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10
Sitting on her bed the next morning, Lettie studied the letter that had brought her to Heaven’s Cove.
Sit where I sat, darling girl, with the key to my heart and all will become clear.
The words held an echo of what Iris had whispered on her deathbed. Find out for me, darling girl.
‘What does it mean, Iris?’ she muttered out loud into the early morning air. ‘How am I supposed to know what you wanted me to find?’
She’d searched online for the Allford family in Heaven’s Cove but there was little there of note, though she had read a brief history of the village, which was fascinating. And she’d dreamed last night of being a child in Heaven’s Cove – which had been idyllic until she found herself immersed in the ice-blue waters of the cove and it turned into a nightmare that woke her in a cold sweat.
Lettie grabbed her phone and looked again at the message that had arrived at an ungodly hour from Kelly, who didn’t sleep much these days.
Tilly has more teeth. Look! Isn’t she adorable? Just wish the little bugger would sleep.
Matilda was giving a toothy grin from the screen, her tiny face gurning at the camera and her pudgy hands waving. She really was adorable and Lettie loved her but the photo made her feel jittery, as though life was moving on and she was being left behind. No job, no proper career, no love life to speak of, no hope.
Giving herself a mental shake, she gathered up her handbag and sunglasses and slipped out into the morning. The air smelled sweet and fresh and the sun was peeping from behind white banks of cloud. Fishing boats were splashes of colour on the pale blue sea and Lettie suddenly felt a surge of contentment wash over her. Her great-aunt and her job were gone but this would always be here. And the beauty of it spoke to her soul more than the glass and concrete of London.
Did that make her sound ridiculously pretentious? Iris would probably say so. Smiling to herself, Lettie walked down the cliff path and into the village. Claude and Florence were both refusing to speak to her, but she had one more idea.
The village hallwas in a cobbled street at the heart of Heaven’s Cove. It looked as if it had once been a church, with its pillars outside the front door that seemed rather too grand for what was once an insignificant fishing village, before it was discovered by tourists who now thronged the streets.
To the side of it was a low whitewashed building that housed the Tourist Information Office. Lettie pushed open the door and went inside. A middle-aged woman was on her knees, unloading a cardboard box of leaflets.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, pushing her glasses into her hair. She sounded harassed.
‘I’m trying to find out about the history of Heaven’s Cove. Specifically about my family who come from around here.’
‘Really?’ She got slowly to her feet and wiped her hands on her smart black trousers. ‘What was their name?’
‘Starcross.’
The woman frowned. ‘That’s not a name I’m familiar with.’
‘They lived at Driftwood House in the 1940s.’
‘Ah, that’s such a wonderful location.’
‘It certainly is. I’m staying there at the moment.’
‘That’s good. I’m hoping that Rosie’s guesthouse will be a great success.’ She smiled. ‘You’re welcome to have a browse around and take whatever information you’d like.’
Lettie looked around the office with its leaflets stacked in Perspex dispensers on the walls and piled up on the shelves. They highlighted attractions nearby, National Trust properties, Dartmoor, a pony sanctuary and a list of shops in the village selling local produce. A door was open to a side room that was stacked with more cardboard boxes.
Lettie picked up a leaflet that gave a brief history of the village but a quick skim through showed it was similar to what she’d read online. That was all the historical information there seemed to be.
‘What about the people who used to live here?’ she asked. ‘They must have had interesting stories. What about the people lost at sea or the men who went to war? Is there a local museum around here?’
The woman stopped delving into the large cardboard box. ‘I’m afraid not, though you’re absolutely right that this place – a village so rich in local history – is crying out for something like that. There’s Claude, a local man who’s collected lots of information about the village’s past, but sadly it’s not on public display. And I’m not sure he’d be very helpful, to be honest.’
‘I went to his cottage and asked to see the information he has but he said no.’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s a rather solitary man.’ She thought for a moment. ‘The museum in Exeter might have some local information and there are church records. But we share a vicar with three other parishes so she’s not here that often.’
‘I can’t imagine that my family were ever terribly involved with the church.’
Hadn’t Iris said that she’d given up on God?
