Page 54 of The Last Casterglass

“I thought you might think that.” Simon paused, the expression on his florid face turning both reflective and sad. “I don’t think you’ve ever realised or trusted just how much I care about you, Oliver. I know things haven’t always been easy—Jack was a bit of a bully, I’m fully aware of that. And having Penny leave when you were only twelve—well, she left me, but I know you must have felt like she left you, as well.”

Again, Oliver found he couldn’t speak. He had no idea his uncle had been so perceptive. He’d assumed, meanly perhaps, that he hadn’t seen any of those nuances, hadn’t read any of those emotions.

“I…” He had no idea what to say; he felt too overwhelmed for words.

“I should have been more attentive, more…affectionate.” He grimaced. “The truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with you, before Penny left, and then after…everything felt too hard. That’s my fault,” he emphasised. “Make no mistake about that. I should have done better. Been better.”

“It’s—” Oliver wasn’t sure how to finish that sentiment, and in any case, his uncle didn’t let him.

“The point is,” he pronounced, “I want you to have the place. I’ve seen how you’ve loved Pembury Farm since you were a small boy. This place is in your bones, your blood. I’ve always seen that.” He roused himself, sitting forward in his chair as he met Oliver’s dazed gaze with a wry smile. “So, do you feel you really can take this place on, Oliver? You’re up for the challenge? And Persephone is, as well, if things are as serious between you as I suspect they are?”

The smile he gave him was genial, but Oliver was suddenly stricken.Seph.How on earth would she feel, knowing he’d been saddled with a big house and zero income, and one he couldn’t even sell if he wanted to, not without incurring devastating loss? Talk about being tied to a place. It would be a ball and chain, one he’d welcome gladly, gratefully, but Seph had always made her feelings clear. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to spread her wings. She didn’t want to be tied to yet another meandering old pile.

How could he ask her to sign up for something she hadn’t asked for, didn’t want? And yet if he were forced to choose between Seph and Pembury…well, it would be like choosing between his heart and his soul. A person needed both to survive…yet Oliver feared he would have to lose one or the other. The question was, which one would it be?

Chapter Twenty

“Oliver, what isit?”

Seph paused in their meander through the fields surrounding Pembury. It was Saturday afternoon, and Oliver had seemed either preoccupied or in a daze since this morning. Or really, she thought, since his uncle had talked to him last night; at least she’d assumed they’d talked. Over supper Simon had made vague noises about wanting to have ‘a proper chat’ and so Seph had pleaded tiredness and excused herself after the meal. She’d expected Oliver to fill her in before too long, but he hadn’t.

This morning he had looked thoughtful and withdrawn, which made her heart ache. Simon must have told him the farm was going to be sold. When she’d found a quiet moment to ask about it, though, he’d shaken his head repressively.

“I’ll tell you all about it later.”

She assumed he simply didn’t want to talk about it, and she didn’t particularly need a post-mortem of the painful discussion, and so she’d left it, happy enough to explore Pembury some more, sit by the roaring fire, play a cutthroat game of Scrabble, and generally enjoy herself, somewhat to her own surprise.

Now, however, they’d been walking for over an hour, exploring the nearby lanes and fields, the dogs alternately frisking at their heels or racing ahead, and Oliver had been in a morose sort of silence the whole time. Seph wasn’t fed up, notexactly, but she did want to know what was going on.

“Is it the house?” she asked. “Do you want to tell me about it?”Finally, she added silently, as she waited for Oliver to speak.

He gazed out at the distant fields, glinting with wintry sunlight, his expression both remote and troubled.

“Something has happened,” he said slowly. “Something I never expected.”

“Which is?” she asked with a touch of exasperation, when it seemed as if he wasn’t going to say anything more.

Oliver turned to look at her squarely. “Uncle Simon is giving me Pembury.”

“What!” For a second Seph could only stare at him in confusion. Why on earth was he acting so grim, then? A bubble of laughter rose up in her throat and she swallowed it down. “But, Oliver, that’s—”

“I know how you don’t want to be tied to a place,” he continued hurriedly. “And here I’ll be, tied a hundred and ten per cent, because he’s giving me the house but no money to run it, and I won’t be able to sell it even if I wanted to. Not for a while, anyway. Not,” he clarified, “that I want to sell it. But it will be a big responsibility. A liability, even. I have no idea if I’ll be able to make it solvent.”

“Yes, but—”

“And I don’t want you to feel beholden,” he continued, his tone growing in determination, a hard, settled look coming over his face. Seph’s excitement for him began to morph rather quickly into a deep dismay. “To Pembury, or to me. This relationship we’ve had, it’s quite new. I know that. It would be wrong of me to ask you to sign up to something like Pembury, when we’re still just really getting to know each other.”

“Wrong of you,” she repeated woodenly. Was he actually breaking up with her? He’d been handed Pembury and he realised he didn’t need Casterglass—or her—anymore? Was that what was going on here?

“Yes,” Oliver replied, and now he sounded firm, decided. “I’ve been going over it in my mind, and I…I don’t want to ask that of you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Amazing how he could couch dump her in such noble language. Seph felt herself retreating, like some kind of animal into its protective shell, safe from pain. Her shoulders squared and her lip curled upwards, almost of its own accord.

“If that’s what you’ve decided,” she replied with a shrug, as if it didn’t really matter one way or the other, as if her heart wasn’t splitting right in half—although not splitting, nothing as clean and easy as that, one swift break. It was withering and shrivelling inside her, turning into some dead, desiccated thing. Without waiting for him to reply, Seph turned on her heel and started to walk back towards the farmhouse.

“Seph, wait!” Oliver jogged after her. “I’m trying to look at this fairly—”

“Yes, so you’ve said.” Her voice was hard, and she strove to moderate it, to make it sound like she didn’t care, the way she always had, before she’d made herself change. Well, sod changing, she thought savagely. It sucked. Putting yourself out there, caring about people… It was just as she’d always feared. She got hurt. Much better to walk away first, the way she was doing now, except Oliver had been the one to start, and it was too late. Shewashurt, even if she was trying not to show it.