Ghostwritten. Isabel Wolff

      ‘An unending task.’ He rolled his eyes.

      Beth poured herself some water. ‘He’s also a Coastwatch volunteer.’

      ‘Really?’

      Henry nodded. ‘There are a few of us who do it from the old coastguard hut on Polvarth Point. We keep a lookout for any incidents at sea, or on the beach or the cliff paths.’

      ‘People do such silly things,’ Klara said.

      ‘Like what?’ I asked faintly.

      Henry sighed. ‘They walk too near the cliff edge and slip, or they go out in a kayak, with no knowledge of the currents, and get carried out to open sea. We have kids floating away on rubber dinghies, or getting stuck on the rocks at high tide.’

      ‘Sometimes people dig tunnels in the sand,’ said Beth. ‘If I see that I always warn them not to.’ She looked at Klara. ‘Do you remember what happened to those boys?’

      ‘Oh, I do,’ she responded quietly then turned to me. ‘In fact I might talk about that to you.’

      Heat spilled into my face. ‘Why?’ I asked, too abruptly.

      ‘Well …’ Klara was clearly taken aback by my reaction. ‘For the book. I’ve been thinking about some of the more memorable things that have happened here over the years.’

      ‘Of course.’ I sipped my wine to cover my growing distress. Why had I come here? I should have followed my instincts and stayed away.

      Now Henry was talking about a calf that, the year before, was lost in the fog. ‘It ended up in the sea,’ he told me.

      ‘In the sea?’ I echoed.

      ‘Something must have spooked it,’ Beth explained. ‘A dog or a fox, because it had swum two hundred yards out from the beach. Luckily, a friend of ours was out fishing, saw it, and managed to get a rope round it and hauled it into his boat. When we got it back its mum kept pushing it away because it smelt of brine.’

      ‘We had to tie them together,’ Henry added. ‘In the end she let it feed and all was well. But it was a miracle it hadn’t drowned.’

      ‘Jenni …’ Klara was looking at me reproachfully; she nodded at my plate. ‘You’ve hardly eaten.’

      ‘Oh. I’m sorry. It was delicious, but a bit too much …’

      Henry laughed. ‘You have to eat up round here, otherwise my mum gets upset – don’t you, Mum?’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Klara told me. ‘He’s just teasing you. But you’ll have some ice cream.’

      ‘I’ve eaten so well, Klara, I couldn’t manage another thing, but thank you.’

      ‘Coffee then?’

      ‘Oh, yes please. I never say no to that; I drink so much, it probably flows in my veins.’

      Over coffee and the petit fours that Klara pressed on me, I learnt a bit more about Vincent. He was three years older than Henry, a civil engineer, divorced with one grown-up daughter.

      ‘I met Vincent years ago,’ I told them, ‘at my friend Nina’s twenty-first – he’s her godfather.’

      ‘That’s right. He and her dad were at Imperial College together.’

      ‘We were on the same table at Nina’s wedding.’

      ‘That was lucky,’ Henry remarked. ‘Otherwise I don’t suppose you’d be here now.’

      ‘No.’ I fiddled with my napkin. ‘I don’t suppose I would.’

      ‘Vince never wanted to be a farmer,’ Henry went on. ‘Fortunately for our parents, I did. Adam will take over in years to come.’ He asked me about my writing projects and about how I got work.

      ‘I advertise in magazines and on genealogy websites,’ I replied. ‘I also put up notices in local libraries.’

      ‘You live in Islington, don’t you?’ Beth topped up my coffee.

      ‘Yes – at the Angel.’

      ‘Are you from London?’

      I shook my head. ‘I grew up in a village near Reading, but we moved to Southampton when I was ten.’

      ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Klara asked.

      ‘None.’ I gave her a quick smile in case she’d thought me abrupt. ‘Well …’ I put my napkin on the table. ‘I think I should be getting back.’

      ‘Of course,’ Beth agreed warmly. ‘You must be tired after the journey. Are you okay to walk on your own? Or would you like Henry to go down the lane with you?’

      ‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ I assured her. ‘I’m not scared of the dark.’

      ‘Well, let me give you a torch. It’s pitch black out there.’ As I put on my coat, Beth opened a cupboard under the sink, took a torch out and handed it to me. ‘Good night, Jenni. It was lovely meeting you.’

      ‘Good night, Beth. Thanks for supper – it was delicious. Good night, Henry.’ I turned to Klara and smiled. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

      ‘Yes. See you then, dear. Sleep well.’

      ‘Thanks – you too.’ I knew that I’d be lucky to sleep at all.

      I switched on the flashlight, then walked up the track, raking the ground with its beam. The evening had been fine – I’d liked Klara, and Henry and Beth had been warm and welcoming. But I’d given too much away. As I turned towards the cottage, I resolved to be more careful.

      The blackthorn trees, sculpted by the wind, hunched over the lane. The stars glittered in a blue-black sky. I turned off the torch and looked up. I could see Orion’s belt, and Venus, and there were the seven points of the Plough. And now, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see the pale band of the Milky Way. I craned my neck, drinking in its nebulous beauty. ‘Wonderful,’ I whispered as I gazed at its star clouds and clusters. ‘It’s wonder—’

      A sudden jolt ran the length of my spine. I froze, my pulse racing, and listened. The sound that had startled me must have been the wind. I was about to walk on when I heard it again. Adrenalin flooded my veins. It wasn’t the wind. There was someone there. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel their presence; they were very close, so close that I could hear them breathing. I tried to cry out but could make no sound; I wanted to run but my feet seemed clamped to the ground – and there it was again! So loud that it filled my ears; and now my own breath was ragged, my heart pounding … Then I felt it suddenly slow. I exhaled with relief as I realised that what I’d heard was just the slow gasp of the sea.

       FOUR

      I slept fitfully and, as usual, woke before dawn. In my half-asleep state I reached out for Rick, longing for his warm body, then, with a pang, remembered where I was. I lay staring into the darkness for a while, then I showered and dressed and drank a cup of coffee. Steeling myself, I set off for the beach.

      I strolled past villas screened by dry-stone walls and fuchsia hedges still speckled with red flowers, then a converted barn that offered B&B. I came to Lower Polvarth where, set back from the lane, a row of houses stood with pretty front gardens and evocative names – ‘Bohella’, ‘Sea Mist’ and ‘Rosevine’.

      I stopped in front of ‘Penlee’. I remembered the bank of hydrangeas and that lilac tree – I’d snapped a branch trying to climb it and Mum had been cross. The bedrooms were on the first floor. We’d had the one on the left, with bunk beds; she was in the room next to it.

      Suddenly the curtains in ‘her’ room parted and I saw a