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‘Down to the cellar, to see what I can find out about your great-aunt and the mysterious Starcross family.’
‘The cellar?’
She sounded nervous and Claude briefly wondered about the sense of taking a pretty young woman into his basement, but she’d got to her feet.
‘Are you going to keep repeating what I say? The cellar is where I keep the information. It’s this way.’
Lettie followed Claude through his tiny kitchen with its ancient cupboards and narrow cooker with its grill above the electric hob. He opened the door to the cellar and a waft of musty air hit his nose.
‘I’ll go first. Make sure you don’t slip.’
He flicked on the light and the bare bulb turned his shadow into a looming mass on the walls as he descended the stone steps, with Lettie behind him.
At the bottom of the stairs, he clicked on a brighter lamp that illuminated three large black filing cabinets in the middle of the room, next to a rickety trestle table. Whistling softly under his breath, he pulled open the top drawer of the nearest cabinet and started rifling through the files inside. ‘What years are we looking at?’
‘The 1930s and 40s, I suppose. My family moved away from Heaven’s Cove during the war and I’d love to know why.’
‘There’s a fair bit of information in here from that time.’
Claude started to spread pieces of paper, photos and old newspaper cuttings across the grubby table. It was cold down here, and damp, and Lettie was shivering. Though whether from the chill or from being in a cellar with the bogeyman of Heaven’s Cove, he couldn’t be sure.
‘Do you want something around your shoulders?’ he asked gruffly, making sure to keep his distance so as not to spook her.
She shook her head, already studying the documents.
‘No thank you. These are fascinating. Did you collect all of this information yourself?’
‘No, I collected some of the newer stuff, but it was mostly my mother who was born and bred in Heaven’s Cove and loved this village.’
She’d been quite a hoarder, his mother. Claude thought back to when she’d lived in the cottage next door to his. It had been full to the brim with her ‘collections’ of everything from local history and Good Housekeeping magazines, to felt hats and china ornaments of parrots. Why parrots, he’d never discovered.
Much of it had gone to charity shops or the tip after her death, but he’d kept a few mementos, including her newspaper clippings, documents and photos from the past.
He could have moved into the cottage next door after his mum had died but he’d been happy here, in his smaller home. Though he often regretted his decision to rent out her cottage to tourists through a holiday lettings agency. They did all the work and he got an income from it. But the agency didn’t always do a very good job of vetting the people who stayed, and he’d been kept awake many a night by loud music or people singing after drinking too much. At least this girl didn’t seem the sort of outsider to cause trouble.
Lettie, her face a picture of rapt concentration, was working her way through many of his 1930s and 40s photographs, some of them black and white, some in faded colour. There were pictures of the village, Land Girls in fields, and a panoramic view of Heaven’s Cove, with Driftwood House visible on top of the cliffs.
Perhaps the girl’s great-aunt had been in the house when the photo was taken, thought Claude, listening to Buster whimpering upstairs. He didn’t like being excluded.
‘This is all amazing,’ said Lettie. ‘I’m sure local people and tourists would love to see it. I was only just saying to Belinda that a museum dedicated to village history and culture would be a brilliant addition to Heaven’s Cove.’
‘Maybe, but it’s not for show.’
She rifled through dozens of photos, holding them up to the light and studying the faces of people long gone, lives lived and now ended, while Claude stood in the corner with his arms folded.
‘This is wonderful.’ She grinned, her face pale in the beam from the bare lightbulb. ‘It’s an absolute treasure trove of local history. So many life stories. It’s such a shame that it’s all hidden away down here.’
‘Who’d want to see it?’
‘Lots of people. Locals, and tourists like me who are interested in what happened over the years to make the village how it is today.’
‘I guess, but it would need to be sorted out and I don’t have the time.’
‘It’s a shame I don’t live nearer or I’d offer to help you. I’d love going through all of this properly. Oh!’ She smiled and waved a photo at him. ‘I think I’ve found her! I’m pretty sure this is Iris from other photos I’ve seen of her when she was younger. Look!’
Claude moved to stand beside her and peered at the picture. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, with long dark hair, stood leaning against a cart with a handful of other people. Even though he’d never seen any photos of Iris, Claude could tell she and the young woman in his cellar were related. They were both tall with high cheekbones and big eyes, and the same long curly hair.
‘Iris’s hair was so thick back then,’ said Lettie, smiling at the photo. ‘It got thinner as she grew older.’
