. “Would you like me to help you back to the Lodge, Mrs Prescott? No trouble, I assure you.”
At the sound of those precise tones, Christopher swung back. “Mummy has me,” he said, not rudely—he knew better than that—but he didn’t like the way the lady was speaking to his mother. It didn’t sound gentle and caring, like Mrs Nolan. It sounded more like teachers at his school when the kids weren’t on their best behaviour.
“Wouldn’t you like to stay on, Christopher?” Rohan suggested. “I’m sure you have a friend with you. I’ll run your mother home.”
Christopher considered that for a full minute. “I won’t stay if you don’t feel well, Mummy,” he said, his protective attitude on show. “Peter will be okay.”
Charlotte rose to her feet, hoping she didn’t look as desperate as she felt. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to bother about me. I don’t want anyone to bother about me. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure of that, Charlie?” Morrissey laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You mustn’t let me keep you, George.” Charlotte gave him a shaky smile. “I