by JJ Marsh
The young man nodded and took the card. “OK. I can do that. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.”
He flicked a polite glance at Virginia, who responded with a slow blink and louche smile. He turned and hurried back to the bar. Scared witless, no doubt.
Attractive and charming, with a sharp intelligence, Virginia qualified as one of Beatrice’s most useful assets. If only she were a little less memorable.
Chapter 23
Who’d have thought Wales was so much like Ireland? All wild and windswept, green and sheep-covered, full of cute villages and the signs in a foreign language. All Adrian’s previous impressions had been of somewhere small, inhospitable and covered in slag-heaps. He just had to bring Jared here, it was too ridiculously romantic.
Jared. Getting a Friday off work had been far less problematic than getting time away from his boyfriend. Tucking his phone back into his jacket, Adrian puzzled over the heated call. Jared’s concerns about his detective neighbour were not, obviously, as a sexual threat, but more that she and her problems absorbed so much of Adrian’s time. Fair point. But when he also referred to Beatrice as a bad influence, Adrian could only shrug, at a loss as to how to reply. Odd behaviour, but secretly pleasing. Jealousy, in small, non-psychotic doses, was an excellent indicator in a new relationship.
He turned to Matthew, who seemed to have finally adjusted to the gears and braking system of the rented Vauxhall Corsa. Adrian was grateful. Much longer and he suspected his neck might have suffered Repetitive Strain Injury.
“How are you feeling? Tired yet? I mean, it’s not like I can take over or anything, but I can sing, tell stories or expose you to more embarrassing personal phone calls to keep you awake.”
Matthew’s face creased into a smile, although he didn’t take his eyes off the country road and his posture remained rigid as a tin soldier.
“I’m fine. We’re all but there. And I trust your new man isn’t too offended.”
“He’ll get over it.” Adrian could only hope that was the truth. It must seem very dismissive, abandoning their evening to go off amateur detecting. Would Jared understand?
“Without trying to be intrusive, I wondered why you told him you were with Beatrice, rather than the actual facts?”
Adrian looked out at the countryside in the late afternoon. Beautiful stone houses sheltered in dips on a hillock and in the distance, the sea glittered and shone.
“Saying Beatrice just makes it easier. He knows I’m involved and totally enthusiastic about this case. He sort of understands. But if I’d told him I was with a man – despite said man being Beatrice’s partner, due for retirement and so far from cutting edge that he doesn’t even own a mobile – believe me, things would have been far more complicated.”
“Hmm. It’s always interesting what people choose to tell their close ones. And what they prefer to hide. Ah! We’re very close to Porthgain, but there’s a gallery I’d really like to see in the next village. Would you mind stopping for half an hour? After all, we spent over an hour traipsing round the shops.”
Evidently still sulking about both the expense and the style. But he’d be grateful later, and Adrian just knew Beatrice would be overjoyed. Matthew looked stunning in black.
“Not at all. Pity we couldn’t have put on our new stuff first. That gear would be perfect for posing in galleries.”
“It’s not that kind of gallery.” Matthew’s voice bordered on terse.
The whole place just got cuter and cuter. A delightful gallery filled with watercolour landscapes, the B&B with real patchwork quilts that didn’t come from Habitat, a friendly landlady and the walk down the lane to the divine little harbour all combined to make Adrian feel childishly excited. After exploring the beach at sunset and finding little in the way of clues but some fabulous pebbles to decorate his bathroom back home, he followed Matthew as they made their way back to the village.
The sun sank out of sight and small lights glowed from the huddle of houses and The Clipper Inn. Stopping at the bend in the path, Adrian turned to face the sunset. Matthew, a few paces ahead, turned back to stand beside him with a satisfied smile. Pewter-coloured sea reflected the riot of pinks, peaches, greys and deepening blue above. The insubstantial clouds scattered in mackerel patterns, ending with an almost artistic whorl. The painter whose gallery they’d visited could not complain of lacking subjects.
A long wall stretched out from the harbour, protection from the elements. A solitary figure stood facing out to sea. Too far to see the gender but whoever it was looked awfully French Lieutenant’s Woman.
“It doesn’t happen often, Matthew, but I am speechless. What a glorious place! I’ve already decided, and nothing will shake me, that this will be the location of my next mini-break.” Adrian had it all planned. He would bring Jared for a weekend; they could stroll in the surf, chat to the locals and fantasise about living here, before buying some cheese and heading home. “Now, do we try the fish restaurant, or the pub?”
“I’d be keen on either, but if our friends from the beach are likely to use one or the other, I’d lean to the pub.”
“Very wise. Sagacious, even. Let’s go.”
Chapter 24
The visit to Fishguard Police Station was surprisingly pleasant. Convinced of a hostile reception to their turning up unannounced, Beatrice was relieved to learn that Inspector Howells was making an appearance at Cardiff Crown Court. She asked to speak instead to PC Johns, who had taken her original statement. He seemed delighted to see her and positively hypnotised by Virginia. He also proved himself a bright spark by asking some perceptive questions, which they debated on the drive back to the B&B in Porthgain.
“He’s right. They couldn’t leave the boat out there all day on Saturday. It would attract all sorts of attention,” said Virginia.
Beatrice’s gaze wandered over the hedgerows. “What I don’t understand is why they wait. Once they’ve dropped the cargo off, why not turn around and go back where they came from?”
“Ireland.”
Beatrice tutted. “We don’t know that. No making assumptions. All we know is that they stick around for Saturday night. So they must berth the boat somewhere. Very probably Porthgain harbour.”
“And sail back to Ireland, or wherever else, overnight on Saturday to Sunday.”
Two crows repeatedly attacked a buzzard, creating a graceful dogfight in the sky. Beatrice wondered if it was aggression or protection.
Virginia indicated right at Croesgoch. “But you’re right. Why do they wait? Just to have cover of darkness? I don’t know why that’s necessary if they’ve got rid of whatever illicit goods they’re carrying.”
“Perhaps they take something back in the other direction. If only bloody Howells would put some surveillance on them, this could all be cleared up in a matter of days. And he, and his force, would be applauded all over the country for cracking a million-pound drug-smuggling operation.”
Virginia glanced at her as she eased the Volvo down the country lane. “Now who’s making assumptions?”
“I was exaggerating. That’s different.”
They fell silent as the vehicle rolled down the slope to the tiny harbour. Beatrice took in the huge sea wall, curving like a immense cradling arm around the moored fishing boats. In brilliant sunshine and calm water, the scale of the edifice seemed excessive, but she could imagine what a haven it must be when a storm hit the coast.
Virginia reversed into a parking space, turned off the engine and stuck a police permit on the dashboard.
“Right, let’s find out who registers and records which boats come in and out. We might even turn up a name and address. Then I want a shower before dinner. Are we going to the fish restaurant, or back to the pub? I wouldn’t mind another look at that barman.”
Beatrice sighed and released her seatbelt. “We are going to the restaurant. Firstly to cover all bases, and secondly, to keep you out of trouble. And how do you expect me to get out now? You’ve parked right up against thi
s Corsa.”
“Not my fault. He’s straddling the line whereas I have parked correctly. Come out this side. Whoever he is, that driver must be an arse.”
The harbourmaster was of a similar breed to Howells. Unconvinced by Beatrice’s credentials, he would only confirm that he did indeed keep records of boats coming in and out of the harbour, but unless compelled by a legal ruling, he was not prepared to share. Virginia tried sugar-coating their request, but it was clear the man’s ego was fed by his own power. They gave up and Virginia ranted about little Hitlers all the way back to the B&B.
“Virginia, just forget him. I’ll contact PC Johns and get him to turn up in uniform. A local lad might have more success, but it may be a little late to disturb the man now. I’ll send him an email.”
Beatrice, appalled by her own selfishness, felt the need for solitude. A sense of claustrophobia was exacerbated by the only remaining room available at the B&B being a twin. Her urge for space became as strong as a thirst. She chewed over how to broach the subject as they checked in. Fortunately, she had no need. Virginia let her off the hook.
“So, I’m going to shower and check in with my husband, if that’s OK with you? He’ll be having breakfast around now.”
“Great plan. I think I might just dump my bag and walk awhile. Clear the cobwebs and see if I can see any logic behind all this.” Tension lifted from Beatrice’s shoulders.
“If you’re sure? I’m not chucking you out; it’s just that this is the one opportunity ...”
“I was wondering how to put it tactfully, but I too need some thinking time. As an anti-social old trout, this fits in perfectly for me.”
Virginia’s face softened. “Thank you. I just need a half an hour or so. And for an anti-social old trout, you’re very good company. Here, give your bag to me. See you in a bit. Don’t forget the restaurant’s booked for seven.”
She trotted up the stairs with such alacrity, Beatrice could not help but smile. Yet, Virginia’s evident eagerness for her husband’s voice threw a stark light on her own situation. In one of these moods, Beatrice could find black holes in a rainbow.
The reception room was oppressive. Prettily decorated, with lace curtains, patchwork cushions and white woodwork. Very twee. She was being unfair. But she felt like being unfair. She shook herself. She needed to walk. To think. To outpace the low growls behind her.
Once out of the low-ceilinged building, she hesitated. She’d intended to go up the cliffs but had an immediate urge to get as close as she could to the sea. The harbour wall drew her. A barrier against the elements and a path into the ocean. A safe place from which to observe the danger. She hitched her handbag over her shoulder and followed her instinct.
The inside of the harbour was all late-afternoon gentleness, slapping ripples and metallic clinks of masts and anchor chains. Oily patches of grime and detritus collected in corners. A rich smell encouraged her to fill her lungs. Half ozone, half diesel, it lifted her somehow and she picked up speed. When she reached the bend, the furthermost point of the wall, she stopped to watch the waves pounding the bricks beneath. As always, she stared in awe. The elements have that hold over humanity; that ceaseless fascination. We believe we own earth and air, but find out soon enough the opposite is true. Yet with fire and water, we recognise our visceral urge for mastery is outclassed. Beatrice watched the constant rhythms of the sea attack her foundations, and acknowledged its superior power.
The sea. We describe it as raging, cruel, beautiful, uncontrollable and endlessly changing, but it simply is. All we can do is strengthen our walls, be eternally prepared. It will never go away. We just have to learn to live with it.
Chapter 25
Luck had always favoured Adrian. A Sagittarian with Libra rising, he often found his heart’s desires falling into his lap. Tonight was no exception. The menu offered homemade fisherman’s pie, the wine list had surprising potential and the barman, with Rufus Sewell curls and cheese-grater cheekbones, was sending him certain signals. A good detective had to use every means at his disposal.
“I think I’ll have the steak and ale pie,” announced Matthew. “And this Australian red might be worth a punt. What do you think?”
Adrian checked the description. “Looks just the thing. And we’re on holiday, sort of. We ought to indulge ourselves. I am going to try a glass of the Chenin Blanc as an accompaniment to fisherman’s pie. We have to order at the bar. Now, I insist on getting this, for two reasons. First, you got the train. Secondly, I’d like to take the opportunity to chat up the barman. Purely in the interest of investigative thoroughness, of course.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind. He is undoubtedly a striking-looking chap. Tell him I’m your uncle or something, and I shall sit here quietly and do the crossword. Could you ask for a side order of chips? As you say, we are on holiday. And Adrian, remember to pay in cash.”
On seeing Adrian approach, ‘Rufus’ slid past the barmaid so he happened to be ideally placed to serve him. Slick.
Adrian gave him The Look. I’m checking you out. I’m hard to please, but so far, I like what I see.
“Hi. Could I order some food?”
“Sure. Where are you sitting?”
As if you didn’t know. You haven’t taken your eyes off me since I walked in.
Adrian pointed at their table, where Matthew was peering unsubtly over the top of the paper. “Next to the fireplace. For drinks, one large glass of Stormy Bay Shiraz and one of Chenin Blanc. I’ll have fisherman’s pie and my uncle would like the steak and ale pie, with a side order of chips.”
“What about you? You fancy anything on the side?” His head still bent over the till, he lifted his eyes to Adrian.
“Don’t tempt me. I like to leave room for afters.”
Eye contact, secretive smiles and deal sealed. Adrian handed over a fifty-pound note. As the barman counted out the change, he asked casually, “On holiday, is it?”
“Sort of. Doing a tour of Wales, trying to find my cousin.” Adrian dropped his voice. “He got in a bit of trouble and did a midnight flit. All we know is he was heading to Wales. I agreed to help my uncle search for him.”
“Wales is a big place, plenty of room to hide. Got a name?”
A name? Good point.
“Better than a name, we have a photograph.” Adrian removed the picture from his bag and placed it on the bar, just as a man in kitchen whites emerged from the kitchen. While the barman studied the picture, the chef surveyed the pub.
“Lyndon, will you collect some glasses, please?”
Lyndon? Oh yes, it suits him. Just as romantic as Rufus if not more so.
“In a minute. Gary, come over by here. This man is looking for someone. He’s got a photo.” He turned back to Adrian. “Gary’s the landlord.”
Gary nodded a greeting to Adrian and picked up the photograph. He threw a sharp look at Lyndon and glanced back at Adrian immediately.
“And you are ...?”
“Andrew Ramos. This man’s my cousin.”
“Is your cousin in some sort of trouble?” The landlord’s eyes were suspicious.
Adrian affected a laugh and indicated Matthew with an inclination of his head. “Only with his father. There was a family argument, and ... Tim flew the nest. We just want to find him and persuade him to come home.”
“I see. Well, we’ve never seen him round here, but if he does turn up, we’ll let you know. Could you leave a number?”
Odd how he spoke for both of them.
Lyndon’s eyes met his, but his look contained no flirtation. More of an apology. Adrian scribbled his false name and real number on an order pad and thanked them for their help.
Matthew, annoyingly, seemed unconcerned by the landlord’s behaviour, devoting all his attention to his pie. Adrian was convinced there was something suspicious behind their reactions, so explained it again.
Matthew mopped up some gravy with the last of his chips. “I think you’re reading too much into it. The pub’s
getting busy. The boss saw a staff member dallying too long with one customer and chose to chivvy him a bit. He didn’t recognise the man and wanted to get rid of you so his staff would concentrate on their jobs. Nothing sinister to it. How was your food?”
“Sublime. The thing is, Matthew, you didn’t see his face when I showed him the picture. He barely glanced at it, but looked at me like a stunned mullet. I swear he’s hiding something.”
“And the barman?”
“Lyndon. He looked guilty, and didn’t even give me a chance to ask any questions. Plus, he’s been conspicuously absent all evening ...”
Matthew placed his knife and fork together. “Rushed off his feet, more like. It’s only just starting to calm down now. That pie was a triumph. However, beer would have been a wiser accompaniment. The Shiraz was all but overwhelmed. Adrian, have you considered they might even know Ponytail Man? Perhaps they went to school with him, or he’s the son of a local sheep farmer. And here you are, inventing a new identity and saying he’s run away from home?”
That hadn’t occurred to Adrian and the thought bothered him. “If that were the case, their reactions would make sense, I suppose,” he admitted. “And now Lyndon thinks I’m some kind of loon, which is why he’s avoiding me. How would you have done it?”
“I don’t know. Pretended I was a private investigator, maybe? Which is, in effect, what we are. What do you say to a harbour stroll before we head back to the B&B? I feel the need to stretch my legs.”
Adrian finished his wine with a last look at the bar. No sign of Lyndon. Shame, really. That one had potential. He hurried after Matthew.
As they stepped into the cool air of the night, Adrian’s mobile rang. He didn’t recognise the number.
“Hello?”
“Mr Ramos? This is Lyndon, the barman. I wanted a quick word before you leave. About the photo.”
“Oh, right. I’ll come back in.”
“No, I’ll come out. Two secs.”
Matthew discreetly continued to the lane and wandered on down towards the harbour. Adrian sat on the low wall, waiting and listening to the murmurs of conversation from the outdoor tables. Lyndon appeared from behind the pub and beckoned Adrian to follow him round the back.
