As Alan watched, Lucille giggled at something Marcus had said, and her mask of seriousness slipped away for a moment. She caught Alan looking at her and sent him a shy smile. But before he could say anything, Dominic Rudge rose to his feet, and Alan sighed inwardly.
Standing tall, Dominic surveyed the group, one eyebrow raised in patient expectation, and one by one the assembled writers fell silent, their eyes on Dominic, their expressions blank. Across the table from Alan, Roz caught his eye and grimaced.
Dominic bowed humbly, then he cleared his throat and beamed around the group. “My fellow scriveners,” he began, “it is my distinct pleasure to welcome you all, once again, to our annual writing retreat here in Newquay. As winter’s gloom draws ever closer, we writers do not allow the darkness to oppress our spirits. No, we hunker down with renewed vigour, working to express ourselves through our art, honing our craft.
“I believe that most of you have attended our retreats previously, and for that I’m grateful. But for those of you who are new to us, or those who would appreciate a reminder, the arrangements are simple. Breakfast is provided in the hotel, but the days are yours to do with as you please. In the evenings, we have tables reserved at a variety of local hostelries so that we may meet to share a meal. A list of those venues, along with the dates and times, has been emailed to you already. Attendance at any of these events is completely optional, and you should not feel obliged to come along if you prefer to make your own arrangements. However, many of us find that after a hard day tapping at the keyboard, we enjoy some downtime in which we can reflect on our day’s work, share our experiences with our peers, compare notes and perhaps enjoy a drink or two in like-minded company. The first of these events is this evening, when we convene at the Temple Garden Thai restaurant just down the road from the hotel. Our table is booked for 7:30 pm, and if you are intending to join us, we would appreciate prompt arrival.
“For the remainder of this afternoon, please make use of the amenities at the hotel, or find a place of your own to work. You might favour a trip to one of the town’s coffee shops where, at this time of year, you should be able to find a quiet corner where you can write. A list of suitable venues has already been emailed to you in your welcome package. However, if you prefer not to venture out, but you don’t wish to be confined to your room, I find the conservatory at the hotel to be a pleasant place to while away a few hours, especially on an afternoon such as this, when the sunshine has made a welcome appearance. The view over the sea provides an ever-changing vista that seems to ease the mind while keeping the creative juices flowing.
“Now, I know that many of us think of ourselves as introverts, so please bear that in mind when chatting among yourselves. Not everyone appreciates company, but some do. I’m more than happy to chat with you at any time, so even if you see me working at my laptop, please feel free to interrupt and ask any questions you like.
“So, with a final note of thanks to you all for attending, I will stop boring you and let you get on with your work. I wish you a rewarding and productive afternoon, and indeed a great week, and I hope to see some of you this evening.”
He beamed around the table once more as if expecting a round of applause, but since no one made a sound, he added, “Thank you.” Then he bowed his head in an awkward gesture and, still smiling, he retook his seat.
The writers glanced at each other, exchanging wry grins, then almost as one, they rose to their feet, studying their surroundings. They looked, Alan thought, like newborn lambs discovering for the first time that there was an entire pasture to explore.
“I need a walk,” Roz said. “Do you fancy coming with me, Alan?”
“Another one?” Alan asked. “You went for a walk this morning, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “I need fresh air and space; they’re my inspiration. And the sea air is terrific today. It makes you feel glad to be alive.”
“It’s certainly bracing.” Alan offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll happily go for a walk another day, but right now I have a few ideas I want to start work on. While Dominic was making his speech, my mind wandered, and I pictured a whole scene. You know how it is. If I don’t get it down soon, I might lose it.”
“No worries. I expect you’re going to the dinner this evening.”
Alan nodded. “Yes, and I think Dan will come along too.”
“He’s a brave man. Well, good luck with your work. I’ll see you later.” Roz gave Alan a warm smile, then she headed for the exit.
Alan stood still for a moment. I wonder if I made the right choice, he thought, picturing a stroll in the sunshine in Roz’s charming company. But he’d have plenty of time to catch up with her in the evening, so he steered his thoughts back toward his work.
Retrieving his laptop bag from beneath his chair, Alan made for the conservatory. It looked as though most of the other writers had hit on the same idea, but there were still several tables free by the window. Alan passed Brian Coyle, and the two men exchanged a nod in greeting.
“I met your friend this morning,” Brian said. “Dan. An interesting character.”
“Yes.” Alan paused for a moment, glancing at the untidy stack of papers laid out on Brian’s table. “You still write longhand? I thought those days had gone.”
“I still like a decent pen and a thick pad of good quality paper, but just at the outlining stage. After that, I resort to my trusty Chromebook.” He patted the messenger bag taking pride of place on the only other chair. “It’s small and light, but the battery lasts for ages. It’s a real workhorse.”
“Speaking of work, I must get down to mine.” Alan made to move away, but Brian beckoned him closer.
“A word to the wise,” Brian murmured. “That windbag, Rudge, is ensconced in the corner. Don’t sit near him, whatever you do. The man never does a stroke of work. He just sits there, looking like he means business, but all he wants to do is pounce on the nearest unsuspecting fool, and then he’ll talk until the cows come home.”
“I know what you mean,” Alan admitted. “I know that he puts a lot of effort into organising these events, but he does like to chat.”
“That’s putting it mildly, Alan. But then, you always were a gentleman.” Brian gestured toward his papers. “I’d better tackle this lot. There’s a fight scene in here, somewhere, and I can’t for the life of me find it. Maybe I left it in my room. I’ll have to go and look. I’m stuck without it.” He stood, stuffing his papers into the messenger bag, and Alan took the opportunity to slip away.
Dominic Rudge had made himself at home in a corner, his leather satchel spewing papers across the table while his widescreen laptop took up the rest of the surface. Alan acknowledged him with a smile, but he steered clear, finding a comfortable chair beside the window and pulling the small table toward him. It didn’t take him long to lay out his own laptop, and a minute later he was scanning through the notes he’d made on his work in progress: a new adventure for the hero of his books for children, Derek, International Explorer. So far, so good, he thought. The new scene he’d pictured would dovetail perfectly into the story, providing a welcome chunk of action for Derek and his resourceful nephew, Jake. In the hunt for an ancient Inca amulet, Derek would lead Jake into a tropical rainforest, but they’d find themselves captured by a lost tribe. Thrown into a rough wooden cage, they’d be held captive while the tribe’s leader performed a long and drawn-out ritual. I can’t think where that idea came from, Alan thought, smiling at the memory of Dominic’s rambling speech. Of course, Derek and Jake would escape unharmed, and Jake would provide the plan. Perhaps he’d astound the tribe by showing them something they’d never seen before: his trusty Swiss Army knife, perhaps.
Working quickly, and without bothering to even think about punctuation and spelling, Alan typed the scene down as he saw it in his mind’s eye. It was thin on detail, but that could be added in the next draft. Thirty minutes later, the bare bones of the chapter had emerged, and Alan sat back to read it through.
That makes the middle section more interesting, he decided. He often had trouble with a book about halfway through the first draft. The saggy middle was what some writers called it, but Alan generally thought of it as a soggy centre. Like an under-baked cake, the middle section of a manuscript could be distinctly unappetising, failing to live up to the promise of the early chapters. But just as a cake couldn’t be baked a second time, an ailing manuscript couldn’t be fixed by adding a few extra sentences. When the story lost its narrative drive, it was time to get creative and work in extra scenes and characters to liven it up. Hopefully, Derek and Jake’s dramatic capture and escape would fit the bill.
Alan tweaked the text a little as he read it through, but for a first draft it was good enough. He sat back and saw that while he’d been immersed in his work, Brian had returned to his table and was busy scribbling on a pad.
On Alan’s right, Tim had set up his laptop on a table at the centre of the room, and anyone could see that the man was lost in his work. Tim was perched on the edge of his seat, craning his neck to peer intently at his laptop’s screen, while his fingers performed an elegant dance over the keyboard as he worked.
I should have learned to touch-type, Alan thought for perhaps the thousandth time in his career as a writer. And Tim looked up, meeting Alan’s gaze.
“Hello,” Tim said. “How’s it going? Are you stuck?”
“No, it’s going well,” Alan replied. “But I don’t think I could keep up with you. You look like you’re on a streak.”
Tim smiled modestly. “I always work this quickly. It’s the way my mind works. I see the blank page and I just have to fill it. I’ve always been the same, ever since I found my niche.”
“Historical romance, isn’t it?”
“Historical drama. There’s a certain romantic element, but nothing between the sheets if you know what I mean. Once the hero and the heroine get together, it’s very much a question of drawing the curtains around the four-poster bed. It’s all very wholesome, very clean.” Tim offered a saccharine smile. “You should see the morality clause in my contract. I’ve written shorter novellas. But these books have been good to me. They pay the rent. So when my lovely publisher lays down the law, I obey.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Alan was about to say more, but he was cut short by a yell from across the room.
“Coyle!”
Alan and Tim swivelled in their seats to see Edward Hatcher storming into the conservatory, his cheeks white with rage. He stopped in front of Brian, waving a sheet of paper in front of his nose.
“What the hell do you mean by this?” Edward demanded. “Come on, man. Explain yourself!”
Brian held up his hands. “Edward, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you dare,” Edward snarled. “Don’t even think about trying to play the innocent. You know damned well what I’m talking about. This!” Screwing the sheet of paper into a ball, he hurled it at Brian’s head.
Brian ducked. “What the hell! Edward, there’s no need—”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Edward spluttered. “I know it was you. You were the only one who knew I was resting after lunch, so you slipped your little note under my door while I was asleep. You’re too much of a coward to face me, so you resorted to a childish prank.”
Brian retrieved the crumpled sheet of paper from the floor, opening it out. “But I’ve never seen this before. What does it even mean?”
“You know what it means, Coyle.”
Brian shook his head, bewildered. He opened his mouth to speak, but Edward didn’t give him the chance.
Lifting his chin in haughty gesture, Edward said, “My lawyers will make mincemeat of you, Coyle. They’ll crucify you.” Then he stalked from the room, almost colliding with the hotel’s receptionist. “Out of my way!” Edward cried.
Matthew jumped back, and Edward swept out into the lobby.
All eyes turned to Brian.
“Don’t look at me,” Brian said. “I can honestly say I haven’t got the faintest idea what he was going on about. And this note — I don’t know what it means.”
“What does it say?” Alan asked.
Brian squinted at the sheet of paper, holding it at arm’s length. “The writing is on the wall. Your secret is about to be revealed. Very soon you’ll get what you so richly deserve, and the world will see you for what you are.” He looked at his unwanted audience. “It sounds like something from The Times crossword, and I never was any good at that kind of thing.”
“I don’t think it’s a crossword clue.” Alan pushed his table aside and stood. “I’d better go and see if he’s okay. Dominic, do you know what room he’s in?”
Dominic blinked as though waking from a daydream. “Yes. Erm, let me see.” He tapped at the keys on his laptop. “Edward is in 501.”
“No, that’s my room,” Brian said. “Look again.”
“Oh dear.” Dominic’s cheeks coloured. “I’m sorry, I, er…”
Alan turned his attention to Matthew. “You must know which room he’s in.”
Matthew nodded. “Of course, sir, but I can’t give out personal information like that. It’s more than my job’s worth.”
“Found it,” Dominic said. “He’s in the Regency suite. He upgraded his room a few days ago, and I forgot to update the spreadsheet.”
“Right. I’ll go and find him.” Alan hurried into the lobby, but he hadn’t made it as far as the staircase when Roz ran in from the hotel’s entrance.
“Alan! What’s wrong with Edward?”
“We’re not sure. Have you seen him?”
“Yes. I was coming back along the coastal path, and I… I happened to glance over the edge, and that’s when I saw him. He was going down to the beach, and I knew something was wrong because he didn’t even have a coat, and there’s a bitter wind blowing in from the sea.”
“He’s not himself,” Alan said. “He had a run-in with someone, and it’s knocked him out of kilter.”
“That explains it. He was charging down the steps like a man possessed, and they’re steep. It’s a miracle he didn’t fall.”
“Which steps were these?”
“If you turn left when you leave the hotel, the steps are just down the street. You have to cross the road, then they’re the first steps you come to. You can’t miss them. They’re right next to an ice cream kiosk.” Roz hesitated. “He won’t go too far, will he? The tide’s coming in fast, and if he’s not careful, he could easily get cut off at this time of year.”
“He’s in no mood for being careful. I’d better go and find him and bring him back.”
Roz took hold of Alan’s sleeve. “You don’t think he’d do something stupid, do you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Alan said. Then, taking Roz’s hand from his arm, he dashed for the door.
CHAPTER 6
Dan gave the town another chance, and with the help of his phone, he discovered a vegan cafe and enjoyed a good lunch of chilli and rice, washed down with a decent coffee. This place isn’t so bad, he thought. Newquay wasn’t a large town, but compared to Embervale it was a bustling metropolis. There were more bars than he’d expected, and he guessed that in summer the place would be filled with young people seeking sun and surf.
After lunch he sauntered back toward the hotel, taking deep breaths of sea air. The road took him up a slight incline, and as he gained height he caught a glimpse of the sea. As a lifelong London-dweller, his idea of a waterfront property was an apartment beside the lugubrious Thames, but here, the restless energy of the Atlantic ocean created a different atmosphere: a sense of movement and relentless change.
He crossed the road to get a better view, then he paused for a while, enjoying the warmth of the weak sun. Behind him there was a bench, but though he was tempted to sit in the sunshine for a few minutes, the bench was occupied: partly by a young woman, but mainly by the guitar case that lay on its side across the wooden slats.
Se
eing him looking at the case, the woman sat up straight. “Sorry. Do you want to sit down? I can move the guitar.”
“Thanks, but I’m all right here,” Dan replied. The young woman had an earnest expression, but when she met Dan’s gaze, there was an intensity in her stare that struck Dan as odd. Maybe it was just the way the light caught her hazel eyes, but there was something unsettling in the way she looked at him, almost as if she was afraid.
Should he ask if she was all right? Dan wasn’t sure. Perhaps, like him, she’d been enjoying a quiet moment of solitude, and he’d startled her. He tried a reassuring smile. “Thanks anyway. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No problem. I’m leaving, anyway.” Wearily, the young woman hauled herself to her feet and grabbed her guitar case, then she trudged across the road. There was a bar opposite, and taking a second to straighten her posture, the young woman disappeared inside.
Dan resumed his journey. Soon, the grand frontage of the Regent Hotel loomed in the distance, and a familiar figure emerged from the entrance, hurrying toward the road. Dan raised a hand in greeting and called out: “Alan! Where are you going?”
Murder Between the Tides Page 4
