Secrets at the Last House Before the Sea

by Liz Eeles

  Her mother had been well loved in this village. That was a comfort. She hadn’t been totally alone while her daughter was off gallivanting overseas.

  The church tower was still in shadow but the sun, rising over the cliff, had reached the edge of the ancient building and beams of light were making the reddish stone glow. It was beautifully peaceful here, and the weathered gravestones around her were strangely comforting, reminding her she wasn’t the only person to be weighed down by grief. People had mourned over the centuries in this picture-perfect village, and survived.

  Glancing down, a flash of blue caught her eye and there, behind the pile of wreaths and bouquets, was a simple spray of white lilies interspersed with blue iris, the flower her mum had loved above all others. She hadn’t noticed those yesterday. She was sure they hadn’t been there.

  Rosie picked up the flowers and breathed in their aroma. They were tied with twine, and the words on the small card attached were written with the thick, black strokes of a fountain pen. Rest in peace, Saffy. Never forgotten. J.

  It wasn’t the anonymous ‘J’ that caught her attention. It was her mother’s pet name, Saffy, used only by the people who had loved her mum the most – Rosie’s grandparents, and her father when she was little. They were all gone now, but someone still living – the mysterious J – was on intimate enough terms with her mother to use the endearment.

  Rosie turned the card over, looking for clues, but it was blank. Her mum had rarely dated since her dad left years ago, or so Rosie thought. She’d certainly never said there was anyone significant in her life – but then she’d never said anything about the situation with Driftwood House, either. Rosie carefully placed the flowers back where they’d been but kept the card in her hand.

  ‘Did you have any other secrets, Mum?’ she asked softly. But there was no answer, just the gentle whoosh of the sea breeze rustling the leaves of the trees edging the graveyard.

  Rosie closed her eyes and turned her face towards the sky. Life was so carefree in Spain, so easy. She missed Matt, and her friends there who’d been texting her to ask how she was. She also missed the baked smell of hot earth, the relentless chirrup of cicadas, and the anticipation on the faces of visitors arriving at the homely B&B that overlooked the beach. Here, she was surrounded by complications and secrets that threatened to overwhelm her.

  The sound of someone approaching interrupted her thoughts and when she opened her eyes, her heart sank. Liam had just come through the lych gate at the boundary of the churchyard, with Billy jumping at his heels. He hesitated when he saw her before walking over.

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d be here so early or I’d have come later.’

  ‘I won’t be in the churchyard much longer,’ replied Rosie, stung by the irritated tone in his voice.

  ‘Whatever. I’m heading into the church anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t think you…’ She shook her head.

  ‘You didn’t think what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘OK. I didn’t take you for a church-goer.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Because your reputation suggests you’ve always been far too busy drinking and socialising.

  Rosie took a deep breath. ‘No reason. I just didn’t.’

  Liam stepped further into the shadow cast by the squat church tower. ‘I’m not particularly religious but I felt like coming today, if that’s all right with you?’

  Why was he being such an arse? Rosie suddenly remembered how he could turn on the charm at school when it suited, but didn’t bother with the people he figured weren’t worth his time. Which, presumably, was her right now.

  She stuffed the mysterious card from J into her jeans pocket and swung her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

  Rosie started to walk away but he stepped into her path and ran a hand across his face. ‘Look, I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the funeral yesterday. How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine.’ That sounded too blunt and she didn’t want to stoop to his level. Rosie took a deep breath and tried again. ‘I’m all right, thank you. I’m sad, but glad that the funeral is over.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  When he stooped to let Billy off his lead, Rosie studied him more closely. He was as good-looking as ever. More so, now that the slight gawkiness of youth had gone. But the bristly golden haze of brashness and self-confidence that always surrounded him seemed tarnished today. Beneath his irritation and general arseyness, she realised, he was sad, like her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  When Liam glanced up and caught her eye, Rosie looked away quickly. He stood up and stretched his long legs. ‘Why would you ask that? I thought you of all people wouldn’t listen to gossip.’

  Rosie tensed. He really was being impossible this morning. ‘What gossip? I was only trying to be nice. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t gossip about my business, actually.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘So how did Belinda find out that Driftwood House belongs to Charles Epping?’

  ‘I heard her telling Claude that she knows someone who knows someone who works for the Eppings.’

  ‘So it wasn’t you?’

  ‘Not guilty.’

  ‘Right.’ Rosie winced. ‘Sorry.’

  When Liam stayed silent, Rosie attempted to get their conversation back onto a more even keel. ‘I went to see Jackson Porter, like you suggested.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘He reckons there’s nothing I can do and the house will revert to Charles Epping.’

  ‘That’s not surprising.’

  ‘So I’ve started packing up Mum’s stuff.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  This was hopeless. Liam had one eye on Billy, who was rooting round the oldest headstones in the corner of the churchyard, and was totally distracted. Rosie idly wondered what the ‘gossip’ was about him that he was being so uppity about, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, or anything else for that matter. She tightened the laces on her trainers.

  ‘I’m going to walk up to Sorrell Head so I’d better get on.’

  A flicker of relief passed across Liam’s face. ‘OK, I’ll see you around. Billy, come here, boy!’

  Billy raised his head at his master’s sharp tone and ambled over to meet him at the church door. Once the two of them had disappeared inside, Rosie pulled the card signed by J from her pocket and flattened it out. It should be with the beautiful lily and iris bouquet. She took a photo of it before placing it back on the flowers.

  The sea breeze whispering through the trees sounded like voices as she left the churchyard.

  Rosie had reached the edge of the village, where the land started to rise steeply, when a man in long shorts, a bright Hawaiian shirt and a green spotted neckerchief waved at her.

  ‘Hello, it’s Rosie, isn’t it?’ he called, locking a grey Corsa parked close to the hedge and crossing the lane to join her. ‘I’m Jerry Wilson, a friend of your mum’s. I wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m doing OK, thanks.’

  ‘Your mum was so full of life. It’s hard to take in what’s happened.’ His grey-streaked ponytail swished from side to side when he shook his head.

  ‘It was a terrible shock. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Jerry. Jerry Wilson.’

  ‘Jerry with a J, or a G?’

  ‘With a J. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  Rosie took a good look at Jerry with a J. Tall, good-looking in a grizzled kind of way, eccentric dress sense, paint splodges on his arms that hinted at artistic talent – just her mother’s type. Might he be the mysterious J?

  ‘Were you at the funeral yesterday? I don’t remember seeing you but it was all a bit of a blur.’

  ‘That’s understandable. It’s such an emotional time. I was a
t the service, right at the back because the church was so packed. But I couldn’t go to the wake, I’m afraid, because I had to get back to work.’

  ‘That’s OK. Mum would have been touched you could make the service. Had you known each other long?’

  ‘A while. I live in Upper Selderfield but I’m often in Heaven’s Cove and your mum and I would meet up when we could.’

  ‘Were you close friends?’

  ‘Um…’ Jerry puffed air through his lips. ‘I guess we were quite close.’

  ‘So you knew her pretty well?’ Rosie knew she was asking too many questions, but couldn’t help herself.

  ‘I suppose I did,’ said Jerry, looking puzzled.

  ‘How did you first meet?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. I think it was at a literary talk at Selderfield Library. Your mum was a great fan of poetry.’

  ‘She was. Saffy always had her head in a book.’

  ‘Saffy?’

  Jerry’s only reaction to Mum’s pet name was confusion. He looked totally bemused now actually, probably because she was giving him the third degree. Rosie abandoned the subterfuge and got straight to the point: ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking but did you bring a lily and iris bouquet to the funeral?’

  ‘I didn’t. Should I have? I didn’t bring flowers at all. I gave a donation in your mum’s memory to a literacy charity instead.’

  ‘Oh, that’s really nice.’

  ‘I thought Sofia would approve.’

  ‘She would. That’s just the sort of thing she’d like.’

  When tears sprang into Rosie’s eyes, Jerry put his big paw of a hand on her arm and squeezed. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Losing a parent is so hard.’

  ‘I’m coping, but thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘I assume you’ll be leaving Heaven’s Cove soon, what with Driftwood House not being in the family any more.’

  ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘I did, in the pub last night. I didn’t realise the house belonged to the Eppings. That was a surprise, and they never miss a trick to make money, but building a hotel is a new one, even for them. I guess the cliffs are an ideal spot, thanks to that amazing view, and as they say, it’s all about location, location, location.’

  Rosie frowned. ‘Do you mean they’re planning to build a hotel near Driftwood House?’

  ‘Ah, you haven’t heard that bit.’ Jerry started shifting from foot to foot. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know for sure and it would be a shame if the house…’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘Who can tell what a man like Charles Epping has in mind?’

  The truth of it suddenly hit Rosie like a sledgehammer. ‘Does he want to build a hotel actually where the house is? Is that why he’s so keen to get Driftwood House back? He intends to knock it down and put a hotel in its place?’

  ‘Maybe. That’s what people are saying. Look, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It’s only a rumour.’

  ‘Who did you hear it from?’

  ‘Belinda. She said she knows a man who knows a man—’

  ‘—who works for Charles Epping?’

  ‘That’s it. Apparently, he overheard Epping talking about it on the phone and saying the house would be demolished. But please don’t upset yourself because he might be wrong.’

  Rosie nodded, but only to make Jerry feel better about being the bearer of bad news.

  Belinda’s source had been spot on about Driftwood House belonging to the Eppings so chances were he was right about their hotel plan. It made sense – a small boutique hotel overlooking the ocean would be a huge tourist attraction. Guests would pay good money to wake up to that view every morning, and she’d even suggested to her mum a few times that Driftwood would make a fabulous guesthouse.

  ‘Anyway, enough of the Eppings and their expanding property empire,’ said Jerry, stepping to one side as a car trundled along the lane and turned right towards Exeter. ‘Are you heading for Driftwood House now?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought I’d walk to Sorrell Head first.’

  ‘Perfect morning for it.’ Jerry smiled. ‘And when will you go back to Spain?’

  ‘Soon. I haven’t booked a flight yet.’

  ‘Well, Rosie, it was very good to properly meet you after all this time. Your mum spoke about you often. She was very proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ gulped Rosie, desperate for lovely, kind Jerry to stop talking. She needed to think through what she’d just found out. Her mind was filled with images of a wrecking ball pounding Driftwood House to dust.

  Jerry frowned. ‘I am sorry to give you such sad news about what might happen to the house, when you’re still mourning your mother.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Rosie assured him. ‘At the end of the day, Driftwood House is just bricks and mortar. That’s all.’

  Did she sound convincing? Presumably so, because Jerry’s face relaxed into an expression of relief, similar to Liam’s in the churchyard when she’d told him she was going.

  Rosie stood for a moment, watching Jerry wander off towards the village, her mind whirling with emotion.

  The thought of Driftwood House, the only proper home she’d ever known, being knocked down, stone by stone, was almost too much to bear. First, her mother gone and next, her mother’s beloved home. The Eppings would build their hotel, time would move on, and one day soon it would be as if Sofia Merchant had never existed at all.

  CHAPTER 8

  Rosie climbed higher and higher, her legs aching and her lungs feeling as though they might burst.

  She’d chosen the steepest path to Sorrell Head and was glad no one was around to cast judgement on her fitness. Or rather, lack of it. Good grief! She stopped and bent forward with her hands on her thighs. Sleeping in late on precious days off and drinking with work colleagues in the sunshine had made her soft.

  A walk to the highest point of the cliffs would toughen her up a little and give her time to think. And she couldn’t face going back to Driftwood House for a while, anyway – not now she knew the house was under threat. Losing her family home to the Eppings had hit her hard, but knowing that this precious link to her mother would likely be smashed into rubble… Biting down hard on her lower lip, she pulled in deep breaths of fresh salty air to steady herself and ease what felt like panic grabbing at her throat. She wasn’t normally a panicky person but now everything felt overwhelming.

  She started climbing again, her feet slipping on the stony path. Out here, she felt close to her mum, who loved tramping across the cliffs, with a scarf tied around her hair and the ends flying in the breeze. The two of them would often walk to Sorrell Head, a jagged peak which stretched out into the sea. The red sandstone had been worn away by the pounding waves and Rosie supposed that, one day, it would succumb and the cliff would fall into the sea.

  Five minutes later, she was standing close to the cliff edge. Being up so high made Rosie’s stomach flip – it always had, even as a child hanging on to her mother’s hand for dear life. But she walked as far as she dared to the end of the land.

  Further along the coastline, tucked in by the beach, Heaven’s Cove was waking up. Shopkeepers were putting out sandwich boards and people were busy on the quay, preparing to take today’s influx of tourists on pleasure trips around the bay. Some would end up feeling queasy, because the water was scattered with white-topped waves today.

  The curve of sand was empty except for a couple of dog walkers. Their pets ran in and out of the sea, which had turned from moss-green first thing this morning to a sparkling blue, mirroring the cloudless sky. It was going to be a beautiful spring day and she could almost imagine herself in Spain were it not for the chilly wind blowing through her hair.

  Pushing her fringe from her eyes, she sat down heavily on the ground, leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the seagulls wheeling overhead. Her mum wouldn’t be pleased that she was lying on damp grass. No lolling about after a rain shower or heavy dew – that was one of the very few rules she laid down. Think of the gra
ss stains, Rosie! But she’d be heartbroken at the thought of Driftwood House being flattened to make way for a hotel.

  Would Charles Epping really be so heartless? Definitely, if all she’d heard of him was true. The Eppings were rarely seen in Heaven’s Cove but their reputation for ice-cold, business-based decisions was common knowledge. And their indecent haste to claim back Driftwood House was testament to that.

  Rosie didn’t usually bear grudges but right now she thoroughly disliked Charles Epping and his haughty wife. And she wasn’t too keen on Liam Satterley either, who’d been so irritable and dismissive in the graveyard this morning. Though the sadness coming off him in waves bothered her. Despite the mild hostility that seemed to permeate their encounters, this shared sadness made the two of them almost kindred spirits right now.

  The shrill ring of her phone interrupted her thoughts and startled the gull nearby which was eyeing her up as a potential source of food. Walkers were regularly dive-bombed by scavenging seagulls trying to snatch their sandwiches.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Babe, it’s me, checking up on you. How’s life in boring old Heaven’s Cove?’

  Matt’s deep voice was a soothing balm on her troubled thoughts. He’d called her after the funeral yesterday, but they’d only had a brief chat because he was working late.

  ‘Life is… challenging. I’ve just been to the churchyard to look at the funeral flowers.’

  ‘Is that a good idea? It’ll only upset you.’

  ‘I’m upset already so it doesn’t make much difference.’

  ‘I guess. Hold on a minute.’ Matt’s voice became muffled while he spoke to someone in the office. As his conversation continued, Rosie’s attention drifted to the waves lapping the shore far below. She’d spent some happy times on that beach, swimming in the cold sea before drying off on the sand.

  ‘Are you still there, babe? Sorry about that. Carmen needed a bit of guidance. She’s taken over some of your work while you’re away and is doing a great job. She sends her love.’

  ‘That’s kind. Tell her thank you.’

  ‘I will. Did I tell you that she closed a great sale this week? Those apartments with limited views – she managed to offload a couple of them.’