Page 40 of A Sky Painted Gold

“How about I hang a pillowcase out of my window instead?” I ask.

“Perfect.” He emerges from the pantry clutching a currant bun from which he takes an enormous bite. “Right, I’m off,” he mumbles, turning for the door. “Oh,” he says through a mouthful of crumbs. “I forgot to say. There’s someone here to see you. He’s waiting outside.”

“What! Who?” I ask, jumping to my feet.

“Dunno. Some posh bloke.” Tom shrugs. “I can’t pay attention to every little detail, I’m not your butler,” he huffs. “Anyway, see you later.”

“Oh, hello, Freya!” I say loudly, looking past his shoulder.

The blood drains from his face and he swings around to find that no one is standing behind him. “That’s just cruel,” he says. “You shouldn’t treat your own brother so badly. I am your flesh and blood, you know.”

“More bad luck on my part,” I grumble, but Tom is already gone.

I step outside, and I don’t know why my heart is beating faster or who I expect to see standing there, but it’s certainly not the figure before me.

“Bernie?” I call out, and he turns around, his light, pale suit easily visible against the navy-blue sky. He sweeps a rather jaunty hat from his head and grins wolfishly.

“Hello, Lou,” he says.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, and the question sounds rude, abrupt. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I just meant it’s a surprise to see you. Is everything OK?”

His smile grows wider. “Everything is fine,” he says. “I’ve simply dropped around as a messenger. Perhaps you and I can take a little walk?” He holds his elbow out to me, and I hesitate before slipping my hand into the crook of his arm. There’s something so knowing about Bernie that I find it a little unnerving.

“Caitlin asked me to drop over and invite you to dinner tomorrow,” he says softly as we walk along the coastal path.

“Oh!” The noise that comes out of me is one of undisguised pleasure.

Bernie ducks his chin. “Yes, Robert pointed out that you aren’t used to our ramshackle behaviour, and so the hopelessly vague invitation that Caitlin offered up might put you in an awkward spot.”

How surprisingly thoughtful of Robert, I think, and again I have the sense that Bernie can read my mind. He chuckles. “Oh, you’ll find that Robert can be most charming when he puts his mind to it,” he says.

“Not on the evidence I’ve seen,” I grumble.

Bernie makes no response to that. We round the bend in the path and now the Cardew House is in front of us lit up, the reflection of the lights dancing in the water.

“I’m a terribly selfish person,” Bernie says then, rather unexpectedly. His eyes are trained on the house.

“What?” I stumble. What am I supposed to say to that?

Bernie looks down and smiles at me. “Oh, I am, darling. I like to please myself, and I’m afraid I’m not awfully careful with people’s feelings. But the Cardews…” He trails off here, and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette case. He offers one to me and I shake my head. In a graceful movement Bernie lifts a cigarette to his lips and lights it with a silver lighter. He inhales. “The Cardews are my friends.” He places an emphasis on the word that makes it clear Bernie doesn’t consider many people in this capacity. The Cardews are special. “And those two have been through a lot.” Bernie is still looking out at the house and I have gone very still beside him. His words are hypnotic. “I do not care for many people, Lou, but I care for them.” He finishes, turning to me.

This serious, careful Bernie is completely at odds with the man I met last night. With a start I begin to think I understand. Bernie is being protective of his friends. But why?

“They’ve been kind to me,” I say carefully. And it’s true. Even though I hardly know them.

Bernie looks at me through narrow eyes, and finally he nods. “One can’t be too careful,” he says, and his voice is tinged with weariness. “The vultures are always circling, and the press…” He trails off and clears his throat. “When someone new arrives, someone entirely unknown, you understand, it puts one at a disadvantage.” He smiles, showing his teeth. “I am not used to being in the dark about people, but I confess that you are a mystery to me.”

“I promise you, I’m not the least bit mysterious,” I reply quickly.

“And you’re not in contact with the press in any way?” Bernie asks. His voice is soft and silky, but I know there’s steel behind it.

I’m surprised by the question. “Of course not!” I exclaim. “Why on earth would I be?” I gesture back towards the farm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in the middle of things here. I’m hardly at the hub of some bustling metropolis crackling with news.” I fold my arms. “Besides which, I’d never sneak to the papers about anything even if I were.”

Bernie smiles a little at this.

“Why … why isn’t Caitlin ever in the papers?” I ask hesitantly.

Bernie exhales a stream of smoke. “Because of Robert,” he says finally. “Robert is the sacrificial lamb when it comes to the press. He lets them run what they like on him. But they can’t go near Caitlin.”