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3
Fifteen minutes after walking down the cliff path, Lettie turned into another narrow lane and realised that she was near the edge of the village already. Ahead of her stood the ruins of what looked like a castle, with tumbled stones and ivy growing on its stunted walls. Heaven’s Cove was absolutely tiny. It would fit into one small corner of London and be swallowed up in the general hubbub.
She looked around at the cottages, some of them whitewashed and some made of attractive local stone. Several had thatched rooves and tiny front gardens filled with vibrant gerberas and sunflowers. London was the only home she’d ever known, but this must be a wonderful place for a child to grow up. There were lanes to explore and countryside all around – the view across the county from Driftwood House’s conservatory was breath-taking – and then there was the sea.
Lettie had a complicated relationship with the ocean and its murky depths. She would never set foot in the sea again, but she had no problem with looking at it. Sunshine sparkling on white-crested waves was always cheering.
She decided to find the local beach. The castle ruins were fascinating but they could wait for another day.
She was weaving her way through tourists browsing gift shops when a sturdy woman suddenly blocked her way.
‘Good afternoon. I’m Belinda Kellscroft, chair of the parish council and the village hall fundraising committee.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Lettie, feeling rather like she was standing in front of her old headmistress. The two women shared the same taste in grey bubble perms, elasticated trousers, and sensible sandals.
‘I understand you’re staying at Driftwood House. You’re Rosie’s first guest, I’m told.’
‘That’s right. I only arrived this morning.’
‘I have my finger on the pulse of local news and not much escapes my attention. Are you here on holiday or business?’
Lettie raised an eyebrow at the woman’s assertive tone and nosiness. ‘I’m on holiday, mostly.’
‘Mostly? What else are you up to?’
Lettie hesitated. There was something about inquisitive Belinda that put her teeth on edge but made it almost impossible not to give her a proper answer. ‘Well, I’m kind of researching my family tree.’
‘Are your family from around here?’ Belinda enquired, her small brown eyes lighting up.
‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘What were their names?’
‘Starcross.’
Belinda thought for a moment. ‘That’s a distinctive name, but I can’t think of anyone called that in the area. Do you have any documents or clues to go on?’
‘I know they lived at Driftwood House during the Second World War.’
‘And now you’re staying there?’ Belinda clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Ah, the circle of life. It’s a mystery to us all.’
‘It certainly is,’ said Lettie, already hearing the Elton John song in her head. That was her earworm for the day.
‘So what else do you know about their stay in our wonderful village?’
I know there was the whiff of trouble, maybe even scandal,thought Lettie, pushing the dainty key beneath the neckline of her T-shirt.
‘Absolutely nothing at all,’ she replied firmly, not about to share family gossip or Iris’s mysterious letter with this overwhelming woman, even if she might be able to help her.
‘That’s a bit of a problem then. Oh!’ Belinda began to gesticulate wildly at an older man who was walking past a small grocery store. ‘Claude! Over here! Can I have a word? Claude!’
The man she was waving at kept on walking as though he hadn’t heard Belinda’s piercing voice. He was strange, thought Lettie. Tall and rangy with long grey hair past his shoulders and a bushy beard. The navy blue jumper he was wearing was baggy, with holes on the shoulders.
‘Honestly,’ huffed Belinda. ‘He doesn’t like outsiders but there’s no need to be rude.’ When Lettie raised an eyebrow, Belinda made strange smoothing movements with her hands. ‘You might be an outsider, dear, but you’re very welcome in Heaven’s Cove all the same. Where would we be without tourists to boost our economy? Claude is just a little… old school.’
‘Do you think he might know something about the Starcross family?’
‘If anyone will, it’s Claude. He’s Heaven’s Cove’s unofficial archivist, with a cellar full of old documents and newspaper cuttings his family have collected over the years. I keep telling him to put them somewhere safer but he never listens to me, or to anyone else, for that matter.’
