AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She tutted quietly while Lettie tried to hide her excitement. The thought of an old cellar filled with dusty old documents filled her with glee. Daisy was right when she said Lettie’s head was often stuck in the past – sometimes it proved a welcome escape from the present. And the archive might provide an opportunity to find out more about Iris’s life.
‘Where can I find Claude? Presumably he lives in the village?’
‘He does, but I wouldn’t even attempt to see him at home. He doesn’t take kindly to unexpected visitors, even people he’s known for years, and he’d never let you through the door of his cottage. Which is just as well. He’s never married and is a typical bachelor who’s let his home go to rack and ruin, by all accounts. It’s only got worse as he’s got older and he’s too proud to accept any help. The parish council offered only last month to—’
‘Where else do you think that I might find him?’ interrupted Lettie, not wanting to be rude but feeling uncomfortable about hearing gossip.
‘He’s been a fisherman all his life and still goes to sea when he can. He’s an old sea dog and his experience is in demand. But you can often find him in the pub.’
Lettie had passed a pub earlier – a thatched white building, festooned with colourful hanging baskets.
‘Is that The Smugglers?’
‘The Smugglers Haunt, yes.’
‘It looks very old.’
‘It was built in the sixteenth century and once used to store various contraband.’ Belinda leaned in close. ‘Fred, the current landlord, bulk-buys cigarettes when he goes abroad and sells them under the counter to customers, including Claude. Just continuing the smuggling tradition, I suppose.’ She gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Fred also drinks too much and his wife is just as bad, though they keep a good pub, to be fair. They weren’t able to have children – polycystic ovaries combined with a low sperm count – so they pour everything into their work.’
Lettie blinked, rather glad she hadn’t over-shared any information with Belinda. Chances were it would have been all round the village by teatime.
‘I’ll look out for Claude in the pub, then. Thank you for your help. It was lovely to meet you.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘London.’
‘Ah, I guessed as much from your accent. What job do you do there?’
Nothing,thought Lettie, feeling a pang of worry. Her savings would only stretch for a couple of months and then what would she do?
‘Oh, this and that. I’m heading for the beach, actually,’ said Lettie, keen to get away.
‘You and every tourist in this part of Devon,’ grumbled Belinda, but she pointed past the castle ruins. ‘Cut through there and keep walking along the lane, past Liam’s farm on the right and you can’t miss the cove. You know Rosie who runs Driftwood House? Did you know that she and Liam—’ She broke off and waved at a young woman in a bright red hoodie who was walking hand in hand with a small girl. ‘I must catch Nessa, so I’ll bid you goodbye, Miss Starcross.’
That was a shame. Lettie would quite like to have heard about Rosie and Liam. But Belinda was marching towards Nessa, who, Lettie noticed, had put her head down and seemed to be hurrying away. Perhaps Claude had been escaping Belinda, rather than avoiding an ‘outsider’.
Lettie would track Claude down later, she decided, suddenly feeling more optimistic about her mission to reveal the truth behind Iris’s mysterious letter and key. But for now, all she wanted was to relax and enjoy this beautiful village.
Ten minutes later, Lettie was nearing the beach. The lane was narrow and cars were parked along it on the grass verge. She went past a farmyard and a handsome farmhouse and could hear waves breaking against rock. The sound of the water made her shoulders tense, but she took a deep breath and tried to ignore familiar surges of panic.
Stay calm. Keep breathing. It happened a long time ago.
As she turned the corner, the beach was in front of her. Groups of people were scattered across the sand which had the same reddish tinge as the cliffs towering above it.
The small bay was a perfect semi-circle and gentle waves, tipped with white, were breaking on the sand. Children were running in and out of the water, watched by their parents standing in swimsuits at the shoreline.
With blue sky and sea, it looked like a holiday advertisement for an exotic location. Devon was absolutely stunning, Lettie decided, plonking herself down on the sand, as far from the water as possible. Near her, small children splashed in rock pools and dogs careered across the beach.
She shielded her face from the sun with her hand, her eyes drawn to a figure in the sea, slicing through the deep water with a confident front crawl. His dark hair was just visible above the swell of the water. He was farther out than everyone else so didn’t have to dodge the people playing in the waves. He seemed totally at home in the water and full of confidence. Lettie watched him for a while, going back and forth, before rolling up her thin jumper, lying back on the sand and wedging it behind her head.
She started drifting off as the shouts of the children receded and the drone of a light aircraft overhead lulled her towards sleep. She imagined Iris on this beach as a child, paddling in the surf and sweeping rock pools with a net, searching for crabs. Ninety years before her life came to an end in a small flat in the middle of a noisy city.
Lettie pushed thoughts of Iris’s death from her mind and instead imagined what fun it would have been if her great-aunt had brought her here as a child. She’d have loved it far more than the annual family trip to the Essex coast.
Daisy and Ed loved the coastal amusement arcades and fish and chip shops, but she preferred the history of this little village: the ancient cottages with doorsteps that dipped from centuries of use; the ruins of a grand castle that once housed lords and ladies; the narrow, winding lanes still paved with cobbles.
Her mind suddenly slipped back to that fateful Essex trip when she was eight years old. Daisy and Ed were playing football on the sand and her parents were reading. But Iris, brought along as an afterthought, was keeping an eye on Lettie as she splashed in the water. And it was Iris who saw her fall and sink beneath the waves.
Lettie had tried desperately to find her footing but the sand shifted beneath her feet. The waves had kept on coming, pushing her this way and that, and she couldn’t stand up.
Lettie experienced again a surge of panic and tightness in her chest and forced herself to take in a deep breath. Air, not water, filled her lungs as she took in breath after breath, and she began to calm and settle, as the sun warmed her skin.
It happened a long time ago,she told herself again, as she closed her eyes.I’m on dry land. I’m safe,she repeated over and over in her head as she slipped into sleep once more.
