Page 6 of The Last Casterglass
Oliver took a deep breath. No time like the present. “Speaking of Seph, do you know where she is?”
John’s eyebrow rose but he made no remark about Oliver’s question except to say, “In her workshop, most likely, but I’d give her a little space if I were you. She seemed in a foul mood when I came across her about fifteen minutes ago, even for her.” His smile was full of affection as he added, “I know she seems quite forbidding, but she can be quite the softie, really, inside. I don’t know what’s got her all het up this time.”
Oliver grimaced and then decided he needed to come clean. “I’m afraid I have. I went into her workshop without asking and had a poke around while she wasn’t there.” The look of surprise on John’s face made Oliver realise afresh just how presumptuous he’d been. “I wasn’t thinking, not exactly. I’d been poking around all morning at Althea’s request, and I suppose I just carried on.” He didn’t feel he could explain to John how he’d also been curious. True confessions only extended so far, especially with near-strangers.
John nodded slowly. “Well, I can understand why Seph wouldn’t like that, certainly.”
“Yes.” Oliver’s grimace deepened. He wasn’t going to mention peeking at that sculpture, either. “I wanted to apologise—”
“I’d leave it if I were you. Seph is one of those people who needs time on her own. She’ll come around, but I’d give it a few hours. Better yet, a few days.”
A few days? Oliver couldn’t hide his dismay. He’d wanted it sorted, so they could both move on. Maybe even become friends, of a sort, although at this point that seemed unlikely.
“All right,” he said reluctantly. “I suppose.”
John hesitated, and then laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Seph is a great girl. She’s had a pretty difficult time of it—not that anyone even knows. I don’t think she’d like me telling you that much, and so I’m not going to say anything more, except…give her the benefit of the doubt, if you can. And be patient with her.”
Oliver blinked, both surprised and touched by the older man’s advice. “All right,” he said, because what else could he say? Yet right now he felt like Seph was the one who needed to be patient with him.
*
Seph didn’t knowhow long she knelt on the cold, hard floor of her workshop, trying not to cry, but at some point, her legs started to ache, and she sniffed back the last of her tears as she scrambled up to standing. She’d spilled most of her coffee and the rest was cold, so she hurled it into the trash before covering upOut of the Wildagain, and then, recklessly, bundling it up and taking it right out of the shop.
John greeted her in passing as she marched across the courtyard, and she snarled something back, too raw to make an effort, even with him. Then she went into the woods skirting the drive, shouldering her way through the massive rhododendrons, to the old icehouse she didn’t think anyone knew about, and thrust the sculpture in there. The damp wouldn’t be great for it, but she’d find a better place to put it soon. Right now she just needed it out of sight—hers as well as anyone else’s. It reminded her too much of what she didn’t have, and also what she hoped for. The thought of Oliver seeing it, perhaps guessing something of that, made everything in her cringe and cramp.
Back in her workshop she grabbed her goggles and a hunk of cedarwood and set to work. She was making a domed planter and she intended to put all her energy and focus into it. Work was the only thing that silenced her mind, quieted her heart. It would keep her from thinking about the irritating Oliver Belhaven.
And it did, for a little while, but then just as before, as soon as she’d switched off the lathe and wiped the sawdust and sweat from her forehead, he came back again. Why had he snooped in her private space? And what did he think about her now? How was she going to face him again, ever?
It was lunchtime, and usually Olivia put on soup and bread for everyone in the kitchen. It tended to be a good time to check in, have a chat, and Seph actually enjoyed it—sort of—not that she ever said so. Today, however, she was dreading it. Oliver was sure to be there, and she was really not ready to see him. She hadn’t decided how she was going to play it—ignore him completely, or make her displeasure clear in a pointed sort of way, or just pretend it hadn’t happened and simply be normal, whateverthatlooked like.
That was the trouble, Seph thought dispiritedly, of having such limited social experience. She just didn’tknow.
Still, she was starving, so she decided to brave whatever awaited her in the kitchen. By the time she got there, everyone had already sat down with steaming bowls of soup, and there was a loaf of fresh bread—Olivia loved baking—in the middle of the table. Seph’s stomach growled, and her heart leapt with relief when she saw that Oliver was not present. Neither was Althea.
“They’re having a working lunch in Althea’s office,” Violet said like it was an answer, although Seph hadn’t actually asked anything. “Oliver and Althea,” she added helpfully. “In case you were wondering where they were.”
“I wasn’t,” Seph replied shortly, and sat down.
It made her wonder how obvious she was being, if her dotty mother had figured out she was looking for Oliver. What if he’dsaidsomething?What on earth is wrong with Seph?he might have asked, all puzzled innocence.She practically tore me a new one after I looked in her little workshop. Is she, you know, all right?
The possibility made Seph suppress a deep-seated shudder.
“Everything okay, darling?” Walter asked with one of his gently whimsical smiles, and Seph gave the answer she always did, because as loving as her father could be, he missed so much, and she knew he never even realised it.
“Yeah,” she said, and reached for a slice of hot, fresh bread. “Everything’s fine.”
*
The clouds hadcleared away, leaving pale blue skies like washed denim, and so after lunch Seph decided to leave her workshop for a bit and clear her head with a long, brisk walk. She’d spent alotof time walking the grounds of Casterglass, and she knew every inch like the back of her own hand, her own soul.
Now she avoided the garden and woods—Sam was working up near the campsite, clearing brush—and headed for a part she doubted anyone would venture into, the tangled rhododendron wood past the icehouse where she’d put her sculpture. There was something otherworldly and middle-earthy about the twisted, knobbly branches, the wide, flat leaves that drooped down in winter, for protection.
Seph had walked through the maze of bushes many times, and knew just where to step, duck, or jump. Ten minutes later she was out on the other side, with a sweep of tufty grass stretching to the nearest fell, a heather-and-gorse-covered incline that stretched to the sky.
She walked quickly, arms swinging, heart pumping, breath coming in frosty puffs that felt invigorating. This was what she needed—to clear her head, to get away from Casterglass and all its demands, all it represented. Here she wasn’t sullen Seph, the left-behind child, the one everyone said, “Oh,Seph,” as if her existence had slipped their mind—again. She wasn’t weird or prickly or difficult or simply forgotten. Here she was just herself.
She felt capable and strong, climbing that hill, taking long, purposeful strides. On the way back she’d get her sculpture out of the icehouse and put it back in its place. She’d start locking her workshop, if need be, but damned if she’d let Oliver Belhaven or anyone else make her hide more than she already was.