Book Club Reads: 3-Book Collection: Yesterday’s Sun, The Sea Sisters, Someone to Watch Over Me. Amanda Brooke
when Jocelyn suggested they head home.
‘I don’t think this picnic was a very good idea, was it?’ sighed Jocelyn. ‘We’ve both lost our appetites and, I hate to say this, but I think my joints have seized up. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up off the ground.’
Holly smiled as she picked herself up and put her arms out to help pull Jocelyn to her feet. ‘Well, I can’t leave you here and I can’t make it back without you.’
This was Holly’s way of reaching out for help and Jocelyn found enough determination to make it to her feet and give Holly a hug. ‘I won’t leave you to face this on your own,’ she assured her.
The journey home was slower and it was also darker. The dappled light that had lit their way to Hardmonton Hall had been replaced by a cold murkiness. Holly’s journey to the ruins had been undertaken with a mixture of fear and hope but on her return, she carried back with her only the fear and a sense of emptiness that had seeped into her body once her tears had been spent.
‘What if there’s an exception to the rule?’ she asked Jocelyn as they neared the gatehouse. It was the first time they had spoken on their bleak journey home, other than the occasional expletive from Jocelyn as her hip joints failed her.
‘There’s no bargaining with the moondial,’ Jocelyn warned. She stopped and turned to look at Holly. It was hard to tell if the grimace on the old woman’s face was from the pain or from the thought of Holly taking risks with her future.
‘So why use it!’ Holly blurted out, not sure if her sudden anger was directed at Jocelyn or the moondial. ‘Why didn’t you destroy it, or at least the mechanism? Why did you leave it so some poor fool like me would come along and start putting it back together again?’
Fresh guilt weighed down heavily on Jocelyn’s shoulders and she suddenly looked very frail and old. ‘I don’t know why, Holly, I really don’t. Just like Mr Andrews, I suppose I didn’t think I had the right to destroy the moondial. I hid the box in one of the walls in Harry’s workshop and I thought it would be safe there. It was certainly the last place Harry would ever look. And I kept the journal with me, remember. I didn’t think anyone would be able to work out how to put the mechanism together on their own.’
As soon as Holly saw the pain in Jocelyn’s face she immediately regretted her outburst and her anger vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She knew she was being unfair and besides, she couldn’t ignore the fact that the dial would be instrumental in avoiding her death in childbirth. ‘I’m so sorry, Jocelyn. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re as much a victim of the moondial as I am.’ She slipped her arm into Jocelyn’s and started walking once more towards home. ‘So tell me everything you know about the journal,’ she said, easing the conversation away from her ill-conceived accusation.
‘It was written by Edward Hardmonton and it describes in harrowing detail how he resurrected the dial and the decisions he was forced to take. He knew tragedy was coming, but there was still only so much he could do to change future events.’
‘“Like a drop of rain on glass, the choice of path may not be free,”’ Holly recited.
‘You’ve remembered the poem perfectly.’
‘It’s not something I’m likely to forget,’ sighed Holly. ‘It’s the only thing I have to get me through this nightmare.’
‘Not the only thing. I’m here to help you – unless you’re ready to talk to Tom about it?’
It was Holly’s turn to feel guilty. She was coming to realize that she was going to have to make some life-changing decisions and Tom had a right to be involved. ‘I need to have everything clear in my own mind first. I will tell him, one day.’
‘Just not today,’ suggested Jocelyn.
‘Or tomorrow,’ added Holly. ‘Perhaps not until all of this is over and there are no decisions left to take.’
The trees started to thin out and Holly sensed Jocelyn’s relief as the gatehouse came into view.
‘I’ll drive you back home,’ insisted Holly.
‘I’ve told you before, I won’t give in to these joints,’ Jocelyn said with a warning glare.
‘Then at least let me escort you home. No arguing.’
‘Who’s arguing?’ asked Jocelyn with a pained smile.
Although Jocelyn was relieved when they stopped in front of the teashop, she was less eager to say goodbye to Holly. She didn’t want to leave her on her own to dwell on the future. They both knew there was only one path Holly could take if she was going to survive and that meant a future without Libby. Her daughter might not exist in the present time, might never exist at all, but Jocelyn could see the pain of loss in Holly’s eyes.
‘I could always pack a bag and come stay with you until Tom gets back,’ Jocelyn offered. She had taken the journal out of her basket, but seemed reluctant to hand it over.
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ Holly assured her, reaching out and taking the journal from Jocelyn’s protective grasp. ‘I’ve got this to read and then there are lots of other things to keep me busy. The marble for Mrs Bronson’s sculpture is finally being delivered next week and Billy has promised to come back and finish off the conservatory. Besides, you’re busy too.’
‘Yes, it’s always busy at harvest time in the village, but I’m sure they could do perfectly well without me.’ Jocelyn still wasn’t making a move to go inside the teashop.
‘Jocelyn, am I going to have to drag you up the stairs to your flat?’ warned Holly with a mischievous smile. Even though Jocelyn was the only person that she could talk to about the moondial, Holly desperately needed time on her own.
When Holly returned home, the gatehouse felt empty and barren. She had been given a glimpse of motherhood, had seen the face of the child she and Tom would create, and then she had been lulled into believing that she still could have it all. She had assumed that the moondial in its mystical benevolence had shown her the dangers that lay ahead so that she could avoid them, so that she could survive, so that they could all survive.
She put the journal down on the kitchen table and stared at it. It was bound in dark brown leather with the monogram E.H. stamped in the top left corner. There was a leather strap tied tightly around it to keep in place ragged bits of paper which had been inserted between its unkempt pages. Holly was tempted to leave it unopened, especially now that Jocelyn had described its contents as harrowing; she had already heard enough harrowing stories for one day. But the journal demanded her attention and she knew she wouldn’t rest until her torture was complete.
Edward Hardmonton had been intrigued by the moondial ever since he was a small child. To the rest of his family, the dial was nothing more than a garden curiosity in the grounds of Hardmonton Hall, half-forgotten for almost a century. But young Edward had been irresistibly drawn to the stone circle where it stood proud and glistening in the sunshine and he would spend endless summer days playing there. He knew every inch of the dial’s engraved surface and every word of the poem that encircled it, but without the mechanism to unlock its power, the moondial had kept its secrets from him.
When Edward left for university, he was too excited with the world that awaited him to give any thought to what he was leaving behind and soon he forgot all about the moondial. After completing his degree in agriculture, Edward travelled the world to do what many of his peers were doing in the sixties: to find himself. He knew he was fortunate, not just because he had the financial means to flit from one country to the next, but also because his father wholeheartedly supported his wanderlust. They both knew that Edward, as an only child, would one day take over the running of the estate from his father and, while he fully acknowledged and accepted that duty, in the meantime Edward was intent on enjoying his freedom, with his father’s blessing.
Edward’s