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6
Lettie squinted at the guide book that Rosie had lent her that morning and wished she’d remembered to bring her sunglasses. The sun seemed brighter here than in North London, especially when it was reflecting off the sea. She shielded her eyes with her hand and read that Heaven’s Cove castle was built in the twelfth century to help fortify the coast against invaders.
It might have done a good job eight hundred years ago but today all that remained were tumbled-down walls and the grassy dip of an ancient moat. Lettie stood for a moment, drinking in the atmosphere and imagining herself in a long gown walking above a water-filled moat, towards the long-gone drawbridge. The past seemed so close in this place.
She was brought back to the present by the screams of an excited child who was running across a large green. The grass was dotted with stalls draped with brightly coloured bunting, and rope had been looped in a large circle to keep an area clear – though it was currently full of men wearing three-quarter-length white trousers, green hats and carrying sticks. Morris dancers. Simon had been right about them.
She started walking around the fete looking for Claude. Rosie had told her his surname and, when she’d googled him, she’d come across his photo in the local paper. Taken three years ago, it showed him and some fishing colleagues who had rescued a dolphin from their nets.
To Lettie, now she had a proper photo rather than a glimpse in the street, he looked like the stereotype of an old Devonian fisherman – weathered face, grizzled beard streaked with grey, and wearing a woolly hat, even though the photo was taken at the height of summer. He looked quite fierce in the picture but he and Corey’s grandmother were the only leads she had to help find out information about Iris – and if her key opened anything at all.
Lettie wandered among the stalls selling local honey, jewellery, or offering children the chance to play hook the duck or whack a mole. In spite of Simon’s misgivings, she realised she was enjoying herself. This fair must have taken place in the village for centuries and she was a sucker for tradition.
Just behind the apple-bobbing stand, Lettie spotted Rosie on the lucky dip stall and was beckoned over.
‘Hey, Lettie, come and meet my boyfriend, Liam.’
Her eyes shone as she introduced the handsome man next to her and, as Liam stood with his arm around Rosie’s waist, Lettie envied her being so happy. Lettie had missed out on Belinda’s tale of his and Rosie’s relationship, but the two of them seemed very much in love.
‘What do you think of Heaven’s Cove fete, then?’ asked Liam, handing over a stuffed owl to a small child who presented him with a winning ticket. ‘Not quite Notting Hill Carnival, is it?’
‘It’s aleetlebit smaller but it’s lovely and it’s traditional.’
‘I remember it all the time I was growing up,’ said Rosie. ‘My mum used to make dream catchers and pots covered in shells for the craft stall. She was really creative, my mum.’
When she faltered suddenly, Liam put his arm around her shoulders.
‘It must be hard with your mum not here this year,’ said Lettie.
‘It is. But you know what that’s like. I’m sure life feels strange for you without your great-aunt around.’
‘It does. Iris was always my champion, if that doesn’t sound too daft. She loved me, whatever happened.’ Lettie swallowed hard. ‘Clearing out her flat was the worst. I kept expecting her to come through the door and tell me off for going through her private things – not that she had much left.’
‘Why was that?’ asked Rosie, reaching across the stall to pat Lettie’s hand.
‘There was a fire in her flat a couple of years ago and she lost all her paperwork and family photos and precious stuff.’
Everything except for the key she always wore around her neck, and the letter, stuffed into her handbag lining, that didn’t make any sense.
‘That must have been awful for her. Do you know what caused it?’
‘It was an electrical fault, apparently.’
‘At least she got out safely.’
‘Hmm.’
Lettie nodded, remembering how Iris’s health had nosedived after the blaze. Everyone said it was the shock, but maybe there had been a picture of the man who wrote the mysterious letter amongst the lost photos. The man – or the woman. Perhaps that was the ‘scandal’ that her mum had heard whispers of so long ago.
‘Have you managed to find Claude?’ asked Rosie, smiling at a young family walking past.
‘Not yet, though I’m hoping he might turn up. So how come you’ve ended up manning the lucky dip stall?’
‘We got press-ganged by Belinda.’ Liam grinned. ‘Speak of the devil.’
‘Miss Starcross,’ boomed a loud voice behind her. ‘Have you managed to track down the elusive Claude yet?’
When Lettie spun around, Belinda was behind her. ‘Not yet.’
